was too dignified for it. Too clever. Too proud.
Which is why, instead of begging, he negotiated.
"If I return with even a single rare herb," he said, pacing the stone floor of his father's study, "the Royal Alchemist Guild will owe House Valehart a favor. Possibly two."
Duke Valehart didn't look up from the parchment he was annotating.
Lucius pressed on.
"Rumors of relic-grade flora near the edge of the Varnen Wilds are circulating through the southern trade networks. House Neron has already dispatched scouts. If we delay, they'll seize the find."
"That's still not my problem."
Lucius stopped. "Your son being shown up by House Neron is your problem."
That made the Duke look up.
"Your last stunt almost started a duel."
Lucius offered a modest bow. "Which I resolved with elegance."
"You bribed him with a sword."
"Exactly. Elegantly."
The Duke's eyes narrowed.
Lucius smiled faintly. "Let me go. I'll take two knights. I'll file a report. You can even assign one of your informants to watch me. But if I come back with something valuable… it'll mean something. For both of us."
A long silence passed.
Finally, the Duke dipped his quill in ink and said, "If you die, don't tarnish the family name on the way out."
Lucius bowed again. "Of course not, Father."
He left the study with a soft smile.
That was easier than expected.
He didn't speak of the fruit. The Elric Bloom was no longer a rumor — it was his only hope.
Rowan, surprisingly, agreed to join him without much resistance. Lucius simply told him the truth: "You're not safe here, and I don't like owing people. So let's call this repayment."
Rowan narrowed his eyes, then muttered, "Fine. But if you slow me down—"
"I'd die before I slowed anyone down," Lucius replied dryly.
The journey into the outskirts of the Wilds was quiet at first. Dense trees pressed close to the narrow road, and the morning sun filtered through the canopy like gold dust in water.
They rode carefully, Lucius sandwiched between two Valehart knights while Rowan took the lead. Neither of them spoke much. Which was fine. Lucius wasn't in the mood for conversation. His thoughts were locked on the fruit.
He hadn't told Rowan about it. Not yet.
If the boy knew the Bloom could awaken mana, he'd probably insist on helping him get it.
Lucius didn't want help.
He wanted control.
That changed when they heard the crying.
Not the howl of a beast.
Not the echo of a bird.
A child.
Soft. Frightened. Hiccoughing through sobs.
The knights instinctively reached for their weapons, scanning the trees. Rowan stepped forward, tense.
Lucius dismounted quietly and followed the sound, weaving between twisted roots and low branches until—
There.
Curled inside a hollowed log.
Silver hair.
Furry ears.
A small girl, no older than three, her knees pulled to her chest. Dried blood on her ankle, but no visible wound.
She looked up at him with wide, violet eyes.
Lucius crouched.
"…You're beastkin," he said softly.
She didn't respond.
He reached into his pouch and took out a wrapped biscuit — one of the good ones the estate cook always hid.
He held it out.
The girl sniffed once, then crawled forward and took it with both hands.
She didn't say a word.
Didn't ask for help.
Didn't cry again.
Just sat beside him, chewing quietly like a little ghost who had forgotten how to be afraid.
Lucius looked back toward the road, where Rowan and the knights waited out of sight.
He sighed.
"Well," he muttered, "I suppose I'm babysitting now."
The girl leaned against his arm.
He froze.
"…You're getting crumbs on me."
She nuzzled closer, already half-asleep.
Lucius stared down at her.
A beastkin child, alone in the Wilds.
That shouldn't have been possible.
"…What are you?"