“I picked it up while cleaning up the battlefield at the Dragon Slayers' stronghold,” Leopold said.
Isabella didn't reach out to take it. She looked somewhat sorrowful, her gaze fixed on the magic core in Leopold's palm, falling silent for a long moment.
“I wonder which of our elders or juniors this magic core belonged to...”
Isabella finally extended her hand, her fingertips hovering over the magic core, though she didn't quite touch it.
“At least... this magic core is still intact,” she whispered. “It wasn't turned into some kind of evil artifact.”
Leopold pushed the magic core forward a bit. “Keep it.”
Isabella accepted the magic core, holding it in her palm to look at it for a moment before tucking it into her clothes. “Thank you.”
“This magic core should be able to instantly triple my mana capacity, lasting for about a minute.”
Seeing her cast her eyes down, Leopold didn't say anything more.
Perhaps even for the emotionally detached dragon clan, losing one of their own was still difficult to accept.
Leopold naturally understood this feeling. Even though he could no longer recall his memories from his past life, he had never forgotten the sorrow of losing a loved one.
Therefore, Isabella needed comfort right now.
“The owner of this magic core is also protecting us in another way,” Leopold spoke up, gently wrapping his hand over Isabella's hand, which held the magic core.
“Perhaps this was also their wish?”
Isabella didn't respond, and Leopold let out a helpless sigh.
“Don't carry a psychological burden, Bella,” Leopold continued. “Given the dragon clan's current situation, death and sacrifice are completely unavoidable.”
“And all we can do is inherit their will and keep moving forward.”
“You're right, Leo.” Isabella raised her head slightly and smiled. “If the owner of this magic core were still around, they probably wouldn't want it to remain buried underground either.”
“Then let's use this magic core to smash everything of the Lord of the Black Tide to smithereens!”
“That's right, smash them to smithereens!”
“Then it's settled.”
Seeing Leopold and Isabella acting so lovey-dovey, Oliver was torn over whether he should slip away immediately.
Although Mr. Black Dragon and Ms. White Dragon had always seemed to get along exceptionally well, they really weren't treating him like an outsider at all.
Oliver stood nervously by the table, his gaze shifting back and forth between the floor and the ceiling, his fingers unconsciously clutching the hem of his clothes.
The situation didn't seem quite right. Why were the two of them embracing? He felt rather out of place here. As for the matter of the troll, there should still be time tomorrow...
Ahhh! He couldn't stay here any longer!
Although Oliver was already one hundred and sixty years old, his romantic experience was practically zero.
In other words, Oliver was still a pure virgin!
He had absolutely no idea how to deal with this kind of scene. Perhaps magic could solve it? But Oliver had no clue if such a spell even existed!
Oliver shifted half a step toward the door, and the wooden floorboards creaked softly under his feet. Oh no. He froze instantly.
“Oliver?”
“S-Sir... I didn't mean to!” Oliver immediately bolted toward the exit. “I suddenly remembered I have something to take care of—”
Leopold stood in place, his hand still resting on the back of Isabella's hand.
“He sure runs fast,” Leopold said, watching Oliver's fleeing figure with a helpless expression.
“Hahaha.”
Isabella couldn't help but burst into laughter, the slight flush on the tips of her ears not yet fully faded.
“He does run fast. And how much longer are you planning to hold me?” Isabella winked at him.
Leopold suddenly snapped out of it, turning around abruptly and letting out a few fake coughs.
“It's getting late. Go to sleep. I'm heading back to the main house...”
With that, Leopold stiffened his neck and walked out.
“What a mess,” Leopold muttered, scratching his head as he opened the door to his room.
“Oh? You didn't end up staying in the side room?” Blake turned his head. He was sitting on the floor.
“What are you sitting here for?” Leopold ignored his comment.
“Waiting for you to come back and sleep.” Blake took a blade of grass out of his mouth and tossed it aside. “I heard you guys had a meeting tonight. That kid Oliver ran over there and then ran back, looking completely out of his mind.”
He patted the stone step next to him. “Sit.”
Leopold sat down beside him, and Blake continued:
“The Lord of the Black Tide is indeed troublesome. At least, according to the demons loyal to me, he has mastered at least one Eighth-Circle spell.”
“An Eighth-Circle spell?” Leopold's gaze fell on the darkness ahead. “Is the information from your demon lackeys reliable?”
“Reliable.” Blake uncharacteristically cast aside his casual demeanor. “One of the oldest spent four years in Blackstone Town and witnessed the Lord of the Black Tide take action three times.”
“The first time was to suppress a rebellious sorcerer settlement, the second was to wipe out a merchant caravan that had wandered into the forest, and the third—”
He paused. “The third time was against an elf.”
“An elf?”
“Yes. Supposedly, it was a lone elven squad that somehow wandered near Blackstone Town.”
“How many people were in the elven squad?”
“Supposedly four. One mage and three warriors.” Blake shrugged. “I'm not sure of their exact levels, but I know those three warriors didn't even get a chance to draw their swords.”
This forest was already beyond the borders for the elves, far from their core sphere of rule. Logically, there should be nothing of interest to the elves here.
Wait a minute, the graymist troll seemed to be a weapon specifically designed to deal with elves!
“In short, the Lord of the Black Tide is not someone easily dealt with,” Blake said. “Relying solely on the few of us to charge head-on won't give us much of a chance of winning.”
“You're right. Charging head-on with just the few of us indeed doesn't give us much of a chance.”
“But what if we aren't just 'a few'?”
Blake tilted his head to look at him. “Are you still planning to recruit those sorcerers?”
“The sorcerers are only a part of it,” Leopold said. “Today, Oliver was looking through his father's notebook and found a record. The graymist troll is a product of the ancient war between the Demon Race and the elves.”
“Elves?” Blake frowned. “What does their war have to do with us?”
“The graymist troll was created specifically to deal with elves. It is said that back then, the Demon Race relied on it to capture several elven fortresses.”
“Is that so?” Blake tried to search his inherited memories, and he seemed to find a slight record of it.
About five hundred years ago, the elves indeed had a war with the Demon Race, but he didn't know the details.
“How about it, Blake? Want to come with me to the Yegati Empire and broaden our horizons?”
Blake narrowed his eyes. Why did he feel like Leopold was trying to drag him into trouble again?
Rate on N.U.
