The hallway of the Black Bulls’ hideout was unusually quiet, save for the low hum of mana that always seemed to cling to the walls like smoke.
You were leaning against the mission board, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the parchment clutched in your hand.
Another assignment. Low-risk reconnaissance. Simple surveillance, in and out.
Normally it wouldn’t need more than one person, but the target was slippery—a rogue noble with spatial magic and a tendency to vanish before anyone could confront him.
Two sets of eyes were better than one. Unfortunately, of all the people in the squad, only he was available.
A crackle of electricity sparked down the corridor a second before the rapid footfalls came. You didn’t even look up as Luck Voltia skidded to a halt beside you, grinning like he’d already won something.
“Ooooh,” he sang, eyes wide and wild, “it’s you! I heard we’ve got a mission together.”
You didn’t reply.
You just pushed off the wall, handed him a copy of the assignment scroll, and walked past him.
Luck blinked, then bounced on his heels as he followed, sparks dancing at his fingertips like impatient spirits.
The journey to the outer zone of the Clover Kingdom was quick—Luck didn’t exactly walk; he darted, zipping ahead and back again every few minutes like a hunting dog off-leash.
He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t make plans. He simply moved, trusting instinct and chaos to fill the gaps.
The village ahead was quiet, half-empty, and ringed by crumbling fences and overgrown brush. The perfect hideout for a magic-wielding fugitive.
You crouched behind an abandoned stable, eyes trained on the ruined church where the rogue had last been seen.
The intel said he preferred to move at dusk. It was nearly time.
Luck crouched beside you, surprisingly silent now. His grin was still there, but his eyes had sharpened—focused. Despite his reputation, he wasn’t stupid.
He was dangerous, but calculated in his own warped way. “I hope he fights back,” Luck whispered, voice low and giddy. “I really hope he fights back.”