" So, back to the question," Dian said, his voice calm. "I've already assigned a secret guard for their protection."
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in gently. "So, you don't have to worry about the mother and daughter."
Dian had already discussed this with his butler, Jones. He understood the weight of his decision—he simply couldn't leave that little angel unprotected.
A smile crept across his lips as a small, warm image flashed in his mind.
But Gianna's expression shifted. Relief came first… then surprise.
"S-secret guards? Why not just normal guards?" she asked, blinking.
"I don't know," Dian shrugged with a small smile, waving his hand dismissively. "Just felt like it."
Before Gianna could press him further, he leaned closer and smoothly changed the topic.
"Now, tell me about the 'Darling' thing, dear."
He hadn't asked her earlier, not wanting to interrupt the moment—but now, the timing was just right.
Gianna blushed and lowered her gaze.
"N-now that you and I are married... I thought it was only fair to call you that," she whispered.
"Then say it again, dear."
His voice was gently commanding, but filled with warmth.
Gianna buried her face in his chest, purring softly.
"D-darling…" she whispered, a shy smile curving her lips.
"Again."
"D-darling."
"Again."
"Darling—"
Their voices faded into the rhythm of the carriage wheels, which rolled steadily through the moonlit road. The world outside blurred into silence as they sank deeper into each other's embrace. Their bond grew—closer, stronger, more intimate.
But somewhere in the quiet corners of Dian's mind… something still stirred.
...
The Secret Guards of the Skyster Family
They were no ordinary force. They were elites among elites.
Every member had been handpicked by one man—Drake, the Commander of the Secret Guards. A warrior and magician of terrifying skill, Drake stood at the Supreme 2nd Stage, and personally oversaw the training of new recruits.
The family provided their secret guard with the best resources, enchanted weapons, rare armors, and anything else they might need. Their mission? To serve the head of the Skyster Family.
Now… that was Dian Skyster.
Their numbers were few—only 8,000 in the core unit. If combined with all other guards under the Skyster banner, the total force reached around 11,000. But in terms of power…
They could level a battlefield.
Each one of them was at least a Grand Mage 2nd Stage. Most were already Great Mages, some even at the Great Mage 3rd Stage, teetering on the edge of becoming Supremes.
For comparison, the Royal Army boasted 100,000 soldiers. But most of them were only Superior Mages, with a handful of Grand Mages, and very few Great Mages in high-ranking positions. Their General? A Supreme 1st Stage.
In raw numbers, the Royal Army overwhelmed.
In power?
The Secret Guards could tip the scales of war.
And yet… few in the world of Siros even knew they existed.
Everything—from their recruitment and training to their missions—was cloaked in secrecy, far from public view. Only a select few knew of their presence: ancient families, powerful kingdoms, and those who had ties to the Skysters.
As for the rest?
They respected the Skyster name out of inherited awe—of power, history, and the legacy of producing the most talented mages in every generation.
But power always attracts attention. And attention invites jealousy, betrayal… and blood.
Many had tried to grasp the Skyster family's wealth and secrets.
All had failed.
But now… it all rested on the shoulders of one young man—Dian Skyster—who, at this very moment, sat in his grand carriage, lost in the soft warmth of his new wife.
.
.
.
"How much longer until we reach the Skyster estate?" asked a man in his mid-twenties, seated by the window of his luxurious carriage. His voice was relaxed, but his eyes—sharp and thoughtful—remained fixed on the passing scenery.
"It will take around two more days, Lord Leon," the coachman responded promptly, his tone respectful.
And why wouldn't it be?
This wasn't just anyone in the carriage. This was Leon—known throughout the capital as The Hero.
The Heartthrob of the Kingdom.
Famed for his bravery, kindness, charity… and, of course, his unmistakable charm.
The carriage was worthy of royalty. White lacquered wood framed in gold, engraved with enchanted runes. Velvet curtains lined the interior, and the glass windows shimmered with protective spells. Crafted by the kingdom's finest carpenters and imbued with the work of the best spellsmiths, it was built for smooth, safe travel.
Two white stallions led the way, their manes rippling in the wind as they pulled the carriage at a steady pace.
Inside, Leon sat comfortably, his gaze wandering over lush green fields, flocks of colorful birds, and the occasional wild magic beast grazing in the distance. The air itself carried a sweetness that only a fertile land like Siros could offer.
It's been four days since I left… two more to go, Leon thought, resting a hand over his heart.
Something tells me… something is about to happen.
Many would ask why someone like him didn't just run the distance. After all, as a Great 1st Stage Mage, he could travel faster on foot than any horse could carry him.
But during formal visits—especially ones involving royal messages or diplomatic matters—traveling on foot was seen as disrespectful. A slight against the receiving party. Only in emergencies were such exceptions made.
So they had taken inns, camped in forests, and moved cautiously.
Still... I can't shake this feeling, Leon thought, fingers tightening subtly over his chest.
A pulse. A pull. Like fate itself is watching.
And maybe...
Just maybe... he was right.
...
The countryside slowly passed by outside the enchanted windows—golden grass swaying like waves under the breeze, occasional sparkles of mana mist drifting through the air. Yet Leon wasn't paying attention anymore.
His thoughts ran deeper than the fields.
Something's off.
It wasn't just instinct—it was a pulse, like his core was resonating with something far ahead. A faint, ominous pressure that pulled at his attention every few minutes. Something he couldn't explain... but couldn't ignore either.
The coachman glanced back occasionally, noticing the silence. "Are you alright, my lord?" he asked.
Leon blinked, then gave a small, practiced smile.
"Yes. Just... thinking."
He didn't say what about.
Because how could he?
He had served the capital as one of the youngest generals, bearing the honorary title of "Hero" after the Crimson Vale Siege, where he alone had held the line against a rampaging mana beast horde. But this sensation—this subtle wrongness—it was worse than anything he'd felt before going into battle.
His fingers slowly tapped the edge of the window.
Was it connected to the Skyster family or his lingering past ?
.
.
.