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The former Archmage of the Clyde Empire, Grania, held an extraordinary stature in many respects. During the age of war, he had been one of the Empire’s leading figures, famed across the continent as a conqueror alongside Dayton el Blanc, pushing Clyde’s borders ever outward.
He had reached the seventh tier in his early forties. As if that wasn’t a great enough feat in itself, he had devoted himself not just to his own research but to nurturing disciples, even producing his own successor as Archmage.
Had he been the sort to meddle in politics or factional squabbles, he might well have been granted the title of duke. The Lord of Portroi, the Marquis himself, was keenly aware of that history.
“Understood, Master Grania. I’ll ensure that no one sets foot near your quarters until tomorrow.”
“Much appreciated, Marquis,” Grania thanked the Marquis.
“Please, don’t mention it. To have the hero who once led our Empire’s golden age standing before me is honor enough.”
After the polite exchange, the Marquis turned and left; soon, the sound of fading footsteps and a heavy door closing echoed through the room.
Only then did Grania let his stern expression fade. Staring toward the opposite door,...
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