Volume 03, Chapter 35
Mason Schmidt [1]
-Ring!
The school bell chimes, marking the end of another day’s classes.
“Haa…”
I stretch my arms upward, feeling a satisfying release of tension. Today’s lessons—language and Literature—were pretty manageable, a nice break compared to the more grueling subjects.
“Hey, Doms, want to play arcade games?” Arthur asks, his voice light as he stuffs his books into his bag.
I turn to him with a smile, already knowing my answer. “I want to but I can’t. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Where?” he presses, curiosity lighting up his face.
I wink, raising a finger to my lips in mock secrecy. “It’s a secret.”
Arthur pouts dramatically, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “Fine.”
I can’t help but chuckle at his reaction. His pouting is unexpectedly… cute. No homo, though.
Before I can say more, Lumi’s voice cuts through the moment, cool and indifferent as always.
“Dominic.”
I glance over to see her standing nearby, her expression unreadable—her default.
“Yes?” I ask, my tone polite despite her abrupt interruption.
“Let’s spar again someday; I look forward to being stronger with you,” she says simply, her voice devoid of inflection. She doesn’t wait for a response and turns, walking away without a goodbye.
Arthur scoffs, his irritation palpable as he watches her retreating figure. “Tch! That Everheart is so annoying.”
I give a small, awkward laugh, scratching my head. Lumi’s blunt demeanor is a lot to handle, but I’ve grown used to it by now. “She’s… direct, that’s for sure.”
Before Arthur can retort, another voice calls out my name—this one more measured and thoughtful.
“Dominic.”
I turn to see Maurice approaching, his gaze sharp and focused.
“Hello, Professor,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Maurice’s eyes flicker to my backpack, and I feel a jolt of nervous energy ripple through me. Can he sense it?
“What are you doing with that Demon Orb?” Maurice asks, his tone calm but probing.
My heart skips a beat. Crap. He sensed it.
Dad put runes on the glass box to mask the orb’s presence, so how did Maurice detect it? Was my plan to wait until after school and head straight to Aurelior too obvious?
Before I can even begin to explain, Arthur cuts in. “Doms, is that the Demon Orb you won at the auction house?”
His question hangs in the air, and I realize I’m cornered. Panicking or overthinking won’t help here, so I decided to stick to a partial truth.
“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m planning to sell it at Aurelior.”
Maurice studies me for a moment longer, then nods slowly. “Ah, I see.”
His calm acceptance surprises me. “Anyway,” he continues, his tone shifting back to its usual neutrality, “I won’t be training you this Saturday. It’s your father’s turn to oversee your sessions.”
Relief washes over me. For a moment, I thought he might report me or confiscate the orb. Once again, I realize how quickly I jump to worst-case scenarios.
“Thank you for letting me know, Professor,” I say with a respectful nod.
Maurice nods back, his expression softening slightly. “That’s all. Be safe in Aurelior.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me to process the interaction. I lean back in my chair, my hand instinctively tightening on the straps of my backpack. The weight of the Demon Orb feels heavier now, not just physically but mentally.
“Doms,” Arthur says, breaking through my thoughts, his voice tinged with curiosity. “I thought you said you didn’t want to sell it. What changed?”
Ah, crap. Looks like my earlier explanation to Arthur is returning to haunt me.
“I… changed my mind,” I say, scrambling for a believable excuse. “I figured it’d be a good way to earn more Camilliums.”
Arthur narrows his eyes slightly, studying me like he’s trying to read between the lines. But after a moment, his expression softens, and he gives me a reassuring smile.
“Okay. If that’s what you want,” he says simply, his tone supportive.
His response catches me off guard. Arthur doesn’t press me for more details, and I feel a flicker of guilt for keeping the full truth from him.
“Anyway,” he continues, shifting the topic with his usual ease, “do you want me to take you to the train station?”
I glance at him, grateful for his unwavering loyalty, and manage a smile. “Thanks, Arthur. I’d appreciate that.”
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Together, we head out, and despite the weight of the Demon Orb in my backpack, I feel a little lighter knowing Arthur is by my side.
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After Arthur drops me off at the local train station, I head straight to the ticket counter to secure my ride.
With tickets in hand, I find an open seat in the waiting area. The station isn’t particularly crowded, just a handful of people going about their business. I settle in, my attention occasionally drifting to the soft hum of chatter and the distant clatter of luggage wheels.
Suddenly, a sharp voice cuts through the ambient noise.
“Listen, you schmuck! I’m tellin’ ya, this is the best damn deal you’re gonna get. You think info like this falls outta the sky?”
The distinct tone snaps my gaze to the source: a middle-aged man gesticulating wildly as he paces back and forth, a Commlink pressed to his ear.
He’s stocky, with a round face framed by a scruffy beard. His slicked-back hair is thinning at the top, and his suit—shades of grey and brown—looks like it’s seen better days. His tie hangs loose around his neck, and a slightly askew fedora completes the frazzled appearance.
“Hey, hey, don’t gimme that tone!” he barks into the Commlink. “I’m out here bustin’ my ass. Do you know the kind of heat I’m packin’ to get you this stuff?”
I shake my head, deciding not to involve myself in whatever drama he’s immersed in. He seems more than capable of handling—or escalating—his problems.
-Hum!
The soft hum of an approaching train draws my attention, breaking my focus on the man. Grateful for the distraction, I grab my bag and go to the platform.
Once aboard, I quickly find a comfortable seat. As I settle in, the man’s loud voice follows me into the carriage, much to my dismay.
“Wait, wait! Hold your horses, alright? Maybe—just maybe—I can sweeten the pot. Gimme a second… But this is as low as I go—damn it!”
The call cuts off abruptly. His frustration is almost tangible as he mutters something under his breath. He plops down in a seat not too far from mine, his demeanor a mix of irritation and exhaustion.
The train lurches forward as the overhead speakers crackle to life.
-Ding-dong!
“Bonsoir, passengers,” the conductor’s voice echoes warmly. “This is your train conductor. We will arrive in Aurelior in one hour and thirty minutes.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and leaned against the window. As the train glides through the countryside, Verdant Haven’s beauty unfolds before me like a moving painting.
The landscape is a kaleidoscope of vibrant greens and tranquil blues, with rolling hills and serene rivers catching the golden glow of the setting sun. Each passing scene is more breathtaking than the last, and I allow myself to forget everything else for a moment.
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After a relatively smooth hour-long train ride, I step off at Gare des étoiles, Aurelior’s bustling central station.
The moment I disembark, I’m engulfed by a dense crowd of travelers, the station alive with the hum of overlapping conversations, hurried footsteps, and the occasional barked announcements echoing overhead.
It’s just as packed as I remember from my first visit—a chaotic hive of noise and motion. The sheer number of people swirling around me is disorienting, a storm of bodies that makes my head spin. A wave of dizziness and nausea washes over me, forcing me to press a hand to my forehead.
I seriously need to get used to crowded places like these.
Steeling myself, I begin the laborious task of weaving through the throng, each step requiring effort to avoid being jostled or bumped. It’s slow-going, but eventually, I make it to the exit.
The moment I step outside, fresh air greets me like an old friend. I pause, letting the cool breeze brush against my face.
“Haa…”
I let out a long sigh, grateful for the space and reprieve from the station’s stifling atmosphere.
Just as I start to relax, I accidentally bump into someone.
“Hey! Watch where you’re goin’, will ya? People walkin’ here!”
I glance up to see a familiar face—the same middle-aged, stocky man I noticed earlier in the station. He staggers slightly from the impact but quickly regains his balance.
“Oh, sorry about that,” I say, holding up a hand apologetically. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Yeah, yeah, just—look, not the best time, okay?”
He waves me off, his tone more annoyed than angry, before hurrying away into the crowd. His relatively calm dismissal catches me off guard. I was braced for a more heated exchange, but the moment passes without further incident.
I shake my head, refocusing my thoughts. There’s no time to dwell on this.
Straightening my blazer, I remind myself of the reason I came to Aurelior in the first place.
“Now then, time to find him.”
With renewed purpose, I stride into the city streets. The towering buildings and vibrant energy of Aurelior stretch out before me, a labyrinth of possibilities and hidden dangers.
My target is the character from the web novel who holds the knowledge I need to deal with the Demon Orb. Finding him won’t be easy, but it’s a crucial step in my mission.
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“So, this is the place.”
Standing before me is Le Petit Verre, a bar tucked away in a quiet city corner. The building is a charming blend of rustic French architecture and contemporary elegance.
Delicate ironwork frames the windows, while ivy sprawls across the stone facade like nature’s embroidery. A deep, welcoming green door stands at the center, its wood polished to a subtle sheen. Above it, a wrought-iron sign sways gently in the breeze, the name “Le Petit Verre” inscribed in elegant, flowing script.
I push the door open and step inside, greeted by an ambiance that feels intimate and distinctly Verdant Haven.
The interior is a masterpiece of design—a harmony of exposed wooden beams, stone walls bearing the marks of centuries-old craftsmanship, and cozy seating arranged for quiet, meaningful conversations.
Wrought-iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting soft, warm light that dances across the room. The bar is almost silent, except for the faint glassware clink from the bartender behind the counter.
His expression shifts to one of surprise as I approach.
“Excuse me,” he says, his tone skeptical, “what’s a middle schooler like you doing in a bar?”
I meet his gaze, letting a knowing smirk curl across my lips. “Sapharzalem.”
His eyes widen in recognition, and without another word, he nods. Ducking beneath the counter, he presses a concealed button.
-Click!
The bar’s windows seal shut with a mechanical whir, and the room instantly feels more enclosed and secretive.
-Rumble!
A low rumble fills the air as the shelves behind the bar slide aside, revealing a hidden staircase spiraling downwards into the unknown.
“Please, come inside,” the bartender says, his voice low and serious.
I nod, sliding off the stool and approaching the staircase. A thrill courses through me as I take in the hidden passage.
“Now, this is cool.”
The character I’m searching for—who can help me deal with the Demon Orb—runs this secret establishment. “Sapharzalem” was the codeword to unlock this hidden world.
Descending the staircase, I find myself before a massive double door, its medieval design strikingly contrasting with the bar above. The wood is dark and imposing, and the ironwork is intricate and heavy.
“So, this is it, huh?”
I push the door open, stepping into a room that takes my breath away.
The space is an extraordinary fusion of Gothic and modern aesthetics. High, vaulted ceilings stretch above me, their dark beams lending an air of grandeur. Aged brick walls meet sleek, contemporary metal panels, a juxtaposition that somehow feels harmonious.
The lighting is moody and deliberate, with modern fixtures that mimic the flicker of gothic torches. The furniture follows the theme—leather-upholstered chairs and dark wooden tables that look timeless and luxurious.
At the room’s center, behind a grand bar stocked with an array of rare bottles, stands a man whose presence dominates the space.
Tall and muscular, his skin is a deep, rich brown, and he moves with a quiet, commanding confidence. A pair of stylish sunglasses obscure his eyes, adding an air of mystery, even in the dimly lit room. He’s meticulously polishing a wine glass, his intense focus feeling like a ritual.
“There he is.”
As I carefully close the door behind me, his head lifts, and he turns to face me.
“Well, well, what do we have here? A new face in my humble establishment. Step in; don’t be shy,” Mason says, his deep, resonant voice carrying an inviting yet commanding tone.
Mason Schmidt. The man I’ve been so eager to meet. His reputation precedes him—Vice Leader of the demon factions, master of darkness, and a being whose power is second only to Erebos. His presence fills the dimly lit bar, which feels less like a dive and more like a portal into another world. The eclectic mix of patrons and the shelves lined with mysterious artifacts only add to the atmosphere.
