A few days passed, and Noel found himself standing before the towering gates of the Rising Stone Sect. The air was crisp, but there was an undeniable tension beneath the surface, like an unspoken storm brewing within the sect's walls.
Two guards—disciples of the sect—stood watch, their gazes sharp as they noticed his approach.
"Hold it."
One of them stepped forward, posture stiff with authority.
Noel halted, his expression relaxed, a small, easygoing smile playing on his lips.
"Hello there."
Their eyes flicked to the neatly packaged hampers in his hands. The golden embroidery on the fabric gleamed under the sunlight, exuding an air of refined elegance.
"State your business." The second guard narrowed his eyes, wary.
"I've brought a gift for Patriarch Weh," Noel said, his tone pleasant, his stance unthreatening.
The guards exchanged a brief glance before one of them asked, "And you are?"
Noel's smile never wavered. "Noel. Kazel's father."
At that, both guards stiffened ever so slightly. Their brows raised, recognition flashing across their faces before it quickly twisted into something else—condescension.
A slow smirk formed on one of their lips, though they said nothing outright.
(Ah… so that's how it is, huh? Their arrogance knows no bounds.)
Noel didn't comment on their subtle mockery. He simply stood there, unmoving, his polite smile unwavering.
One of the guards finally sighed. "I'll notify the elders. Wait here." Without another word, he turned and rushed inside.
Noel dipped his head slightly. "Thank you." His voice remained warm, his expression unchanged.
Yet, beneath the facade of courtesy, his fingers curled ever so slightly around the hampers.
The remaining guard sneered, arms crossed as he eyed Noel up and down. "Bringing gifts, huh? Didn't think you'd show your face here after what happened with your son."
Noel chuckled, unfazed by the insult. "Ah, well, you know how it is. Some traditions must be upheld, regardless of circumstances." He lifted the hampers slightly. "A gesture of goodwill."
The guard scoffed. "Goodwill, huh?" His eyes flickered with mockery. "After your son was kicked aside like some useless cripple, you still have the nerve to come here acting all polite? If it were me, I'd be too ashamed to show my face."
Noel's smile never wavered. "Shame is a heavy thing to carry. I'd rather not waste my energy on it."
The guard clicked his tongue but said no more, though the smug expression on his face remained.
Minutes passed, and then the first guard returned, accompanied by a middle-aged elder dressed in flowing grey robes. The elder's sharp gaze scrutinized Noel as he approached.
"Noel of the Immortal Sect," the elder said, his tone measured but distant. "The patriarch is preoccupied with preparations for Scale Dalgona. If you have business, you may leave your gift with me."
Noel offered an apologetic bow. "I understand that Patriarch Weh must be incredibly busy, but I was hoping to personally offer these as a token of my appreciation. After all, our two sects have shared a long-standing relationship."
Noel chuckled again. "I won't take much of his time. Just a few words and I'll be on my way."
The elder studied him for a long moment before finally turning. "Follow me."
As Noel stepped past the threshold of the Rising Stone Sect, his smile remained, but deep within his eyes, a glint of something else flickered—something cold and unreadable.
Noel followed the elder through the winding halls of the Rising Stone Sect, his expression calm, his posture relaxed—but his mind was anything but. Every step brought him closer to the man who had orchestrated his son's suffering. He forced himself to breathe evenly, to school his face into the perfect mask of an old friend paying a cordial visit.
They stopped before a grand wooden door adorned with intricate carvings of coiling serpents. The elder knocked twice.
"Come in."
The elder turned to Noel, raising a hand—stay here—before stepping inside alone.
Noel folded his arms, letting his gaze wander the corridor, mentally mapping his surroundings. Then, after a brief moment, the door creaked open again. The elder stepped out, giving Noel a silent nod of permission.
Noel smiled, stepping inside.
The chamber was dimly lit, warm incense curling through the air. Behind a heavy desk sat Patriarch Weh, his robes crisp, his presence commanding. Despite his age, the man carried himself with the ease of someone who had never once feared for his life.
As soon as he saw Noel, his lips curled into a wide smile.
"Ah, old friend! Welcome!"
Noel matched his enthusiasm with a hearty laugh. "Hahaha, hello, old friend!"
Weh's gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped hampers in Noel's hands. "What's the occasion?"
"Just a little something my wife and I put together," Noel said, setting the hampers on a nearby table. "A token of gratitude. I hope you don't mind me placing it here."
"Oh, that's quite alright," Weh said, his voice smooth as ever. He waved a hand, dismissing the elder from the room.
As the door shut behind them, Noel let out a small sigh, placing his hands on his waist. "It's not much, but it's all I have to offer right now," he said, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Without you, I don't know how my son would have fared. Truly, I owe you my thanks."
For the briefest of moments, Weh faltered.
(What did he just say?)
The reaction was minuscule, barely a flicker of hesitation—but Noel caught it.
"But," Noel continued, his tone remaining light, "there's still one thing I regret." He leaned forward slightly. "I never got the chance to properly thank Old Fu. I don't have his contact, and I'd love to personally express my gratitude. Do you think you could arrange something for me? Consider it a favor I fully intend to repay."
Weh's expression smoothed over, his confidence returning. "Ah, don't mention it," he said, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on Noel's shoulder. "What matters most is that your son is alive and well."
Noel stepped forward, pulling Weh into a firm embrace.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with warmth. "Truly... old friend. I will repay you in full."
Weh chuckled. "You don't need to—"
"No," Noel insisted, his fingers tightening for a brief moment before he pulled away, his hands trembling ever so slightly. "I insist."
A shadow flickered behind his friendly smile. His heart pounded against his ribs—not out of fear, but from the sheer restraint it took to hold himself back.
This was the man who had pulled the strings. The man who had almost killed his son.
The joy of severing Weh's head did not belong to him. It belonged to Kazel.
Weh, oblivious to the storm raging beneath Noel's calm exterior, sighed. "Very well. I'll have Old Fu visit you soon."
Noel nodded. "I appreciate it."
As he turned to leave, Weh hesitated. "I truly am sorry about the matter with Salma."
Noel paused in the doorway. He turned slightly, his expression unreadable.
"No, no, don't say that," he said with an easy chuckle. "She had the right to choose her own path."
Weh smiled, clearly satisfied with the answer.
Noel gave a final nod and stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
As he walked down the corridor, his smile faded, his expression darkening.
(You bastard.)
Before stepping past the gates, he glanced over his shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I wish you good luck in the upcoming Scale Dalgona…"
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"You're going to need it."
---
As the elder returned to the chamber, closing the door behind him, he found Patriarch Weh sitting rigidly in his seat. The warm, composed smile from earlier had vanished, replaced by a deep scowl. His fingers drummed impatiently against the lacquered desk, his sharp eyes narrowing with suspicion.
The moment the elder stepped closer, Weh's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"I want Old Fu in the sect immediately."
The elder stiffened. "Patriarch—"
"As fast as possible!" Weh slammed his palm against the table, rattling the teacups. "Make this task a priority. I don't care what he's doing or where he is—bring him here."
The elder swallowed hard. This wasn't the usual measured Weh; this was a man who had just glimpsed the shadow of a threat creeping toward him.
A long, heavy silence followed before Weh leaned back, exhaling through his nose. His jaw clenched, his mind racing.
(That bastard Noel… What was that visit really about?)
He had laughed, smiled, spoken with ease—but there was something off. A slight delay in his reactions. A tension in his shoulders, in his grip.
And then, that strange line—"I will repay you in full."
Weh's fingers curled into a fist.
(Does he know? No, impossible. The fool is too trusting.)
---
As Noel stepped through the entrance of their home, the familiar warmth of the place wrapped around him. The scent of simmering broth wafted from the kitchen, and the sound of Lana's voice followed soon after.
"You're back," she called out from the side, peeking her head into the hall. "How did it go?"
Noel smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Went well. I'll tell you later."
Lana furrowed her brows, sensing something unspoken in his tone. But before she could press further, Noel had already slipped past her, heading toward the backyard.
There, under the fading light of the setting sun, was Kazel.
His blade danced through the air in sharp, controlled arcs. The movements were precise, honed—not just practiced, but refined. Every strike carried weight, yet ended with a feather-like stillness. He wasn't just training; he was conditioning his body and mind, sharpening his instincts like a blade awaiting battle.
Kazel halted mid-swing.
Something in the air had shifted.
He turned his head slightly, his sharp blue eyes catching sight of Noel standing at the edge of the yard.
A pause.
Noel nodded.
A silent message passed between them.
Kazel's lips curled into a smirk.