Chapter 103: Procedure

Then he continued forward, disappearing into the twilight.

Irina did not follow.

She stood in place, watching Ross’s retreating back, a slight curve lifting the corner of her lips.

Then she turned her head and glanced in the direction where Freya was hiding.

That glance was brief—brief as an inadvertent peek. But Freya saw it—

In those pink eyes, there was no surprise, no panic—only a confident, knowing smile.

As if to say: See? He’s already mine.

Freya stood still, her fingers slowly tightening.

When she returned to the dormitory, Lyra was lying on the floor mat, flipping through the Monster Bestiary.

Hearing the door, she lifted her head, her red eyes lighting up.

“Boss! You’re back!”

Then her smile froze.

“Boss, you look terrible. What happened?”

Freya sat at the desk, silent for a long time.

“Lyra, do you think a person can completely become someone else in just a few weeks?”

Lyra blinked. “Become someone else? Like that blondie?”

Freya didn’t answer. Lyra crawled over, crouching at her feet, looking up at her.

“Boss, do you think that blondie is off?”

“The way he looks at me has changed.” Freya’s voice was very soft. “It’s not that he’s moved on… it’s empty.”

Lyra tilted her head, thinking. “It’s like those animals in the mountains—after being caught by hunters and kept in cages for a long time, their eyes go empty.

Even if the cage door is open, they won’t run.

It’s not that they don’t want to run—it’s that they’ve forgotten they can.”

Freya turned her head and looked at her.

Lyra felt a bit embarrassed under the gaze, scratching her head. “I’m just rambling, Boss, don’t take it seriously…”

“You’re right.”

Freya withdrew her gaze, looking out the window at the heavy night.

“He’s been locked up. Not by chains—by something else.”

Lyra frowned. “Is it that crybaby?”

Freya didn’t answer, but Lyra read the answer from her silence.

“I’ll go beat her up!” Lyra stood up, small flames burning in her red eyes.

“I’ll give her a beating, and she won’t dare to pull tricks anymore!”

“It’s useless.” Freya grabbed her wrist.

“She’s not using fists now—it’s something else. If you hit her, it’ll just give her more reason to play the victim.”

Lyra was stunned. “Then what do we do?”

Freya was silent for a long time. “I don’t know. But I know we can’t let this go on.”

Outside the window, the moon hid behind the clouds.

In the distance, Ross’s dormitory still had its lights on.

He sat at the desk, the book Legend of the Holy Sword Study spread open before him, his fingers gently tracing the image of the Holy Sword on the page.

“Holy Sword Hero.” He repeated softly, his voice as light as reciting a spell.

Then he closed the book, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

In his mind, Freya’s face appeared—

She stood before him, those light purple eyes staring at him coldly.

“If you can’t distinguish between good and bad, what to keep and what to discard—then don’t come looking for me again.”

He suddenly opened his eyes, gasping for breath, his heart pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest.

He turned his head and stared at the book by his pillow for a long time. Then he reached out, shoved the book under the pillow, and closed his eyes.

This time, he thought of nothing.

The next morning, when Freya walked out of the dormitory building, she saw someone standing under the phoenix tree.

Ross stood there, his back straight, his golden hair glowing faintly in the morning light.

Seeing her, he gave a slight nod. “Morning.”

Freya stopped and looked at him. “Morning.”

Ross didn’t say much, just stepped aside to make way.

Freya walked past him, but after a few steps, she suddenly stopped.

“Ross.”

“Hmm.”

“What have you been reading lately?”

Ross was silent for a moment. “Some… legends.”

Freya turned around and looked at him.

He stood there, backlit, his expression somewhat blurry.

“What legends?”

Ross hesitated. “The legend of the Holy Sword.”

Freya’s fingers tightened slightly. “Why are you suddenly interested in that?”

Ross didn’t answer. He just looked at her, something flashing through those blue eyes—

Too fast to catch.

Then he smiled, a smile so faint it was almost invisible.

“Nothing. Just felt I should learn about it.”

He turned and walked away.

Freya stood still, watching his back disappear at the end of the corridor.

The wind blew, lifting a few fallen leaves, swirling around her feet.

She stood for a long time, then turned and walked toward the classroom.

Lyra followed behind, her red eyes full of worry. She wanted to ask something, but seeing Freya’s tense profile, she swallowed her words.

In the classroom, Irina was sitting in her seat, reading a book.

When Ross passed by her, she looked up and smiled at him.

The smile was perfectly gentle. Ross gave a slight nod in response, then sat back in his own seat.

Irina lowered her head and continued reading, but that hint of a smile lingered on her lips for a long time.

Freya sat in the back row, watching this scene, her fingers slowly tightening.

When the class bell rang, Freya withdrew her gaze.

Professor Mabel entered the classroom, followed by Serar, who was carrying a stack of thick books.

The exchange student clearly adapted well to his new role, smilingly distributing the books to the students in the front rows, his movements as smooth as if he’d done it a thousand times.

When he passed by Freya, he lowered his voice.

“You’ve been staring at the Crown Prince for a full three minutes.”

Freya ignored him. Serar didn’t mind. He placed the book on her desk, lightly tapping the spine twice—

That was some kind of signal, but unfortunately she didn’t understand.

“Tonight, the usual place.” His voice was as light as a breath, then he straightened up and continued handing out the remaining books.

Lyra’s brows furrowed.

She leaned close to Freya, her red eyes full of alertness.

“Boss, where is the ‘usual place’ he mentioned?”

Freya opened the book. “I don’t know.”

“Then why did he—”

“Listen to the lecture.”

Lyra pouted, reluctantly flopping back onto the desk.

But she didn’t sleep. She just kept her eyes half-open, staring at Serar’s back like a young wolf watching its prey.

Professor Mabel began the lecture. Today’s topic was the evolution of ancient sealing arts.

Freya’s pen moved quickly across the paper, jotting down every key point.

But her peripheral vision never left the two figures in the front row—

Ross sat straight, his notebook completely blank, not a single word written.

Irina sat diagonally behind him, head down, pen scratching on the paper, that faint smile never fading from her lips.

After class, Freya did not go to the canteen.

She crossed the corridor and went up to the top-floor restricted library archive that was never open to the public.

The door was ajar. There was already someone inside.

Serar stood by the window, his ice-blue hair glowing faintly in the afternoon sunlight.

Hearing footsteps, he turned around.

“You came faster than I expected.”

“What do you want to say?”

Serar looked at her, his deep blue eyes devoid of their usual frivolity.

“You’ve noticed something about the Crown Prince.” It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

Freya didn’t answer. Serar took out a roll of yellowed parchment from his sleeve, unrolled it, and spread it on the table.

On it was drawn a complex magic array, with some ancient runes engraved at the center.

“This is a kind of charm magic recorded in ancient texts.” His voice lowered.

“The caster infuses mana into their words, gradually eroding the target’s will through repeated suggestion.

The affected person doesn’t lose consciousness, nor are they manipulated—

They just slowly forget their own thoughts and then accept everything the caster implants.”

Freya lowered her head, looking at the parchment.

She didn’t recognize those runes, but the principle of that charm magic, she had seen it before—in her previous life.

Back then she didn’t know what it was, she just felt that Ross was listening more and more to Irina, becoming more dependent on her, unable to leave her.

By the time she knew, it was too late for everything.

“Is there a solution?” She asked. Serar was silent for a moment.

“Yes. But the affected person needs to realize something is wrong themselves, they need to want to break free.”

Freya’s fingers slowly tightened.

She remembered Ross’s hollow blue eyes, remembered him standing in the middle of the training ground, mechanically swinging his sword.

He no longer felt that anything was wrong with himself.

“There is another method.” Serar’s voice dropped even lower.

“The caster’s mana forms a connection with the affected person’s spirit. If someone can sever that connection—”

“Will it hurt him?”

Serar was silent for a long time. “Perhaps. But if it’s not severed, he will eventually lose himself completely.”

The room was so quiet that you could hear the wind rustling the leaves outside the window.

Freya stood there, staring at the parchment for a long time.

“Tell me how to do it.”

Serar looked at her, a complex glint flashing in his eyes.

“Are you sure? He has hurt you before, he—”

“He was kind to me when we were children.” Freya cut him off.

“That Ross is worth me saving once.”

Serar was silent for a moment, then nodded. He took out another parchment from his sleeve, this one with an even more complex array and dense annotations.

“This is the counter-spell.

It requires two people to cast simultaneously—

One is responsible for guiding the affected person’s consciousness, the other for severing the connection.

The guide needs to have a strong enough bond with the affected person for him to be willing to follow.”

He paused. “Guide—that’s you. The one to sever the connection—”

“I’ll do it.”

The door was pushed open. Lyra stood at the entrance, her red eyes blazing astonishingly bright.

She didn’t know how long she had been listening, but in those eyes there was none of her usual goofiness—only a heavy, unwavering determination that was impossible to look away from.

“Boss, I’ll sever that connection thing.”

Serar looked at her for a long time. “Are you sure? This spell places a heavy mental burden on the caster—”

“I’m sure.” Lyra walked in and stood beside Freya.

“Anyone who wants to hurt Boss—I won’t let them off.”

Freya looked at her, at those serious, burning red eyes.

She remembered what Lyra had said that night—