Chapter 235: No Effect

Diane’s warmth extended far beyond that brief meeting—she had prepared an array of fruits and snacks for Ronin, and even went so far as to inquire specifically about his tastes for lunch, crafting a meal just for him.

In that hazy moment, she seemed less like a stepmother and more like a biological mother.

No, perhaps even more so—even when Bretton returned from outside, Diane might not have shown such fervent affection.

With Bretton, she was more demanding, more encouraging, pushing him to devote every moment to cultivation, to strengthen himself as swiftly as possible, until he became a knight capable of standing alone.

Yet the more intensely she lavished this attention upon Ronin, the more cautious he became.

Regardless of her motives, caution was never a mistake.

After sampling some fruit and ordering dishes, Ronin finally escaped Diane’s overwhelming warmth and walked alone toward the back courtyard.

“Master Ronin, you’ve finally arrived!”

Upon hearing the guard’s report, Old Steward Most had immediately informed Rulans. The marquis, rarely one to show delight, now wore a rare smile.

“It’s been a long time, Most. How is my grandfather?”

“Fine, fine, everything is fine!”

Most could have been lying—or telling the truth; it was impossible to tell. “When the master received your letter and learned you would return for your birthday, he was overjoyed. He’s been speaking of you constantly.”

His words conjured in Ronin’s mind the image of an elderly man, alone in the countryside, waiting for his children to come home. But Rulans was no such man.

Though this was the marquis’s daily residence, the furnishings and scenery here seemed unchanged, frozen in time.

Under Most’s guidance, Ronin soon reached Rulans’s study. The old man sat upon a sofa, resting.

He was dressed formally, his vitality seemingly intact—but when Ronin saw his grandfather’s face, he was stunned.

Rulans had lost so much weight he was nearly skin and bone. His hair was entirely gray-white, his eye sockets deeply sunken.

“Grandfather, how are you?” Ronin asked, voice thick with concern. “Why have you grown so thin?”

Rulans lifted his hand slightly. Most understood at once, bowed deeply, and withdrew from the study, closing the door behind him.

“The side effects of Soul-Draining Surge are like this,” Rulans said with a faint smile. “After a violent use, the backlash grows stronger, until equilibrium is restored.”

“Don’t worry—it’s just that I’ve lost a bit of weight.”

He studied Ronin from head to toe, then gave a slight nod. “You’ve grown taller. More mature. How is the development of the Northern U District?”

Ronin pulled from his robe a scroll inscribed with a purification spell.

“Grandfather, I acquired several scrolls of light-element purification magic. Do you think they might help?”

“Purification scrolls are not easy to come by. You must have paid dearly.”

Rulans took the scroll, unrolled it briefly, then tucked it away.

“Alas, you’ve spent so much—and yet, I’m sorry to say, it has no effect whatsoever on the Soul-Draining Surge.”

“None at all?”

Ronin asked instinctively, but the expression on Rulans’s face told him the answer before it was spoken.

The old man confirmed his suspicion.

“I heard of fourth-rank light-element purification magic when I was young. Light-element mages are rare, but scattered across the entire continent of Orland, they still exist. Back then, through connections, I found a grand light-element mage who personally cast the purification spell. It made my body feel comfortable—but it did nothing to the Surge.”

Of course. Rulans had spared no cost, exhausted every connection, in his desperate bid to cure his illness. He would have known of purification magic—and he would have tried it.

“There is one peculiar thing about this magic,” Rulans continued.

“When other spells are channeled into me for healing, they do nothing—worse, they often trigger violent backlash from the Surge. But light-element healing, purification, and certain other magics… they carry no such risk.”

“That’s precisely why Miloslav and Silva insist light-element magic can cure my condition.”

Ronin reluctantly tucked the scroll away.

“Alright. I’ll find a magic that can heal you.”

If he possessed the sixth-rank beast Karlos, his self-preservation would be assured.

Rydar was steadily advancing through his own innate talent. Ronin’s next energy essence would go to Elron, to hasten his rise to eighth-rank archmage.

But judging by Rulans’s current state, Ronin doubted he could endure seven or eight more years, as he had once claimed.

If time ran too short, Ronin might not make it in time.

After all, an eighth-rank archmage was a rarity on this continent. Even with the energy essences gained daily from his sign-in rewards, cultivating such a subordinate carried immense pressure.

He needed to focus more on achievements, accumulate more energy essences.

“The development of the Northern U District is now on a steady course.”

Since healing was impossible, Ronin answered his grandfather’s question.

“But the greatest problem remains the shortage of population.”

“I’ve ordered agents to recruit more free citizens to join the district, easing the pressure—but progress is still slow.”

“Territorial growth is not a matter of days or months,” Rulans advised. “Plan carefully, advance steadily, and exercise patience. A viscount’s domain typically holds fifty to sixty thousand souls—even the prosperous city of Woodhorse exceeds a hundred thousand. These figures are the result of decades of development.”

“Once the economy flourishes, unique characteristics emerge, and your reputation grows, free citizens and knights will naturally flock to your banner.”

“Population—even through natural reproduction—will increase over ten or twenty years, provided the land’s resources and infrastructure improve.”

But this was merely the ordinary path. Ronin needed rapid population growth.

To wait ten or twenty years? Not only was Ronin unwilling to wait—but Rulans would never live to see it.

Yet Ronin listened carefully to his grandfather’s counsel.

“Grandfather, you mentioned uniqueness just now. This time, I brought you something unique from the Northern U District.”

“Oh?”

Rulans smiled. “Not more silk garments, I hope?”

He had loved that scarf so much last time.

“No. The Northern U District’s specialties are a bit more than you realize.”

He took a wooden box from a nearby guard, placed it on the table, and slowly opened it.

Inside, straw leaves cushioned the center, where rested a pure white porcelain bowl.

“What is this?”

Rulans gently lifted the bowl from the box, eyes wide with astonishment. “How could something be this exquisite? Is this pottery?”