As Iver was immersed in sorrow and anger, he suddenly heard a knock on the study door.
An old voice with an elven lilt drifted leisurely and clearly from outside the study: "Young Master Iver, a guest is here to see you."
The voice was so familiar to Iver, yet after so long without hearing it, it now seemed somewhat strange.
It belonged to Oswald, the Elf Butler who had watched over Iver as he grew up.
Ever since Oswald had gone to the Theocracy to track down old James, he had never returned to Avalon.
When Oswald had left, Iver had still been a frail youth whose life was threatened by a Second Level Demon Scholar and who had to travel in a wheelchair. Oswald had also been deeply worried that people from Noble Red would ambush Iver.
But now, Iver had become Avalon's most powerful minister beneath only one person... He had even dismantled Noble Red completely. He had personally killed its leader, destroying both body and soul.
At that moment, Iver suddenly found himself missing Oswald.
He picked up a towel and wiped his face clean, sniffed, and cleared his throat. His eyes were still slightly red, but his emotions had stabilized once more.
Iver opened the study door and nodded politely. "Mr. Oswald."
Standing before him was that old butler, withered as a wolf.
At nearly two meters tall, he was actually considered somewhat short by Pure-Blood Elf standards. To humans, however, he was like a slender specter, radiating an oppressive presence.
Oswald clasped his hands behind his back, the deep wrinkles on his face as pronounced as tree bark. Even at such an advanced age, his back showed not the slightest trace of stooping. It stood straight and unyielding, just like his pride.
His sharp,