When the early morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the study, Yarvis was brought in. The scholar-like Gabellan looked far more haggard than Paul remembered, and the dark circles beneath his eyes showed that he had not been able to rest properly these past few days.
"Lord Greiman!"
When he saw Paul behind the desk, Yarvis's voice trembled slightly. He hurried forward, then suddenly stopped.
Paul rose and walked around the desk. "Sorry for the trouble."
He noticed the dark circles under Yarvis's eyes and felt somewhat apologetic.
Although the guards who had been present at the time could testify on his behalf, Yarvis had still been placed under house arrest. Investigators from the Department of Intelligence had repeatedly questioned the old scholar, trying to obtain some clue about the lord's disappearance from him.
But what could he have known?
Yarvis shook his head and gave a bitter laugh. "Your subordinates were only carrying out their duties. After all, that day..." His voice fell, clearly recalling the nightmare brought by that silver-haired female assassin.
Paul gestured for him to sit, personally poured him a cup of tea, and pushed it over. The tea gently rippled in the cup, reflecting Yarvis's weary yet relieved face.
Yarvis pushed up his slipping glasses, the morning sunlight from outside reflecting off the lenses.
"Lord!" His voice carried the scholarly curiosity unique to academics. "Could you tell me what exactly happened that day? How did you and the other ladies suddenly disappear?"
Paul lifted his teacup, the rising steam blurring his features.
"It was a protective spell," he said softly, "or rather, a passive Secret Art. In times of crisis, it transported those affected into a special mental space."
"A mental space?" Yarvis unconsciously rubbed his fingers against the teacup. Although he had