Chapter 69: The Scribe’s Guidance

When Lumina appeared at the door again, Uriel was in a dangerously comfortable state.

Specifically, he was sprawled face-down on the sofa under a thin, washed-out blanket. A cup of perfectly tempered honey milk sat on the side table. Galatina sat at the other end of the couch, resting his calves on her lap while kneading his muscles.

He had spent the entire morning writing a script.

That was a generous way to put it. He had really just scribbled a few disjointed bullet points in a notebook with handwriting so messy he could not read it himself.

Still, he needed to project the illusion of productivity. Slacking off felt entirely unjustified without a prop.

Lumina was out there running herself ragged with dozens of people searching for Seraphina. As the Scribe, he had to do something. Even if that something was just pretending to do something.

His slacking was not entirely without reason.

Going outside was a tactical nightmare.

Estella was currently roaming the map. His borderline Astral-tier, yuri-obsessed cousin was essentially an aggroed endgame boss, and he had zero intel on her current spawn point.

The Royal Knight Order might be tailing him too. He had bluffed the old knight, but the Commander was not stupid. Letting him walk did not mean they stopped watching.

Running a quick risk assessment, staying home was the optimal play. The knights would not raid a private residence, and Estella would not attack him in broad daylight.

So he lay there with a perfectly clear conscience.

Galatina's fingers moved from his calves to his ankles, squeezing in a slow circle before moving back up. She had made chicken curry and vinegar-braised cabbage for lunch, followed by egg pudding for dessert.

After eating, Uriel had collapsed onto the sofa, feeling exactly like a holiday goose stuffed to the brim with force-fed lore.

"Little Uri." Galatina's voice drifted over from the other end of the couch.

"Yeah."

"Is your back still sore?"

"Much better."

"Then let me massage your shoulders."

Uriel rolled over. Galatina's palms pressed against his shoulder blades, the warmth seeping through his pajamas. She worked the muscles along his spine, layer by layer, applying pressure with terrifyingly perfect precision.

He let out a muffled groan into the cushions, suspended somewhere between comfort and absolute surrender.

This was the maternal event horizon. Once you crossed it, there was no escape.

You could try to say you were fine, but her eyes would make you feel like a war criminal for rejecting her love. You could tell her to rest, but she would just tilt her head and ask if you stopped loving Mommy. There was no winning this encounter.

Uriel abandoned all resistance and sank deeper into the cushions.

Then Galatina dropped a bombshell.

"Little Uri, do you want to take a bath together later? I will scrub your back."

Uriel snapped his head up.

"No. I will wash myself."

"But you used to love it when I bathed you." Galatina's tone carried a hint of manufactured grievance, wrapped in deliberate teasing. "You always demanded a back scrub, and then you would refuse to let go of the towel."

"I was six."

"Does getting older mean you're not my Little Uri anymore?"

Uriel's brain was frantically scrambling for a valid excuse to refuse when the doorbell rang. Two short, sharp bursts.

Only one person in the entire capital rang a doorbell like they were issuing a subpoena.

Galatina stood up and went to the door. Lumina was waiting on the porch.

Her chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm, the specific breathing pattern of someone suppressing the thrill of a completed mission.

Uriel sat up on the sofa. He read Lumina's expression, felt a brief spike of alarm, and immediately suppressed it. That was not the face of a disaster. That was the face of a success.

"Scribe." Lumina stepped into the entryway and gave him a crisp nod. "We have located Seraphina."

Uriel's brain skipped a beat.

Then it kicked into overclock.

Found her? It had been one day.

He had assigned the quest yesterday, and today Lumina was standing in his foyer reporting a clear. The actionable intel he had provided was exactly zero. Actually, zero was flattering. He had fed them a pile of fabricated excuses to mask his own uselessness.

And they had cracked it in twenty-four hours?

He maintained absolute facial neutrality, stood up from the sofa, and shoved his hands into his sweatpants pockets. He strolled toward Lumina at a leisurely pace, buying himself precious processing time.

"Thanks to the Scribe's hint," Lumina added.

Hint?

Uriel began frantically digging through his memory archives.

I leave it to you. That was passing the buck.

The Witch and I are inconveniently positioned. That was an excuse.

Report back when you find her. That was just filler dialogue. Where was the hint?

His expression remained carved from stone, but his pupils contracted by a fraction of a millimeter.

Before he could untangle the logic, Galatina leaned over from behind him. She rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, parked her chin on his collarbone, and spoke with sickeningly soft pride.

"Little Uri is so amazing. I knew you had it all planned out."

No. I didn't. I planned absolutely nothing.

Uriel felt the freight train of misunderstanding barreling down the tracks, and he was standing dead center in his pajamas.

He swallowed the phantom blood rising in his throat and picked up his half-cold honey milk. He took a slow sip, letting the chill slide down his throat to calm his racing thoughts. By the time he lowered the cup, his expression had flawlessly shifted from 'What on earth are you talking about?' to 'I knew that, but I'm testing your comprehension.'

The classic Scribe bluff.

"Tell me, then." He pulled his hands from his pockets, clasped them behind his back, and tilted his chin up. "What exactly did you deduce from my hint?"

Lumina's eyes flared with quiet intensity. This was the moment she had been waiting for.

She stood in the center of the living room, arms resting naturally at her sides, and began her briefing.

"First, the concept of 'invisible.' Yesterday, you stated that your observation abilities could not see Seraphina's location."

Lumina looked up at him, her pale green eyes devoid of hesitation.

"I analyzed the deeper meaning of 'invisible.' If she were above ground, you would have detected her instantly. The inability to see implies she is outside the visible spectrum of the surface. She is underground."

Uriel maintained his hands-behind-back posture and gave a single, measured nod.

...I had no idea 'invisible' meant that. I literally just made it up.

"The problem is that the underground is vast," Lumina continued. "The capital has abandoned mines, old drainage systems, and subterranean warehouses. Dozens of locations. 'Underground' alone was insufficient to pinpoint her."

She paused exactly where the next point needed emphasis.

"I meditated on the matter and recalled a second hint the Scribe provided."

Uriel's back muscles tensed imperceptibly. He waited.

"'The current identity of the Witch and myself.'" Lumina recited it verbatim, before delivering the conclusion that nearly made him choke on his own spit. "You stated that we are currently students at the Royal Capital First Senior Academy. You were implying the location. The First Academy."

The living room went dead silent.

Uriel stood near the window, the gray light casting a sharp shadow across his face. His expression was a mask of perfect, calm. His brow was smooth, his lips relaxed, his eyelids completely still.

Inside, his brain was screaming.

Was that what I meant? No! I meant our student identities made it inconvenient for us to act, so I was dumping the aggro on you! How did that translate into a geographic coordinate? That sentence took three seconds to say. She extracted a grid reference from three seconds of dialogue?

He slowly raised his cup and took another sip.

The milk was cold. Cold enough to numb his tongue. Or maybe that was just the sheer terror of the situation.

Tactical hydration complete, the cup was empty.

He was about to speak and salvage the interaction when Galatina's arm snaked around from the side. She looped her arm around his neck, gently pressed his head into her shoulder, and ruffled his hair with her free hand. The motion was incredibly tender, carrying the faint, clean scent of soap from her morning bath.

"Little Uri knew all along, didn't he?" Her voice floated down from above him. "He had everything arranged. I am so proud."

Uriel's entire face was buried between Galatina's shoulder and her cascade of silver hair.

He did not struggle.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and let the warm, maternal aura wash over him. Then he patted her arm lightly and extracted himself from the soft, inescapable grapple.

He stood straight. He smoothed his messy hair. He picked up the empty cup again with flawless composure.

"Continue," he said.

Lumina did not comment on the maternal display. Once her briefing mode was engaged, no external stimuli could break her focus.

"Based on the Scribe's hints, we narrowed the search to the sub-levels of the First Academy. Half the campus is ruined, but structures like the auditorium and library remain intact. Behind a false wall in the library's basement archive, we found an entrance leading deeper."

She kept her eyes locked on his.

"We descended into a retrofitted abandoned facility. The scale and architecture far exceed a standard dungeon. We found evidence of guard rotations on the perimeter, confirming it is actively used. There is also a tunnel leading directly beneath the main teaching building, likely an escape route originally built by Oswald."

She tilted her head slightly.

"Seraphina is inside. Roughly thirty meters below the surface. The guards operate in three shifts. There are no magical traps on the outer perimeter, but I detected mana fluctuations inside, suggesting a barrier. I saw no insignias of high-ranking cultists. It is a mid-tier stronghold."

Uriel set the empty cup on the table.

A stronghold of this depth, directly beneath the First Academy. Oswald had been the Academy Dean before they exposed him. The question of who built the place answered itself. Hiding in plain sight. The absolute last place anyone would think to search was the scene of a previously solved crime. The Curse Cult was not stupid.

He mentally updated the situation, refusing to let a single muscle in his face twitch. Tina drifted closer again, simply standing by his side. Her passive maternal aura radiated outward, applying a localized comfort buff to everyone in the room.

Everyone except Uriel.

He was being slowly consumed by the paradox of being universally perceived as a tactical genius while barely remembering what he had said yesterday. But the Scribe persona was fully booted up now. It would not shut down on its own.

Lumina watched him. Galatina watched him. Both were waiting for his command. Outside, the rain had started again, the fine droplets tapping against the glass in a steady white noise.

Uriel kept his hands behind his back, staring out at the gray curtain of rain.

"Good work," he said.

But Galatina and Lumina clearly wanted more than a pat on the back. They spoke in perfect unison.

"What are our next orders?"