Just as Ian was happily proceeding with the next step of the Correction Plan.
In the Filimon Territory, inside Otillia’s room.
The morning sunlight streamed through exquisite stained-glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the thick-carpeted sitting room.
Otillia Filimon sat upright before her dressing table, letting her personal maid comb her golden hair, shining like flowing sunlight.
The girl in the mirror had features so exquisite as to be breathtaking, her sapphire eyes calm as water, her skin fairer than snow, and a perfectly poised, flawless, elegant smile gracing her lips.
She wore a pale lavender morning gown, tailored to fit, with tiny pearls adorning the collar and cuffs—never ostentatious, but perfectly highlighting her noble status as the Marquis’ Daughter.
She had just finished her morning Magic Meditation; her breath was even and long, her magic undulations smooth and restrained, displaying excellent self-control.
Everything seemed so perfect, so normal.
“Milady, this morning you need to receive several Tax Officers from within the territory, in the afternoon you’ll be reviewing the quarterly report with the Financial Advisor, and in the evening, you’re invited to Viscountess Herbert’s small music soirée.”
The maid deftly wove her braids as she quietly reported the schedule.
“Mm, all right, I understand.”
Otillia’s voice was soft and melodious, carrying the languid accent unique to nobles. She sounded no different from the bright, lively, and at times a little willful girl she was before, only now there was a hint more composure.
Once the maid fastened the final hair ornament and bowed her way out, the room was left with Otillia alone.
That perfect smile on her lips slowly widened, growing a touch twisted.
Possession hidden in her blue eyes, and the icy paranoia of being abandoned, all surged up at once.
She stood slowly, walking to a nondescript ebony cabinet in the corner of the room, locked with three layers of magic.
Her slender fingers traced the intricate locking patterns, magic flowing in with perfect precision, the latch sliding open without a sound.
Inside the cabinet, there were no jewels, no fine clothes, only a few seemingly ordinary “odds and ends”…………
A feather pen worn down to the nub, a few withered leaves, a Practice Swordsmanship Wristguard with its edges frayed, and even a small lock of nondescript black hair, carefully preserved in a Crystal Bottle.
All these were left by Ian, or things he had once touched.
Some she had collected before, others she had scavenged from his old room after his “disappearance.”
She picked up the Crystal Bottle, unscrewed the cap, brought it close to her nose, and took a deep, almost greedy breath.
It was Ian’s scent!
She closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing an unhealthy red, fingertips whitening from the force of her grip.
In her mind appeared Ian’s always-expressionless face.
“Ian… Ian…”
She murmured, her voice sweet as melting honey, yet as cold as a serpent’s tongue.
“Where are you? Without your scent… I’m suffocating…”
She pressed the Crystal Bottle tightly against her heart, as if that could let her feel his presence.
Then, she walked to the window, opened it, and gazed far into the horizon, as if her eyes could pierce through space itself.
“Connalt Territory, hmm………… Heh, my dear Ian, I will find you no matter what.”
In that moment, Otillia’s blue eyes shone with a terrifying light……
***
Meanwhile, in Erna Village.
Perched in a tree, dazing alongside Shirleyviel, Ian (in black cat form) suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, and his soft black fur instantly puffed up.
The sudden fright made him hiss at the air behind him.
Ian’s odd behavior snapped Shirleyviel out of her reverie; she glanced over, saw the black cat was still there, and soon returned to her world.
After a while, Ian realized that he’d overreacted.
Regaining his graceful cat demeanor, Ian still felt incredibly strange.
Ever since acquiring the Heart of the Platinum Dragon God, these sudden chills would randomly pop up.
In just five days, he’d been startled dozens of times.
It was troubling, but there was absolutely nothing Ian could do—these jolts felt more like a primal warning. He had no idea what caused them.
When he asked the System, its reply was always: [Suggest you wear thermal leggings, dear…]
Fortunately, these warnings usually happened in the morning or at night; they rarely occurred during the day, so they didn’t affect Ian’s daily life much. Plus, fixing Shirleyviel was more important.
Otherwise, Ian would have long ago complained about this “Lakun” knockoff System. What kind of junk is this!
To think an S-rank talent would come with “side effects”!?
***
As for why Ian had become a cat again, and returned to Erna Village—
Let’s rewind to five days ago, when Ian had just arrived at White Maple City.
In those five days, he hadn’t been idle.
The Heart of the Platinum Dragon God granted him incredible magical talent and limitless mana, but actual magic knowledge and skills still had to be learned and mastered on his own.
The System store had some, but the prices were sky-high, and he couldn’t afford them—not to mention he didn’t have any Correction Points.
Thankfully, in this world of sword and magic, Magic Skill Books were not hard to find.
Ian currently had the fifty gold coins Raymond Iron Anvil had given him, minus three months’ worth of daily expenses.
With that, Ian could buy any magic book ranging from first-rank (Magic Apprentice) to third-rank (Intermediate Mage).
He spent ten gold coins on a second-rank Magic Skill Book called Basic Transfiguration.
The book was old, its author obscure, and the content quite elementary, even a little crude.
But it detailed the complete mana models, key maintenance points, and dispelling methods for several types of basic transfiguration—including into small animals. However, all non-Druidic Shapeshifting techniques shared one fatal flaw.
They consumed too much mana, and the forms were all weak little animals—not much use in combat.
But Ian didn’t mind. With the Heart of the Platinum Dragon God, he had infinite mana to burn.
For the next four days, Ian barely left his room, devoting himself wholly to practicing transfiguration.
In just four days, he had brought the art to a very stable level.
So long as he wished, he could maintain his cat form indefinitely, at any time.
On the morning of the fifth day, just as Ian finished a round of practice, the innkeeper knocked on his door.
“Mr. Ian, there’s a gentleman downstairs to see you—he says his name is Raymond.”
“All right, I’ll be down in a minute.”
Ian replied, then glanced at Shirleyviel’s panel on the System:
[Shirleyviel Connalt: Correction Degree 5% (Warning: Target’s current state is extremely unstable, may completely detach from the storyline at any moment.)]
“So it’s as I thought…”
Seeing Shirleyviel’s falling Correction Degree, Ian wasn’t surprised.
After all, Shirleyviel’s “shut-in” tendencies weren’t something that could be fixed so easily.
Which meant Raymond’s purpose for seeking him out was now obvious…