CHAPTER 343: SERAPHINA BLACKHEART

Miranda’s footsteps echoed sharply across the polished floor, each stride taut with frustration. She moved back and forth in the wide, gleaming office, her fists clenching and unclenching as though she were trying to crush the words that kept slipping past her lips.

"Dark guild... dark guild..." she muttered under her breath, the repetition thick with bitterness.

The room around her was vast, its design sleek and modern.

A tall window stretched across the far wall, flooding the office with pale daylight that reflected off the glass desk in the center.

The desk itself was orderly—no clutter, only neatly stacked documents, a sleek tablet, and a single fountain pen resting precisely parallel to the edge.

Behind it sat a large, high-backed office chair, upholstered in black leather that gleamed faintly under the light.

Seated in that chair was a woman whose very presence seemed to draw the eye.

Her hair was long and wavy, cascading past her shoulders in soft black ripples.

Sharp black eyes, focused and piercing, glinted from beneath carefully arched brows. Her beauty was undeniable—striking, refined, and elegant in a way that radiated quiet authority.

She was dressed in a crisp, corporate outfit: a dark blazer buttoned over a pale silk blouse, the sharp lines of the attire hugging her figure without diminishing her allure. If anything, it heightened it.

Her face bore a huge resemblance to Miranda’s. But where Miranda’s beauty still carried the softness of youth, the woman before her radiated a mature, commanding grace—like a mirror of what Miranda might one day become.

The woman leaned back slightly in the chair, her expression calm though the faint sigh that escaped her lips betrayed her weariness.

She watched Miranda’s restless pacing, already used to her acting like this whenever she was stressed or annoyed.

"Dark guild..." Miranda repeated again, her voice low and tense. Her steps faltered for a moment, her breath hitching as flashes of memory surged before her eyes.

Those men.

Those hooded figures cloaked in shadows.

Even now, the vision of them haunted her—their forms draped in robes that seemed to swallow the very light around them, their faces concealed in darkness. But it wasn’t the hoods or their silence that unsettled her most. It was the aura.

That thick, suffocating aura.

It had oozed from their bodies like smoke, black and choking, oppressive enough to crush the air in her lungs.

The memory alone made her spine stiffen as though the cold of that night were creeping across her skin again. A shiver coursed through her, and she hugged her arms instinctively before forcing her fists tight once more.

Her teeth ground together. "I... passed out," she hissed, the words spat like venom.

Her nails dug into her palms, the shame burning hotter than the fear.

That moment replayed again and again in her mind—the instant her vision darkened, her knees gave way, and consciousness slipped from her grasp.

It was humiliating.

The most embarrassing and insulting part of it all.

Her breath quickened, her fists trembling. She had trained, prepared, strengthened herself for moments like that—and yet, she had collapsed like some fragile child.

Her thoughts snagged suddenly on another image.

Harry.

The face of the Elementalist who had saved her.

Her lips curled into a scowl as she paced faster. The fact that she had needed saving, that she had been left vulnerable enough for someone else to step in—that was unbearable.

The thought of it made her shoulders tense and her fists clench tighter.

’How could I have been so stupid?’ she seethed inwardly. ’How did I let my guard down like that?’

She had let herself get carried away.

She knew it.

That day, instead of keeping her composure, instead of focusing on her surroundings like she should have, she had allowed her pride and emotions to take control.

She had gone head-to-head with Harry, losing herself in the heat of a pointless clash. This stupid act of hers alone had almost costed her life.

Her fists curled tighter, and she shuddered slightly.

’’If not for him...’ she admitted bitterly to herself, her lips barely parting as the thought burned through her, ’I would be dead now...’

Subconsciously, she compared herself to Harry. Every angle of that day, every exchange, every moment—it all led her to the same conclusion.

She came up short.

’Compared to me,’ she thought, her brows furrowing as her chest tightened, ’Harry seemed... wiser. More mature.’

Even when she lashed out over a stupid matter, throwing a tantrum like some spoiled child, he had been calm. Steady.

His sharp gaze had cut through the chaos, and while she was too busy trying to defeat him, he had been the one to uncover the presence of the dark guild members among them.

And then there was his strength.

Miranda swallowed hard, a hollow feeling growing in her chest.

Harry had matched her blow for blow, his power surging like a storm. She had pushed herself against him, yet he had never once seemed overwhelmed.

In fact, she couldn’t shake the doubt growing inside her—doubt that she had always dismissed before.

Was she even stronger than him?

She clenched her fists tighter, the thought leaving her unsettled.

Harry was only supposed to be a Stage Three Elementalist. A step below her, a level of power that should not have been able to contend with her Stage Four. Yet in their fight, titles and rankings had meant nothing.

He had fought her evenly, and worse—he hadn’t looked like he was struggling nearly as much as she had.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, the bitter taste of realization filling her mouth.

Besides, there was something that had been bugging her ever since that tournament. The more she tried piecing things together, the stranger it all felt.

That fight with Harry... something about it had been off.

She clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as she recalled every movement, every exchange.

’Why do I feel that...’ she thought with a frown, her lips tightening, ’...he was holding back against me.’

The realization unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

If he had truly been restraining himself, then what was his actual limit? How much more strength was hidden beneath that calm exterior? The possibility made her perception of him shift into something far stranger, far harder to understand.

The gap between Stage Four and Stage Three wasn’t small. It was wide, a chasm that most could never hope to cross. Stage Four meant refined control, stronger mana channels, a different league entirely.

And yet—Harry had managed to stand his ground against her, even pressing her back at times.

And worse still, he had managed something she could not.

He had sensed that dark guild attack before she even realized it was coming.

Her throat tightened as she released a heavy sigh, the weight of it escaping her lips. Her head tilted slightly downward, her brows furrowing slightly.

’Harry... so strange.’

Her whisper was soft, almost lost in the still air of the room.

And it wasn’t as though the tournament was their first encounter, either.

Her memory pulled her backward, back to Vernil.

She remembered that day clearly now—the day she had stepped into the beast forest, far from her usual grounds.

She had grown tired of the same training grounds, the same repetitive clashes with mana beasts she already knew too well.

Boredom had driven her out, a restless itch that made her want to explore other cities, other territories, to fight different kinds of beasts.

Her expectations, however, had not been met.

That trip hadn’t cured her boredom in the least. Instead, it had led her to him.

Harry.

She remembered the moment she had come across him in that forest.

He was only a Stage One Elementalist back then, but then, the way he fought and the power in each of his spells left an impression on her.

It was something she had never seen before... not from a stage one Elementalist.

But the Harry she had seen then and the one she faced now...

They didn’t even feel like the same person.

His appearance had changed, yes, but it wasn’t just that. His very presence, the aura that clung to him—it was heavier, sharper, more oppressive. It was as though he had walked through a fire that burned away the old him, leaving behind something entirely new.

That was why she hadn’t immediately recognized him.

To her eyes, he had only seemed like another proud Elementalist, the type who strutted around with arrogance but lacked real strength.

However, he proved her wrong.

Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, knuckles paling as her nails bit into her palms.

’The dark guild... that darkness...’ she seethed inwardly, her teeth grinding together. ’I’ll make sure I eradicate it. Every last trace of it.’

Her determination filled the room like a storm cloud, heavy and tense, until a calm voice drifted across the office.

"You should calm down, Miranda."

Her eyes snapped toward the sound, narrowing slightly.

"Sera..." Miranda’s voice was low, tight with restrained frustration. She turned fully now, locking eyes with the woman seated behind the polished desk. "I couldn’t do anything against them."

The woman sitting there radiated authority. Seraphina Blackheart—the current guild master of the Black Dragons Guild, her older sister, and a figure admired even among the remnants of their once-proud family.

Seraphina’s lips curved into the faintest of sighs as she leaned back in her chair. "You’re alive, at least... and that’s enough for me. I’m happy."