“Lord Bishop, what about my mission?”
Wendy leaned forward, a look of earnest anticipation in her eyes.
She felt that since she had asked Lady Allie to accept such a dangerous task, she ought to take on an equally important mission herself. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair.
She wasn't the type to just talk while letting others take all the risks.
“Uh, your mission...”
Greg's voice faltered slightly.
He hadn't actually given any thought to what he would have Wendy do.
In his eyes, Wendy was around his age but didn't attend any magic academy, so she was likely a non-combatant.
In his original plan, Wendy's job was simply to bring Allie safely to the imperial capital, after which she could retire from the field.
But looking at her earnest eyes now, Greg felt it would be a bit heartless to just tell her she wasn't needed anymore.
He pondered for a moment before speaking slowly, “Then... stay in the imperial capital and do whatever you can.”
“What I can do in the imperial capital...”
Wendy repeated Greg's words in a whisper, her eyes flickering slightly as if turning the phrase over in her mind.
A moment later, as if having reached a decision, she nodded firmly. “Yes, I understand!”
Watching her enthusiastic expression, Greg felt a faint stir of doubt. She didn't 'understand' in the same way Vivian did, did she?
But considering she was his Chief Steward, he figured that wouldn't be the case, so he didn't press further.
Just as Greg finished assigning the tasks, a loud explosion suddenly echoed from outside the window.
Boom!
The sound of the blast came from the street, accompanied by the shattering of glass and the panicked screams of the crowd.
The candlelight in the private room flickered violently, and the cups and plates on the table clinked against one another.
Greg immediately stood up, pushed open the window, and leaned out to look.
Billowing black smoke was rising from a building at the end of the street. Flames danced in the twilight, and several figures clad in black robes were fleeing through the chaos.
“The Demon King Cult again!” Greg frowned. “They really are like persistent ghosts.”
Before he could finish his sentence, a sharp sword aura whistled past the window.
The sword aura, a nearly transparent silver-white, sliced through the night sky, precisely sweeping across the path of the fleeing black-robed figures.
Without a sound or any flashy effects, the fleeing figures collapsed to the ground, dead before they could even scream.
Greg turned his head. Allie was already standing by the window at some point, holding her familiar longsword, its blade shimmering with a faint, cold light.
She sheathed her sword with an effortless motion, as if she had done nothing more than swat a mosquito.
Greg's gaze lingered on her for a moment, inwardly astonished. Allie's strength had clearly increased since the last time they met in the royal capital.
The speed and precision of that sword aura surpassed her previous efforts, and her presence when drawing the blade was far more steady and restrained. Her level had likely reached 70 or higher.
“You seem to have gotten stronger again?” Greg couldn't help but ask.
Allie sheathed her sword and replied casually, “Yes. It's all thanks to those... well, 'food-poisoned' people in the mountains.”
Greg was completely bewildered. “...Food-poisoned?”
Allie didn't offer any further explanation, merely waving her hand. “What, are you scared?”
Greg puffed out his chest. “W-Why would I be scared? Isn't it better for me if you get stronger?!”
Though he was full of questions, he didn't press the matter. In any case, this situation was indeed beneficial to him... well, probably.
Greg glanced outside at the fire, which was gradually being extinguished, and the city guards who were beginning to arrive. Once he was sure the danger had passed, he turned to pick up his coat.
“I'll head back to the Magic Tower first. I still have some things to prepare for the secondary defense.”
Greg said as he slipped on his coat, “Allie, take the map and remember what I said—don't go too deep. Wendy, you go ahead and do as you see fit.”
The two of them nodded in agreement.
Greg left the private room and walked down the alley toward the Magic Tower.
The night breeze brushed against his face, carrying a hint of smoke and chill, which cleared his mind considerably.
He looked up at the sparse starlight in the night sky, silently calculating his next steps—the tournament, the dungeon, the Demon King Cult, the Holy Church of Light, and the Empire...
Every single one of them was like a tightly wound string, and he had to find a balance among them.
...
Late at night, deep within the imperial palace, the atmosphere was entirely different.
This was a luxuriously decorated parlor. The candles on the candelabra were already half-burnt, their wax pooling at the base and casting a warm yellow glow.
The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and cosmetics. Several disheveled women snuggled close to Crown Prince Finn. Some poured him wine, others massaged his shoulders, while one reclined across his lap, letting out a coquettish laugh.
Finn reclined on a soft daybed, a glass of red wine in hand, his face wearing a trace of drunkenness and lazy satisfaction.
Just then, footsteps sounded outside the door, and an armored soldier quickly walked in.
He knelt on one knee with his head bowed, not daring to look at the scene inside the room. In a respectful voice, he reported, “Your Highness, word has come from the city gates. Two very exceptional women have been spotted entering the imperial capital. These are their portraits. If Your Highness pleases, we can send men to bring them in right away.”
Finn raised an eyebrow and reached out to take the two portraits handed over by the soldier.
He unrolled the first one. The woman in the painting wore a sword at her waist, standing tall and proud with a cold, beautiful face. Even in a mere portrait, she was clearly a rare beauty.
Finn's gaze lingered on the portrait for a moment. Licking his lips in satisfaction, his lips curled into a meaningful smile. “This one is indeed excellent...”
He set the first portrait aside and casually unrolled the second one.
The next second, he froze completely.
Although the woman in the painting had dark golden hair, wore round-framed glasses, and had her hair in twin tails—looking entirely different from the figure in his memory—those eyes were ones he would never mistake.
Wendy von Leinfeld.
His sister, who had been missing for half a year, was actually alive—and she had returned.
The color drained from Finn's face instantly, replaced by an expression so dark it was almost monstrous.
He slammed the portrait shut, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip.
Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, the women in the room quickly and tactfully stood up and retreated to the side, not daring to make a sound.
Finn remained silent for a moment, then looked up. In a voice so cold it made one shiver, he told the soldier, “Go. Take some men and capture this woman. Do not draw anyone's attention.”
Terrified by the chill in his voice, the soldier trembled and bowed. “Y-Yes, Your Highness! Right away!”
Just as he was about to stand up and leave, hurried footsteps suddenly echoed from outside.
Another soldier stumbled into the room, collapsing onto his knees with a thud. Gasping for breath, he reported, “Your Highness! Her Highness the Fifth Imperial Princess—she has returned!”
With a sharp clack, the wineglass slipped from Finn's hand and fell onto the carpet, the deep red liquid spreading into a dark stain.
Rate on N.U.
