Chapter 98: An Uneasy Alliance
Nestled at the foot of the Tritus Mountains, the village of Poshan was encircled by rugged peaks and dense forests, making it nearly inaccessible except by land. Aracila and Damian, abandoning their initial plan to travel by airship, opted instead for horses and carriages. Even at a relentless pace, the journey to Poshan would take several days. The expedition force resolved to press on with a grueling march, allowing only a single rest stop along the way.
While the mages rode entirely within the carriages, the knights split their numbers, half in carriages and half on horseback. The horses flanked the carriages in a protective formation, incRudyng those carrying the mages.
“What was the commander thinking, agreeing to a joint operation with the mage tower? This is maddening,” one knight grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. His comrades nodded in silent agreement. Ever since the Johnny Pattinson incident, tensions between the knights and the mages had grown painfully strained. The bad blood was especially thick between the Red Hawk Knights and the mage tower. Though the matter had been settled as Johnny Pattinson’s fault, with Aracila and Damian uncovering the truth together, an uneasy residue lingered. Unlike Aracila and Damian, who had managed to clear the air between them, the two groups hadn’t found such resolution.
“Will we even be able to work with those mages?” one knight muttered.
“As long as they don’t drag us down,” another added.
“Exactly. I’m not here to clean up after them.”
“But the real worry is Lady Vandemir, isn’t it? She wouldn’t dare interfere with the commander again, would she?”
The knights were deep in their gossip, their voices carrying over the rhythmic clatter of hooves, when a carriage window beside them flew open with a bang.
“Excuse me, but I’ve had just about enough of this nonsense,” a voice snapped. It was none other than Sally, poking her head out the window. She and Rudy had joined Aracila for this western beast-slaying expedition. Sally, like Aracila, had a knack for offensive magic, while Rudy excelled in defensive spells. Though Aracila had urged them to avoid clashing with the knights, Sally could no longer hold her tongue after overhearing their remarks.
“We’re not here to hold you back, and neither is my senior. In fact, she’s the strongest one here,” Sally shot back, her tone sharp and haughty. The knights, caught off guard, faltered momentarily before bristling at her final claim.
“Hey, you must be mistaken,” one knight retorted, riding closest to the carriage. It was, coincidentally, the same knight who’d started the conversation. “The strongest one here is our commander. Don’t you know he’s the youngest sword master in history?”
Sally didn’t back down. “My senior was the youngest ever to join the mage tower. She earned four stars at a record-breaking age and even attends the executive council.”
“Oh, please!” the knight scoffed. “Our commander’s achievements go far beyond that. Three years ago, at the southern coast, he single-handedly took down half the sea beasts wreaking havoc.”
“But last year, during the beast extermination, it was my senior who saved the day, wasn’t it? She swept through those creatures and earned first-class honors.”
Sparks flew as the knight and Sally locked eyes, each refusing to yield. Fueled by pride and loyalty to their respective leaders, they dove headfirst into a heated war of words.
“Our commander is recognized by the royal court itself. If it came to a real fight, the gap in skill would be laughable,” the knight declared.
“Oh, really? Because my senior already bested him indirectly at the hunting festival. And she’s been honored by the royal court too, you know.”
“Public support overwhelmingly favors our commander. He’s admired by men and women alike.”
“Popularity doesn’t matter. My senior is the most beautiful woman in the empire, but she wins purely on skill, not charm.”
Their argument grew increasingly childish, spiraling into boasts about how many admirers trailed Damian before his marriage or how Aracila was an idol to the younger women at the mage tower. The commotion spread, drawing attention from others in the caravan.
At the head of the procession, near the carriage carrying Damian and Aracila, Isaac, one of the knights, noticed the growing clamor. Slipping away quietly, he rode toward the disturbance, only to find one of his subordinates bickering with a female mage. His brow furrowed in disapproval as he approached to intervene before things escalated further.
“Why don’t we settle this by seeing who can slay more beasts this time?” Sally challenged, her voice brimming with defiance.
“You think I’d back down from that? Bring it on,” the knight shot back.
Just as Sally looked ready to climb out of the carriage and the knight seemed about to tumble off his horse, Isaac rode up between them.
“Logan, what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“V-Vice Commander,” Logan stammered, his face paling at the sight of Isaac’s stern expression.
“Didn’t the commander explicitly tell you not to pick fights with the mages?” Isaac’s voice was icy.
“…I’m sorry, sir,” Logan mumbled.
“Explain yourself. Why are you fighting?”
Logan hung his head, unable to respond. He knew he’d let his mouth run and had no excuse. Meanwhile, Sally, her eyes darting about, seized the opportunity to speak up.
“This knight was badmouthing the mages and my senior, Aracila, and I caught him,” she said smugly.
“I wasn’t badmouthing!” Logan protested, waving his hands frantically. But Isaac’s expression had already turned cold.
“Get to the back of the line, Logan,” he ordered.
“Vice Commander, I—”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Defeated, Logan turned his horse around, his shoulders slumped as he rode off. Isaac cast a cool glance toward the carriage window, where Sally was grinning with smug satisfaction. He let out a faint sigh.
“I apologize on behalf of my subordinate’s careless words,” he said. “I’m Isaac Wind, vice commander of the Red Hawk Knights. May I have your name?”
“I’m Sally, from Aracila’s research team,” she replied, her tone bold. “No need for formalities.”
By omitting her surname, Sally was subtly admitting her commoner status, and she braced herself slightly, as if expecting judgment. But Isaac, who had plenty of commoner knights under his command, had no intention of looking down on her for it.
“Miss Sally, if any of my men step out of line again, come to me directly,” Isaac said, his voice soft as he gazed down into Sally’s pale green eyes, which glimmered like tender spring leaves. “And don’t go picking reckless fights like that.”
Sally blinked rapidly a few times before responding with bold confidence. “I appreciate the concern, but it wasn’t reckless. I would’ve won, you know.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Well, I’ll head back in now,” Sally continued, unfazed. “My friend keeps tugging at my sleeve.”
Unable to resist Rudy’s urgent whispers to step back from the window for safety, Sally gave a polite nod and closed the curtain. As Isaac watched her through the narrow gap in the fabric, exchanging words with the male mage riding with her, a thought crossed his mind: Soft as she looks, she’s got surprising spirit. No wonder she’s Aracila’s direct apprentice.
***
The expedition halted briefly in a small village to regroup and rest. Aracila stepped out of her carriage, stretching her arms wide. After hours of sitting, her body felt stiff and heavy.
Where’s Damian? she wondered. He had been riding in the same carriage with her earlier but had dismounted partway through to switch to horseback.
Scanning the surroundings, she spotted Isaac and approached him. “Sir Wind, do you know where Damian is?”
“The commander’s over there, by that cart,” Isaac replied, pointing to a large supply wagon parked beneath a tree.
“Thank you,” Aracila said warmly.
“You’re welcome. Oh, and—” Isaac started, as if remembering something, but Aracila had already turned and was striding toward the wagon, oblivious to his attempt to call her back.
Scratching the back of his head, Isaac muttered under his breath, “Well… they’re married, so it’s probably fine.”
Unhearing, Aracila approached the wagon with purposeful steps. The large, sturdy cart, big enough for a grown man to stand upright in, was draped with heavy cloth to shield its contents.
“Damian, are you in there?” she called.
There was no reply, but faint sounds of movement filtered through the fabric walls. Assuming he was likely inspecting supplies, Aracila didn’t hesitate. She pulled back the entrance flap and stepped inside.
But Damian wasn’t checking supplies.
He stood there, shirtless, his upper body bare save for a shirt clutched in one hand, caught mid-change. His physique was a study in disciplined strength—lean, tightly woven muscles without an ounce of excess. It was the kind of body people might call sculpted, like a statue carved by a master. Yet the scars crisscrossing his skin—jagged marks on his back, shoulders, and sides—told a different story, one of a man who had endured countless battles. Some scars were likely from wars or beast hunts, but others, Aracila suspected, were traces of the assassins sent relentlessly by the ducal family.
So many scars… she thought, her gaze lingering on his form longer than intended. Then her eyes met his.
A brief silence hung between them.
“…Oh, I’m so sorry,” Aracila stammered, her cheeks flushing as she hurriedly turned and stumbled out of the wagon. Had she known he was changing, she never would’ve barged in.
Why didn’t Sir Wind warn me? she thought, mentally blaming Isaac as she paced around the wagon, embarrassment prickling at her.
Moments later, Damian emerged, fully dressed, though his appearance was slightly disheveled. “My lady, it’s fine now,” he said calmly.
“I’m really sorry, Damian,” Aracila said, her voice earnest. “I had no idea you were changing.”
“It’s alright,” he reassured her. “But why were you looking for me?”
Her hesitation was brief, a flicker of awkwardness crossing her face. “I just… wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Since the moment they’d set out, Aracila had been on edge, her senses sharpened by the ever-present fear of some unknown threat to Damian’s life. The moment they’d stopped, she’d sought him out, worried he might have been injured while riding.
Damian let out a soft, incredulous chuckle at her mother-henning. “My lady, you don’t need to worry so much. I’m perfectly capable of staying vigilant.”
“I know, I know,” she conceded, though her tone betrayed her lingering unease. “But when we set out again, ride in the carriage with me, alright?”
The thought of him being out of her sight gnawed at her. Damian opened his mouth, ready to brush off her concern as excessive, but then he caught the faint anxiety in her expression. With a small nod, he relented. “Very well.”
It wasn’t a difficult request, and he had no desire to make Aracila worry unnecessarily. Her face brightened at his agreement, a spark of relief in her eyes.
As he escorted her back to their carriage, Aracila was practically buoyant. But once the door closed, leaving them alone inside, a new awareness crept in. She tried to focus on her book, but her gaze kept drifting to Damian. Perhaps because he’d rushed to dress after her unexpected intrusion, he looked less polished than usual. His shirt was unbuttoned down to the third clasp, and his tie hung loose, almost carelessly.
The sight, for reasons she couldn’t quite pinpoint, unsettled her. Setting her book down, she gestured to him. “Damian, come here a moment.”
He leaned toward her without hesitation. Aracila reached out, her fingers deftly fastening his shirt buttons. As she moved to adjust his haphazardly knotted tie, the carriage hit a rut in the road, lurching violently.
Damian pitched forward, and Aracila was thrown back. When the jolt subsided, she found Damian bracing himself against the wall behind her, his arms caging her to prevent a collision. In the process, she’d ended up trapped between his arms, still clutching his tie, her face inches from his.
His face… it’s so close, she thought, her breath catching as their eyes locked.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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