Chapter 181: One Year Later
The Lester Dukedom wasn’t merely conducting simple transactions with dark mages. They were sponsoring them, developing dark magical artifacts, and running a business selling these cursed items. Despite a lack of notable achievements in their public ventures over the past decade, the family’s wealth had mysteriously ballooned, and now the reason was clear. Thousands had perished because of the dark magical artifacts they peddled, and the damage inflicted on the empire—and even foreign nations—was staggering, as they sold indiscriminately across borders. Yet, leveraging their power and influence, the Lesters had brazenly evaded capture time and again, living in shameless opulence.
Their clandestine operations, conducted with utmost secrecy beneath the surface, were exposed when a dark mage they partnered with began secretly trading with the Dome Merchant Guild. Marquis Grant, while investigating the mage crafting these artifacts, uncovered the damning connection to the Lester Dukedom.
“It all started back then,” Aracila explained. “The two houses grew close from that point. Instead of resorting to blackmail, the Marquis cleverly chose to pull the Lester Dukedom into the Crown Prince’s fold.”
Even so, the Lesters were at the mercy of a fatal weakness. Whatever Marquis Grant demanded, they had no choice but to comply. This dynamic intensified after Damian, while tracking a dark magic bomb, apprehended the mage in question. When the Knights’ Order finished their interrogation and handed the mage over to the authorities, the Lester Dukedom nearly faced exposure—until Frederick intervened to shield them. From then on, the Lesters became the Crown Prince’s right hand, taking on roles previously held by the Grant Marquisate and the Vandermir Dukedom.
“Talk about audacity,” Lucas remarked. “Just buying dark magical artifacts carries harsh penalties, yet they invested in and sold them outright.”
“People always fall to their endless greed,” Aracila replied. “As long as we hold this contract, the Lester Dukedom is nothing more than small fry we can crush anytime.”
Lucas’s lips curled into a sharp, satisfied grin. He had been uneasy about the Lesters becoming a rallying point for Frederick’s supporters, but now it seemed that burden could be lifted. As Aracila finished her account, Lucas spoke up.
“Frederick’s found a new merchant guild to deal with,” he said. “It’s called the Havitz Guild, a new outfit formed earlier this year.”
Though a small-scale guild primarily engaged in foreign trade, the flow of money surrounding them was anything but ordinary. On the surface, they imported everyday goods like food and furniture, but their trading partners were prominent foreign guilds, and the payments were exorbitantly high for the goods exchanged, suggesting vast sums were changing hands.
“My guess,” Lucas continued, “is that their true business is smuggling. They pose as a modest guild trading trivial goods to avoid suspicion.”
“That makes sense,” Aracila agreed. “If they were truly an ordinary guild, the Crown Prince wouldn’t have bothered dealing with them.”
“The problem is, being a new guild, there’s little information floating around,” Lucas said. “Few people know them, and their ties to other guilds aren’t deep.”
He crossed his arms, letting out a low groan. They needed to approach this discreetly to avoid Frederick’s notice, but it wouldn’t be easy. A small guild meant fewer employees, which increased the risk of an infiltrator being discovered. As the two mulled over their dilemma, it was Riley who offered a solution.
“I’ll infiltrate the guild,” Riley declared. “I’ve got connections in the underworld, so it won’t be hard to forge a new identity and get hired as an employee.”
“Hmm, you, Riley?” Aracila asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied him. Riley raised his hand enthusiastically, doubling down on his pitch.
“Disguises and deception are my specialty!” he boasted. “Even if I get caught, I swear I won’t breathe a word about either of you. You can trust me!”
Aracila tilted her head. “But when we first met, you spilled everything the moment I threatened your life.”
“Urk!” Riley clutched his chest as if struck, then rallied desperately. “T-that was because I knew you could help me, Big Sis! For Brady and my comrades’ revenge, I’d never talk, even if it killed me.”
He clenched his fist, his resolve palpable. Back then, if he hadn’t been hunting for the Owl, he wouldn’t have led Aracila to his comrades’ hideout. She gazed at Riley, whose sense of loyalty and camaraderie stood out starkly. He seemed like a decent candidate for the role of spy. Glancing at Lucas, she saw him give a subtle nod of approval. Turning back to Riley’s eager, boyish face, she spoke.
“Alright, we’ll entrust this to you. Infiltrate the guild and dig up records of the Crown Prince’s and Lester Dukedom’s transactions, as well as those of any nobles connected to them.”
“Yes, ma’am! Understood!” Riley replied with fiery determination. Unlike Brady, his identity remained unknown, so there was reason to place faith in him.
Afterward, Aracila and Lucas mapped out their next steps. Their ultimate goal was to expose Frederick’s treason before the Emperor. To do so, they needed to build a coalition of supporters and solidify their influence. Aracila would expand her sway in high society, while Lucas would work the political sphere. One of them found the task ill-suited to their temperament, while the other discovered an unexpected knack for it, but both pressed forward steadily, step by step.
Under the blazing summer sun, when all things pulsed with vibrant life, Aracila hosted weekly tea parties. Backed by the favor of Duchess Keystone and the support of the Hugo Marquisate, her gatherings grew ever more popular, drawing larger crowds with each event.
“Aracila Vandermir, the New Center of High Society?”
So read the headline of a newspaper article, reflecting the rapid expansion of her social circle. Aracila mingled freely, forging connections across houses and winning allies to her side. By the time summer waned, she had become an object of admiration for the young and a figure of bold yet endearing audacity in the eyes of their elders.
As autumn arrived, with crisp skies and trees ablaze in vibrant hues, her life grew even busier. She poured herself into research on truth serums and her training to become the next Master of the Magic Tower. The more she proved her skill and dedication, the more people began to separate her from the scandal her husband had caused.
“Aracila’s Magic Tower will be something to behold,” one remarked. “I almost wish I’d been born a decade later.”
“Let’s follow her example and work hard,” another said. “That way, we’ll become mages we can be proud of.”
The Magic Tower’s internal reputation, which had faltered briefly, now shone brighter than ever, and her truth serum research progressed smoothly. All of this was thanks to Aracila’s relentless efforts behind the scenes.
As time flowed on, winter arrived, the air so cold it seemed to freeze against the skin. Aracila, as mistress of the estate, tended to the servants and maintained the household. The mansion remained pristine, unchanged from the previous year, with no corner neglected or altered.
“Milady, the fireplace in the study has been thoroughly cleaned,” a servant reported. “The training grounds have also been refurbished.”
“Well done,” Aracila replied. “Could you organize the dressing room next? Store the out-of-season clothes in the back and bring out the winter garments.”
Even unused rooms and unworn clothes were kept meticulously clean, prepared for an owner who might return at any moment. She quietly celebrated birthdays—hers, Audrey’s, Colin’s—with modest gatherings, always with the hope that the absent might one day join them.
Thus, Aracila passed the seasons alone in the vast mansion. She had arrived here in the spring of her twenty-first year, and now, she was greeting her twenty-third. Over the changing seasons, she deliberately avoided mentioning Damian in public. Speaking his name deepened her longing, making the pain unbearable. Yet, she never once forgot him.
In the scorching sun, Aracila saw Damian. In the whispering breeze, she felt him. In the snow blanketing the world, she thought of him. He was present in every moment.
She was alone, yet not alone.
Knowing this, in the agonizingly slow passage of time, Aracila held one simple wish: that the coming spring might bring them together again.
And so, a year passed since Damian’s departure.
Isaac ran against the howling wind. The harsh weather tore at his already weathered skin, threatening to split it open, but he didn’t stop.
Nearly slipping on a patch of ice, he caught his balance just in time and bolted into the guardhouse. He took the stairs three at a time.
Thud, thud!
His excited fist pounded the door, and a voice, heavier than a mere knock, echoed in response.
“Come in.”
At the permission from within, Isaac flung the door wide open. Unlike his disheveled hair and flushed face, Damian sat at the desk with composed poise.
Yet, Damian too seemed to be waiting for something, arms crossed, motionless, as if frozen in anticipation.
Their eyes met, and Isaac’s voice burst out, brimming with excitement.
“Commander, the Tribal Alliance has officially sent a surrender document!”
“Did you bring it?”
“Yes, right here!”
Striding boldly toward Damian, Isaac pulled a tightly rolled parchment from his coat. Damian calmly reviewed its contents.
It contained an apology for the border invasion, a plea to end the war, and an earnest request for peaceful reconciliation and agreement.
Every demand from the empire was meticulously addressed, not a single point omitted.
“Well, Commander? Is there anything wrong? Should I go back and get another?”
Isaac asked urgently. Damian exhaled deeply, setting the parchment down without a word.
For the past year, he had thrown himself into battle, body and soul, to force this defeat. Relentless assaults, no compromises—that was the only way to secure a flawless victory.
Now, as the fruits of his labor finally ripened, the corners of Damian’s mouth curved into a faint smile. He turned to his subordinate, who awaited his response with bated breath.
“There’s no issue.”
“Really, sir?! Then we…!”
“Yes, pack your things.”
Before the words fully settled, Isaac let out a sound somewhere between a cheer and a scream. Unable to contain his joy, he rushed out, though he still managed a respectful salute in his haste.
Damian rose from his chair and approached the window. As he opened it, a biting wind rushed in, sharp enough to jolt his senses.
Yes, this is reality, not a dream.
The cold sting confirmed it, and the last trace of lingering unease seemed to drift away with the breeze.
Outside, his soldiers’ triumphant roars rolled like waves. Truth be told, Damian felt the same urge to shout in elation.
Instead, he let out a low chuckle and gazed up at the sky. Today, it was strikingly clear, not a cloud in sight, vivid as someone’s eyes.
“I want to see her soon.”
A soft murmur slipped from his lips. Damian closed the window and began tidying his desk.
The sooner I prepare, the sooner I can leave.
Plucking his pen from the crowded holder, Damian stepped out of the meeting room with a light stride.
The war, which had seemed endless, was finally over. Now, it was time to return to the side of the one he loved.
Aracila’s expression was far from bright as she read the research report. For months now, the development of the truth serum had hit a wall, like a ship snagged on a reef.
They had figured out the proper cultivation and care of the Dilai flower, but every attempt to revive it ended in failure. Even experimenting with similar species yielded no results.
Nothing could replace the Dilai flower, nor could they perfectly replicate it.
“Another failure,” Aracila said with a sigh, closing the report. They had imported a foreign plant renowned for effects similar to the Dilai flower, pinning high hopes on this attempt.
But the results were, as ever, disappointing. Sally, Rudy, and Eric wore identically grim expressions.
“Please, just one! Even a single seedling or seed of the Dilai flower would do. That’s all we need…”
Sally muttered, clutching her head. The flower’s complete extinction—no specimens to be found—had stalled their research at its final stage.
“Hasn’t someone hidden one away? If we searched the entire empire, surely we’d find at least one person with something.”
“Honestly, it’s been extinct for so long, there’s probably nothing left but dust,” Rudy replied, his tired face shadowed with dark circles. He had stayed up until dawn, grappling with yet another failed experiment, only to give up at last.
“Even dust would be something. A root fragment could be enough to bring it back.”
“You’re right. So, where do we start looking? Dilai flowers thrive in cold climates, so maybe the northern regions?”
“Yeah, I think starting in the coldest parts of the north would be best.”
As Eric joined in, tossing around impractical ideas, Aracila lightly tapped the table.
“Everyone, snap out of it. We can’t let a few failures crush us like this. Take a few days to clear your heads, rest, and then we’ll start again.”
Her sharp yet soothing words coaxed faint nods from the three, who slowly regained their resolve.
In front of them, Aracila maintained a calm, composed facade, but once she was alone in the carriage after work, she let out a heavy, worried sigh.
This is driving me crazy. Over a year of research, and we’re still stuck…
She lightly bumped her head against the carriage wall.
If the truth serum research succeeded, it would be used to expose Frederick’s rebellion.
Of course, they were already gathering undeniable evidence without it, but you never know. A trump card could be crucial.
Yet, with the research hitting a dead end, her frustration was boundless.
Nothing’s going right. And to top it off, no news from Damian—it’s driving me up the wall.
Reports about the northern war had vanished a month ago. Upon investigation, she learned the border was under strict information control.
Not knowing the war’s progress felt closer to bad news than good, and lately, Aracila had been losing sleep over it.
…Maybe I should take the kids’ and Roberts’ suggestion and use the Dilai flower search as an excuse to go north?
The thought tempted her briefly, but she quickly dismissed it. If she were caught snooping around the north, it could cause trouble for Damian.
As the carriage neared the estate, Aracila composed herself. She refused to let anyone see her exhaustion or worry.
Then, a silhouette caught her eye, standing in front of the estate.
…What? Audrey?
There was Audrey, unusually waiting outside, waving her hand urgently.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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