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Chapter 69: The Celebration Party

Aracila bent at the waist, aligning her gaze with Travis’s, and flashed a radiant smile. Her eyes curved into soft crescents, her face a vision of beauty, but the glint in her eyes was sharp enough to cut through anyone’s bravado. Travis, caught off guard, opened his mouth to stammer out a feeble excuse.

“Well, I…”

“But you know,” Aracila interrupted, her voice slicing through his words like a blade, “if the Bluebird is a ‘failed’ airship, then what do you call those food storage boxes with their recent malfunctions? Rotten boxes?” Her hand tightened on his shoulder, her grip firm as she cut him off.

Travis’s face twisted in discomfort. Complaints had been piling up about the temperature controls failing, causing food to spoil, and her jab hit a sore spot. His pride stung. “Even so, saying it like that is a bit…”

“A bit much?” Aracila tilted her head, her tone deceptively light. “Maybe you should’ve done a better job keeping your underlings in line. Hitting first and then getting upset when someone hits back? That’s rich.”

Travis’s words died in his throat, his mouth snapping shut. Aracila gazed down at him, her expression unyielding but calm. “And you know what else? I looked into who’s been spreading those ridiculous rumors about the magical airship. Funny thing—the description of the original culprit sounds an awful lot like you.”

Travis flinched, his face paling as he stiffened. He whipped his head to the side, his voice sharp with defiance. “So what? It wasn’t me!”

“Good to hear,” Aracila replied smoothly, her tone laced with menace. “Because if I catch the bastard who started it, I’ll crush every bone in their body.”

“…”

“Glad to know it’s not a fellow mage from the tower. Puts my mind at ease.”

Travis’s face drained of color, now white as a sheet. He knew full well that Aracila’s attack magic could make good on that threat. Though she had her suspicions about him being the source of the rumors, she lacked solid proof. Deciding to wrap things up, she gave his shoulder a couple of firm pats. “Touch my people again, and I won’t let it slide. Keep your underlings in check and fix those storage boxes properly.”

Lifting her gaze, she swept a look over the other mages in the room. One by one, they averted their eyes, staring at the floor. With a faint, mocking chuckle, Aracila turned and walked away.

Travis stood rooted to the spot, his cheeks burning with the humiliation of being thoroughly dressed down by a young female mage. The shame and embarrassment lingered, keeping him there long after she’d gone.

***

While the Bluebird gained fame as a passenger airship, Aracila crafted an additional transport airship for Damian. Dubbed the Redbird, it was his ticket into the transport business. His first target? Naturally, the territories surrounding the Vandemir Duchy.

The Vandemir Duchy sat at the heart of a network of roads connecting multiple territories, reaping exorbitant tolls under the guise of passage fees. Developing alternate routes was impossible—Vandemir had bought up all the nearby land. They’d even stationed knights at key checkpoints to restrict free movement, ensuring the surrounding territories remained under their thumb.

Damian, well aware of this dynamic, offered free airship rides to the neighboring lords under the pretense of promoting his business. On land, every journey required passing through Vandemir’s territory, but the skies were free of their control. The lords of the surrounding territories, thrilled by this newfound freedom, clamored to sign contracts with the magical airship.

“How much? Name your price!”

“The duchy’s been jacking up taxes every year—this is a godsend!”

“We want in on the airship deal too!”

Damian didn’t turn down a single offer, signing contracts with every lord who came to him. For territories short on funds, he even slashed the contract fees. The result? The Vandemir Duchy’s revenue stream from the surrounding territories dried up overnight, and their relationships with those lords crumbled.

For a duchy that had lorded over its neighbors like a king, this was a devastating blow.

And this—cutting the duchy’s stranglehold—was precisely why Damian had wanted a new mode of transport. It was the ultimate goal of his venture.

“Damn it!” roared Duke Vandemir, seething with rage. “That blasted magical airship is costing us a fortune!”

The tolls weren’t just about money—they were a tool to keep the surrounding territories subservient. Without passing through Vandemir’s lands, those territories had no access to the capital or trade with their neighbors, forcing them to bow to the duchy’s demands. But the magical airship changed everything. The lords no longer had to grovel.

Unwilling to sit idly by, Duke Vandemir began scraping for any leverage he could find. “They’re crossing my skies, so they owe me!” he bellowed, grasping at straws. “Flying over my land is still using my territory—pay the toll!”

His demands were absurd, a desperate attempt to strong-arm the neighboring lords. But Damian had already outmaneuvered him, securing a contract with the imperial court itself. The duke’s claim was dismissed outright. If every lord demanded tolls for their airspace, even the emperor’s airships would be subject to fees—a notion the court refused to entertain. Moreover, the empire held a deep-seated belief that the sun-emperor ruled the skies, leaving no room for claims of aerial ownership.

Convinced that Damian had deliberately used the magical airship to rally the surrounding territories and the imperial court against him, Duke Vandemir burned with fury.

“Damian, you wretched little…”

Unable to contain the fury boiling within him, Duke Vandemir summoned Damian to the duchy at once. As it happened, Damian was nearby, finalizing a contract with the last of the neighboring territories. He complied without protest.

Returning to his family’s estate after years away, Damian’s expression was one of indifference. This place, which had brought nothing but torment to him and his mother, held no sentimental value. Even after all this time, stepping through its gates stirred nothing in him. Guided by a servant, he entered the drawing room. The moment the door swung open, a roar erupted.

“Damian, you insolent brat! You deliberately turned the surrounding territories against us, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Damian replied, his tone calm and measured.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” the duke bellowed, his voice thick with indignation. “You think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking around, cozying up to the lords around my duchy?”

The duke huffed and puffed, his temper unleashed more freely here than in the capital. Damian, unfazed, regarded his father with a leisurely gaze and a slight shrug. “I merely made contracts with territories that needed airships. Sounds like you’re letting your paranoia get the better of you. Don’t take it out on me.”

The duke’s blood boiled at Damian’s nonchalant retort, his face flushing with rage. He raised his voice, practically snorting with fury. “You’re deliberately sabotaging your own father’s prospects! Ungrateful wretch! Can you even call yourself human, acting like this?”

“You raised me to be a beast,” Damian shot back coolly. “Why act surprised now?”

“What—what did you say?”

“It must sting, failing to hunt the beast at the hunting festival, doesn’t it?”

Damian’s lips curled into a cold, predatory smile. The duke flinched, instinctively averting his gaze. His son’s amber eyes gleamed with a feral intensity, like those of a wild animal.

“Ahem, ahem! I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the duke muttered, trying to regain his composure.

“Of course you don’t,” Damian replied, his voice dripping with irony. “Keep pretending you don’t.”

While you play ignorant, I’ll have a blade at your throat before you know it. Swallowing the words that rose in his chest, Damian glanced at his pocket watch. His visit was meant to be brief, and he needed to leave soon. Rising from his seat, he fixed his father with a steady gaze.

The duke, unnerved by the physical presence of his grown son, furrowed his brow.

“Don’t feel too wronged,” Damian said, his tone cutting. “The way every lord jumped at the chance to sign with me suggests you haven’t exactly been fostering good relations.”

His lips twitched into a mocking smirk. Even if he’d been the one to approach them, the fact that the lords switched sides without hesitation spoke volumes about the duchy’s tyranny.

“You—you…! Have you said your piece?!” the duke roared, his face crimson as he jabbed a finger in Damian’s direction.

Ignoring his father’s enraged outburst, Damian turned and walked away. The furious shouts continued to echo behind him, but he tuned them out completely. This is only the beginning.

***

A grand party to celebrate the success of the airship venture was held at the Vandemir estate. The venue, with its windows flung open to connect the interior with the sprawling gardens, buzzed with guests. Many had come hoping to secure a connection to the magical airship business, even if they were late to the game.

The crowd craned their necks, eagerly awaiting the appearance of the Vandemir couple. As the saying goes, the stars of the show always arrive last. After a long wait, the couple finally appeared at the top of the grand staircase.

Dressed in matching deep teal, they were a vision, like a painting brought to life. Though both were strikingly attractive, their contrasting auras—her elegance, his commanding presence—made them all the more captivating together.

“They’re both absolutely stunning,” someone whispered, and the sentiment rippled through the crowd. Their appearance was flawless, impossible to fault.

Aracila, her hair tied with a black ribbon adorned with pearls, exuded grace. Damian, with his hair parted and swept to one side, carried an air of quiet authority. As they descended the staircase, a swarm of eager guests rushed to greet them.

“Lady Vandemir, you look breathtaking!”

“Sir, congratulations! Your business acumen matches your swordsmanship!”

The flattery poured in, each guest vying for their favor. Those with their own enterprises were especially desperate to curry favor, hoping to collaborate with the airship venture. Unbeknownst to them, Damian had already chosen his business partners.

Aracila, politely entertaining the crowd’s advances, began to notice something grating.

“Lady Vandemir, how do you maintain such beauty even after marriage? What’s your secret?” a noblewoman asked, her tone syrupy.

“Sir Vandemir, I’ve recently taken an interest in business myself. Perhaps we could have a chat sometime?” a nobleman proposed to Damian.

The pattern was clear: though the airship venture was a joint effort, the guests directed questions about appearance, dresses, and jewelry to Aracila, while business matters were reserved for Damian. Those approaching Aracila were mostly women uninterested in commerce, while men flocked to Damian. It was an irritating distinction, and it began to wear on her.

“My beauty is just something I was born with, so I’ve little to say on that. As for my dress and accessories, I have them made at my usual boutique—find it yourself,” Aracila said, her voice edged with impatience. “Anything else you’d like to discuss?”

Her pointed tone caught the crowd off guard, and they exchanged hesitant glances. After a moment, a noblewoman ventured, “Oh, Lady Vandemir, I’d love to know how you manage to support your husband so well.”

“Exactly!” another chimed in. “Your husband’s success owes much to your devotion, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” a man laughed. “Sir, you’re a lucky man to have such a beautiful and supportive wife!”

The crowd erupted in laughter, but Aracila’s expression turned icy. Is this supposed to be praise?

She hadn’t merely supported Damian—she’d worked alongside him as an equal. The magical airship itself was her creation, built with her two apprentices.

Her contributions didn’t deserve to be reduced to “a wife who supports her husband well.” Yet the guests spoke as if Damian were the heart of the venture and she a mere accessory.

Not only did this diminish her role, but it erased the efforts of her apprentices, who had toiled alongside her. Aracila opened her mouth, ready to set them straight, when—

“Let’s get the facts straight,” Damian interjected, his voice calm but firm. “It’s I who’ve been supporting my wife.”