Chapter 15: Wedding Preparations (6)
The guild hired by Duke Vandermir was notorious for its high success rate in underhanded dealings.
They were a group of people who had no qualms about taking on disgraceful tasks—so long as the money was good.
And for the right price, they wouldn’t hesitate to attack a noble lady from a prestigious family.
Since the mission carried a high level of risk, the Duke paid them a hefty sum and issued a simple order:
“Injure her, by any means necessary. Enough to keep her immobilized for a while.”
Taking into account that their target was a mage, the guild dispatched five mercenaries—an ample number, in their opinion.
“How formidable could a mage obsessed with research possibly be? She must be frail and weak. And on top of that, she’s a woman—this should be easy.”
They crafted a scheme to make it appear as if Damian had sent for her.
Luring Aracila into a carriage alone, they took her to a secluded location.
This way, it would seem as though she had gotten injured while going to meet her fiancé—plenty of potential to sow discord between them later.
The five mercenaries, disguised as a coachman and servants, surrounded the carriage, ensuring she had no chance to escape.
Yet, despite their expectations, the carriage remained eerily silent.
There was no movement, no sound—no indication that anyone inside was reacting.
One mercenary pressed his ear against the door, frowning in suspicion.
“What’s going on? Is she even in there? Why isn’t there any response?”
“Maybe she fell asleep?”
Another mercenary clenched his fist and pounded on the door hard enough to break it down.
Still, there was no answer.
“Think she’s just frozen in fear?”
“Pfft! Wouldn’t be surprising. Her portrait made her look like a dainty noble lady.”
“Let’s just open the door and drag her out. We’re wearing enchanted armor—there’s nothing to worry about.”
They were clad in absurdly expensive armor designed to block magical attacks.
It was excessive, considering their target was just a delicate young lady, but even if she did fight back, they wouldn’t be harmed.
The mercenary who had knocked on the door reached for the handle, ready to enter alone and pull her out.
“Breaking a single leg and getting paid millions of gold? What a steal.”
He sneered, chuckling under his breath.
For someone who had taken assassination contracts before, this job was laughably easy.
“Let’s wrap this up quickly and—”
WHAM.
“ARGH!”
The moment he stepped into the carriage, something struck him.
His body flew back violently, rolling across the ground.
His supposedly indestructible armor shattered with a loud crack and split into two useless pieces.
“W-what the hell?!”
“Why did you suddenly get thrown like that?!”
The remaining mercenaries panicked.
Their fallen comrade groaned on the ground, unable to regain his senses.
“What is going on…?!”
Just then, the half-closed carriage door swung open with force.
All eyes snapped to the figure emerging from inside.
Dressed in the uniform of the Mage Tower, adorned with four shining star-shaped badges on her chest, Aracila stepped out, scanning the mercenaries with an amused smile.
“Your employer must be an idiot. They sent you to attack me wearing such pathetic armor. Or did they just completely underestimate me?”
In truth, the armor they wore was incredibly well-crafted.
But Aracila’s magic was overwhelming enough to tear through it as if it were nothing.
Sweeping her gaze over their pale, dumbstruck faces, she scoffed.
She had been through situations like this more times than she could count.
People always made the same mistake.
They dismissed her because she was a female mage.
Her achievements as a magician were overshadowed by her striking appearance and unconventional behavior.
People focused only on those superficial things, never paying attention to Aracila Hugo, the mage.
That is—until they faced her power firsthand.
Then, and only then, did they finally understand—
Why Aracila Hugo was being considered the next Master of the Mage Tower.
“I’ll give you one chance. Kneel before me right now and confess who sent you. If you do, I’ll be merciful.”
Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin, exuding effortless authority.
The mercenaries hesitated under the weight of her presence.
Their instincts screamed at them—warning them of imminent danger.
Sweat beaded on their foreheads.
Yet, surrendering wasn’t an option.
The Duke had paid them far too much for this job.
And their pride as mercenaries wouldn’t let them back down so easily.
“Attack her!”
One of them shouted, unsheathing his sword.
With a roar, the men charged.
Aracila clicked her tongue.
“Why is it that people never take the chances they’re given?”
She clasped her hands together in prayer-like fashion and murmured,
“O divine one, I send you more foolish lambs today.”
A rich, violet energy surged around her.
Typically, magical energy was white.
But for those with immense talent, their power manifested in unique hues.
And Aracila’s deep purple mana was unrivaled within the Mage Tower.
“Argh!”
“Gah!”
Like autumn leaves caught in a storm, the mercenaries were sent flying, crashing into the ground or vanishing into the trees.
A raging force surrounded her, forming an impenetrable barrier that none of them could breach.
She stood in the center, untouched and unfazed, effortlessly dismantling her enemies one by one.
Until only one remained.
She ceased her attacks, binding the last man with chains of glowing violet energy.
“Mmph! Mmmph!”
He tried to bite down on his tongue, attempting to kill himself, but failed.
The magical bindings wrapped tightly around his throat, rendering him powerless.
Aracila sauntered forward and leaned in, her voice as sweet as honey.
“You can’t die. I need you alive as evidence.”
“…!”
The man inhaled sharply, his terrified gaze reflected in her cold, smiling eyes.
“Now then, if you want to stay in one piece, why don’t you start by telling me who sent you?”
Damian was not surprised when the guest who arrived at dusk turned out to be Aracila.
They had an appointment today, and she had already informed him she would be late.
What did surprise him, however, was that she had dragged a man along and tossed him at his feet.
“Who is this man?”
“A gift from your family before the wedding.”
Completely at ease, Aracila casually flicked the collar of her uniform as she settled onto the sofa.
Now that he looked closer, her outfit was slightly disheveled.
Damian glanced between the bound, gagged man on the floor and Aracila, who was calmly running a hand through her hair.
He quickly pieced the situation together.
So, the Vandermir family had gone so far as to send assassins—or something close to it—after Aracila.
Of course, they wouldn’t dare outright kill the daughter of the Hugo family.
Their aim must have been to intimidate her or injure her just enough to prevent the wedding from taking place.
“I apologize. Were you hurt anywhere?”
Damian ran a hand over his face, his voice low.
She had agreed to marry him, and this was what she got in return.
There was a real chance she might change her mind this time.
To prevent that, he figured an apology was the best place to start.
“I’m fine. But why are you the one apologizing? Did you send him?”
“Do I look like I’ve lost my mind? I care more about your safety than you do yourself.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Damian examined her closely.
Despite the dangerous situation she had just faced, she looked unscathed—aside from her slightly tousled clothes.
There was no sign of exhaustion, no hint of fear, and most importantly, no indication that she had lost her resolve to marry him.
Damian called for Isaac to take the captured man away, then sat down across from her.
“I have to ask—has this incident made you reconsider marrying me?”
“Not at all. If anything, I’m even more determined. The harder it is to pick a flower, the more determined one becomes to do so.”
Her lips curved into a playful smile, but her sapphire-like eyes glowed with unwavering conviction.
Suddenly finding himself cast in the role of the “flower to be picked,” Damian frowned slightly.
“Why are you so determined to marry me?”
“I already told you. I want to stop my sister from marrying the Vandermir heir.”
“You’re this persistent over that?”
“‘That’? This is about my family.”
A deep, unreadable emotion flickered across her delicate features—one Damian could never fully understand.
Love. Devotion. Sacrifice.
He would never know what it felt like to love his family.
For him, family was something to kill, not protect.
“I won’t let my sister marry Lord Vandermir and live an unhappy life.”
“Even I think marrying my brother would be a miserable fate, but you seem especially convinced.”
Oscar Vandermir was infamous for never leaving a woman untouched in the ducal territory.
His reputation as a scoundrel had likely reached the social circles of the capital.
Still, was that enough for Aracila to be this desperate?
There were plenty of noble couples who maintained hollow marriages, living separate lives and having affairs.
Was she simply too unaccustomed to misfortune, having grown up in a harmonious household?
Or was there something more?
“You speak as if your sister would die if she married my brother.”
Was she hiding something even more serious?
Aracila met his gaze, her expression calm.
Her eyes were vast and deep, like an ocean with no visible bottom.
“That possibility isn’t entirely out of the question. Lord Vandermir strikes me as the kind of man who might attempt treason at some point in his life.”
Damian let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“That cowardly, small-minded man?”
“You don’t understand. It’s always those types who plot things from the shadows. That’s precisely why I chose to marry you.”
“…You won’t regret this?”
This would be the last time he asked her opinion.
From this point on, Damian intended to push the marriage through no matter what.
He wouldn’t leave her any room to change her mind.
“No. This is for my family—there’s nothing to regret. I won’t back out, so don’t worry.”
Aracila smiled as if she could read his exact concerns.
Her voice was clear and steady, carrying an inexplicable sense of trustworthiness.
Not that Damian was naive enough to fully trust her.
“Understood. I’ll take care of today’s mess. This won’t happen again.”
“Good. The wedding is soon—I’d rather not deal with any more nonsense.”
She checked the time.
Since she had taken a roundabout route to get here, it was already evening.
It didn’t seem likely they’d be able to go over the prenuptial agreement today.
“We’ll discuss the contract terms tomorrow.”
“Agreed.”
As she stood, Damian followed her to the door, opening it for her himself.
Rather than offering a handshake, she simply gave him a small nod.
“I’ll be going, then.”
Just as she was about to step out, Damian suddenly blocked her path.
Startled, she looked up—only to find his face much closer than expected.
…What was with this sudden face attack?
Before she could react, Damian meticulously scanned her with his eyes before finally stepping aside.
“I was just checking to make sure you weren’t injured.”
“…”
“Take care on your way back.”
He bowed politely.
Aracila let out a small, amused huff.
“I could have injuries hidden under my clothes, you know.”
“That, I can’t check for you. If you find any injuries at home, feel free to send me the bill for treatment.”
“No need.”
She wasn’t hurt in the slightest.
Her slightly rumpled clothes were simply the result of the wind generated by her own magic.
With a brief nod, she turned and strode away.
Once she was out of sight, Damian called for Isaac again.
The cleanup needed to be quick and thorough.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
