Chapter 104
“I think you are a little drunk, Father. How about we wrap this up?” Kestian said, turning his back on Winston as if nothing were wrong, motioning for me to follow with a casual, “Come on, let’s go.”
“Who’s drunk? Me?” Winston replied, enunciating his words clearly, as if to prove his point.
Kestian ignored him, lightly urging me to get up. Once I stood, Aden followed suit.
“Well then, Father, we’ll take our leave now. Please, rest well.”
“That brat?” Winston muttered, watching Kestian bow with a twitch in the corner of his mouth.
Now stuck with the image of a drunk father, Winston looked confused and could only stare at us as we left the room.
Before stepping out, I gave Winston a final bow and followed the others outside.
As soon as the door closed, Kestian let out a satisfied sigh, as if relieved.
‘Is this really okay?’ I thought, glancing at Kestian. Was it fine to treat the head of a Duke’s family like this?
Sensing my stare, Kestian gave a small laugh and gestured towards the opposite direction.
“His work’s been piling up since a guest arrived. He used it as an excuse to step out, so now it’s all backed up.”
“Your Grace, I’ll be heading back inside,” someone said, as people holding stacks of documents filed back into the room, just as Kestian had predicted.
“It’s a common occurrence, don’t worry about it,” Kestian added.
This wasn’t exactly what I expected from the Palieva family.
I awkwardly glanced back at the now-closed door.
“…But, is the Duke really drunk?”
Kestian, who had been about to walk off, suddenly stopped and turned his head with a vague smirk.
“Probably.”
So, no, then.
I watched Kestian’s back as he marched ahead, urging me to follow. I glanced at Aden, who didn’t seem bothered at all, his expression unchanged.
‘Is it just me? Am I being too conservative?’ Everyone else seemed totally fine, but here I was, overthinking it.
A line from a book I once read popped into my head: ‘If everyone else is crazy and you’re the only one sane, then you’re the real crazy one.’
“Aden, am I being too uptight?”
Aden just gave me a calm look before staring ahead. “Let’s go.”
“Aden!”
I hurried after him, his silence leaving me no choice but to follow along.
***
The Crimson Goddess’s Tear.
A legendary gem that countless mages longed to possess.
It’s said to be an endless source of magic, capable of storing over hundreds of spells.
If you could get your hands on it, you’d become an unbeatable mage.
“Who’s spouting such nonsense?” Medea said, lounging lazily as she flicked the paper in her hand.
Wilkins, who had been dragged out of bed and still wasn’t fully awake, squinted at the paper she was holding.
‘What’s that old hag up to now?’
Sighing, Wilkins reached for the paper. After scanning the contents with bleary eyes, he spoke up.
“It’s a typical story that people obsessed with legends fall for. They’ve got no skill, hate hard work, and only dream of shortcuts…”
“Did I ask for your opinion, you idiot?”
“…”
Wilkins winced at the harsh criticism, feeling more and more humiliated with each passing day. He swallowed his irritation with a cough as Medea turned her attention back to the paper, squinting at the text.
“A source of magic… magical engravings…” she mumbled.
Wilkins watched Medea, wondering what was going through her mind this time. ‘She’s not losing it, is she? She’s well over two hundred years old… maybe dementia’s setting in.’
“Master, shouldn’t we focus on what Miss Sierra asked for instead of chasing fairy tales? It’s been a while since she made her request,” Wilkins suggested.
Medea gave him a sideways glance, then smirked.
“A disciple who only cares about using his master for his own benefit. The world’s really gone downhill, huh? Tsk, tsk.”
Wilkins grimaced, knowing the lecture was coming. ‘Back in my day…’ Medea began.
“Are you talking about the Moon’s Blessing, the legendary gem Ezekiel Ross was after?” Wilkins cut her off, tired of her rambling.
Medea glared at him for a moment before slumping back into her oversized chair.
“That idiot wouldn’t shut up about it. I told him over and over that it didn’t exist, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“And that’s why he left you to go search for it, right?”
Medea waved her hand dismissively, clearly done with the subject.
To her, Ezekiel Ross was a symbol of both brilliance and frustration.
A genius with extraordinary talent and intellect.
Ezekiel Ross’s flashes of brilliance outshone any other mage Medea had ever seen.
She had secretly thought that when she retired, Ezekiel would take her place.
But then, her promising student had become obsessed with some ridiculous legend, abandoned his studies, and vanished like he was running away.
That’s why Medea now referred to Ezekiel Ross not by name, but as “that idiot.”
“All these stories—they’re just the same old legends, aren’t they?” Wilkins said, exasperated.
“That’s exactly what’s strange about it,” Medea replied.
“What’s strange?”
“How many of these kinds of rumors have popped up since that idiot disappeared?”
“Well… yeah, there’s been quite a few.”
It was as if someone had deliberately spread these new legends, and they were quickly making the rounds.
Wilkins, propping up his chubby cheek with one hand, asked, “Are you saying Ezekiel Ross started these rumors?”
“…”
That was a yes.
With a small sigh, Wilkins slid the paper back to Medea. He knew she was still hung up on Ezekiel Ross.
His talent had been one of a kind, a once-in-a-lifetime genius.
Mages pass on all their accumulated knowledge and power to their apprentice before they die, but the apprentice also has to be skilled enough to receive it.
As much as it stung, Wilkins knew Medea was far too powerful, and he was nowhere near her level.
She didn’t want to waste her magic, knowledge, or talent, but more than that, she craved rest.
A mage’s rest wasn’t just about peace—it was about the soul’s rest.
“Master, Ezekiel Ross left you long ago. It’s not right to hold on to a student who’s already gone.”
“…”
Normally, Medea would’ve snapped back with a “What do you know?” but this time she stayed silent.
Sensing the shift, Wilkins took a step back.
“I’m not going to stop you from thinking about him, but first, let’s focus on the task at hand. Like treating Countess Brilloxen’s illness, and Miss Sierra’s reque—”
“Sierra… right.”
“…Master?”
Before Wilkins could finish his lecture, Medea muttered under her breath and climbed down from her chair.
As Wilkins tilted his head in confusion, Medea passed by him, heading straight for the bookshelf.
“Where are you going?” Wilkins asked.
Ignoring him, Medea flicked her fingers, and a book slid out of the tightly packed shelf, landing in her palm. It opened up, revealing symbols related to the problem Sierra had been trying to solve.
Wilkins walked up behind her, peeking at the book. His face twisted in confusion.
“Master, Sierra doesn’t have a natural talent for sensing mana. That’s why she turned down learning magic in the first place, remember?”
“That’s fine. I’ll just fill in what she lacks.”
When you have a brain like Sierra’s, mana wasn’t all that important. Medea smirked and closed the book with a loud thud.
Wilkins, feeling uneasy, looked down at Medea’s round head, worrying about what she might be plotting next.
‘What crazy plan is she cooking up now?’
As Wilkins squinted at her, Medea turned to him and said, “You’re right. We need to take care of business first.”
“Suddenly?”
“What? You don’t like that?”
“No, it’s not that… but you know how they say when people suddenly change, they die—ugh!”
With a flick of her finger, Wilkins doubled over, clutching his stomach in pain.
Medea looked down at him with pity.
‘This guy just doesn’t learn.’
Waving the book in her hand, Medea smirked and returned to her desk, picking up a pen.
“We need to get through this quickly. Bring me the sorted papers. I want everything done before Sierra gets back.”
‘So that when she returns, I can teach her magic in peace,’ Medea thought to herself, a sly grin spreading across her face as she scribbled away.
Wilkins, still rubbing his aching stomach, stared at Medea’s chubby cheeks.
‘Who would believe there’s a 200-year-old woman inside that tiny, cute body?’
“What are you standing around for? Get moving!”
Wilkins sighed deeply. “I’m going…”
For some reason, he was starting to worry about Sierra.
***
The black knight moved.
It plunged deep into enemy territory, positioning itself where it couldn’t be captured.
Its prey, the white rook and bishop, had no choice but to hold their breath and wait for their fate to be decided by the hands controlling them.
Soon, the hand reached down, sacrificing the rook and sparing the bishop.
The knight moved in on its prey, the rook.
“Wow, Sierra, I didn’t think you had such a cruel streak,”
came a voice from across the board.
