Chapter 78
As my father tore off a piece of bread, he gave me a quick glance and slowly began to speak.
“Skipped breakfast again, huh?”
“I just haven’t had much of an appetite lately. But what brings you here at this hour?”
I set my spoon down on the soup the maid had brought.
My father gave a slow chuckle and shrugged his shoulders lazily.
“Seems like the lack of appetite runs in the family. But you really should’ve inherited your mother’s diligence, not something from me.”
“Actually, Mom often skipped breakfast herself because she loved her sleep too much.”
I casually replied while spreading some grape jam on my bread, earning a light laugh in return.
This late-morning meal with my father was peaceful, much like the calm atmosphere of autumn.
“By the way, I’ve been getting updates from Datum. Sounds like the Rippleton matter is wrapping up nicely.”
“It didn’t spread enough to be a big problem, so I was able to take care of it quickly.”
“If things are tough, let me know. I’ll help you.”
“What’s there to be tough about? I just do what I’m told.”
I smiled and took a bite of the bread.
It wasn’t just a matter of following orders, but there was no need to explain everything. It was almost over anyway. Besides, since Datum was reporting to him, there was no point in making him worry.
Nodding slightly, my father suddenly paused and looked at me intently.
I tilted my head, confused by his expression, and his eyes narrowed.
“You’ve lost weight. How did I, as your father, not notice?”
Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he immediately stood up.
“I need to call Datum and have a priest sent for you.”
“It’s fine. Someone already went to get a priest earlier. They’ll be here by lunchtime.”
“…”
My father looked down at me, saying nothing as I reached out to stop him. Then, with a sigh, he sat back down.
He didn’t seem interested in eating anymore. He simply ran a hand slowly through his hair.
“I’m sorry. I should be paying more attention to you…”
With a bitter expression, he stared at his untouched soup for a moment before raising his head.
I gently placed my hand on his, offering a silent reassurance with a small “It’s okay” mouthed from my lips.
My father seemed to bite his lip slightly, as if holding back words, before speaking in a heavy tone.
“On top of it all, it seems like the matter with Bozbourne is weighing on you.”
“…What are you talking about?”
“Did you think I didn’t know? Even if I’m a distant father, I can still tell when my daughter is troubled.”
His quiet voice left me momentarily speechless.
“The Duke of Bozbourne stopped by.”
“He came here? When? And why?”
“It was while you were handling the situation in Rippleton. He showed up without notice and told me not to send you to the Bellieta’s engagement. He claimed there were unpleasant rumors.”
I was already surprised by the news of the Duke’s visit, but to hear he asked them not to send me to the engagement? My brows furrowed as I tried to process everything.
“I should’ve stopped you back then.”
I lifted my gaze, confused by his words.
My father had closed his eyes, his expression heavy.
“When Bozbourne started that dispute over the ownership of Gray Mountain, I never should’ve agreed when you said you could help the family.”
“Father, we had no other choice back then.”
“Yeah, no choice… But seeing you suffer for it even now, I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to keep fighting to the end.”
Selling out my own daughter to save the family…
My father let out a self-deprecating laugh.
“What’s the point of it all…? I talk big about being the head of this family, but I’m just full of words.”
His head swayed slightly with his laughter, his hair occasionally covering his eyes. The usually neat and composed image of him was fading, revealing cracks underneath.
Suddenly, I recalled his face before I died.
He always used to sigh, telling me how sorry he was. He often called himself a failure of a father for not being able to protect me, saying that one day, if I ended up hating him, he’d understand.
“How is she now, Bozbourne’s daughter?”
There was no need for me to answer that. I just smiled softly, and my father sighed again.
I wanted to tell him to stop worrying, especially since he had been sighing so much today. But before I could, he spoke again.
“For the Duke of Bozbourne to come all the way here and ask us not to send you… it means there’s more going on than just some rumors.”
Though we couldn’t know for sure what exactly the Duke was worried about, I agreed with my father. If he’d come in person and made such a request, there was a good chance he’d gone as far as to ban me from entering the venue altogether.
While I was still trying to figure out how to handle this unexpected development, my father’s voice echoed in the room again.
“Sierra, you’ve always been a strong and steadfast child. You never let rumors or idle talk shake you.”
He reached into his coat and slid something toward me.
It was a case containing a ring, the symbol of the head of our family.
“The Duke may have told you not to come, but no one said the heir of the Brilloxen family can’t attend.”
“Father…?”
“Sierra, you will go to the engagement, not as the daughter of Brilloxen, but as the family’s representative. So if anything happens there, it will be on me, not you.”
Smiling gently, he stood up from his seat.
He walked around the table, bent down, and kissed my forehead.
“Whatever happens there, I’ll take full responsibility. Don’t let the Duke’s words sway you. Just do what you want.”
I opened the case to find the family’s crest engraved on the ring and bit my lip.
It was a small ring, but the weight of its meaning was heavy.
“Go. Show them that Brilloxen doesn’t shy away from a fight. And remember…”
With a warm smile, my father softly patted my head.
“Sierra, Brilloxen and I will always be behind you.”
* * *
In the vast halls of the Bozbourne estate, Wilkins Berjet’s hurried footsteps echoed loudly.
He barely acknowledged the servants’ greetings as he passed them in a rush.
“Is something the matter?”
The servants whispered to one another as they watched him speed off like the wind.
Ignoring their curious glances, Wilkins pressed on.
After a long walk, he finally arrived just in time, exhaling a deep sigh before opening the distinctively colored door.
The room beyond was just as unique as the door. Other than a standard desk and bookshelves, various flasks and experimental tools were scattered around.
There was even a cabinet with jars containing what appeared to be floating eyeballs, though it was impossible to tell if they were real or fake.
Wilkins approached the room’s occupant slowly.
Even as he drew near, the person’s busy hands didn’t stop moving.
Looking down at the small figure, Wilkins cleared his throat.
“Master.”
Despite his soft call, the hands kept working.
Used to being ignored, Wilkins tried again.
“Master Medea. It’s been two days since the Duke has been asking for you. Are you going to keep staying here?”
Once again, there was no response, and Wilkins swallowed back a sigh.
Had she grown deaf with age, or had she simply forgotten how to talk?
Wilkins stared blankly at the top of his master’s head, knowing he’d never get a proper response when calling out. The only sounds in the brief silence were soft groans and the scratching of a pen on paper.
Even though his words were being ignored, Wilkins knew that if he waited, he’d eventually get an answer. Sure enough, after a moment, the top of the head tilted slightly to the side, and the pen rolled off the desk.
Finally, it’s over!
With a look of relief, Wilkins opened his mouth to speak.
“Master—”
“You distracted me with your constant babbling, and now I’ve lost the brilliant solution I had. How are you going to make up for that, you useless sea cucumber?”
“…”
His jaw dropped at the harsh words from his indifferent master, who had just insulted him by calling him a sea cucumber.
Wilkins felt like his reputation was plummeting lower and lower by the day. But knowing he couldn’t just freeze up forever, he composed himself and spoke again.
“…His Grace is asking for you.”
“Did you really come all the way here just to tell me something so trivial? If you have nothing better to do, go fetch another formula into that thick skull of yours, you blockhead.”
Even as her small hand waved him away dismissively, Wilkins didn’t retreat.
Once upon a time, the Blue Mountains, known as the sanctuary for wizards, had fallen, and the Magic Society was left without leadership. Magic research required immense funding, which relied on sponsorship and support.
In this chaos, someone had managed to bring together the scattered wizards: Ezekiel Ross, the Great Sage who had dominated an era. Nations and organizations all clamored to recruit him, but he only obeyed one person’s orders.
That person was the little girl in front of him, with her long red hair loosely tied back—Medea Rodis, Ezekiel Ross’s master.
“Master, His Grace seems quite serious this time. On top of that, there are rumors that Bozbourne will be cutting the research funding soon. If that happens, you won’t be able to continue deciphering Polorn’s magical text like you’ve always wanted.”
For Medea, who had lived three times the lifespan of an ordinary human, the only thing that mattered was decoding that magic text.
Polorn was the one who had laid the foundation for modern magic. His fifteen volumes of work had been partially deciphered over the past 400 years, but the final volume remained untouched.
Medea had invested everything on deciphering that final book.
“You know it requires more than just writing down formulas. You need experiments and research. One experiment alone can burn through the cost of a castle. The only one who can sponsor your work right now is the Duke of Bozbourne.”
“So you’re telling me I should act like some obedient puppy and go running just because that fool of a duke calls for me?”
Medea, clearly irritated, pointed her small, chubby finger straight at Wilkins’ face.
“The reason my research is making no progress is because my so-called student is too busy chasing money instead of doing his studies, isn’t it?”
“How is this my fault?! I’ve only been trying to secure the funds so you can focus on your research, Master!”
“You should have stuffed that thick skull of yours with knowledge instead of gold! If I’m struggling, it’s because my apprentice is a complete idiot!”
“Th-that’s not my fault! It’s because you’re a monster! No one else on this continent can even attempt to decipher the formulas in that last book but you, Master! If you’re blaming me for that, then…”
“Enough. I don’t want to catch your stupidity just by listening to you, so get out before I do.”
“Stupidity?”
“An idiot, that’s what you are.”
There were only two people in the world who had ever been accepted as apprentices by Medea, whom every magician revered.
Wilkins took pride in the fact that he and the Great Sage Ezekiel Ross were fellow disciples. But that pride meant nothing in front of Medea.
Wilkins clutched his stomach, feeling the familiar burn of his acid reflux flaring up again, probably brought on by the stress.
