Chapter Fifty-eight: Who Is This Woman!?

The three of them had originally planned to take the carriage back to the imperial capital, but upon seeing how impossibly dilapidated the vehicle was, they immediately abandoned the idea. Yet, just as they were reconsidering their options, that very carriage rolled up and stopped right in front of them, as if by fate.

As they drew closer, they realized that the lame horse was not as emaciated as it had first appeared. Though somewhat smaller than an ordinary steed, it bore a peculiar, sinewy grace. Its hind leg was indeed lame, but it moved with surprising lightness, lacking any awkwardness. Its eyes were as clear as spring water, and when it noticed the trio, it seemed a bit timid, shrinking its neck and casting a beseeching glance at its master, almost as if asking for help, and let out a sharp, high-pitched squeal.

Yes, a squeal—it actually made a sound more like a squeak than a neigh.

But could a horse truly make such a sound?

Following the horse’s gaze, the three shifted their attention to its owner. The figure was swathed in a voluminous gray robe that concealed every inch of skin, topped with an absurdly oversized hat that shrouded the face entirely. Lounging sideways atop the carriage’s wooden planks, one hand propped under the brim, the other tucked into the robe, clasping an ornate, slender pipe from which tendrils of rich, blue smoke curled lazily.

In the land of Arcane Six, tobacco was an extravagant luxury, costing a small fortune. None of the three—least of all Veil—could imagine someone who traveled in such a decrepit carriage could afford to indulge in it. Yet the owner’s practiced manner revealed the habits of a seasoned smoker. Clearly, there was more to this mysterious traveler than their unassuming appearance suggested.

Moreover, what most piqued their wariness was the boldness with which this carriage’s owner had dared to traverse the dense forest alone. This fact alone put the three on high alert.

Easter, without a flicker of expression, stepped protectively in front of Charlesburg, his gaze sharpening with every passing moment. At that instant, the figure lounging atop the carriage stirred, and with practiced ease, tapped the pipe against the wooden edge.

“Well, well! Isn’t this the chubby fellow from House Charles?” the figure remarked, withdrawing the pipe and tugging the hat further down. The voice was laced with amusement—and, remarkably, carried a strangely alluring, almost sultry quality.

It was a woman! The carriage’s owner was, in fact, a woman!

“How dare you!”

At the sound of the woman’s irreverent address, Easter’s loyalty flared into anger. Without a second thought, he rolled up his sleeves, ready to drag the insolent woman off the carriage. But Charlesburg interceded hastily, blocking his path. “Wait, Easter!”

“My lord?” Easter, stopped in his tracks, looked puzzled and uncertain, but he obeyed, stepping dutifully back behind Charlesburg.

“And you are…?” Charlesburg asked tentatively, though he had already guessed the woman’s identity, uncertain as he was.

“It’s me, Count…” The woman shook out her sleeve, and a slender, pale hand emerged, two fingers lifting the brim of her hat to reveal half her face.

Though only half her face was visible, her beauty was unforgettable—skin as soft as lamb’s fat, a delicate, heart-shaped face, and beneath a high, elegant nose, a hint of crimson lips peeking out. The rest was hidden beneath the hat, her eyes concealed, but even that fleeting glimpse was enough to set a man’s imagination aflame.

“It’s… it’s you?!” Charlesburg recoiled in shock, stumbling back two steps. Had Easter not been behind him, he might have collapsed on the spot.

“How are you here?!” Overcome with emotion, the flesh of Charlesburg’s cheeks quivered uncontrollably. He tried to raise a trembling finger at the woman, but halfway there, he jerked his hand back as if burned.

“Hm?” The woman’s exclamation was strange, yet her voice was beguiling, like a melody one could drown in. She pulled her hat back down, raised her long hand, and tapped the now-cold pipe at the edge of the wooden plank.

“Why am I here? Oh, Charlesburg, you really are a heartless man…” she sighed, her tone thick with mock sorrow, like a wife abandoned by her husband. With a casual snap of her fingers, a ball of flame suddenly appeared at her fingertip, swirling playfully before darting into the bowl of her pipe. The tobacco flared to life. She drew a deep breath, exhaling a plume of blue smoke.

At this, Veil’s eyes flashed with sudden realization. This woman was a mage! And not just any mage, but one of considerable power.

She hadn’t used a staff, nor incanted a spell, and despite Veil’s proximity, he could sense not the faintest ripple of magical energy from her. That meant her power was at least that of a Seventh-Order Archmage or higher. In the Vera Empire, only two mages of such rank existed: Triss Myer Prosis, a Ninth-Order Archmage, and Macro Jack, an Eighth-Order Archmage.

“So, is she Triss Myer Prosis, or Macro Jack?” Veil wondered silently, his eyes narrowing. He had never met either of the legendary archmages and could not determine which of them this woman might be. If she was Triss, all might be well; but if she was Macro Jack, matters could be far more complicated.

After all, the one who had commissioned the Mage’s Guild to protect Charlesburg was none other than Macro Jack. Veil did not believe Macro Jack would be ignorant of the guild’s true strength. Knowing there was danger, she had not accompanied Semili and the others, but now, as the affair neared its conclusion, she appeared here at this particular moment. Was this not far too much of a coincidence?