Chapter 198
Chapter 198
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 198
Chapter Title: Chapter 11. The Mage of Mages (18)
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While Lucilla was off at that evening dinner where it wasn't clear if she was a guest or on a blind date, our party feasted freely and rested, shaking off the fatigue from our travels.
Ottoman occasionally shot me glances that said, "Is it really okay for us to be enjoying ourselves like this without her?"
What could I do? Right now, there was nothing left to do but wait.
‘By the terms of our contract, that little squirt Lucilla will do everything in her power to help us out. Sure, it's attention she never asked for, but as a merchant, she knows full well you row when the tide comes in. Now's the time to let all the focus stay on her.’
Before entering the castle, we'd talked things over in the carriage about what kind of ongoing relationship our group and Lucilla's merchant caravan would have. I coveted her talents, along with the connections and knowledge she'd built up from her repeated imperial trade runs. She, in turn, coveted my unassailable position in the religious world and the brute force that could bulldoze through any obstacle if push came to shove.
With both sides wanting something from the other, we'd managed to hash out a pretty smooth agreement.
Truth be told, the contract itself wasn't anything overly elaborate.
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For the duration of this journey, Lucilla Aedran and her merchant caravan will provide the Hero Professor's party with every ounce of material and moral support needed to achieve their goal—doing so with absolutely no holding back, as judged by the eyes of the elf Yggdrasil herself.
In exchange, the Hero Professor will leverage his authority to publicly declare the Church of Luminance's official endorsement of Lucilla Aedran. At minimum, the archbishop must utter the name "Lucilla Aedran" at least once in an official capacity, and that fact must be formally disseminated throughout high society and the Aedran family.
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Short and sweet, but it covered all the bases. A deal neither side could complain about.
So why had Lucilla ended up discarded like a wild duck egg in the Nakdong River after sealing such a major agreement?
Simple: she had no base of support, no faction of her own. She had the skill to cultivate a tree that grew silver coins, but as a mere tenant farmer, the landowner snatched it all away.
From what I'd gathered, her mother had started as a maid in the Aedran household before catching the family head's eye and becoming his concubine.
While her siblings threw themselves into the succession struggle with full backing from their maternal clans, she'd had to charge in bare-handed.
Given those odds, the fact that she'd bootstrapped her own merchant caravan to cross into the empire, assembled trade goods, and raked in massive profits spoke volumes. With backing on par with her siblings, victory in the family head race wouldn't be some pipe dream.
Which meant Lucilla would bend over backward to uphold her end of the deal with me. Enough to stomach the rumors of "Lucilla, who embarked on a divine pilgrimage"—rumors that might prove utterly irreversible if she didn't seize the moment now.
And what about my side of things?
‘...Truth be told, I don't have the pull to steer the church... but I do know a way to get them sponsoring Lucilla.’
This approach didn't even require much standing in the church hierarchy. All I had to do was prove beyond doubt that backing her would benefit them too.
I might not know jack about most things, but my connection to the archbishop? Top-shelf.
‘It'll be a breeze. Once this job's wrapped, swing by Teldrat, hit up the local Church of Luminance temple with Roman in tow, and give 'em a demo flight of the [Prototype Airship].’
The Church of Luminance could come off as obtuse thanks to their near-fanatical faith, but that was just ignorance talking about religious orders in this era.
Religious groups were groups at the end of the day, and the bigger the group, the wider the reach, the more money they guzzled across the board. Small scale: setting up parishes, training priests, handing out relief in unevangelized lands. Large scale: lobbying high nobles, sniffing out heresy, drilling holy knights to torch villages—and then paying off the fallout.
The Church of Luminance hadn't gotten dragged into wars as a tool for nothing back in the day. Donations alone couldn't keep the lights on, let alone maintain the temples, so they'd tearfully accepted the nobles' overtures.
But.
The archbishop had hauled that war-tool church up to its current unshakeable perch. He'd spun off specialist units from what was once a plain old religious outfit to handle intel and dirty jobs—a man with a downright obsessive knack for results.
The most pious soul alive had rewritten doctrine with his own hands, greenlit massacres, poured his everything into the church's rise.
That mad-level competence was proven fact, so the Professor felt rock-solid confidence.
The instant that airship caught the archbishop's eye, Lucilla would have the full Church of Luminance machine behind her.
‘The Church snaps up enough wheat and barley yearly for civilian relief to rival Teldrat's total output—and that's from the granary heartlands. Snag even ten percent of that contract, and it'd be a win on par with landing army supply deals as a war profiteer.’
We'd struck a fair deal, and both sides were hustling to make good on it.
Maybe that's why the clop of hooves from a four-horse carriage rolling up to the tavern—and the small footsteps hopping down—rang out with such combative edge.
A familiar girl's voice, joined by the knight's voice we'd started getting used to since morning.
The party's attention zeroed in on the man and woman's voices drifting in from outside.
“Lady Lucilla. Let me say it once more: a place this shabby ill suits a lady as beautiful as yourself. Return to the castle even now and—”
“Knight Demicas. Apologies, but I'm a noblewoman and a merchant. A merchant's greatest asset is her people, you know? My companions braved that perilous Blue Line to follow me, and they're putting up in this 'shabby' spot—how could I indulge in lavish dinners, scented bathwater, and feather beds?”
“I... see. A truly wise choice. Forgive the blunder of an unlettered warrior.”
“It's fine, Knight Demicas. In these war-ravaged lands, a man's prime duty is wielding stout arms and charisma to crush threats from beyond the borders and shield the folk within, isn't it? Such trifling lapses in even the sturdiest knights are traditionally... remedied by 'welcoming a wise wife'... or so they say.”
“Th-that... Ahem! Lady, those words—”
“Oh dear, it's gotten so late. A grown man and woman chatting in the street at this hour risks ugly gossip, so I'll head in and rest. It was truly delightful tonight. Good evening!”
“L-Lady Lucilla! Wait—just a moment! If anyone's bold enough to spread tales, I'll string their head from the castle gate myself, so please...!”
Slam!
Screeeeech—clunk!
The knight's piteous, frantic plea chased the door as Lucilla barred it with speed that'd impress a master thief.
“Well now. They say a woman in love only grows more radiant.”
“Hey~ future missus~”
Crunch!
“One more word. And two silvers vanish from my pouch—your share.”
“Two silvers for a no-no? Gold Guide's rep takes a hit.”
“If I could just blind those damn smirking eyes, silver, gold, river rocks—I'd pay it all!”
The honeyed, heart-fluttering lilt from moments ago? Tossed aside. Now Lucilla bared her teeth in a full growl.
The neat dress from the carriage? Gone. She was decked in a lush, flamboyant red gown, kicking off tight little shoes any which way before thudding down at our table.
Man, too cute.
“Tough shift, huh, Lucilla? Nothing drains like noble chit-chat.”
“You bet. Total grind. Wasn't even small talk—it was the whole clan flexing to woo the legendary 'Teldrat courtship dame' I'd only heard whispers of! Spouting family lore and imperial favors before I even touched my soup, and by main course, they were geared for a drawing-room duel tourney... Couldn't flat-out refuse thanks to certain someones! Teasing 'em just enough while tightrope-walking—my gut was in knots!”
She hadn't managed more than a sip of water, she griped, calling over a bowl of meat stew for herself.
‘Hrm. Sly little minx.’
She groused about the ordeal, but the street-side banter made it plain who'd been yanking whose chain.
A 'Teldrat courtship dame' was as good as billboarded to the world: marriage-ready.
From the guy's view, pitching himself beside a ready-to-marry woman for her green light? Fantasizing about the "after"? Human nature.
Into that charged, steamy vibe, she lobs titillating bait like "bathwater" and "feather beds," heaps on "wise" praise, twists it to "wise wives fix that," rattles the straight-laced knight's defenses—and ghosts the guy mid-freakout.
Bet Knight Demicas stood stock-still outside the locked door for ages. Then, heart aflutter, he'd ridden lonely under the moon, streets forlorn.
‘Whew~ crafty. Right—she's high noble stock? Noble diction skill equipped, so fresh academy-grad knights tossed into family drama? Toasted and eaten alive.’
Half the reason academies drill rhetoric: don't get conned like that out in the world.
Slurrrrp! Scrape-scrape-scraaaape!
“Kaaaaah! Finally alive!”
The Professor shook his head at Lucilla guzzling soup, scraping the bowl clean—elegance a million light-years off.
Flipping masks like that at her age? Grown up, she'd have guys bawling.
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“Win?”
“Yep.”
The castle situation? One word summed it up.
“Spilled milk anyway, so I figured max it out. Those 'imperial noble fantasies about Teldrat women'... way loopier than rumors let on. Not mere trophies—they hounded like bard tales: marry me in, territory booms, everything clicks. Obvious what they crave, so I flung concessions left and right... easy pickings, but straight-up creepy.”
Aldrich, who'd listened quietly, spoke up.
“Creepy how?”
“Hmm... obsession territory? Super overt. Vowing separate greets to Father, flinging open the armory to flaunt gleaming armor piles, spears, arrows—'Look how primed we are!' Dinner waltzes piping up like a society ball, sly glances galore, the countess lures me to a cozy parlor for after-tea—'Oops, third wheel in young folks' spot'—dims the lamps, ditches me alone with Demicas!”
Bang!
“...Rude as hell. Had to dust off dusty merchant clan bylaws just to bail from the castle.”
“Fair. Wouldn't you? Noble gossip's one thing—Teldrat ladies? Proven track record every time. Empire's top houses: plenty flipped their fates wedding divine-pilgrim women. Lust-worthy.”
“True that. Take the Glen ducal house, framed for treason—Nadia Glen duchess solo-scoured an imperial library's precedents, proved the verdict bogus. Or the dirt-flat Schwartz baronetcy, clinging to empty castle and scrublands—not even real noble turf anymore. She tracks Arthur Schwartz, muddy with serfs building stockades, spots his genius, begs to wife him, unleashes the hidden prodigy. Now Marquis Schwartz, sword-user factory, courtesy of Niselia Schwartz marchioness. History's stacked with cases.”
“That caliber... rumors ain't hype, huh? Real magic.”
Family-level shove? Totally tracks. Jackpot precedents galore—who wouldn't salivate?
‘Coincidences? Doubt it. World molded by mob-NPC fantasies.’
Maybe started as big-hero myth fluff. But eras stack flukes, stack those "blockbuster wins" Lucilla name-dropped, and boom: folk wisdom cements as [Teldrat bride = jackpot].
Word spreads wildfire among nobles—prime influencers with fat resources: 'Lucilla Aedran's a divine pilgrim dame.'
“...Lucilla. Vizillen house say anything when you bounced?”
“Lemme think... Hit 'em up for rock-zone ferry rental, they go, 'Swing back tomorrow eve, we'll mull it'?”
“Yeah?”
Reeled back to castle. Not casual lunch—dinner invite. Solo again, no group chat...
“...Tomorrow, you and me together. Mage or not, Church's Hero? Border count won't blow that off lightly.”
My face darkened; hers matched, voice dropping low.
“No way... Vizillens get forceful?”
Clocked the vibe before I spelled it—nailed my drift.
“Yeah. So far? Mere bonus spice on your terms. But this? Some might lose it.”
The Professor pictured the city en route. Peaceful-ish, but eerie tension humming—midday streets sparse as ghost towns.
Sword Users patrolling Blue Line depths; border guards thickening near the territory.
‘Mutant hit on empire? Unknown. But they're prepping hard.’
And above all: family head flashing the off-limits armory—bristling with fresh war gear like invasion-ready, hawking "we're set."
‘Local nobles peg Lucilla as success fairy? Spot Schwartz-style potential, figure permission's in reach?’
War drums spell chaos. Chaos eras? Always birth those heaven-defiers.
Border count: territory = emperor's throne. Local lord with ironclad clout.
Maybe war-whiff on the breeze, that freak legend everyone dubs "chance" sans blink—stoked some buried hunger.
Worst-case spitball, sure. Could be doting folks matchmaking second son. Or just a chill clan.
But should that "worst" hit real...
Scraaaape!
“Nope. Gotta meet 'em.”
Lucilla heads back? Might never exit those walls again.
Crack, craaaack!
Professor rose, neck popping murderously.
“Lucilla. Nearby Church temple spot?”
“Y-Yes... Square's inner edge. Why?”
“Snag a priest robe.”
“P-Priest... robe?”
“Yeah. They play serious? I go serious. As Luminance's Hero.”
The Professor bared a savage grin at the faceless Vizillen lord.
As Roharam spake: Bearers of kind light scorn not the meek.
Tyrants preying on folk—man, woman, highborn, low? Death, no exceptions.
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