Chapter 54
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 54
Chapter Title: Ariete (10)
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Even without hearing the full story straight from her, he could tell. This woman was about to do something truly outrageous. And that outrageous act would be anything but good for the pharmacist.
To avoid picking up any more damning clues, the pharmacist steered the conversation short and to the point. If things meandered, she'd spill even more, and the man's life would be in ever greater peril.
"So, you just need me to mix the aphrodisiac into the medicine?"
"No. I have another favor to ask."
"Um, sorry, but could we stick to the order you just gave me? Actually, can we pretend I never heard that one either?"
Ariete pressed on with her own words, as if the man hadn't spoken at all.
"The powder medicine that Master Richer buys. I need you to tamper with it."
This was veering into far more dangerous territory.
"Please. I can't take that kind of risk."
"Alter the ingredients however you like. Just make sure whoever takes it dies before winter ends. Suicide from depression works. Death from some illness is fine too. Find the best way possible."
"Customer, please. I didn't hear a thing. Nothing at all. I swear."
Anyone with half a brain knew to back out of something like this.
The man pleaded desperately, but his voice shook with raw terror.
The woman before him was a War Mage. A kind, generous patron under normal circumstances—but a remorseless psychopath who'd kill without a second thought if crossed.
Ariete ignored him and said what she'd come to say.
"In exchange, I'll make it worth your while. Generously."
This madwoman had no intention of letting him off the hook. A bottomless dread washed over him, like plummeting into an endless void. It was far too late. He trembled uncontrollably, but Ariete carried on as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"For the next five years, half of every coin I earn as a War Mage. You won't even have to wait for me to come back. Just go to the Mage Legion—they'll hand it over anytime."
For a man staring death in the face, it was a staggering offer that could turn anyone's head.
But he snapped back to reality fast. No sum, however vast, mattered if entanglement meant his doom. You couldn't pack cash for the afterlife.
He stole a glance at Ariete's face. This lunatic had no plans to listen anyway.
Best to play along vaguely, then tip off the authorities—Internal Affairs, the Mage Legion, anyone—to haul this maniac away. Plenty of options.
The man drew a deep breath, steadying himself.
"Y-yes... Understood. I'll do exactly as you ask. Please, just wait a moment. The pills will be ready in no time. The powder can go to Master Richer later, right?"
But a lunatic was a lunatic because she steamrolled ahead with her own script. Ariete didn't answer—instead, she kept talking.
"Part of me wanted to hand over every last coin I'd ever earn. But that's not possible. Sorry. The other half... I need it elsewhere."
"No, no—it's fine. More than enough. Please, just stop."
"That other half goes to assassins. If Mila's still breathing by winter's end, I'll tell them to track you down and kill you instead."
There was no escape now. The instant this madwoman crossed his threshold, it was all over.
The pharmacist fainted dead away right there.
The pharmacist awoke and mechanically prepared the pills for Ariete. Survival left him just one path: tamper with the powder as ordered, killing its consumer—and pray Richer never found out.
One obsession burned in his mind. How to make it look natural? Not too abrupt. No suspicious traces on the corpse.
But his schemes meant nothing to Ariete once she'd stepped outside. She'd accomplished everything she set out to do.
One lie she'd fed him: Come spring, assassins would hunt him down regardless—Mila dead or alive. Fewer tongues wagging about the secret, the better.
Richer gave silent thanks for the rare peace. Against his fears, Ariete never stormed his and Mila's love nest.
Grateful she'd caused no trouble, he even prepared a little gift for her: a pair of small, white earrings.
On the day her vacation ended and they departed, Richer shared the carriage with Ariete. Three days passed uneventfully.
She was far calmer than expected—twitching and trembling now and then, but no sexual advances on him.
She'd finally come to her senses.
'Good girl. You're really trying. I'm proud of you, my disciple.'
Richer broached the subject carefully.
"Something changed in you?"
"Yeah. I've been way too selfish. Seeing how Mila looks at you... I get it now. That's real love."
The answer pleased him so thoroughly he couldn't stifle his grin.
"I see. Lots of reflection, then."
"Locked myself in my room the whole vacation, thinking it over. Was I right all this time? No. I rushed everything. I'm sorry, Master."
Ariete's face brimmed with genuine remorse, eyes glistening with tears.
As one trickled down, Richer pulled a small box from his inner pocket and offered it.
"Well done. Sooner than planned, but no better moment than now. Go on, open it."
Stunned by the unforeseen present, her eyes went wide.
"What's this?"
"You'll see."
She clutched the box in trembling hands. Its small size only heightened her nerves.
Opening it shook her further: a dainty pair of earrings nestled inside.
'Heavens—does this mean Master finally accepts my love?'
Overjoyed, Ariete quaked with happy tears. She'd gotten books or practical items before, but never a pure gift like this.
And the bliss was only set to swell.
"Master... thank you. So much."
Her sobs grew fiercer. Richer gave her a light hug and pat.
"You've been through enough. Keep being my treasured disciple. Thank you."
They were both happy.
Each harboring very different thoughts.
Ariete stayed well-behaved not just on the ride to the front lines, but even after arrival.
She acted every bit the awkward adolescent: holing up in her tent for solitary time, scribbling or reading alone.
If Richer visited, she'd pout and sulk. He beamed constantly, so moved by his reformed disciple.
'Have I been too harsh on Ariete all this time?'
Richer stepped back mentally, reviewing his treatment of her.
He'd hurled his disciple into hell with his own hands—then berated her as she thrashed in the flames, begging for rescue.
What thoughts had burned in Ariete's mind, gazing at her merciless master?
Hadn't she longed to ask why it was so hard to grasp her burning hand?
How much agony had that fragile girl endured to twist into this?
Yet Ariete had shouldered it all and grown alone.
Guilt choked Richer. He wanted to weep—for remorse, for pride.
Their bond warmed to those innocent old days. Resentment thawed from his heart, replaced by sprouting guilt.
The heavier the guilt, the brighter he shone for her. It was the least he could manage.
Winter deepened, yet Ariete dressed lighter. To be precise, form-fitting garb hugged her curves beneath bulky outer layers—outfits fetched from her last leave.
'Dressing up like any other girl... Did she find a boyfriend on vacation? Or take a shine to some soldier?'
Either worked fine. Watching her swap shapeless robes for figure-flattering attire filled Richer with paternal warmth and a twinge of loss—like his raised daughter bringing home a beau.
Bittersweet. But not unwelcome.
After some ten battles, Richer glanced at Ariete and startled himself. Her vibrant energy would've once drawn a fond chuckle—but today, his eyes unwittingly traced her form.
No skin shown, yet her top hugged generous curves; her side-slit skirt bared the swell of her hips.
The other soldiers gawked, jaws slack.
Fine for them. Not for him.
Richer smacked his face hard with his palm three, four times, nursed a flicker of guilt, and retreated to his tent for sleep.
That night, Richer dreamed of Ariete.