6. Traven
Gophrid had drunk a bit too much wine, and as he stood in the banquet hall, his head felt fuzzy. It wasn't quite a hangover, but an unpleasant dullness weighed on his body. Leaving the hall in that state, he thought a stroll through the gardens might clear his mind. He stepped out the door and into the corridor when he spotted a maid walking ahead of him.
The maid was utterly ordinary. She looked like any estate servant—barely twenty, with a suitably slender build. She must have come straight from her chores; her apron was tied on, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and she walked with light steps. The corridor was brightly lit by magical lamps even at this late hour, and at its end stood the back door leading to the gardens, flanked by the servants' staircase.
She's heading for the servants' stairs, he thought, trailing at a distance in the same direction. But as he watched her retreating figure, Gophrid's eyes narrowed. Something nagged at him. There, on the inside of her wrist beneath the rolled-up sleeve, was something that caught his attention.
Her slender, pale inner wrist bore a large, dark spot that stood out starkly with every movement of her arm as she walked. At first, he dismissed it as just a mole. But then, as she swung her arm back while striding, it came into sharp focus—and an image flashed vividly in his mind, overlaying it perfectly.
A black half-moon inside a circular border. It wasn't a mole. It was a tattoo. The mark branded permanently on goods from Stunel after rendering them infertile forever.
These days, with the empire's administrative grip tightening, human trafficking was banned, and such practices had mostly vanished. But just three years ago, Stunel still accepted special custom orders. They'd tailor every detail to a single client's specifications and hand over permanent ownership. Of course, they came at a steep price, but there were always those who spared no expense for pleasure.
Especially the ones processed with magic. Despite the shortened lifespan from the magic's toll, they fetched prices rivaling a mansion in Leysha's Side Park—the world's priciest real estate—and sold like hotcakes. No new ones had been produced lately, so this one had to be at least two or three years old. If it had undergone magical processing, its lifespan was nearing its end. Typically, they lasted three to five years. Unless the owner was a mage themselves, the relentless mental constriction of the magic would wear down the body until it couldn't endure.
Gophrid's scrutiny didn't last long. The maid reached the corridor's end, turned toward the servants' stairs, and climbed up. He soon arrived at the back door himself and stared up at the staircase where she'd vanished.
It wasn't surprising to find a Stunel product in the Traven count's household. For some, pursuing lust, gluttony, and honor—desires and pleasures—was life's goal, its entirety. The infertility mark suggested a male user. But according to what he knew, Count Traven was surely...
As midnight gave way to the early hours of dawn, the banquet hall stood nearly empty, the party concluded. Servants on the night shift bustled about, tidying inside and out with efficient hands. Most guests had retired to their rooms. Kylie, yawning repeatedly after fulfilling her duties as lady of the house, was heading to her private quarters on the second floor when—
"Miss."
Meredis approached—the woman who had been Kylie's governess in childhood and now managed the Traven count's estate on the western continent.
"Yes? Meredis."
Meredis's neatly pinned-up hair, now graying with age in her middle years, drew a tender smile to Kylie's lips.
Meredis glanced warily at the servants focused on cleaning and organizing. At her subtle nod, Kylie slipped out of the hall, down the corridor, and into the quiet study.
"What is it?"
"You arrived with Sir Kingston this visit, so I haven't had the chance until now."
Meredis spoke in her usual emotionless, businesslike tone. Kylie nodded, accustomed to it.
"It was an unplanned coincidence. I even got to ride on that famous Kingston ducal clipper."
Kylie grinned at her. A week earlier, on her way back after requesting leave from the imperial guard, she'd run into Sir Kingston chatting with the crown prince at the palace. After a proper bow and sharing her vacation plans out of courtesy, the crown prince perked up. Sir Kingston mentioned needing to inspect a western continent business he'd acquired earlier that year, and the prince jokingly—but commandingly—urged Gophrid to take the renowned Kingston clipper with him. Gophrid reluctantly agreed on the spot. The prince laughed heartily, telling Kylie to share her impressions upon return.
The Kingston ducal family owned Bluebay Shipyard, builders of swift clippers crossing the western continent. Rumors swirled in the palace about their private vessels. This year, Bluebay had unveiled a new model, drawing even the crown prince's keen interest. It halved the ten-day one-way journey to five days, but unproven stability, its small size, and abysmal fuel efficiency from massive magic crystals made commercialization impossible. Instead, it was reserved as the family's showpiece. Kylie had lucked into a ride.
During the voyage with Gophrid, she'd mentioned her family's annual western continent highlight, the Jump Watching festival. He showed interest, so she invited him on the spot—and he accepted readily.
"I'm glad. You seem to be enjoying yourself, miss."
"Of course—I'm always trying to live enjoyably. But what's this about?"
"Well..."
Meredis, whom Kylie had once teasingly called the "ice witch" as a child, hesitated awkwardly. Kylie assumed it was about that.
"...it's nearing the end of its lifespan. It's acting on its own more, wandering the estate."
"Can't we just order another from Stunel like before?"
Meredis shook her head at Kylie's words.
"The madam replied that they no longer produce that kind."
"What? What did Stunel say?"
"No more orders. They can buy through channels, train to a reasonable level, but no magic. Their mage passed away at an advanced age."
"Train?"
"Yes."
Kylie furrowed her brow. How could mere training imprint the exact same gestures, mannerisms, and expressions as her own? Even Meredis looked troubled relaying it. After a long pause, Kylie spoke irritably.
"Fine. Have it join the hunt just in case. Set up a meeting with the madam through your channels. This vacation might drag on. I'll contact the palace."
Meredis bowed politely and left the study. Kylie gazed out at the garden beyond—shrouded in thick predawn darkness, its shapes faintly outlined by magical lamps, unlike the brighter gardens with their winery and walkways. She let out a deep sigh laced with complicated emotions.
Even the Elsk hunt that afternoon was headache enough, and now this chronic issue flared up. Her vacation was doomed to fly by in chaos.