In this world, people like Baroness Catherinne did not sponsor promising children from poor families out of charity.
Families like Catherinne's could later take the youths they sponsored under their protection, employ them as knights, or assign them to other forms of service. That was the simplest and, in truth, the least important reason for such sponsorships.
The real reason lay in how this world functioned. In a world where mages capable of killing thousands with a single spell existed, noble families sponsored talent in order to secure protectors for themselves, or at the very least to ensure that extraordinarily powerful individuals would owe them a favor in the future.
It was also a form of control, a mechanism disguised as tradition, created by the upper class to regulate the lower. If nobility and monarchy still existed in this world, one of the primary reasons was this very system of sponsorship.
In fact, there was a section in the novel that described a vast region with no kingdoms at all, a land ruled by guilds, clans, and tribes. There, only the strong survived, and war was constant. Yet even there, most of the truly powerful eventually claimed territory of their own.
But that was not the point right now.
Right now, the point was Baroness Catherinne Ravencrest, whom I was approaching with measured steps. She was kind and gentle, but she was certainly not foolish. More importantly, she was by no means weak.
If I remembered correctly, the novel described her as a powerful yet peace-oriented elemental mage. And this woman, the first sponsor of Aurelius, the protagonist whose body I now inhabited, would never later emerge to demand repayment for her kindness.
I did not know why she disappeared from the story in its later parts. Perhaps the author had forgotten her, or perhaps she simply never needed help. Either way, after a certain point she appeared very little in the novel, and because of that I lacked detailed knowledge of her personality.
Even so, I needed to find a way to grow closer to her.
That thought formed in my mind not as a goal, but as a conclusion. A relationship forced into existence would backfire, especially with a woman like Catherinne. She was accustomed to discerning the intentions of those around her, the sort who could tell a supplicant from a schemer, admiration from calculation, at a single glance.
So I did not rush.
As I descended from the ramparts and headed toward the garden, I consciously slowed my steps. Not timid enough to seem sneaky, not bold enough to draw immediate attention. As if my presence there were entirely coincidental.
When Catherinne noticed me, she was bent over the roses. Her fingers brushed the soil, her lips murmuring words too quiet to hear. I could not make out the spell, but the vibration of magic lingered in the air. It was silent, yet heavy, a sign of the pure and direct bond an elemental mage formed with nature.
For a moment, I stopped and watched her.
This scene was not in the novel. At this point, Aurelius would have been at the training grounds or engaged in a shallow exchange with some minor character. Which meant that, once again, I was skirting the edges of fate.
I cleared my throat softly. Deliberately.
Catherinne lifted her head. Her gaze was cautious at first, then recognizing, then assessing. Her eyes lingered on me for several seconds. I could feel her weighing my clothes, my posture, how relaxed I held my shoulders, where I fixed my gaze.
"Aurelius," she said at last. Her voice was gentle, but reserved. "Should you not be at the training grounds?"
"I should," I replied honestly. "But I am finished."
She did not smile. She only inclined her head slightly. It felt less like approval and more like taking note.
"You do not come to the garden very often."
"I usually do not," I said calmly. "But this place helps one gather their thoughts. And watching your work is instructive."
This time, when she looked at me, there was a hint of surprise on her face. She did not try to hide it.
"Instructive?" she asked. "Most people simply find it beautiful."
"It certainly is," I said. "But the reason for that beauty is more interesting. You are not speaking to the plants. You are listening to them."
Catherinne laughed. It was short and sincere, devoid of noble distance or artificial elegance.
"Very few people notice that," she said. "Most ask me what I am saying to them."
"What matters is not what you say," I replied, "but what you are waiting to hear."
After that, she studied me again, but this time not to measure me. This time, she was truly looking. The distance between us was still formal, but no longer cold. There was the kind of attention a teacher gives a promising student.
"How did your training go, Aurelius?" she asked. "Do you still feel unwell?"
"No, but it was demanding and productive," I said. "I would not wish to disappoint someone who has invested in me."
"Do you mean me?" she asked plainly.
"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "If not for you, I would not be here."
It was a simple truth, spoken without ornament. Catherinne appreciated such things. Directness, without exaggeration.
She tilted her head slightly. Her eyes softened.
"It is good to hear that," she said. "But you should know this, Aurelius. I did not support you because I expected gratitude. I supported you because of your potential."
"Even so, having that potential recognized matters," I replied. "Because potential alone means very little unless someone places it in the right position."
She gestured toward a stone bench in the garden. Not as an order, but as a natural invitation.
"Then sit," she said. "There is no need to talk standing."
I sat across from her, not beside her. Deliberately. I neither closed the distance nor exaggerated it. Catherinne noticed, but made no comment. She leaned back comfortably, clasping her hands over her knees. Her posture was relaxed, yet wholly in control.
"Your training has intensified recently," she said. "I receive reports from your instructors. You are pushing yourself."
That praise belonged more to the original Aurelius than to me. At this point in the story, he would indeed begin to work harder. That also happened to align with my own plans, so I accepted the praise without hesitation.
"Thank you. Progress without strain is difficult. And I am aware that my time here is limited."
She raised an eyebrow slightly. She was interested, but did not press.
"It is good that you realize that so early," she said. "Many young people understand it much later. Some never do."
"I suppose I am fortunate," I said. "I have someone experienced at my side."
This time she smiled, and unlike before, it lingered. Her expression was gentle, reassuring, the kind that made one feel their burdens could be shared without words.
"You see me as more than I am," she said. "But I understand that your intentions are sincere."
"Let us not call them sincere," I corrected calmly. "Let us call them clear. I want to know where I stand."
She liked that answer. It showed.
"That is good," she said. "Clarity inspires trust. I also prefer to know what the people around me want. Hidden things tend to cause problems in time."
A brief silence followed. It was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt like a natural part of the conversation.
"If you will permit me, Lady Catherinne, I would like to ask you something."
"Of course," she said without hesitation. "Ask."
Her tone was inviting, but not lax. She was ready to answer, even if she was curious about what I might say.
"Why do you sponsor so many young people? You support more than even some viscounts, and even certain counts."
When I asked, my voice was curious, not accusatory. Catherinne noticed the difference immediately. She did not rush to respond. She looked out over the garden first, then back at me. The question had unsettled her, but because she knew I had not asked with ill intent, she tried not to show it.
"Aurelius, I understand why you would ask this," she said. "But I hope you will also understand that, for now, I do not wish to answer. Just know that I harbor no ill intentions."
After saying this, she stood and brushed the grass from her dress. Then she turned to me.
"Thank you for the conversation. I cannot remember the last time I spoke with someone like this. If you wish, you may join me for morning tea."
I stood as well and offered her a genuine smile. "I would be very glad to," I replied without delay.
Catherinne fell silent for a moment, then smiled. Turning away, her beautiful hair swaying in the wind, she said, "Then we will speak again," and walked off.
I watched her go, content. It had been a simple, slightly formal, but certainly productive exchange. First, I had shown Catherinne that I was someone worth talking to. I had shown interest in her, and more importantly, I had learned something about her.
That behind her sponsorship of so many children lay a reason, a motivation.
Now all I had to do was uncover it.
This was probably the key to the door leading to Catherinne's heart.