A few days later
When we approached the Baroness's walls, we disembarked from the carriage. It had been a tiring journey, perhaps excessively so, but it was obvious that it had gone very well for me. I had acquired fine items and improved myself considerably. The same was true for Luciene. Although she had gone through quite a few difficult moments and was now rather obsessed with me, she had grown significantly stronger. Luciene had fully recovered and looked much better. The only irritating part was how clingy she had become, but after a single warning from me, she stopped constantly linking her arm with mine.
We passed through the castle gates, where the steward greeted us.
The elderly man inclined his waist slightly in a bow. His expression was respectful, but there was a measuring attentiveness in his eyes. I recognized that look. It was the habit of servants who had spent long years among nobles, sensing a person's worth before any words were spoken.
"Welcome. The Baroness has been expecting you."
Luciene instinctively moved a little closer to me. This time she did not take my arm, but as she matched her steps to mine, her gaze swept cautiously over the surroundings. From the outside, the castle courtyard looked plain, but once inside it conveyed a sense of strict military order. Guards lined the walls, stone pavements gleaming with cleanliness, everything in its proper place. The Baroness's character permeated the space.
As we proceeded toward the main hall, the steward broke the silence.
"I heard your journey was long and arduous."
"Yes, you could say that."
When the doors opened, the cool air of the hall struck my face. A high ceiling, heavy chandeliers, banners hanging from the walls. At the far end of the room, on a raised platform, the Baroness sat at her desk. The steward told Luciene that there was no need for her to enter and stopped her at the threshold.
Luciene's fingers reached toward my arm for a moment, then froze in midair. The steward's voice was polite but left no room for argument.
"Young lady, we will host you in the side chamber."
Luciene looked at me. There was protest in her eyes, but not the courage to defy an order. I gave her a brief look and nodded slightly, a signal that she was not to cause trouble here. She pressed her lips together, then reluctantly stepped back. When the door closed, the silence left behind felt heavier than the vastness of the hall itself.
Baroness Catherinne Ravencrest. With one hand she held her head so that her golden curls would not fall into her line of sight, while the other held an elegant pen, her full attention on the documents before her. She looked tired, likely busy with preparations for the coming winter. Even so, she was undeniably a stunning woman. Though in her thirties, she had probably received countless marriage proposals from nobles and wealthy merchants.
Naturally, she rejected them all. If my guess was correct, she had a genuinely valid reason for doing so. If I were a hero, I might have tried to solve that problem immediately, but now, frankly, I doubted whether a woman who had rejected me was worth the effort.
Yes, she was a wealthy woman of high standing, but as someone who would likely be dealing with kings and queens within less than a year, her presence did not particularly entice me.
The Baroness set her pen down and finally gave me her full attention.
"The journey has done you good," she said. There was a dry observation in her tone, not praise. "Your bearing has changed."
"It had to," I replied. "The outside world trains you quickly."
Her eyes moved over me. Our last encounter had been somewhat, even quite, strange. I still remembered flirting with her and her openly rejecting me. Was I offended or upset? Of course not. I had only been trying to do what was necessary to fulfill the fate quest the system had assigned me.
Still, I often wondered where that confidence had come from, the belief that I could easily seduce someone of her standing. In my previous life, I had not been a social person at all. It was probably an act of arrogance. Trusting my intelligence too much, I believed I could charm the Baroness as well. The idea that intelligence could open every door, especially in front of a woman like her, was a naive assumption.
"So how was your trip?" she asked, breaking the awkward silence.
"Profitable," I answered concisely. "More instructive than I expected."
I noticed her eyebrows move ever so slightly. It was a sign that she had received an answer that interested her.
"Items?" she asked. "Or people?"
"Both," I replied.
This time she did not look away. She studied my eyes directly, as if a single extra word would allow her to pull out the intent beneath it. She exhaled softly, then took an envelope from a drawer.
"While you were away, an invitation arrived from the academy. Normally, I am granted only a single quota, but I made certain arrangements and secured two, so that Luciene might also have a chance."
She placed the envelope on the desk but did not push it toward me. The seal was unbroken. The red wax was still smooth, bearing clearly the emblem of the Morvael Academy.
"Do not forget, this does not mean you have been accepted. You will have to take the entrance examination and demonstrate your abilities."
"I know," I said. "They do not accept anyone directly except the royal family."
The Baroness nodded slightly, offering silent confirmation.
"For now, it may be better if the envelope remains with me. There are months before the academy's next entrance exam, and if this is lost, we will not issue another. It will be safer in my storage pouch."
When she finished speaking, she did not reach for the envelope. Instead, it lay there on the desk, untouched.
"I disagree," I said, surprising her. "I believe it will be safer with me."
Lately, I had strayed quite far from the path of fate, and at any moment I could suffer a severe backlash for it. Moreover, my Void Storage was far more secure than any ordinary storage item. Therefore, it would be safer for me to keep this envelope.
The Baroness's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. It was not open shock, but rather the acknowledgment of an unexpected move.
"Is that so? How?" Her tone had not changed, but the air in the room had tightened.
"When it comes to what I possess," I said calmly, "I do not take unnecessary risks."
I stepped closer, picked up the envelope, and examined it briefly. Then, to the Baroness's astonishment, I opened a portal to my storage space and placed the envelope inside. Catherinne was so surprised she could not speak. She had not known I possessed such an ability, had not even known I could use magic. In truth, this was not a magic-created storage space like others, but a skill granted by the system. She could never have guessed that.
For several seconds, the Baroness said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the spot where the envelope had vanished. There was nothing there now, yet her gaze continued to weigh that empty space. Not the spell, but its meaning.
"That," she said at last, choosing her words carefully, "resembles none of the storage magic I know. How did you do it?"
"I am sorry, Lady Catherinne, but that is a secret. As I said, my journey proved quite useful to me."
Her gaze lingered on me for a few more seconds. Then she leaned back in her chair, fingers interlacing. She chose not to show her surprise openly, but it was not difficult to see her mind working rapidly.
"A secret," she repeated, this time with a faint hint of mockery. "How familiar."
"In these lands, it is a basic condition for survival," I replied. "Telling everyone everything usually gets you an early grave."
The corner of her lips curved almost imperceptibly. It was not a smile, but it was not displeasure either.
"True," she said. "And yet, until a few months ago, you were someone in this hall with very little to hide from me. Do you no longer trust me?"
The question hung in the air. It seemed simple, but it was not.
"No," I said honestly. I no longer needed to appear favorable to her, nor to seduce her.
My honesty, however, shook her deeply. She did not know what to say and simply stared at me. The silence this time was heavier than all the previous pauses. There was neither anger nor humiliation. Rather, it was the brief void created by an answer she had not expected.
She did not take her eyes off me. Her fingers moved along the edge of the desk in an almost imperceptible rhythm, a sign that she was thinking. Not hastily, but deeply.
"I did not expect such candor," she said at last. Her voice was calm, yet sharpened with attention. "Most people would choose to lie at this point."
"Most people still need something," I replied. "I no longer do."
That was what truly unsettled her. Not my refusal of trust, but my claim that I had no need.
"When you first came to this castle," she said slowly, "you wanted something from me. Resources, protection, influence. Now, the man standing before me demands none of these."
"Incorrect," I corrected. "I still know their value. I simply do not need to persuade you to reach them."
Her gaze hardened. For the first time, she exerted genuine pressure. It was a noble's reflex, the instinct of a woman who realized her sphere of control was shrinking.
"That is a dangerous way of thinking. Many have stood against me."
"Believe me, I am aware of that."
She rose from her seat, stepped out from behind the desk, and took a step toward me. There was no longer a desk or titles between us. Just two people.
"If you do not trust me... why are you still here?"
"Because trust is one thing. An alliance is another."
At that word, she stopped.
"An alliance," she repeated. "That is formed between equals."
"That is why I am here. I have reached a point where we can be equals."
For a long moment, she studied me. This time there was no calculation, no test in her eyes. She was seeking clarity. Yet deep down, I was certain there were cracks somewhere, perhaps even in her heart. This woman who tried so hard to appear unyielding actually possessed a soft and immense heart.
"And what is the reason for all this insolence? Because I rejected you?"
It was there that I noticed something strange in her voice.
Disappointment, perhaps. Or even hurt.
That was unexpected. But it could certainly be entertaining.