Gazing at the bustling, prosperous city before her, Ophelia let out a soft sigh. She tore her eyes away, a sudden, inexplicable pang of sorrow welling up in her heart.
The journey so far had been relatively smooth. After all, Blake was flying his own noble banner—anyone with half a brain knew better than to provoke a member of the aristocracy. After a full day of travel, the group had arrived once more at the same city where Blake had purchased his maidservants. From this point onward, they had officially entered the territory of the Zachary family. However, the Zachary clan's seat of power was not located in this small border town, but in Starlight City, situated in the heart of their domain. At their current pace, it would take them another three or four days to reach their destination. Upon entering the city, the Zachary guards had been itching to contact the nobles loyal to the Elder Patriarch to bolster their forces. In their minds, they were undoubtedly in the right, and with the support of the patriarch's old subordinates, their chances of success would be greatly increased. But this idea had been firmly quashed by Blake. He refused to believe that anyone would make a decisive stand in the face of such an uncertain future—especially with these men's abysmal political acumen. He had no doubt that if their overtures were rejected, they would immediately draw their swords and shout accusations of treason, inadvertently turning a potential ally into a confirmed enemy and ruining everything they had worked for. Faced with Blake's unyielding order, the guards had been forced to concede, despite their obvious reluctance. In the end, the group had settled into a modest inn. Kaster and his men were assigned to guard (and monitor) the brainless fools, while Blake and Ophelia chose to dine outside. Despite being on a mission, the two of them felt more like they were on a leisurely excursion—especially Ophelia. Now that she had a clear understanding of Blake's true strength, she no longer felt the same sense of unease and trepidation as before.
Yet, as she looked upon the city before her, a faint sadness lingered deep in Ophelia's heart.
In her former life, Ophelia had often ventured out into the world, disguised as an ordinary scholar. She would wander the streets of the capital, observing both nobles and commoners alike, filled with ideals and hope for the future. She had dreamed of making her country richer and stronger, of bringing happiness and prosperity to all its people. Of course, as a princess, Ophelia had never chosen to frequent dangerous places. Unlike those naive noble maidens who fancied themselves angels fallen to earth, eager to venture into the dens of vice and darkness to bring light to the wretched, Ophelia was acutely aware that her status made such recklessness unwise. After all, she was a princess of the realm—should any misfortune befall her, it would plunge the entire nation into turmoil. Her clear self-awareness and sound judgment had ensured that she had never encountered any unexpected dangers during her solo travels. Even so, Ophelia had always been able to sense the undercurrents of unrest simmering beneath the surface of the city's prosperity, and to formulate corresponding strategies to address them.
Making her country a better place had once been her greatest ambition.
But now, she was dead.
Ophelia withdrew her gaze, no longer able to bear the sight of the city's night view. She stared silently at her hands—they were identical to the ones she had possessed in life, and yet, they no longer belonged to a living person. She was a ghost, a spirit with no power, no authority, no ability to fight for anything anymore.
"What are you thinking about?"
Blake's voice cut through her reverie, pulling Ophelia back to the present.
"Nothing important," Ophelia replied, shaking her head and forcing a bitter smile.
"I know that all of this is no longer any of my concern... and yet, I can't help but wonder..."
Her voice trailed off, and she bowed her head, letting out another soft sigh.
Letting go of everything was easier said than done. It had been manageable enough while confined to the isolated sanctuary of the Twilight Forest, but now that she had stepped back into the outside world, Ophelia realized that the things she had thought she could leave behind were still deeply rooted in her heart.
Was she really just supposed to accept this fate?
Lifting her head, Ophelia fixed her gaze on Blake, who sat across from her, watching her with a faint, amused smile playing on his lips.
"My Lord—I have a request to make of you."
"Speak."
"If we have time, I would ask that you allow me to travel to the royal capital..." Ophelia paused for a moment, biting her lower lip as if struggling to make a difficult decision. "I wish to see my mother one last time... it is the only thing I truly desire now."
"Of course," Blake replied without hesitation. With his years of experience, he had long since seen through Ophelia's innermost thoughts. While the princess had proven herself to be an exceptional and capable assistant in the Twilight Forest, Blake knew that her dedication to her work had merely been a way to distract herself from her pain. Deep down, she still clung to the life she had once known. No one could truly sever the ties between their past and present—not even Ophelia.
Just then, the inn's heavy wooden door swung open with a creak, followed by the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps echoing through the entrance. The clinking of metal armor mingled with the tread of boots, shattering the peaceful silence of the main hall and stirring up a buzz of quiet conversation among the patrons.
Curious, the two of them turned their heads toward the door. A group of armored soldiers filed into the inn, flanking a middle-aged man dressed in a flowing white robe. His face was stern and somber as he strode into the hall, his eyes sweeping quickly across the room before he made a sharp gesture with his hand. At the sight of the gesture, the two soldiers at the front immediately stepped forward, intercepting the innkeeper, who had rushed over eagerly to greet the newcomers. They politely but firmly waved him away.
The sudden arrival of these men caused a stir among the guests, and most of the eyes in the hall were drawn to the robed man. The reason for this was simple: in his hand, he held a pristine white staff, and at the very top of the staff, a glowing magic crystal floated gently in the air, spinning slowly and emitting a soft, ethereal light.
It was the unmistakable symbol of a mage.
In an instant, the man became the center of everyone's attention. Ordinary people rarely had the chance to lay eyes on a mage—they spent most of their time sequestered in the Mage's Guild or locked away in their towers, rarely venturing out into the world. As a result, mages were shrouded in an aura of mystery. Most people had no idea what a mage was truly capable of, and it was this very ignorance that made them so feared. After all, there was nothing more terrifying than the unknown.
"A court mage," Ophelia murmured, her brow furrowing as she spotted the emblem embroidered on the man's robe. She quickly pulled her cloak lower, shielding her face from view, and leaned forward to speak softly to Blake.
"He is a man of the royal family."
"A court mage? What could he possibly be doing out here?" Blake replied, his interest piqued. From his perspective, the presence of a royal court mage so close to his territory was far from a good sign. He had no idea what the mage's purpose was, but the fact that he was accompanied by such a large contingent of guards meant that he was not here on a casual excursion. It was far more likely that he was on an official mission—though Blake doubted it had anything to do with him.
With that thought in mind, Blake relaxed, turning his attention back to his conversation with Ophelia. Ophelia, too, dismissed the court mage from her thoughts, focusing instead on the man sitting across from her. After all, the matter they were about to discuss was the true priority of the day.
"Hmm?"
At that very moment, the court mage froze, a look of confusion crossing his face as he turned his head to scan the hall once more. He had suddenly detected a faint trace of magical energy lingering in the air—and it was not his own.
Could there be another mage hiding here?
Filled with curiosity, the court mage swept his gaze across the room again, but he saw no one else wearing a mage's robe. There were no other spellcasters present. Yet he did not allow himself to relax. As a court mage, he had absolute confidence in his ability to sense magical energy. This strange occurrence immediately piqued his interest, and a cold smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Trying to hide from me? How arrogant.
He had no idea if this hidden mage was a threat to him, but the court mage had no intention of allowing an unknown rival to lurk in the shadows nearby. Battles between mages were always brutal and intense, and rivalries between different magical factions were common. The presence of a hidden mage here meant that he would have to root them out—if only to ensure his own safety.
With that resolve in mind, the court mage closed his eyes, focusing his mental energy and following the faint trail of residual magic lingering in the air. His unknown target's attempts at concealment were surprisingly clumsy, and it did not take the court mage long to trace the source of the magical energy. But when he opened his eyes to identify the culprit, he froze in stunned disbelief.
The source of the magical energy was a young girl.
Judging by her appearance, she looked like a wandering scholar—her figure was slender and graceful, clad in a plain black cloak and a simple white dress. She could not have been more than twenty years old. Could such a young girl really be the mage he was looking for?
The court mage frowned in confusion, but he did not hesitate. He continued to move forward, a smug smirk playing on his lips. After all, this kind of mental probing was, in a way, not unlike voyeurism—it could even penetrate clothing, revealing the contours of the target's body beneath. As his mental senses brushed over the girl's delicate figure, a lewd thought stirred in the depths of the court mage's mind. The fact that she had hidden her face beneath her cloak only served to further pique his curiosity, fueling his desire to see what she looked like.
By now, he had completely forgotten about the strange magical energy that had drawn his attention in the first place.
Meanwhile, Ophelia remained completely oblivious to the fact that she had become the object of the court mage's scrutiny. She leaned forward, her voice still low as she explained her plans and ideas to Blake.
"I believe that—"
But Ophelia never got to finish her sentence. At that exact moment, she suddenly froze, a shiver running down her spine. A thin, inky-black mist erupted from her body without warning, coiling around her like a protective shroud.
At the same time, a low grunt of pain echoed through the hall. The guests turned in surprise to see the previously calm and composed court mage half-kneeling on the floor, a trickle of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth. He gritted his teeth, clutching his staff tightly to keep himself from collapsing completely. When he raised his head again, his eyes blazed with a fierce, unbridled rage. He lifted a trembling hand, pointing directly at Ophelia.
"Seize that woman!"