Inside the lord’s office, the afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall stained-glass windows, casting a brilliant play of colors across the polished mahogany desk.
Irene was frowning delicately as she reviewed a report regarding the resupply of the border outpost.
Rows upon rows of numbers and descriptions on the parchment danced before her eyes, but she couldn’t fully focus her attention.
Her fingertips unconsciously tapped against the desktop, producing a faint tapping sound.
“Milady, the key point of this report is that we need to allocate an extra ten barrels of fire oil and five spare ballista sets, because the activity of magic beasts in the forest has clearly intensified since winter set in.” A gentle, pleasant voice sounded beside Irene.
It was Clariette, Irene’s maid, who had now been promoted to Chief Administrative Officer due to her exceptional abilities. She was leaning slightly forward, her slender fingers precisely pointing at the critical section of the report.
A few strands of her pale golden hair dangled down, almost brushing Irene’s cheek, bringing with them a subtle, elusive fragrance.
Irene snapped back to herself, instinctively pulling her neck back a little, the tips of her ears turning faintly red in a way that was hard to notice.
“Ah… Mm, understood. Approve it, have the logistics officer transfer the supplies from Warehouse Three.”
She tried her best to keep her voice calm and steady, but her gaze flickered, avoiding Clariette’s emerald eyes that seemed to see through everything.
Ever since a few days ago, after that blushing, heart-pounding incident deep in the castle’s sealed underground storeroom…
The hurried, shallow breaths in the darkness, the heat from their bodies pressed together, the sensation of touch, and that unique maidenly scent from Clariette—these memories would replay in Irene’s mind from time to time.
Along with the embarrassment, there was also a subtle, restless stirring that she was unwilling to examine too closely.
What left her even more at a loss was that Clariette seemed completely unfazed by it, and even… more enthusiastic and intimate than before.
Whether it was the accidental brush of fingers while handing over documents, or the overly close distance when discussing official matters, Irene’s heart would occasionally skip a beat.
Though deep down, she didn’t actually dislike this feeling—she even faintly looked forward to it—but this sense of losing control left the young lady, who was used to being in charge, somewhat flustered.
“Is Milady worried about Miss Helga?” Clariette straightened up, organizing the documents Irene had signed, her voice still gentle but now tinged with perceptive sharpness.
Irene didn’t deny it.
She put down her quill and rubbed her brow. “Counting the days, she’s been away from the territory for twelve days now. From Whitestone Town and back, even with that teacher Yuno along, she should’ve returned by now.”
A nameless, heavy worry pressed at her heart, far exceeding what one would feel for an ordinary subordinate.
Helga’s strength was beyond question—her status as an S-rank adventurer and a member of the Council of Sages would allow her to walk unchallenged in most circumstances.
Yet Irene just had this inexplicable unease, as if some shadow was creeping toward that always-calm, self-possessed violet-haired girl.
“Please don’t worry, Milady.” Clariette moved behind Irene, gently placing a cup of warm, soothing herbal tea beside her hand. “Miss Helga’s abilities are unfathomable. Whitestone Town is a bit of a journey, but the route is along the relatively safe royal road. Perhaps after finding that teacher, she had some personal matters to attend to, or maybe she was delayed by some discovery along the way.”
Her tone was full of comforting reassurance, her movements smooth and natural, as if that intimate encounter the other day had never happened.
Irene picked up the teacup, the rising steam blurring her vision.
She gave a soft “Mm” in response. She understood the reasoning, but that lingering sense of unease was hard to dispel.
She was just about to say something to change the subject—
“Milady, something’s happened!” The heavy office door was flung open, and the maid Layla burst in, panting, her face flushed from running, her usually immaculate icy blue hair now somewhat disheveled.
“Layla? What’s got you so flustered?” Irene’s heart leapt, a strong sense of foreboding gripping her. For the always composed Layla to lose her cool, it could not be a trivial matter.
“O-o-outside the territory! A lot of refugees have arrived!” Layla leaned against the doorframe, gasping for breath. “It’s the villagers from Windmill Village! They have something urgent for you! They said… said the mage lady… Miss Helga might be in danger!”
Irene shot to her feet, the teacup in her hand falling with a “crash” onto the thick carpet, tea splashing everywhere and staining it dark.
But she couldn’t care less. In a flash, she rushed to Layla. “Where are the villagers? Take me to them, now!”
Clariette’s expression changed instantly as well, a grave look flashing in her emerald eyes. “Milady, go ahead. I’ll handle things here.”
At the territory’s entrance, the dilapidated temporary shelter had already gathered over a hundred Windmill Village villagers, their faces haggard and filled with fear and exhaustion.
Most of them wore tattered clothes and carried simple bundles, many bearing traces of soot and minor scrapes.
At their head stood the old village chief and a middle-aged woman with a refined air, dressed in a plain mage’s robe, her face deeply worried.
Irene recognized them at a glance.
She strode quickly through the crowd, her invisible aura causing the noisy villagers to fall silent and part to make way for her.
“Saintess!” The old village chief caught sight of Irene, and tears welled up in his cloudy eyes as he fell to his knees with a thud. “Please, save the mage lady!”
Suppressing her inner anxiety, Irene reached out to help the old chief up. “Chief, get up and speak! What happened? What about Helga?” She turned urgently to Yuno Vayne. “Ms. Yuno?”
Yuno nodded pale-faced, confirming Irene’s identity. Her eyes were full of terror and lingering fear, her voice trembling. “Y-you’re the Miss Irene Helga spoke of, right? Please, please save her—she, she risked everything to save these villagers…”
She seemed nearly incoherent.
The old chief, a bit calmer now, hurriedly continued, “Saintess! Last time you and the mage lady saved our village and drove away those unreasonable church knights—we’re forever grateful! But… just a few days later, yesterday at dusk, another one showed up calling himself… a ‘Hero’ appointed by the church!”
“He called himself Wandera Hart! He brought a scantily dressed red-haired priestess and some vicious knights, and without a word, accused us of being ‘fallen rabble’ sheltering a ‘witch,’ saying he’d ‘purify’ the whole village! They… they set fire to the houses on the village edge and tried to arrest people…”
“Hero? What hero?” Irene’s brow knitted tightly.
She’d never heard this name among the church’s high ranks or in any official document of the kingdom! Was he newly emerged? Or… an imposter?
But now wasn’t the time to worry about that!
“And then? What about Helga?” Irene’s voice was tight with urgency.
“Just as those villains were about to act, the mage lady… Miss Helga happened to be passing by with Ms. Yuno.” The old chief’s eyes flickered with hope. “She saw the village on fire and rushed over! That ‘Hero’ saw her and looked… looked very pleased, saying weird things like ‘Finally caught up to you’ and ‘You’re worthy of being a collectible’… then they started fighting!”
Irene’s frown deepened. So this so-called Hero’s real target was Helga, not the villagers!
Yuno nodded vigorously, eyes brimming with tears. “Helga… she was incredible! At first, that ‘Hero’ didn’t seem to be her match. But he wasn’t alone—he had church knights, and especially that red-haired priestess. Outnumbered, Helga seemed to fall behind… their teamwork was terrifying…”
The old chief hurriedly added, “The mage lady fought off those two while shouting for us to run with Ms. Yuno! She told us to go to Raven Domain, to find Miss Irene, she’d know what to do, so we…”
“Hero and priestess?”
Irene had never heard of this Hero, but anyone granted that title by the church—this Wandera—couldn’t be weak! And the red-haired priestess?
Irene had indeed heard of her. She remembered Roswitha mentioning that there were four candidates for Saintess this year, one of whom was a red-haired priestess named Elise!
The very person Roswitha disliked the most!
Helga was facing a powerful, unknown Hero and Elise—Roswitha’s rival. No matter how she looked at it, things looked grim!
“Lilysha!” Irene turned sharply, her voice as cold and sharp as a drawn sword, ringing out across the castle’s forecourt.
Almost as soon as her words fell, a silver-haired doll-like girl in a refined Lolita dress appeared ghost-like at her side.
“Master, you called for me.”
Knight Ansel led the horses over, having started preparations as soon as he heard the villagers’ account.
“Miss! I’m ready!” Ansel’s eyes were sharp, his luggage set.
“Then, Ansel, Lilysha, you’re coming with me!” Irene commanded.
Their opponents were strong—bringing more people would only be a hindrance and slow them down. If they could talk things out and clear up the misunderstanding, that would be best.
—Though that seemed unlikely.
The enemy’s goal was obvious: they were after Helga! The villagers were just bait to draw her in! This Hero was even more despicable than she’d thought!
Irene didn’t know what grudge existed between the two, but she would stand by her own people without question.
At the very least, Helga was not someone who would cause trouble for no reason.
Irene said no more, vaulting onto the magnificent white warhorse Layla had brought.
Lilysha nimbly mounted another horse, with Ansel following right behind.
“Go!” Irene squeezed her legs, and the white steed shot out of the castle gates like an arrow, racing toward Windmill Village.
Lilysha and Ansel followed close behind, the horses’ hooves pounding the flagstones in a rapid, powerful rhythm, kicking up a trail of dust.
*****
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
The sunset’s afterglow illuminated a desolate village shrouded in twilight, broken walls and collapsed houses sprawled like dead beasts across the fields.
A few strands of her signature pale violet hair were plastered to her cheek with sweat, her breathing much more labored than usual.
Her deep purple mage robe, designed for mobility, was torn in several places, with a gash at her left shoulder where blood had seeped through the cloth—clearly grazed by that strange, lightning-fast golden sword light.
There was blood at the corner of her mouth as well, evidence of internal shock.
“Despicable, utterly despicable. Doing such vile things—do you still deserve to be called a Hero?”