The mercenary group rushed forward—and then, strangely enough, everything just started going wrong.
The first one to charge in—presumably the leader—tripped over a table and chair knocked over during the earlier scuffle. Due to his own momentum, he was launched straight out of the inn. Irene didn’t even bother to look back, but the anguished “owww!” she heard was enough to tell her he didn’t land gently.
The second mercenary stepped on a persimmon, lost his balance just as he threw a punch, and ended up landing a solid friendship-destroying punch right in his comrade’s face. That led to a full-blown PvP brawl among the mercenaries themselves.
As for the final two? Just as they charged forward, for reasons unknown, a passing merchant’s horses suddenly went wild and stampeded straight into the inn, sending both men flying.
And just like that, the fight was over. Irene hadn’t even moved a muscle.
The mercenaries had spontaneously self-destructed.
The old man and the girl looked completely dumbfounded. They had no idea what had just happened. As for Helga and the others traveling with Irene, they just sighed faintly—this sort of thing wasn’t surprising anymore.
They didn’t even consider stepping in to help. This was the same power that had stumped the King of Shadows himself—what chance did a few backwater mercenaries have?
Fortunately, Irene wasn’t in a killing mood. Otherwise, things wouldn’t have ended nearly so gently.
Bruised and battered, the mercenaries limped away, supporting each other. But before they left, they still tried to sound tough: “Count yourself lucky today, but this isn’t over! You’ve crossed the Black Hunt Mercenary Corps—don’t blame us for what happens next!”
Irene replied with a single line that left them speechless: “I didn’t do anything just now. You guys just had bad luck.”
The mercenaries exchanged glances, their faces shifting from red to white. The woman wasn’t wrong—she really hadn’t done anything. She’d just stood there, and they’d collapsed on their own.
They couldn’t even come up with a decent excuse to retaliate.
As for this so-called local powerhouse mercenary corps, Irene didn’t care in the slightest. She turned her attention to the old man and the girl.
Only then did the old man come to his senses and hurriedly offer his thanks. Even if it looked like Irene had done nothing, the fact she’d been willing to stand up was reason enough to be grateful.
Irene waved it off like it was nothing.
But the old man still looked worried. “You’re a kind young lady, miss, but you should be cautious of the Black Hunt Mercenary Corps. Their influence around here isn’t small. They might not give up so easily.”
“Nothing to worry about. They’re just mercenaries. You don’t need to concern yourself, sir.”
Please. She was the heir of House Raven, the most powerful noble house in the kingdom. What mercenary group could possibly scare her? Could their influence even compare to that of the Raven family?
If those mercenaries knew what was good for them and backed off, she wouldn’t bother with them. But if they were too stubborn to quit—
Then they’d chosen the path of destruction themselves.
The old man’s granddaughter, however, still looked uneasy. She stepped out from behind her grandfather and spoke softly,
“Big sister… those mercenaries are really underhanded. If they can’t take you head-on, they might try something sneaky.”
Irene didn’t take it to heart. She was about to say something reassuring—when she got a clear look at the girl’s face and froze in place.
Almost involuntarily, she blurted out: “Rosweisse?!”
Hearing that name, Helga behind her turned to look—and just like Irene, her eyes widened in shock.
After a long pause, Helga murmured: “She really does look just like her at a glance… though she seems a little younger than Rosweisse.”
The rest of the group gathered around, all marveling at the resemblance. “I can’t believe there’s someone who looks so similar…”
All the attention made the girl shrink back in embarrassment. She quickly spoke up, “M-my name’s not Rosweisse! It’s Rita.”
Irene apologized for the mistake and explained, “Rosweisse is someone I know, and you just happen to look a lot like her. I mistook you at first glance, that’s all.”
She and Rita soon got into a pleasant conversation, unaware that the moment Irene mentioned the name “Rosweisse,” a shadow passed through the old man’s eyes.
That evening, during dinner, Irene asked the innkeeper why the town’s public order was so terrible. After all, even during their meal, two groups of armed men were brawling in the street. Irene couldn’t take it anymore and had Lilysha knock both sides flat so they could eat in peace.
The innkeeper answered: “You must be from the capital, miss. The eastern border’s been real uneasy lately. There’s been years of drought now, and the Church says it’s the work of a witch bringing disaster upon the land. The Holy Knights have been sent to hunt her down, and the whole region’s in a panic. They haven’t caught a witch yet, but they’ve already burned down a bunch of villages…”
The innkeeper stopped talking abruptly, realizing he had spoken too freely.
“The Church, huh? No surprise there.” Irene thought to herself. Although she hadn’t had much direct experience with the Church in this life, she’d seen enough in her past one—Churches were usually the villains.
The term “witch” also piqued her curiosity.
*****
That night, in the small twon inn…
Helga knelt naked on Irene’s bed.
Under the dim light of the magical lamp, the blush on the girl’s cheeks made her look adorably shy and heart-stirring in Irene’s eyes.
“Helga, are you really ready for this?” Irene asked gently.
The young mage turned her face away, her blush deepening. She muttered softly, unable to meet Irene’s gaze, “I’m ready… Irene, p-please… be gentle…”
Irene narrowed her eyes slightly and wiggled her pale index finger with a teasing smile. “You still don’t trust my technique? Relax. That’s the only way it’ll be fun.”
“Mm… I’m counting on you.”
Irene leaned in, resting her finger under Helga’s chin, and whispered beside her ear, “Then lie down—leave the rest to me.”
Helga obediently lay down. Irene pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. She brushed aside Helga’s long hair to reveal her smooth, alluring back.
Setting a box of mana ink beside her, Irene dipped her finger into the ink. Her expression grew serious. She cleared her mind and began carefully drawing a magic circle on Helga’s back.
Her trip to the city of Endymion had given her an incredible gift: the memories of the Holy King’s inheritance.
Even though she couldn’t cast any magic herself, Irene’s theoretical knowledge of magical arts had now reached an absurd level. As expected of the Divine Arcane King—aside from basic spells, he had also mastered alchemy, summoning, magical engineering, and especially the construction of magic arrays.
Ironically, it was Irene who had become Helga’s teacher.
Tonight, she was helping Helga increase her mana capacity—making up for the girl’s natural shortfall.
Helga lay on her stomach, hugging a pillow. As Irene’s cool fingertip traced the center of her back, her flushed cheeks deepened in color.
She loved Irene.
So, with each intimate touch, pink-tinted fantasies began to fill her mind…
Irene’s finger glided slowly down her spine—then kept going, all the way to—
Wait, why did she stop?!
Helga looked up in disappointment, only to snap back to reality. Irene’s face was intensely focused—she really was just drawing a magic array!
So… she was the only one off in fantasy land?!
Right. Irene hadn’t forgiven her yet. For now, she was only allowed to stay at her side out of guilt. Right now, she was just… a tool Irene used to practice magic arrays.
After a long while, Irene finally let out a breath and announced the array was complete.
“Try to feel it. If I didn’t mess up, you should notice an increase in your mana limit.”
Once Helga confirmed the change, Irene stood up, turned away, and said coldly, “We’re done. Put your clothes back on.”
Her heart was still pounding.
The soft sensation from earlier still lingered at her fingertips. So close… just a little more and I would’ve lost control…
Irene wasn’t exactly a girl with strong self-restraint. Especially not when Helga appeared so defenseless in front of her—
Thank goodness her hyper-focus while drawing magic circles had saved her from doing something she’d regret.
Back in the Mage City’s library, she’d finally realized just how terrifying her past self must’ve seemed to her former companions. She’d made a silent decision to try and hold back… at least a little.
Just as Irene was lost in the warmth of that touch and those thoughts—
A knock came at the door.
“Irene-sis, are you asleep? It’s me—Rita.”
Irene opened the door. Rita stood there in her nightclothes, cute and polite.
“What’s the matter?” Irene asked.
Rita tilted her head and hesitated, then spoke softly, “…I couldn’t sleep. Irene-sis, could you talk with me for a bit?”
“Sure,” Irene nodded. “What do you want to talk about?”
“That person you mentioned earlier… Rosweisse…”
So that’s what’s on her mind. Well, that made sense. If someone had told her that there was a person out there who looked just like her, she’d be curious too.
Irene didn’t suspect anything and smiled. “Rosweisse is a good person…”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Irene clamped her hand over it.
Ugh—I haven’t forgiven her yet! That made it sound like I’m totally over it or something!
But Rita simply smiled, and quietly murmured, “…If that’s the case, then I can die with no regrets.”