Chapter 14
Apparently, every single messenger bird at Claremont Castle was “busy.” How was that even possible? But when Duke Claremont said, “That’s just how it turned out,” what choice did I have? If I didn’t like it, I’d have to buy my own messenger bird—but any bird trained to carry letters reliably cost over 15 gold coins.
Still, there was no way I was giving up on Altair Oswally. No—on developing the charm magic. I had to find a way to send the letter.
Sigh… Life in this world was always like this.
I carefully sharpened my quill to the finest tip, dipped it in ink with the utmost care, held my trembling right hand steady with my left, and began to write—smaller than a grain of rice, neat, and smear-free.
[HelloAltairThi…]
Plop.
[WassupI’mRoyDov…]
Plop.
[SirIWantToMakeLoveChar…]
“Aaack!”
I hadn’t even written ten words before I crumpled the paper and tossed it away. The floor was already littered with scrapped drafts.
Tweet!
Omo—Tessarion’s messenger bird, a little round titmouse—flapped its wings with brave determination, pecking at the discarded pile of letters.
“No! This won’t do. I need an opening line so killer it’ll snare that nerd instantly!”
Altair would definitely treat anything lacking proper logic like spam.
I clutched my head and scrambled for ideas. Thank goodness I’d chosen The Encyclopedia of Magic from Basic Spells to Miracles yesterday. I flipped through the hefty tome.
“A hidden cipher full of deep symbolic code… like a cursed message from ancient Britain that spread across the world in the form of a QR code!”
Eyes wide, I dove into the Practical Magic section. There had to be an encryption spell—or maybe compression magic, or miniaturization…
But after frantically skimming, I slammed the book shut and slumped over the desk. My overheated brain was practically steaming.
Encryption spells, compression spells, weight-reduction spells, compacting spells—why were all the seemingly simple ones classified as advanced 5th-circle magic?! The spell that launches a fireball the size of a human head is 2nd-circle. Tornado magic that ruins an entire field is 3rd-circle. But reducing volume and weight? That’s 5th-circle?!
Why the hell is this romance fantasy world so discriminatory?!
“Waaaah!”
I was sick to death of bloodline-based ability systems and elitist class structures. I glared bitterly at the male lead—a walking embodiment of this world’s unfair blessings and every female fantasy trope.
Born into a family with dominion over the empire, overflowing with natural mana, he picked up a sword and was dubbed the youngest Swordmaster in history. Tall, handsome, powerful.
Meanwhile, here I was, agonizing all morning at his desk—and Tessarion didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow. Just calmly kept reading his paperwork.
It was finally warm enough to call it spring, but the wind still had bite. His navy dress coat was too thin for the weather, and his sheer white silk shirt? Fully unbuttoned. Not remotely appropriate.
I stared absentmindedly at the long hair spilling over his broad chest and wondered, Maybe he grows it for insulation? What a dumb thought.
Then, without warning, Tessarion addressed me.
“Why are you staring?”
Even something as trivial as sipping his now-cold tea made him seem like a being far removed from us mere mortals.
“…Because you’re handsome. Even dressed so casually, even with your hair a mess—you’re still absurdly handsome, Your Grace.”
Tessarion let out a dry chuckle and glanced up.
“Done wasting time?”
“Nope.”
“Then finish up. Lady Mores will be here soon. We leave for Shunowen tomorrow morning.”
“Do I have to go too?”
Fighting the First Imperial Knights on a rope bridge? No thanks.
“You want to stay in the dungeon until I get back?”
“Of course I’m going! If you’re going, it’s obvious I should go too!”
I raised my head with a brilliant smile.
“I’ve been cooped up inside for too long anyway. It’ll be nice to get some fresh air on the way to Shunowen. And I should help escort the princess safely. Anything I need to prepare?”
“Nothing. Let’s just get lunch.”
“Yes, sir!”
As Tessarion rose, I let out a puff of air in disappointment and began tidying up.
Just as I was gathering my books, Omo flitted in front of me, blocking my path. He picked up a discarded letter and proudly dropped it atop my book stack. Then he fluttered back, grabbed a paper ball nearly the size of his body, and huffed as he struggled to carry it over.
He kept placing the trashed letters on top of the magic encyclopedia, then pecked at them insistently, puffing his tiny chest.
Tweet!
His shiny black bead eyes turned triangular with indignation—it was like he was demanding I hurry up and write something already. He was so cute I could cry.
“I want to send a letter too, you know. Sorry…”
I stroked Omo’s cheek and placed him on my shoulder. With the books and the bird, Tessarion frowned at the weight I was carrying.
Hmph. If he doesn’t like it, he can stop dragging me around like a shadow. I’m tired of having to ask permission for everything.
“I’ll return these on the way out. I’ve finished them.”
When I clutched the valuable books tightly with a fierce glare, Tessarion said nothing—just looked irritated.
Carefully, I made a quiet suggestion.
“What kind of books do you read, Your Grace? Would you like to pick one while we’re here?”
“I don’t want to lug anything around.”
“I can carry it for you.”
“……”
He stopped walking and gave me a look that said You’ve got to be kidding me.
“In that case, I’ll just read what you read.”
I grimaced. What was that supposed to mean? Was he planning to monitor what I was reading?
Why is he like this? Just when I thought I was getting used to him, he’d pull stuff like this—always watching, always interfering. It was driving me nuts.
Even now, see? He’s pretending to be annoyed, but still walking to the library with me. He could’ve said, “Go on your own.” But no. Tessarion always tags along, even when it’s inconvenient.
When we arrived, I set my books down on the central reception desk.
As ordered, the staff seemed to be reorganizing the library. Books were stacked to my height all around. Amid the piles, I spotted some very familiar titles.
“Hentel Grichie’s Astronavigation series…”
Those books were my old nemeses. I’d memorized them from my 5th to 8th lives while working on space-time magic.
I’d even debated them with Altair until I got a nosebleed. Once, Berieta and I spent a night here calculating global coordinates by candlelight.
I picked one up.
I’d expected it to be covered in dust—but surprisingly, it was in decent shape compared to the others.
Thinking back to those regressions, I absentmindedly flipped it open—and something slipped out from between the pages.
“…?”
A dark chestnut-colored envelope, sealed with a silver goose insignia. My eyes widened at the elegant handwriting.
[To the one who wishes to sail to the unknown stars.]
Altair!
What were the odds?
My heart thundered.
Tweet!
Omo, still perched on my shoulder, grabbed the edge of the letter and flapped his wings excitedly. I quickly shushed him and broke the seal.
“…Whoa.”
No security magic.
It was a letter meant for anyone.
Did this exist in the 8th life too? I didn’t remember seeing it before…
My hands trembled as I unfolded the letter.
