Chapter 23
For Kaisa, Arceo was not an unworthy opponent.
Yet why did he persist in such a ruthless stance?
“Why do you intend to have Arceo executed? I mean… why choose the more difficult path?”
Kaisa was a man who never hesitated to use any means necessary.
If he had chosen to ally himself with the corrupt temple instead of reforming it, his power could have been consolidated far more easily.
Edwin simply could not fathom why Kaisa would deliberately go through the trouble of ousting Arceo and reforming the temple from within.
The light from the fireplace flickered across Kaisa’s clear cheek. His gaze lingered for a moment inside the canopy before lowering.
“Because I have no need for the temple’s help.”
It was not an answer that truly resolved the question.
But ever since Edwin had sworn to serve Kaisa and become his shadow, he had resolved never to question the man’s will.
He had been born in the slave market and always believed he would die in the gutter.
From the moment he chose to follow Kaisa, the thought of doubting him had ceased to exist.
“As my lord wishes,” Edwin said, bowing to accept the order.
Sharieh’s days passed in peaceful routine.
In the mornings, she would head straight to the training grounds and spend time with Momo, summoned with a whistle.
Upon returning to the castle, she would warm her chilled body, take breakfast, and then attend Annette’s lessons in the afternoon.
By dinnertime, she was often on the verge of nodding off from fatigue.
“Are you not tired?”
Kaisa, without a trace of annoyance, seemed concerned for her relentless diligence.
“If it is too much, you may rest.”
Though he occasionally suggested as much, Sharieh wished to continue her present lifestyle.
Every day brought something new.
Back in Rahol, she had been virtually imprisoned in her room, with nothing to do.
Compared to that, these days were far more fulfilling.
More than anything, ever since her grandfather’s visit, her heart had been gripped by an unexplainable unease—a tightness that only eased when she immersed herself completely in something.
Perhaps her reasons were a touch impure, but thanks to her efforts, even her golden falcon had succeeded in free flight.
Her magic studies were progressing as well.
“That completes the entire basic theory,” Annette declared, turning the final page of a book so thick it could have been used as a weapon.
Thump. She closed the book with finality.
“You’ve worked hard, Lady Sharieh.”
Her tone suggested the lessons had ended altogether.
Before Sharieh could voice her confusion, Annette explained:
“I am a scholar, not a mage. With theory finished, it is time for you to practice with an actual mage.”
“Then… starting now, I—”
“The Mage Association will send someone next week. Until then—”
There was no shortage of other knowledge for her to acquire as lady of the castle.
Annette paused, recalling Sharieh’s busy recent schedule.
There’s no need to rush.
After all, adapting to a foreign place with no acquaintances had been no small ordeal.
A short rest would do her good.
“Rest is important too. Take the week off.”
To Sharieh, who had been burning with academic zeal, the words were like a bolt from the blue.
While she shifted uneasily, Annette was already tidying the room.
With no choice, Sharieh returned to her chamber.
But doing nothing at a time she was normally occupied made her oddly restless.
I should at least read a book…
As she flipped a page in haste, a sharp sting pricked her finger.
She had given herself a paper cut.
The dull sting poured cold water on her earlier determination.
Just as she was about to wipe away the bead of blood—
Should I try it?
The thought flashed through her mind like lightning.
She had never practiced magic before, but she knew the theory inside out and had her handwritten copy of the spellbook.
Healing magic is different from offensive magic, which can cause serious accidents.
Even if she failed, nothing would happen beyond her finger not healing.
Hastily, she retrieved her stack of copied notes.
“Recite the incantation while channeling mana through your body…”
Though she had read the familiar line countless times, her heart still pounded.
Gulp. She swallowed and shut her eyes tight.
As she chanted haltingly, an odd sensation rose from her fingertip, like a formless current, while white light seeped through her eyelids.
“Ah…”
Opening her eyes, she looked at her finger—and her lips parted in astonishment.
“By the heavens…!”
It had worked.
She barely stopped herself from cheering, bouncing in place like she never had even in her rabbit form.
Her cheeks flushed with excitement, dimples deepening with her smile.
I thought for sure I’d fail…!
The joy was so overwhelming she nearly teared up.
In the rabbit tribe, she had always been treated as a useless half-wit.
Not anymore.
She had proven she could stand on her own.
But one success was not enough.
I need more practice.
After some thought, Sharieh made her way to the kitchen.
The spacious room bustled with activity, heat and steam thick in the air—surprisingly warm for the frigid north.
The ovens never ceased baking, dough constantly going in, while a huge cauldron of soup boiled, stirred by a helper with a long wooden paddle.
“Knead until the surface is smooth. Otherwise it won’t rise properly in the oven,” the head chef was scolding when he noticed her.
Abandoning his lecture, he hurried over.
“What brings you here, my lady? Do you need something?”
Perhaps because she never spared praise for the meals, the chef greeted her warmly.
“We’ve just pulled a loaf of white bread with nuts from the oven. It’s still warm—shall I prepare it for you?”
“No, thank you. I’m not here because I’m hungry.”
The chef blinked in surprise—he had assumed, as with the knights who sometimes wandered in for a snack, that she had come for food.
“Then… what brings you to such a place?”
Sharieh glanced around before speaking cautiously.
“Is there anyone here who’s injured? Not badly—just a small wound.”
The chef gave her a puzzled look, but answered readily:
“Plenty, of course. We use knives and work with fire. Why, I nicked my own finger this morning while preparing ingredients.”
“Could I see it?”
He widened his eyes but, thankfully, seemed unbothered by the odd request. He offered his left hand.
Sharieh, lips dry with tension, took the work-roughened hand, covered in small cuts.
“My lady…?”
Before he could finish the question, a faint white light shimmered where their hands touched, then vanished.
A gentle warmth swept over the wound, and then it was gone.
She released his hand at once.
The cut had disappeared, leaving smooth skin behind.
Both the chef and the nearby kitchen hands stared, wide-eyed.
“What in the world…”
These were people who had been working with knives since childhood, who never sought out temples for such trivial injuries.
Some had never even seen a mage in their lives—let alone witnessed healing magic.
And the caster was none other than the lady of the castle, a delicate rabbitfolk noblewoman who required special cutlery for her meals.
All eyes in the kitchen turned to Sharieh.
“I’d heard you were studying under a renowned scholar, but this is remarkable,” the chef said with a laugh.
Relieved by his reaction, Sharieh’s tense expression softened into a smile.
His cheerful thanks swept away the last of her earlier anxiety.
Her heart felt light, as though she were walking on clouds.
