Episode 22

Richard pulled something from his pocket. He moved like he was taking out a bracelet — elegant and smooth — but what he actually held up was a legit set of handcuffs.

The dark metal was engraved with sigils to control mana.

“Before you enter the house, his lordship asked that guests be fitted with this bracelet,” he said.

Lindsay blinked at the mana-control device being offered. Now that mana-users were common, people had come up with ways to handle them.

One of the typical tools was a mana-control cuff. It seals the wearer’s mana and is usually used when mages or magic-wielders commit crimes.

And they expected her to just put it on? Who did they think she was, some fool?

Lindsay didn’t move or say a word. Richard added politely.

“This is a necessary measure for the safety of those inside the house. Please forgive the rudeness. His lordship asked me to offer you a small apology gift.”

He produced a red pouch from his waist and handed it over. Something metal jingled inside. Lindsay’s eyes sparkled.

“One million gold. This is separate from any deal — purely a gift as an apology. Please take the whole pouch.”

Well, if it’s a sincere gesture…

Lindsay took the pouch and held out one hand. A cuff about the thickness of a finger slid around her thin wrist.

If Lionel had seen Nero guarding the shop right now, the cat would’ve thumped his tail on the floor like crazy.

Even though her mana was sealed by the cuff, Lindsay couldn’t hide her delight at the energy radiating from that pouch. She untied the pouch and looked inside. The pouch used a space-expansion spell and was packed full of gold coins.

While Lindsay was distracted, inspecting the pouch, Richard spoke again.

“I will show you to the parlor.”

He opened the mansion door, which bore the Perdeus family’s pegasus emblem in relief. Inside, elegant and tasteful decor stretched out — a mix of showy and stately.

Even though this house was built as a capital townhouse, it felt like a small version of a duke’s castle: luxurious marble, delicate stone carving, and artworks that quietly showed the family’s dignity and tradition.

Lindsay wandered through the townhouse, but her expression stayed blank. Compared to Raven Ilbo’s boss (who had awful taste), this townhouse was refined — clearly decorated by some discerning noblewoman. Probably the duchess who used to treat Michael terribly.

She scoffed at Michael’s past in her head. The author really had a thing for tragic backstories — every character seemed to have a miserable childhood.

Michael was abused as a child; Aria was left to fend for herself by indifferent parents and suffering from an incurable sickness; Lionel, chained by others because of the same kind of disease. It was a mess of tragedies.

Richard led her deeper into the house, past the room she’d expect to be the parlor. The parlor is usually placed near the entrance to minimize exposing the rest of the home and to ease movement.

It’s unusual — almost unheard of — to lead a possibly dangerous outsider deeper into a mansion. And taking someone underground? That’s rarely done.

Lindsay followed the faintly lit stairs down. When the long, endless set of steps had tightened her jaw into a line, Richard suddenly stopped.

Lindsay followed and thought, “Finally, the parlor?” She looked up, but the sight made her frown.

A grim corridor stretched beyond rusted iron bars. The walls were stained with damp patches, and faint bloodstains blurred across the floor.

The smell of metal and brine hit her nose; the heavy air pressed on her skin. Did they really bring a terminal patient to a place like this to keep her from doing anything reckless?

She clicked her tongue at the hopeless-looking basement scene.

“This isn’t a good environment for a patient.”

Richard paused while inserting a key into the iron-bar lock. His duty was to bring guests to the mansion’s basement.

The entrance to the surface would already be guarded by the guild. So he could just tell the guest what was going on, threaten them, and get them to come along into the underground cell. A little extra intimidation would be added to whatever happened next.

“That’s right. The air underground isn’t healthy at all,” he said.

But Richard didn’t do that. He treated Lindsay like any normal visitor — polite and composed — and turned the key. The rusty metal scraped, and the iron gate opened.

Who’d have guessed that a townhouse in the capital would have such an extensive underground complex?

Lindsay followed Richard through the bars into the underground passage. Dripping water made the place feel even more eerie and cold.

The smell of brine and iron made her roll her eyes. At first, she thought Michael was being obvious — creating a threatening vibe to make sure his precious friend didn’t get hurt. She assumed the guards and mana-cuffs meant, “Don’t mess with us, or we’ll kill you.”

But as Richard led her farther down, Lindsay admitted her guess might be wrong.

Why would someone willingly show off their family’s disgrace to a stranger?

No matter how much the ancestors had sinned, this family wasn’t the type to show off their shame so easily. She had a rough idea what Michael might be planning: he intended not to let the patient go until he confirmed the safety of whatever medicine was being used. Pathetic.

Her green eyes went cold. Richard’s polite voice echoed in the damp air.

“Please step through here.”

He pointed to a less-rusty iron door. Lindsay opened it, and immediately the gloomy, damp basement gave way to a dazzling, bright corridor.

The walls were wallpapered to look freshly redone — spotless white. The contrast made Lindsay blink.

She walked down the straight hallway and turned the doorknob at the end. A woman’s bright, bouncy voice floated out through the slightly opened door.

“…So you’re really going down to the territory—!”
“Aria, save the rest of that for later. We have the guest we were waiting for.”

The male voice answering the woman sounded new to Lindsay, but she could tell the owner of the voice was Michael.

She took in the room beyond the open door. It didn’t feel like a basement at all — the air was dry and warm, the space tidy and elegant like any normal parlor.

On a leather sofa in the center, a woman turned her head. As soon as Lindsay saw her, she was sure this was the novel’s heroine — Aria. Even with her sickly face, her smile was bright and comforting — definitely the kind of light a bleak novel needed.

“Hello. I’m Aria Nopen. Nice to meet you,” Aria said cheerfully.

Lindsay stayed quiet and glanced at the man sitting behind Aria. Short black hair and a face like a sculpture — he looked cold.

Michael, the textbook handsome sculpted-face guy, got up and guided Aria to the sofa he’d been sitting on. He whispered to her with that gentle affection and created a subtle, awkward distance between Aria and Lindsay.

“Aria, most mages are shy, you know.”
“Oh? Orca wasn’t shy at all?”

I’m not shy either, Lindsay thought, glaring at Michael for spreading false info.