YWPWYLFDM 42

Chapter 42

“Looks nice, but… isn’t it a bit too much?”

Of course, Candice planned to stay by Ophelia’s side until she gave birth safely, and it would be nice if she could stay comfortably. But in her mind, just a single bed—or even just a sofa—near Ophelia would have been more than enough for a few months. Feeling awkward, Candice twisted a strand of her hair.

In the past, whenever she visited Ophelia’s house, they had often shared the same bed. Back in their student days, they even stayed in the same dorm room.

But now, both of them were well into their thirties, and Ophelia had been married for over ten years. Things weren’t as simple as before.

Still, the way Ophelia was treating her so formally made Candice feel a little hurt.

“No, it’s fine. Right now, you’re Candice Ephosher—the Dean of Tamora National Academy and the Chairwoman of the Tamora Republic’s Mage Council. You deserve at least this much.”

Tamora was a republic, without kings or nobles. The Mage Council handled the nation’s affairs, and the strongest mages naturally held the most power.

And among them, Candice was the strongest. Even at a relatively young age, she served as the Chairwoman of the Mage Council.

“…”

Candice pouted, her lips sticking out in a sulky expression. Hearing that from none other than Ophelia made her feel strangely unsettled.

Ophelia couldn’t help but laugh at her old friend’s sulky face.

“I’m kidding. Really, I just have a favor to ask. Think of this as a bribe.”

“A favor? Aside from me keeping you and the baby healthy with magic until the birth?”

That had been the main reason she traveled all the way to the Pelles Empire. So for Ophelia to suddenly ask another favor now felt unexpected.

Ophelia pressed her lips together and glanced around. She had already given strict instructions to keep everyone out, so the atmosphere grew heavier, leaving Candice even more puzzled.

“…Candice.”

When the room grew deathly quiet, Ophelia finally spoke, her voice heavy.

Candice swallowed nervously. With her friend clenching her fists so tensely, she couldn’t imagine what might be coming.

“Aila… she’s alive.”

“What?”

At those words, Candice’s eyes went wide in shock.

Ophelia’s first daughter, who had been lost ten years ago. Everyone had assumed she was dead—no witnesses, no trace, nothing. Only Ophelia and Rodrik had refused to give up, searching endlessly.

And now, to hear she was alive?

“You found her? Where is she?”

“I don’t know where. Only… she sent word that she’ll come back someday.”

Tears welled in Ophelia’s eyes. Her face was both sorrowful and radiant with hope. Candice bit her lip hard, at a loss for words.

“…So what can I do to help?”

Candice’s tone grew unusually serious. If Ophelia was asking for help related to Aila, then it had to be something important.

“She has a magic artifact. A magic box.”

The very box Ophelia had once gifted to Winfred.

It was protected by top-level enchantments. But if it could be tracked, maybe Aila’s whereabouts could finally be discovered.

“You want me to track it.”

“…Yes.”

Ophelia had been waiting days for Candice to arrive, clinging to the hope that if anyone could attempt such a difficult task, it was her.

“…Who made this artifact? Don’t tell me—”

“…Yes.”

At Ophelia’s answer, Candice’s jaw dropped. Her expression was one of pure despair.

A magic tool crafted by the world’s greatest mage. That meant no ordinary means could possibly track it.

It was shameless, asking such a thing of a friend she had only exchanged letters with over the years. Ophelia bowed her head deeply, shame burning in her chest.

The words If it’s too much, just pretend you never heard it rose to her throat, but she couldn’t say them. The hope of learning where Aila was—the possibility, however small—choked the words back down.

“…I’ll try.”

To Ophelia, the moment stretched like eternity. Then at last, Candice spoke.

She would try. She would take on the challenge.

“Well, why not? Let’s see what I can do.”

Ophelia, still staring down at the floor, slowly raised her head. Candice was grinning, showing all her teeth, mischievous as ever.

It was the same playful expression she always wore when sealing her letters with wax.

“Miss, have you packed everything?”

“Yes, Laura.”

Aila replied while pulling on a thick fur-lined winter coat. With the matching fur-trimmed hood pulled over her head, it was almost too warm to stay indoors.

“They say it’s time to leave. Please, hurry to the carriage.”

It was still before dawn, but the snow-covered world outside glowed bright.

There was only one reason for moving so early in the morning: once again, they had to leave and head somewhere new.

Because of the heavy snowfall, they hadn’t been able to move around at night to gather information. But it was clear enough—the Imperial army or Vicehafen’s soldiers must have drawn near, forcing them to flee.

Just as Aila brushed the snow off her boots and prepared to climb into the carriage, a grumbling voice rang out behind her.

Turning, she saw Byron. He looked thoroughly displeased at being forced to rise and move at such an early hour.

Wrapped in a luxurious fur coat, he still complained of the cold. His hair and eyes were brown today—he must have drunk another potion.

“My lady, why are you still standing there? It’s freezing. Please get inside quickly.”

Cloud spoke softly, his gaze calm. Aila nodded and stepped into the carriage.

Inside, the air was warm. The biting winter winds that stung her skin outside couldn’t reach here.

Soon after she settled into her seat, the convoy began to move.

Traveling through the snow was painfully slow. They had to use a magic device that blew hot air to melt the snow little by little, clearing the road ahead.

Days passed as they crept forward.

Because they avoided populated areas, even short distances required long detours. The prolonged travel wore everyone down.

…Why did the carriage stop?

Aila peered through the small window in alarm.

Not far ahead, Imperial soldiers stood at a checkpoint, stopping travelers.

“What do we do, Sir Cloud?”

“Why is there a checkpoint here?”

Byron’s men fidgeted nervously, clearly unsettled.

Normally, they took paths so remote they barely saw another soul. But now, with soldiers already spotting their carriage, turning back was impossible.

If they turned around after seeing the checkpoint, the soldiers would grow suspicious and pursue them. And on snow-covered roads, they couldn’t hope to flee quickly.

“…There’s no choice. We’ll have to push through.”

They had forged identification papers, and Byron had already taken the potion.

At Cloud’s command, the carriage rolled forward again, heading toward the checkpoint.

“Where are you headed in this weather? Show me your travel papers.”

The soldier looked weary from long hours in the cold, yawning as he demanded their documents.

“We’re a merchant caravan bound for Slekster.”

“Specializing in furs—this is our busy season, after all. Would you like a set yourself, soldier?”

One of Byron’s more smooth-tongued men lied easily, producing the forged documents.

Slekster was a small town down this very road. The excuse was plausible, and with everyone dressed in warm furs, the story was convincing. Normally, that alone would have been enough to let them pass.

“…That’s fine, but we’ll need to check inside the carriages.”

Why were they being so strict? In a normal inspection, papers alone should have sufficed.

At the demand, even the glib man faltered slightly.

“…Is there a problem?”

“That’s none of your business. Is there any reason we shouldn’t look inside?”

The soldier’s tone was cold, his mood foul after hours in the bitter wind.

They didn’t explain the real reason: they were searching for the would-be assassin of the Crown Prince. That was why they were inspecting so rigorously.

“Hey, you. The man with the scar by his eye. How’d you get that?”

One soldier, recalling the rumor that the assassin had been wounded by the right eye, pointed at Cloud suspiciously.

“…Such scars are to be expected in mercenary work. Consider it a badge of honor.”

“Looks pretty fresh, though.”

“It’s older than it appears.”

Cloud’s calm, clipped tone only seemed to deepen their doubts. He carried himself with too much dignity—more like a knight than a common sellsword.

“Enough talk. Open the carriages.”

The soldiers even drew their swords. At the commotion, more soldiers emerged from the nearby rest post to join them.

“…Go ahead.”

At this point, refusal was impossible. The sensitive documents and items were carefully hidden beneath layers of fur, and Byron had taken the potion. All they could do now was hope that would be enough to escape suspicion.