This was why when Maria was tasked to be the next schoolmistress, she couldn't feel any happier. Despite the envy she had to go through, she was in a good trajectory. She didn't mind the people comparing her to Anna—she was the one chosen to inherit the t.i.tle! Even when Maria was compared, she did not choose to study nor improve—her fate was already decided. She didn't need to do anything but wait, and be beautiful to land herself a handsome husband. It would make Anna miserable.

She did marry a magnificent man. Anna was left in the dark, and lived in Maria's shadows for years.

Until…

"He's born, you did well, Lady Maria!"

"L-let me see him…" Maria huffed, and smiled. She reached her hand to get her baby.

"B-but…" The midwife hesitated.

"Is he born?" The husband asks, and then smiled warmly as he heard a coo from the baby. "Give him to me. Let me see."

The midwife handed him the baby wrapped in the cloth hesitantly.

"T-this child…"

"Dear…?"

"This child isn't mine!"

It turned out, from that day on, Maria's fragile reputation was again brought to a downturn. She wasn't compared to Anna, but she was regarded as a tarnished lady.

"Such a disgraced lady. Bearing the child of a Heilen slave while claiming it her husband's? Such schoolmistress!"

"Maria, I'm relinquis.h.i.+ng the t.i.tle of the schoolmistress to you."

"Anna Unsterblich shall be the new schoolmistress."

"This is your fault—!"

"Mother—"

"Don't hurt Jonathan!"

"And what of it? This child, this child is a curse!"

"Mother—"

"Don't you call me your mother. You ruined my marriage, my reputation, my position! I wish you were never born!"

Ruby-colored eyes fluttered open, dark and long lashes unblinking. They seemed to turn blood-red, but they were definitely jeweled eyes, a proof of a heritage. A proof of a line. Jeweled eyes are rare to be seen in both the n.o.bility and the common folk.

Sapphire. Ruby. Amber. Amethyst. Emerald. Jade. Diamond. Garnet.

There were many more—but they belonged to people who had a blood related to those of long-gone creatures—the Elves. It is said that jeweled eyes are the proof of Elf-blood running through their veins. Even the tiniest blood of Elves could result in a tad of magical power better than the common folk, or a magnificent mana unlike any other.

"Ah… that dream again." He says. He sat down, and stared at the sleeping beauty laid before him covered in the softest mattress, the purest white sheets. Her hair was like strands of fire falling gently against the pailla.s.se.

"I hope you could sing to me again…" He says. "Eulalia…"

Flashback . . .

**

Orwell has been observing all along. Through his round spectacles, he watched how they were in the outskirts of the capital via a carriage, and then to the capital itself; Orwell noticed a patterned behavior—something he had expected even before coming to the capital. He had expected this more than anyone did.

The inquisitive eyes of commoners, and the prying ears of n.o.bles.

Orwell knew how it works—given the fact that he was a n.o.ble himself. He knew the hierarchy work inside their social circle. Hidden beneath the sweet, gentle smiles of women were their taunting giggles. Among the comforting and sweet lies of gentlemen were their disrespectful mocks. Yes, this was the social spectrum he belonged to.

Faustina.

Of course, that girl could not possibly know how the n.o.bility works; he had thought about this ever since he taught her back in the castle. It is almost a pipe dream to just suddenly shove her in a life she isn't accustomed to. She was obviously a naive girl.

Ignorance is bliss. Or so it seems? Orwell eyed the people looking at Faustina's grey hair. Grey-haired people are not common, but not too rare as well. The battlefront country brimmed with royals with ash-grey hair, their physique covered with mana and their stature different from what is considered as mundane. Faustina had an arbitrary stature, rather a bit smaller than girls from her age. Her skin color was fair and pale, rather than fair and pink.

Now Orwell could see nothing but the mere fact that Faustina is in a tight position to be in. The glamour was masking her hair, but not everything about her—she still, in his opinion, felt odd. Everything about her did not feel natural, as if such looks were not complimenting each other.

They reached their destination rather peacefully, even with the mild whispers and mumbles from both the commoners and n.o.bility. They were now the center of attention, Orwell knows; the mere fact that this was the Feuer capital, one of the most densely populated cities in Feuersturm, he doubts that mouths would simply just zip and remain uninquisitive.

The Feuer manor is a mansion that n.o.bles reside in. There are several other inns that even the n.o.bility can rest in, but it was that Feuer manor was the best out of all the others. It was due to the fact that it was built according to the designs of the owner, who is also the receptionist himself, Baron Francois Jeune.

As they entered the manor, all gazes were redirected to the party. It was an odd company, after all. Orwell could not blame them.

Through the lenses of his gla.s.ses, he peered to the baron.

He spoke in circles, but Orwell deciphered what he meant.

'you are all suspicious.' 'why is a Lotheringwood and a Feuerlon together?' and...

'who is this woman?'

He clearly had himself fixated on Faustina. Orwell knew it aroused his curiosity and suspicion.

As they entered the suite, they were divided into the rooms. Maddie and Faustina would be together (given that they are both women, and Maddie is Faustina's maid), and then he and Lucas would take different rooms. The first time they were in the suite, they all rested, of course. It was such a tiring day, and above all—Orwell missed such soft mattress.

**

It was dusk when Orwell awoke. He already took a bath and dressed himself up. When he stepped outside of his room, he saw Lucas Feuerlon sitting by the chair enjoying a tea. He was also in his attire, his cloak draped across the chair.

"Oho, you are leaving Maddie in the room alone, no?"

"Shut up," Lucas answers. "She will be dining with Faustina and I."

"Ooh," Orwell mumbles in approval. "Way to go."

"Where are you going, anyway?" Lucas asks. "I can see no reason why you are not dining with us. Not that I want to dine with you,"

Orwell chuckled.

"I'm going to see a friend." He exclaims. "Or rather, an acquaintance."

**

"I'm here." Says Orwell. "Show yourself."

In the dark alley of Feuer, away from the vigorous music and the crowded people laden with hampers and shops, Orwell Lotheringwood seeks a person. And then, upon a blink of an eye, there emerged a shadow on his side, pale red eyes looking at him blankly.

"Abe." Says he. "What have you gathered?"

He whispered. His voice was like a chill: cold, arctic, and empty.

"Then we do not have to worry?"

No response.

"Abe?"

"West." He says. "North. East. South."

"What?"

"Enemies."

And upon hearing Abe's words, the entire alley seems to expand, tinting the dark night into an obscure, red tinge. Orwell withdrew the staff from its sheath, hidden underneath his cloak.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three thuds of staff from above. A magical barrier appeared before him, sending a mystical chain das.h.i.+ng towards him.

"Barrier!" Orwell thud his staff to the ground.

"Rigésc.u.n.t!" chanted Orwell. It is an attack that freezes the opponent—Orwell managed to freeze the praetor's arm.

"Ah, a water magic user."

"Hah. I pride myself for using every elemental to my own suiting."

"Fufu. Orwell of Lotheringwood. What arrogance."

"What an unexpected fiend." Orwell says. "Abe."

Abe nodded and launched an arm, his finger armed with a sharp dagger at each of its s.p.a.ce.

He pierced the small knives to the man's frozen arm.

"Ah, you got me."

"What an unexpected enemy," Orwell says as he let go of the man. Abe stood at his side and whispered.

"Enemies from North, East, South."

"I see." Orwell closed his eyes. "When will they arrive?"

Abe closed his eyes and listened to the air.

"In five minutes."

"Aah, Abe, the former a.s.sa.s.sin. Your skill is formidable, indeed." He smiled. "But you two will die before my allies even arrive here~~"

Orwell smirked. "You dare to impose an insult to us, the one owning the t.i.tle of Lotheringwood, and the Vice-captain of the High Knights?"

"Oui~!"

"What an unexpected of the turn of events," Orwell smiled. "Baron Francois Jeune!"