IBVFL 26

Chapter 26

Drip—

Felix quietly observed the woman sitting before him.

“Suspicious.”

Very suspicious.

“A 5th-circle magician, really?”

She had readily agreed when Meital asked in that flattering tone if she was a 5th-circle mage.

But in the Kingdom of Riumbel, falsifying one’s magic circle for personal gain was a serious crime — punishable by law. Everyone knew that.

And yet, she just sat there smiling innocently? Sure, she had kind of denied it afterward, but to Felix, that only made her seem even more suspicious.

“Because she hasn’t proven anything.”

Normally, magic power is measured at birth. Circles 1–2 are low-tier, 3–5 are mid-tier, and anything above that is high-tier.

Once the level is confirmed, the Magic Tower grants a mark — a kind of identification symbol carved somewhere on the magician’s body.

Of course, it’s invisible most of the time.

For lower-tier magicians, showing their mark could get them killed. Mid- to high-tier magicians could abuse their rank to exert influence.

Thus, unless you were a particularly notable noble or hero, it was an unspoken rule not to show or mention your circle.

So, her not showing it wasn’t strange in itself.

But still—

“It’s weird.”

There were too many things that didn’t add up. And the longer he was around her, the stronger the sense of wrongness became.

“Damn it.”

Just a short while ago, he had been feeling so weak he could barely move. But now? His body felt lighter, his breathing steady, his mind clear.

And that—was unsettling.

He could feel it: this strange sense of calm was tied to the woman sitting across from him.

The realization irritated him.

“You.”

“Your Grace, please! Addressing a lady like that—”

“Shut… Be quiet.”

Felix corrected himself mid-curse, glancing at her. Meital looked utterly moved.

“My goodness, His Grace restrained himself from cursing… Ow?!”

Felix stomped on Meital’s foot under the table.

“If I can’t use my mouth, I’ll use my foot,” he muttered under his breath.

“Did you… wear perfume?”

“Huh?”

“No, let me rephrase that. What perfume are you wearing?”

Otherwise, there was no way she’d smell so sweet every time they met. Normally, scents gave him headaches—but this one didn’t. Not that that mattered.

“I’m not scolding you. Just tell me.”

He waited, trying to sound calm, thinking that maybe knowing the name would ease this annoying curiosity.

But the answer that came back was completely unexpected.

“I didn’t wear any.”

“…What?”

“I don’t really like perfume.”

Artificial scents made her nauseous, she explained simply, then went back to eating her cake.

Felix blinked, then murmured:

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” she mumbled softly, flustered.

Even Meital looked surprised.

“Scent? What scent?”

“…Never mind.”

Felix cut the conversation short. She didn’t seem to know what he was talking about, and he didn’t feel like explaining.

But the sweet, creamy fragrance lingering in the air refused to leave his senses.

She wasn’t lying… yet he could smell it.

The contradiction unsettled him.

Feeling both confused and oddly restless, Felix drained his cup of coffee.

Just then, Meital checked the time, and his cheerful expression vanished.

“Your Grace, it’s time to leave.”

Felix took out his pocket watch. Indeed, it was time.

“Thank you for your time, my lady. I look forward to our next meeting.”

“Ah, yes! Have a safe trip.”

Amelia waved awkwardly. Felix sighed quietly as he watched her.

“What on earth…?”

He thought seeing her again might clear things up.

But no—it only made things worse.

“I can’t figure her out.”

The worst part was, he didn’t want to leave.

“God, that was terrifying…”

A 5th-circle? If that had gone wrong, she wouldn’t be coming home—she’d be sitting in a prison cell.

Lying about one’s circle was one thing. Gaining benefit from the lie was an entirely different level of crime.

“That law’s the only reason this country hasn’t collapsed.”

Still, she’d barely dodged a bullet.

“Thank goodness that ended well.”

Meital had been surprisingly easy to deal with. As the villain’s right-hand man, she had expected him to be cold or difficult—but he turned out quite approachable.

He could steer conversations easily, control the mood, and seemed socially adept.

“He’s pretty young, too.”

Yet he had served as the heir’s aide for over ten years. Definitely not an ordinary person.

“And the villain himself…”

She sighed.

“Why does he act like I’m some sort of threat?!”

She munched on bread, deep in thought.

It wasn’t fair.

“I’ve never even met him before!”

She had said as much herself — she’d never seen him before in her life. So why the hostility?

“Not open hostility, but like…”

Like he was analyzing her. Trying to read her.

“I’m just a money-obsessed kid!”

Maybe he was suspicious because she was hiding her true identity. But revealing it wasn’t an option. And openly stating her circle? Out of the question.

“I promised myself not to get involved.”

Mid-tier magicians were rare and valuable. The Kingdom of Proude recruited talent indiscriminately, regardless of social class.

If you stood out, they’d scout you immediately. She was under Gilbert now—but even Raymond served under Cazlyden, didn’t he?

“Better to stay quiet.”

Yes, keeping her identity hidden was the safest move.

Gaining his trust could come later.

For now, any attention from that man meant trouble.

She stuffed the rest of her bread in her mouth and stood up.

The sky outside was already growing dark.

“Hmm.”

“I wonder how his meeting’s going.”

Thud!

A large man’s body slammed into the wall.

Winston Cazlyden dusted his hands, glaring at his annoying subordinate.

“Every damn time, you surprise me.”

A few groans echoed from the floor — one, two, three… eleven bodies total.

Deon clapped his hands, impressed.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

“You said you were sure I’d die this time?” Winston growled.

“‘Sure’ is such a strong word. Let’s call it… reasonable caution!”

Deon Merville — Winston’s most trusted aide and the head of a count’s household — was the only one the Cazlyden Duke acknowledged as his stand-in.

Felix, the heir, was still young, and his father — the former duke — had long since passed away.

When the head of a noble house had to be away for extended periods, chaos tended to follow. To prevent that, Winston had appointed Deon as temporary regent.

Felix held ultimate authority, of course, but Deon handled most of the mediation and daily affairs.

Winston often traveled for external matters, and Deon filled in with Felix to keep the estate stable.

So naturally, he was deeply invested in the duke’s safety.

“You sure talk a lot.”

“And I learned from the best! You said it yourself — if you’re stuck as an acting regent, you’d better be good with words.”

“Click.” Winston clicked his tongue.

“I raised a damn smart-aleck.”