Chapter 159 – The Right to Choose

  That morning, Ivaline was utterly confused.

  Aldric, Garrick, and the rest of their party looked as though they had fought another battle overnight—yet bore no visible wounds. Their eyes were heavy. Their shoulders tense.

  “What happened?” Ivaline asked.

  Silence.

  Aldric avoided her gaze.

  Instead, he delivered a message.

  “The Baron summons you and Seraphine. His manor. Before noon.”

  “That’s all?” Seraphine narrowed her eyes.

  “That’s all.”

  Without another word, the men retreated to their rooms and collapsed into bed as though fleeing interrogation.

  Seraphine clicked her tongue and slipped into their quarters anyway, determined to pry answers from them.

  Which left Ivaline alone.

  A knock came soon after.

  Polite.

  Measured.

  Ivaline reached for her sword before opening the door.

  The Grim Vulture group stood outside.

  Kael inclined his head respectfully.

  “We came to apologize.”

  Mira crossed her arms, still faintly bruised. “And to demand one.”

  Roderic stood quiet as always. Lyra watched with unreadable amusement.

  “For underestimating you,” Kael said. “Your swordsmanship was beyond expectation.”

  Mira huffed. “And for kicking me in the face. That hurt.”

  “…Sorry,” Ivaline replied simply.

  Roderic stepped forward and handed her a spare grappling hook.

  “You may need it.”

  Lyra tilted her head. “How did you see through my illusion?”

  “Instinct.”

  Lyra’s lips curved faintly.

  “Dangerous answer.”

  They left.

  Or so she thought.

  Moments later, Lyra jogged back alone.

  “By the way,” she asked casually, “would you consider forming a personal pact with me?”

  “What kind of pact?” Ivaline asked flatly.

  “Me, becoming your mistress.”

  “… what is mistress?”

  Ivaline asks with monotone.

  Lyra blinked.

  Then laughed.

  “Oh… you’re more pure than I thought, even after you eat up Emerald gale?”

  “Eat up Seraphine? No, she’ll die.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Lyra lick her own lip seductively. Eying Ivaline with a predator eye.

  “That settle it. I’ll devour you instead.”

  Illusion mage slowly unzipped her black tight suits the upper part of her front starting to laid bare.

  She stepped closer, predator’s curiosity glinting in her eyes—

  “D O N ‘ T Y O U D A R E !!”

  A blade of wind sliced across the corridor, carving a clean scar into polished granite.

  Lyra clicked her tongue.

  “Ah. Too late.”

  She snapped her fingers and vanished into illusion.

  “HUFF… HUFF!!!”

  Seraphine stood there, chest rising sharply, eyes blazing.

  “Are you alright?” she demanded.

  “Yes.”

  Seraphine pulled her into a tight embrace.

  “Promise me,” she muttered fiercely, “no dangerous pacts without telling me first.”

  “M’kay.”

  Ivaline patted her head gently.

  Seraphine exhaled, then dragged her back into their room.

  The door shut.

  A brief scuffle of fabric.

  Muffled voices.

  When they emerged later, Ivaline’s expression was unchanged—calm, unreadable.

  Seraphine, however, carried herself with unmistakable territorial satisfaction.

  And if someone has a good eye.

  At the edge of her dress near collar bone.

  Some red spots could be seen.

  Baron’s Manor

  The garden was as tranquil as before.

  Baron Edrien stood beneath trimmed hedges, hands behind his back.

  Guild Master Selene stood beside him.

  Not in leather armor.

  Not in her commanding attire.

  But in a refined dress of pale fabric that softened her sharp authority.

  She looked… distracted.

  Her gaze flickered toward the Baron more than once.

  So he wasn’t joking…?

  Guild Master Selene (Dress)

  He offer a seat to his guest first, and then sit down himself.

  Edrien regarded Ivaline steadily.

  “Out of every adventurer who bound by duty or volunteered for this war,” he said, voice calm but heavy, “you are the youngest.”

  “…I’m honored?” Ivaline answered uncertainly.

  He inhaled slowly.

  “This is awkward to say. But if I do not say it now, I will regret it.”

  Selene stiffened slightly.

  “Ivaline,” he continued, dropping her title deliberately, “would you consider withdrawing from the front lines?”

  Silence.

  “I can arrange documentation. Declare you deceased in a covert incident. Remove your name from the registry. You could return to your frontier town. Live quietly. You would only need to change your name.”

  Selene glared at him—but did not interrupt.

  She also hated the thought of sending someone so young to war.

  Ivaline stood quietly.

  Then.

  “Thank you. But I must decline.”

  Both adults froze.

  “May I ask why?” Edrien asked gently.

  “My wife is on the priority list. My friends in Four Bastion. Garrick. Rivel.”

  She looked at them evenly.

  “If I leave—even if we leave together—that would not be fair.”

  “You’re still a child,” Selene said softly.

  “But I’m also strong.”

  They prepared to argue.

  She cut them off again.

  “And I love my family. My frontier town. Everyone in it. If I can fight, then I will fight. To protect them.”

  Silence filled the garden.

  Under the table, Seraphine squeezed her hand proudly.

  Edrien studied her for a long moment.

  “… I heard your sword is ordinary steel.”

  “Yes.”

  “That will not be enough.”

  Selene seized the opening.

  “If you insist on going, then at least your equipment must meet standard.”

  “Within three days we could—” Seraphine began.

  “We depart tomorrow morning.”

  Seraphine shot to her feet.

  “What!? The schedule stated seven days!”

  “Due to unforeseen circumstances,” Edrien replied evenly, “the timeline has advanced. And the details are not for public disclosure.”

  “That’s unreasonable! The decree states exceptional talents are prioritized!”

  “And I,” Edrien answered calmly, “am the one who judges exceptional talent. If I deem you unprepared, I will strike your name.”

  Neither he nor Selene wavered.

  Ivaline gently tugged Seraphine’s sleeve.

  “Let’s go.”

  “To where?”

  “To our people. We’ll find a way.”

  Seraphine’s anger dissolved instantly at her phrasing.

  “Yes. We will.”

  They left.

  When the garden fell silent again, Edrien poured tea.

  Selene sat opposite him.

  “Crossing her name out over equipment?” he said lightly. “Then three-fourths of our army should be dismissed.”

  “And changing official reports already sent to the capital would carry consequences,” she returned smoothly.

  They exchanged a look.

  “If it’s for our daughter,” he added casually, “is that not worth the cost?”

  “That child deserves happiness,” Selene murmured. “Not war.”

  Then she paused.

  Our daughter?

  Tea sprayed.

  “You mean your daughter,” she snapped. “I never adopted her!”

  “If you become my wife,” Edrien replied serenely, “would she not become ours?”

  “Who said I would!?”

  He placed a hand over his chest, half wounded, half amused.

  “Ah. So you do not intend to honor your side of the deal.”

  Her face twitched.

  “A-Are you serious about… dating me?”

  “From our coordination alone, we are quite compatible, are we not?”

  No one had ever asked her directly before.

  She had shone too brightly.

  Men admired—but never approached.

  Was this… finally…?

  “Oh well,” he sighed lightly. “Let us set the joke aside.”

  “THAT WAS A JOKE!?”

  “Half of it.”

  “WHICH HALF!?”

  “The half where I claimed disappointment,” he said calmly. “The part about us being a good match was not.”

  Silence.

  Her ears turned crimson.

  She turned sharply toward the mansion.

  “… If you survive this war,” he called gently, “please give me a serious answer.”

  She slowed.

  “And one more thing.”

  She glanced back just slightly.

  “You are truly lovely in that dress.”

  “…!!!”

  Guild Master Selene retreated at full speed toward her chamber.

  Utter defeat.

  She would repay this humiliation.

  Twice over.