Chapter 101 — In which things burn down (4)

‘… He doesn’t look too well.'

That was the first thought Phlox, who barely managed to sit down before the coming-of-age ceremony started.

She observed the main character of this event, the Lesser Lord Mage Vern, while her thoughts raced.

There was no problem with his presentation.

The clothes were exquisite enough that even she, who didn’t particularly liked Rubrun’s fashion, gave them a pass as quite good.

The long hair and decorations were also neatly arranged.

And yet, something wasn’t right.

He appeared too thin.

Most of his body was covered by fabrics, so Phlox had no way of confirming it, but his cheekbones seemed a bit too prominent to be just a particular structure of his skull.

What’s more, his skin had some strangely grayish luster to it.

The Archmage was known to have unusual for this region pale white skin and dark-silver hair, but because brothers looked nothing alike it was hard to attribute it to their bloodline.

Rather Phlox would describe it as an excessive paleness due to sickness, where even deep brown would lose its color.

‘If it was his Excellency, the attendants would do everything to cover it up.’

She thought, while examining rather subtle by her standards make-up.

Actually, Crimo initially tried to make Vern appear a bit more alive, but it turned out that Vern was allergic to most of the make-up powders.

So rather than torturing his younger brother by trying to find a powder, which didn’t cause an allergic reaction, Crimo decided that his younger brother looked good no matter what, and everyone should be just grateful that they could admire his younger brother’s natural complexion.

And there was no one stop him from deciding that.

Sangria never paid attention to such things, so he felt he wasn’t in position to advice in this matter.

Scarlen didn’t want his Lord to think any longer and just go to rest, so he said nothing.

And the person concerned, Vern, didn’t really care how he looked until the moment he realized, who was attending the ceremony.

As Phlox’s gaze followed the figure, who moved through the ceremony hall, trailed by enormously long shadow, the figure suddenly slightly tilted his head and met her gaze.

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A shiver went down her spine.

The glance of those cold red eyes made her feel as if some unknown being was quietly staring at her from depths of hell.

A clear warning, her instincts screamed.

But warning about what?

Was it because she was the leader of Purplus’ envoy?

‘… His Excellency is handing over Mr. Seven to the Archmage… is there connection between the assassination attempt and Archmage’s family…?’

Initially Phlox assumed that the Archmage’s family had nothing to do with assassination attempt at the Saint’s life, because Amara basically instructed them to protect the lives of the family’s members.

But what if her thoughts were too shallow?

The Saint never said that the Archmage’s family wasn’t an enemy…

And he also gave her instruction that sounded like a threat, in case Archmage tried to question them about what occurred.

Phlox didn’t think Vern was simply angry and suspicious about the Sun and Day gods’ priests’ ritual and perhaps the divine item, because the resentment she felt in that split second of eye contact was too deep.

‘His Excellency seems to be playing more complicated game than I thought…’

While she analyzed it, Vern retracted his gaze and continued to walk down the hall, as if nothing ever happen.

Phlox also slowly turned her gaze away, though it was only after Vern’s eyes left her.

The Purplus’ envoy’s leader cannot lose in the eye battle!

Then, as she moved her gaze to other guests, something almost made her throw her head back to look.

‘This Lady…!’

In the far back, there sat a beautiful young woman.

With her golden hair paired with her dark skin, she looked like a yellow fairy’s slipper orchid flower on a black steam, no, perhaps a phantom orchid would be more fitting.

The eyes shining like rays of sunlight were following the Lesser Lord Mage.

They were narrowed and sharp, like a sword ready to strike.

The gaze so intense could be directed at only one type of person.

A mortal enemy.

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‘… Ah, dear brother, stop glaring at my miracle. I’m going to buy you three, no, ten barrels of sweets as a revenge. Each sweet will be different and each will be from the top hundred of the sweet shops in Flavun, and I’ll request a thorough review of all of them from you. Yes, must be from you. And I’ll send Sir Citrie to deliver them, and make him wear a pretty suit and cute ribbon, the kind you put on candy bags. Haha! Fear the sword of my revenge!’

Saffra, who didn’t miss her brother unhealthy complexion and glance at her miracle, was making most evil plans in her head, when she heard the person beside her mutter breathlessly:

“Lord Mage?”

‘Lord Mage?’

Hearing that title, Saffra almost turned her head away from the excellent angle, where she could see both of her targets, her brother and her miracle.

Beside her, Citrie, who stopped breathing for a moment, when he saw Vern enter, finally managed to remember how to preform basic life function.

But what escaped his lips bothered Saffra quite a bit.

‘Did Sir Citrie just call Ver ‘Lord Mage’?’

If that was true, she really hoped that no one beside her heard that.

Because just using that title towards someone with Ver’s current status could cause a strife.

‘You said that you’re putting out fires, not setting them!’

She scoffed in her head, while her ladies-in-waiting, who noticed Citrie’s strange behavior, asked:

“Sir Citrie, do you know Lesser Lord Mage?”

“… Ah, we met in a corridor when I was running Young Lady’s errand…”

‘You went to meet your was-to-be boyfriend before your sister?! Twenty barrels of sweets! With salt!’

While she thought that and the intensity of her gaze grew, Citrie continued.

“…but I had no idea who he was, so I… … … Wait, he is eighteen?”

Citrie suddenly looked as if he faced a profoundly complicated moral problem.

“Don’t worry about that.”

Saffra just patted him on the back without turning her head.

Because the problem was rather the opposite.

While Citrie suffered a crisis, Vern approached the fountain basin and took the first step to finish the coming-of-age ceremony at the age of over two hundred years.

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