On the morning of the departure, Peter knocked on Clara’s office door.
Margarita, already fully prepared, took Constance’s letter from him.
“Urgent matters to handle in the North. Consultant will lead the group. Set out first; we will meet in Arlan. P.S. Everyone wear civilian clothes; uniforms might draw unwanted attention. —Constance.”
You’re certainly a busy person, President. I’m quite looking forward to seeing you in that swimsuit.
...
The rest of the action group was already waiting at the gate. Joshua wore a dark gray short-sleeved shirt with an iron sword at his waist, topped with a light, thin coat. His black hair was a bit messier than usual, likely from rushing over. Patrick stood beside him in a brown leather vest over a white cotton shirt and durable trousers, his short spear tucked behind his waist as he boredly counted the bricks on the city gate.
Irene wore a light gray translucent blouse with loose dark trousers. She clutched a small wooden box in her arms, and a belt lined with clinking alchemy vials hung at her waist. Erica, still in her uniform, was currently arguing with her about whether or not they should be wearing uniforms for the mission.
“Can everyone hear me? This is Margarita,” Margarita’s voice rang out in everyone’s ears. “The President has matters to attend to in the North and will meet us in Arlan. Also, she has instructed everyone to wear civilian clothes for this mission. Uniforms might draw the wrong kind of attention.”
Erica, who had been arguing with Irene, immediately turned bright red and sprinted back to the dorms to change.
“Whoa!” Patrick patted his ear. “The Consultant is talking inside my head!”
“It’s just Directional Voice Transmission, don’t be scared.” Margarita’s figure appeared from the end of the road. Today, she wore that white dress with a blue satin ribbon tied gently around her waist. A wide-brimmed hat sat on her head, shadowing half of her small face, but the sunlight hit her just right to illuminate that tiny tear mole. Lovell walked beside her in a white short-sleeved shirt, pinning unknown small white flowers onto Margarita’s hat.
“A trip should look like a trip,” Lovell had said.
But this sight left Joshua dazed.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Patrick shook his head and nudged him with an elbow.
Irene stared at Margarita for a long time before asking, “Consultant, how far can you maintain this transmission?”
“I don’t know. I only practiced to the point of including multiple people this morning; I haven't tested the limit yet.”
“If you can transmit to multiple people simultaneously, then combined with my graduation project...” Irene placed her wooden box on the ground and opened it, revealing a row of small lenses wrapped in soft cloth. “I’ve been researching this. Lenses made from the same alchemical material. The wearer can see what is in front of the other lens. If different people are assigned different numbered lenses, and we coordinate that with your transmission...”
Margarita’s eyes lit up.
“We could command everyone simultaneously?”
“Exactly.” Irene held up a lens. “And it can be infused with mana to remain levitating. Combined with Feather Fall, it can overlook the ground from mid-air, acting as an aerial reconnaissance point.”
Margarita squatted down, picking up a lens and turning it over. She tried to see Irene’s perspective through it, and her own figure immediately appeared in the center of the glass.
“Irene!” She looked up, the expression on her face causing everyone present to freeze.
It was pure curiosity and excitement. Her blue eyes were sparkling like stars, devoid of any professional smile.
“How many of these can you make? One for each of us—no, two? One to carry and a spare... and we need one to place at a high vantage point! The size could be a bit larger—”
“Consultant,” Irene couldn't help but laugh. “Slow down. I don’t have that many materials.”
“What materials do you need? I’ll find them! Does the academy warehouse have them? I have plenty of credits, or maybe the Adventurer’s Association—”
“Consultant?” Erica, back in her civilian clothes, came running up. “What happened? You seem very happy.”
Margarita blinked, suddenly realizing she was squatting on the ground clutching the lenses, looking like she was about to kidnap the alchemist and force her to start working on the spot. She cleared her throat and stood up, returning the lens to Irene.
“We’ll discuss it further in Arlan.” She resumed her professional smile. “Let’s move out.”
Lovell stepped up to Irene’s side and nudged her with an elbow. “Don’t you think Little Mari is adorable?”
Irene nodded repeatedly with a grin.
...
From Himlabacken to Arlan, the official road wound along the coastline. The sea breeze, thick with salt, blew in from the east, pressing the roadside weeds flat against the ground. The party of six from the Special Action Group didn't travel fast; rather than rushing, it seemed Margarita was deliberately slowing the pace.
They picked up a few commissions along the way. Patrick made a fool of himself at the first town. He volunteered to negotiate with the client, but misheard “eliminate the pests in the field” as “eliminate the spirits in the field.” He spent the entire afternoon crouching in a wheat field with his short spear, only to realize they were just several mutated field mice. Irene laughed so hard she nearly dropped her alchemy vials, while Erica silently turned away, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
The second commission was to escort a merchant caravan through a pass where bandits were known to lurk. However, the bandits saw Patrick’s short spear and fled without even showing their faces. Lovell squatted by the road wailing for half an hour, complaining that her extra pocket money had flown away.
The third commission was a close call. An adult Horned Eagle had built a nest outside a village, its hunting range covering the entire grazing area. Erica used ice to freeze the Horned Eagle’s wings while Joshua and Patrick flanked it from both sides, with Margarita backing them up from the rear. Once the job was done, Patrick was knocked over by a final swipe of the Horned Eagle’s tail feathers. The first thing he said upon getting up was, “Can I sell these feathers for money?”
By the time they reached the Kingdom Inn, the sky was already dark. It was a two-story stone building with vines crawling over the roof. An oil lamp hung at the door, and inside was the warm light of wooden tables, benches, and a fireplace. The proprietor was a plump middle-aged woman. Upon hearing they were adventurers, she gave them three rooms and brought out hot soup and bread.
“Tomorrow we head toward Bilk. There are reports of monster activity on the official road.” Patrick bit into his bread while flipping through a map. “The Adventurer’s Association marked it as a medium-to-large encounter. They’re called Rock-Back Lizards—adults are about as tall as a person. They live in groups and recently nested in the valley on the east side of the road. Merchant caravans passing by have been raided several times.”
“Are we taking it?” Irene asked.
Margarita held her bowl of soup and thought for a moment. “Rock-Back Lizards are quite valuable. The Magic Cores will help replenish our funds. Plus...” She glanced at Lovell, who was chewing on her bread. “Once we reach Arlan, we might not have the time to take on commissions.”
Lovell’s chewing slowed, but she didn't respond.
After dinner, everyone retired to their rooms. Margarita and Lovell shared one, Joshua and Patrick another, and Irene and Erica the third. Margarita bathed first and changed into a clean short-sleeved shirt, sitting on the edge of the bed to dry her hair. Lovell stayed in the bath for a long time—so long that Margarita’s hair was almost dry and she had flipped through several pages of the notes Clara had given her.
The door opened.
When Lovell walked out, her red hair was wet and stuck to the side of her face, and she wore an oversized old shirt. She didn't playfully lean in as she usually did; instead, she silently sat on the other side of the bed, placed a towel over her head, and sat with her head bowed.
Margarita watched her for a moment.
“Lovell.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re nervous.”
Lovell’s hand tightened around the towel, but she didn't look up. After a long while, she spoke in a muffled voice. “I haven't seen him in almost a year.”
Margarita closed the notebook, placed it on the nightstand, and scooted over to sit beside her.
“That one letter he wrote me... even that was intercepted by the Sacrosanct Circle...” Lovell’s voice came from beneath the towel, sounding heavy. “I don’t know how he is now, if his health is okay, if he’s still in that rundown house, or if he still sits in his usual spot at the tavern...”
She paused.
“What if he doesn't want to see me? What if he tells me to go back, saying I’m just causing him trouble?”
Margarita reached out and took the towel off her head. Lovell looked up at her, her amber eyes moist.
Margarita didn't say a word. She pulled Lovell’s head onto her shoulder, placing her palm on the back of her head and running her fingers through the damp red hair, smoothing it out stroke by stroke.
“There, there.”
Her voice was very soft, as if she were soothing something fragile.
Lovell stiffened for an instant, then her entire body slowly relaxed, her forehead resting against the crook of Margarita’s neck. Margarita had just finished bathing, and she smelled of soapberries. She was warm, and Lovell sniffed, breathing in that scent along with the body heat.
“The fact that you can live a good life here is already wonderful,” Margarita said slowly, each word trailing a soft, gentle end. “You’ve worked so hard to accomplish so much.”
Lovell’s shoulders trembled.
“You’ve done very well.” Margarita moved her hand from the back of Lovell's head to her neck, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Traveling all the way from Arlan to Himlabacken alone, taking on night hunting to save money, learning everything you needed to learn... You’ve made it this far without relying on anyone. That’s truly incredible.”
Lovell’s fingers clenched the hem of Margarita’s shirt.
“Your master will be happy.” Margarita’s voice grew even softer, like she was coaxing a child who had finally agreed to close their eyes. “He wrote to you telling you not to come back because he was afraid the Sacrosanct Circle would target you, not because he didn't want to see you.”
Lovell’s breathing gradually slowed. Margarita continued to stroke her hair, from the roots to the ends, over and over, until the weight on her shoulder grew heavier and the Red-Haired Thief’s breathing became deep and rhythmic.
Margarita tilted her head to look. Lovell’s eyes were closed, her lashes lowered, and her wet hair was stuck to her cheek. Her lips were slightly curved, as if she had finally let go of something. Margarita gently laid Lovell down on the pillow, pulled the blanket over her, and tucked her in.
Then she sat leaning against the headboard, staring at the flickering flame of the oil lamp on the opposite wall, staying silent for a long time.
Outside the window, the sea breeze swept through the room, making the light dance. Margarita looked down at her shirt, which was now wrinkled where Lovell had gripped it, and her lips curled into a smile.
“Goodnight, Lovell.”
Rate on N.U.
