The clock struck two in the afternoon.
Margarita’s schedule had always been regular, and the moment her usual nap time arrived, her head began to droop. Just as her forehead was about to hit the ground, Constance caught it with her hand.
“Mmph? Hmm?” Margarita was dazed for a moment. “What happened?”
“The door is open, Mary.”
“Oh, right!” Margarita patted her cheeks to wake herself up. “Shall we go, Sister?”
By the time the word “Sister” left her mouth, a dignified smile was already plastered on Margarita’s face. It was so perfect that Constance momentarily lost her train of thought.
“Let’s go.” Constance nodded and stood up, following behind Margarita.
They stepped forward toward the tavern's main entrance. From inside, the dim glow of lanterns and the scent of aged ale drifted out, accompanied by the faint murmurs of a crowd. Margarita crossed her hands in front of her, her right hand resting over her small belt pouch, her thumb lightly brushing against the grip of her pistol.
She pushed open the tavern door, and the heavy scent of ale hit her full force. Standing in the doorway, her gaze swept across the dim interior. Her smile didn't waver, but the light in her eyes dimmed slightly.
Dammit, I knew it.
In the center of the tavern sat a man in a gray robe, his head peppered with strands of silver hair.
Grey Reed? Hah, Sacrosanct Circle, who do you think you’re kidding?
Margarita would have recognized the face of the real Grey Reed even if he were burned to ash—it was a face she had seen countless times while reloading her saves just to unlock specific dialogue options.
It looked absolutely nothing like this old man.
A pale pink point of light flickered near Constance’s ear. Constance stiffened slightly, her hand immediately dropping to the hilt of her sword.
Margarita stepped forward and took a seat across from the gray-robed man.
Come on then, let’s see what games you’re playing... And more importantly, I need to find out where the real Grey is, otherwise Lovell will worry.
“Excuse me, sir,” Margarita began, her voice soft and carrying the polite distance typical of a noble lady, “are you Mr. Grey Reed?”
Constance’s five-minute noble training course—well worth the time.
The man in the gray robe looked up. Beneath the shadows of his hood, his dark brown eyes lacked the shrewd glint characteristic of an old thief. He sized Margarita up and then glanced at Constance standing behind her, his gaze lingering for a moment on the hand resting on her sword hilt.
“I am,” the man replied in a raspy voice. “What do you want with me, young lady?”
“My name is Mary,” Margarita said, her smile unchanging as her fingers unconsciously stroked the pistol grip beneath the table. “I’m from Himlabacken. A friend of mine is your apprentice; she asked me to check on you while I was passing through Arlan.”
“Apprentice?” he said. “I’m old; I don’t remember taking any apprentices.”
Liar. She almost died at your hands.
“Is that so?” Margarita’s tone remained gentle. “Her name is Lovell. Red hair, about this tall.”
She held up a hand to indicate the height.
“She said you picked her up off the streets when she was a child and raised her for nearly ten years.”
“A red-haired girl,” the man repeated as if searching his memory. “I suppose that rings a bell. It was a long time ago, though. My memory isn't what it used to be.”
This guy is stalling for time.
“She misses you very much,” Margarita said, her smile deepening. “She walked all the way from Arlan to Himlabacken alone. She suffered quite a bit on the road and at the academy, but she never complained to anyone.”
“She always said that what her master taught her was enough to last her a lifetime.”
The man’s Adam's apple bobbed.
“Is... is she doing well?”
“She’s doing great,” Margarita said. “It’s just that she’s run into some trouble recently. People are looking for her, and people are looking for you too.”
“Looking for me?” The man brought his hands out from under the table and placed them on the surface. A ring was visible at the base of his index finger.
It was silver and very thin, fashioned into a circle of olive branches.
Giving up on the act already?
“I’m just an old man,” he said, interlacing his fingers. “What could anyone want with me?”
“I thought so too,” Margarita said. “But those people don't agree. they’ve been watching this tavern for a long time. The man whittling wood in front of the tailor shop, the one selling bread by the bakery—they’re all part of the same group. You should know that, right?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Margarita said. “I just came to confirm you were still alive. Since you're sitting here perfectly fine, I have something to tell Lovell when I get back.”
“Oh, by the way,” Margarita interlaced her fingers too, mimicking his posture. “When was the last time you saw Lovell?”
“I don't remember.”
“Did you say anything to her when she left?”
“No.”
“Do you know why she left Arlan?”
“No.”
“Then... do you know about the Sacrosanct Circle?”
The tavern, which had been filled with low murmurs, went deathly silent in an instant.
“Why do you ask, Miss?”
“Just curious,” Margarita said, her smile remaining gentle. “I heard the Sacrosanct Circle was declared illegal by the Royal Family ten years ago and all its members were exiled to the Northern Frontier. You’ve been sitting in this tavern for ten years; surely you’ve heard some rumors?”
The gray-robed man stared at her for a long time. Someone in the corner of the tavern coughed. The owner behind the bar continued to wipe a glass, and the wooden stairs leading to the second floor creaked. Constance stood behind Margarita, her hand never leaving the hilt of her sword.
“Miss,” the gray-robed man finally spoke, “who exactly are you?”
“Heh.” Margarita let out a short laugh, and her prim noble facade finally shifted into her typical professional smile. She flipped up the collar of her dress, revealing the Windermere family crest hidden beneath. “Do you need me to reintroduce myself? I am Mary. My full name is Mary von Windermere.”
“Windermere...” the man repeated the name, his voice dry. “The Windermeres who lead the Northern Frontier?”
He suddenly realized his olive branch ring was still exposed and jerked his hand back into his sleeve as if he had been burned.
“You don't recognize me, and you don't recognize my sister, Constance.” Margarita laughed when she saw his reaction. “Originally, my sister and I only came here today to see how my friend’s master was doing.”
A pale pink light point flickered near Constance’s ear.
“Do it.”
“But your reaction makes me feel like things aren't that simple.”
Thud!
The moment the words left Margarita's mouth, the gray-robed old man was sent flying. He smashed through the tavern's back door and tumbled onto the ground outside. Waiting past the back door were three Sacrosanct Circle spotters already pinned down by Paladins, along with a row of Patrol Knights on standby.
“Windermere family inspection,” Constance said, pulling back her fist as she turned toward the stairs leading to the second floor. “Arrest everyone involved in this illegal assembly. Screen them one by one.”
Margarita let out a sigh.
All I know is that Grey isn't here, but I still have no idea where he actually is... This is going to be a hassle.
Rate on N.U.
