Chapter 62: Unknown…
When Ailiya and her group returned to St. Freya Academy, night had fallen. The roadside crystal lamps flickered to life, casting a warm, soft glow on the ancient stone paths.
At the dormitory fork, Aurora and Seraphina bid farewell. Liliane was to stay in her private academy suite, and Ailiya, needing to swap her dust-caked armor for her maid uniform, naturally trailed behind her.
Walking the empty corridor, Ailiya’s gaze lingered on Liliane’s petite, poised figure ahead. The dim lamplight traced her perfect curves, her black dress accentuating a waist so slender it seemed unreal. Her skirt swayed rhythmically with each step, like a flower blooming in the dark.
Ailiya glanced at the marble floor, noticing Liliane’s steps matched the tiles’ length precisely, as if measured by a divine ruler. Elegant, effortless, yet never mechanical—her grace was alive, refined. Even for a genius like Liliane, this must’ve taken so much effort, Ailiya mused.
At the corridor’s end, a familiar figure stood waiting—Clara. Seeing Liliane, she hurried forward, seamlessly taking the document bag from her hands.
“Clara?” Liliane’s tone held a hint of surprise. “Why are you here?”
“I heard about the Calamitas Rubicorne,” Clara replied, her steady voice laced with concern. “You were out so late, so I came to check on you.”
News spreads faster than gossip rags, Ailiya thought, realizing the incident’s gravity was far beyond her initial grasp.
“I’m fine,” Liliane said, shaking her head. “Come with me to my room and arrange tomorrow’s schedule.”
“Yes, milady,” Clara replied, bowing slightly, clutching the bag and falling into step beside Ailiya.
Ailiya studied the ever-smiling head maid. Clara, catching her gaze, smiled warmly. “Ailiya, today must’ve been tough, huh?”
“Tough? Try cursed!” Ailiya’s complaints poured out. “Nearly got skewered by a tricorn, almost fried by lightning, and then Lady Liliane walloped me!”
Liliane shot her a chilling glance. Ailiya yelped, darting behind Clara like a startled rabbit.
Ignoring her, Liliane turned to Clara. “Tomorrow’s schedule.”
Clara launched into a packed itinerary: “Six a.m., breakfast with the Finance Minister; eight to eleven, magic theory class; one to four, video conference with Duke Rosenthal on southern seafood trade; five p.m…”
Ailiya’s jaw dropped. Does Liliane ever rest? Six a.m. to nine p.m., seven days a week—she wasn’t human; she was a workhorse.
“Today was Lady Liliane’s rest day,” Clara said calmly, as if reading Ailiya’s thoughts.
Ailiya’s brow furrowed, then her eyes widened in horror. Rest day? Liliane had led them to the dungeon, fought a red-named beast, and left Ailiya half-dead from exhaustion. That’s her rest day?!
“You see,” Clara continued, smiling, “compared to her usual whirlwind schedule, today was practically a vacation.”
Vacation?! Only someone brainwashed by a tyrant boss would call that a break! Ailiya screamed internally.
Clara glanced at Liliane’s solitary figure, her gaze softening with a complex warmth. “But Lady Liliane was happy today.”
“Couldn’t tell,” Ailiya said, shaking her head.
“For her family, she’s a machine that never stops,” Clara said softly, tinged with sorrow. “Always striving, always forward. As her childhood companion, I fear that string, stretched so tight, might snap one day.”
Liliane, a once-in-a-millennium genius, bore the weight of the Winter family alone. Even a chaotic day like today was a reprieve from her suffocating routine of documents and meetings.
“So, if you can…” Clara turned to Ailiya, earnest. “Please stay by her side. With someone as bright as you, she’s… less burdened.”
“You mean as her punching bag?” Ailiya muttered, rubbing her still-stinging cheek.
Clara chuckled, a sly glint in her eyes. “The pity is…” She leaned closer, voice honeyed. “If only you were a masochist, Ailiya. Then both you and Lady Liliane could have double the fun.”
A chill shot up Ailiya’s spine. Glancing around for an escape, she backed against the wall, inching away in terror.
In Liliane’s brightly lit room, Ailiya had fled to her servant quarters, slipping back into her maid uniform. Liliane sat at her desk, preparing for tomorrow.
Without looking up, she asked, “What were you and Ailiya talking about?”
“Just some academy gossip,” Clara replied lightly, organizing the bookshelf, knowing Liliane disliked trivial chatter.
As expected, Liliane dropped it, focusing on her work. Among her letters, she found a heavy envelope from the Kingdom Magic Research Institute—results from the black bracelet sent after the lingerie shop incident, returned with the report.
The conclusion was stark: after extensive testing, the bracelet was ordinary black iron, devoid of magical properties.
Yet Ailiya and the others had seen black mist. Liliane didn’t believe Ailiya would lie. A new substance undetectable by current magic? Unable to puzzle it out, she locked the bracelet in a sealed magic box for later.
She worked past midnight. Clara had left, and Liliane, in silk pajamas, settled into her soft bed. For some reason, the memory of pinching Ailiya’s cheek surfaced. She raised her hand, studying it in the moonlight, then pinched her own face lightly.
…It does hurt. I’ll go easier next time.
Shaking off the thought, she switched off the bedside crystal lamp and closed her eyes.
Moonlight streamed through the grand window, casting silver frost across the room. A beam fell on the sealed box. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor shook it.
A wisp of black mist, darker than ink, thicker than shadow, seeped from the box’s seams. Like a living thing, it slithered silently across the floor, circled the room, and drifted toward the bed.
Slowly, it seeped into the sleeping Liliane…