What is he doing? Acier inwardly questioned, casting an imperceptible side-eye glance at the figure in question from afar. She tuned out the bustling streets, the chatter of the crowd, and even the voices of her immediate company.
She and Hilda stood before one of the many wooden stalls lining the lively streets of Kikka, browsing—or at least pretending to, though Hilda was none the wiser. Trinkets of all kinds sprawled across the vendor's table: cute hairpins, waistband keychains, hair bands, necklaces, wristbands, earrings, and more.
The two examined the items, their fingers brushing against the cheap materials as they admired the designs. Hilda knew Acier wouldn't wear anything like this, no matter how much she liked it. Her mother and grandfather would never tolerate a "princess" adorned in such inferior goods on her "perfect" figure.
But Hilda believed otherwise. If her princess discovered something she truly loved, she'd likely buy it anyway—not to wear, but to keep hidden in her room and admire during quiet moments. That was why Hilda had coordinated with the stall vendor, a middle-aged woman in her forties with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a dull-colored kirtle. The woman eagerly presented her wares, her enthusiasm a mix of hope and calculation.
Though their brown cloaks concealed much of their figures, the vendor had glimpsed their faces beneath their hoods. Acier's delicate, pristine skin, tidy cheeks, and especially her enchanting eyes gave away their upper-class status. If that wasn't enough, the bulging pouches of coins tied to their waists—peeking out just slightly—sealed the impression.
The vendor could barely contain her excitement. She focused her attention entirely on the two girls, ignoring other customers and even shooing away potential distractions. With a practiced air of humility, she displayed her goods, offering a running commentary on each item.
The blonde-haired Hilda seemed genuinely interested, engaging with the vendor and even working to draw Acier's attention. The vendor quickly realized that Hilda was likely a servant and Acier the one in charge. Doubling down, she picked up a purple butterfly hairpin and held it out.
"This would look stunning in your hair," the vendor said brightly, glancing at Acier.
Hilda nodded in agreement. "It would suit you perfectly, my lady."
But Acier responded with only a half-hearted hmm or a distant, "I see." Her disinterest was plain, and the vendor's hopeful smile faltered before she forced it back into place and moved on to the next item.
Acier's lack of enthusiasm was starting to wear on Hilda. Although the maid played her role as the cold, indifferent servant that society expected, deep down she was still a ten-year-old girl thrilled to be out of the castle and spending time with her princess.
Acier's visible detachment dampened Hilda's spirits for a moment, but then her determination reignited. She wasn't giving up—not yet. Hilda continued her efforts, certain that, on any other day, Acier might have relented and purchased something. Even if she didn't truly want it, she might have done so out of kindness or as an excuse to support the vendor's livelihood.
But today was different.
Though Acier stood physically beside Hilda, her mind was elsewhere. Her attention lingered on a figure in her peripheral vision, far to the left. She was sizing him up, trying to determine what he was doing.
Across the street, she saw him standing over a street painter, who sat on a cheap tablecloth mat, painting something. The scene surprised her. From his disheveled appearance, he didn't seem like someone with money to spend on street art—or the sort to appreciate it, for that matter.
His dead fish eyes didn't exactly scream "art enthusiast," she thought wryly.
Still, she couldn't deny that he'd been buying quite a few things today. Maybe he isn't as poor as he looks, she mused, her curiosity piqued.
Though perhaps that wasn't entirely accurate. The void's clothes, though silk—a material worn only by nobles and wealthy merchants to flaunt their status—were far from pristine.
No, pristine wasn't the right word. In Acier's eyes, the blue-trimmed black ensemble he wore, paired with brown leather ankle boots, was visibly worn. Threads had come loose, small holes dotted the fabric, and faint stains marred the surface. It was clear to her that this outfit might very well be his only set of clothing.
If his attire wasn't enough of a clue to his poverty, the events leading up to this moment replayed in her mind, further solidifying her suspicions.
Shortly after leaving Clover Castle with Hilda, Acier had subtly—unknowingly to Hilda—steered their direction toward where she recalled seeing the void heading. It wasn't difficult to track him; she remembered his slow, deliberate path down the hilltop streets.
Even so, Acier worried he might have turned down another path while she was speaking with Hilda and that she'd lost him. Fortunately, that wasn't the case. She soon spotted him again, his sluggish movements making him easy to follow. His feet dragged against the ground, his back arched as though weighed down by some invisible burden. He barely seemed to make any progress from where she had last seen him.
That worked to her advantage. His pace gave her a perfect excuse to maintain her alibi: that she was simply out to enjoy the fresh air.
There were moments of panic, of course. Nobles along the streets occasionally recognized her and tried to approach, eager to strike up a conversation. Acier's heart raced at the thought of being detained long enough for the void to slip away. But Hilda, ever resourceful, intercepted them before they could get within five feet.
"The Princess is outside on the blessing of the Old Duke," Hilda would state, her tone cold and firm. "Do you wish to be the reason it is reported to him that his blessing was fruitless?"
The words worked like magic. Acier watched as they retreated, cowed by the mere mention of her grandfather. She had to resist the urge to embrace Hilda in gratitude, though her relief quickly turned to unease when Hilda pulled her into a clothing shop.
Acier froze. Noblewomen's clothing shopping was an ordeal that could easily consume an entire day. Was this her grandfather's plan all along? To dress up his "doll" in even more elaborate attire?
Thankfully, Hilda reassured her.
The visit lasted less than a minute. Hilda exchanged a wordless glance with the shopkeeper, who nodded and promptly produced two plain brown cloaks. With their new attire, they exited the shop and continued on their way.
The cloaks worked wonders. Even if people still recognized Acier beneath the hood, they seemed to understand the unspoken message: Do not bother me. Acier Silva? Never heard of her. I'm just a passerby. If you want to speak to her, write a letter to Castle Silva and hope for an appointment with the heiress.
The next time Acier's pulse quickened, it was for a different reason. The void was nearing the border between the noble realm and Kikka.
Though Kikka was a castle town, its geographical location placed it firmly in the common realm. Acier had never been permitted to venture into the common realm alone. Her sole visit had been as a child, accompanied by her entire family and flanked by a full contingent of House Silva guards, to witness a play.
She had been four years old then, Aurelia just a newborn. Her memories of the event were hazy at best. Since that day, her life had been confined to the noble realm, with Castle Silva as her gilded cage.
Even within Castle Clover, she'd been restricted for much of her life, allowed only in the Silva wing until her most recent birthday.
As they crossed the invisible threshold dividing nobility from commoners, Acier half-expected Royal Knights to materialize and drag her back to her grandfather. But no such thing happened. Even Hilda showed no reaction as they entered Kikka.
For the first time in her life, Acier found herself walking freely in the common realm.
They wandered into the marketplace—or in Acier's case, followed the void—and moved from stall to stall. Hilda pointed out various items, engaging Acier with small talk. But Acier only nodded absentmindedly, keeping the void in her peripheral vision, curious about his actions.
She watched him drift from vendor to vendor, wordlessly purchasing an array of items: needles, thread, bandages, ointments, lotions, knives, forks, ligatures, scalpels, clamps, hooks, and more.
Acier couldn't fathom how he managed to do it—how he obtained everything he wanted without so much as a word. Beyond the sharp cry he'd let out when she struck his jaw earlier, she had yet to hear him speak. He didn't even point to the items. Yet, at every stall, the shopkeepers seemed to understand his intent as if by magic. They would give him a silent nod, hand him the item, take his money, and he would move on.
The whole process left Acier questioning her senses. Was she deaf? Blind? She hadn't heard a single word exchanged, nor seen a single movement to indicate communication between the void and the vendors.
Time and again, she saw him repeat this strange ritual, his money pouch growing lighter and his knapsack swelling with goods. The sight was surreal. At any other time, seeing someone buy so much might have given the impression of wealth.
But Acier knew better. Despite the quantity of his purchases, the quality of the items was appalling. Aside from the bandages and thread, the goods were used—second or third-hand at best—rusted, dirty, and worn.
Even the coins he handed over told a story. Acier could just make out their battered condition: bent and chipped scraps of silver and bronze. They looked like something only a destitute peasant would possess. The common vendors he paid often grimaced, clearly disheartened by the state of the coin. But they accepted it anyway—because they had to.
In the noble realm, no store would have tolerated such coins, nor allowed someone dressed in his threadbare clothes to set foot inside.
And yet, despite all this, Acier's confusion grew as she watched him spend what appeared to be the last of his money on a piece of street art.
Her brow furrowed as she bit her lip, recalling the void's lifeless eyes. Does he just not care anymore? Or… is there some purpose to this?
The street painter handed him the finished piece, painted on a slab of wood. Acier strained to catch a glimpse of the artwork, but the void didn't even glance at it. He simply dropped it into his bag, handed over a handful of silver yule, and trudged away. His back hunched under an invisible weight, and his presence seemed to drain the air around him.
People instinctively parted to let him pass, avoiding him as though he carried a plague.
Acier turned back to the vendor in front of her. Without a word, she took the butterfly pin the woman had shown her earlier, dropped a gleaming gold coin—worth more than the entire stall—into the vendor's hand, and walked away.
The woman froze, staring at the coin in stunned silence.
Behind her, Hilda stood equally still, her jaw dropping before she hurried after Acier.
"P-Princess?!" she blurted, then clamped her hands over her mouth. Oops. I'm not supposed to call her that right now.
Acier stopped and turned, giving Hilda an appraising look that made the maid stiffen. Without a word, Acier pointed toward a stall across from the painter, where the aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air.
"Hilda, line up and get us some bread or something. I'm hungry."
Hilda blinked, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief. "Young Miss… you want to eat… street food?"
Acier nodded, frowning as she crossed her arms. "Did my grandfather forbid it?"
Hilda hesitated, then awkwardly shook her head. "No, he didn't." But inwardly, she thought bitterly, I doubt the Old Duke ever imagined the possibility of you eating such filth.
"Then what's the problem?" Acier raised a brow, her tone sharpening.
Forcing a smile, Hilda shook her head quickly. "No problem, Young Miss."
Hilda didn't curtsy—mindful of their supposed "disguise"—but gave a small bob of her head. She gestured toward the stall. "I'll line up. Please don't go anywhere far, Young Miss."
Acier gave a small nod of acknowledgment, watching as Hilda spun on her heel and took her place at the back of the relatively long line.
Acier turned and glanced to her right, her gaze following the void's retreating figure before heading straight for the painter.
Sensing her approach, the street painter looked up from his mat and offered a polite smile. "How may I help you, young la—" He cut himself off mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Acier's face beneath her hood.
She raised a brow and whispered, "You know me?"
The painter stiffly nodded.
Acier crossed her arms. "How?"
Straightening his posture, the painter replied cautiously, "Prince—" He stopped when she grimaced, then coughed and corrected himself. "I mean, young lady, I'm a Boismortier. A noble heir who fancies you hired me to paint your portrait for your upcoming birthday."
Acier shuddered inwardly, repulsed by the idea. Eww. How did he even describe me so vividly for you to recognize me at a glance?
Suppressing her disgust, she asked, "That must have fetched you a hefty sum. So why are you painting on the street like a beggar? Unless this is some eccentric passion of yours?"
The painter scratched his cheek awkwardly. "Former Boismortier is more accurate. I was caught… romancing his mother and barely escaped their compound with my life—naturally without any coin. I was then expelled from my house and now make a living as a street artist to survive."
Acier froze, fighting off the twitch of an eyebrow as she sized him up. I thought noble ladies having affairs with musicians and artists were just rumors and fairy tales.
Curiosity got the better of her. "Who was it? Which House did you defile?"
The painter cringed and shook his head. "Forgive me, young lady. If word got out that I spoke of this, I probably wouldn't even know how I died."
Acier pouted but then smirked slyly as a thought crept into her mind. No matter. I'll find out when I receive that portrait. If the heir was dumb and infatuated enough to have it made, he'll be foolish enough to deliver it—all for the chance of winning my heart.
Confident in her reasoning, she shifted her focus back to the painter's setup: the brushes, canvases, and paint trays spread neatly before him.
"You have painting magic?"
The painter shook his head. "No, just a derivative. I'm a branch descendant—I possess picture magic."
Acier cocked her head, intrigued. "What's the difference?"
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Picture magic is exactly what it sounds like—just pictures. I can draw or paint anything I want and even perfectly recapture a scene, unlike most painting magic users. But my art has no magical properties. They're just drawings and pictures that don't come to life."
He bit his lip, forcing a weak smile. "That's why I can only make a living as an artist and why my house kicked me out so easily."
"Oh." Acier gave a small nod, her expression softening slightly. She glanced at his setup again and moved on. "Well, originally, I was going to probe around, but if you already know me, I can be blunt." This makes things much easier.
"Young lady?" The painter frowned, clearly confused by her intentions.
Acier didn't keep him waiting. "The guy who was just here—what did you paint for him?"
The painter stiffened, his polite smile faltering. "Is something the matter, young lady? Did he offend you in some way? I have nothing to do with him and certainly don't know him personally—"
"No," Acier interrupted, shaking her head. "Just answer. What did you give him?"
He straightened up, meeting her gaze apologetically. "Apologies, young lady. Even if it's you, I can't disclose details about a client's commission. That would be unprofessional and unethical as an artist."
The painter looked resolute, his tone firm—a picture of honor unwilling to betray his conscience.
Acier fought the urge to roll her eyes. Yet sleeping with a client's mother wasn't unprofessional? And you already spilled the details of another client's commission unprompted.
She reached into her pouch and pulled out a gleaming gold coin, holding it aloft like a treat for a well-trained dog.
The painter's resolve crumbled instantly. "He had me paint a simple sign that read 'Medical Clinic.'"
Acier smiled, dropping the coin into his lap, suppressing the urge to say, Good boy.
She watched as he swiftly tucked the coin into his coat. "Did you catch his name?" she asked.
He looked up and shook his head. "No. He didn't say much, afterall he wasn't the very talkative type."
Acier's eyebrow twitched again at the painter's response, though inwardly, she screamed. To me neither of you spoke at all!
Suppressing her annoyance, she pressed on. "Do you remember what he looks like?"
The painter blinked, briefly confused, before nodding. "Yeah, of course. My magic gives me a vivid imagination and nearly perfect memory. I just saw him minutes ago—I could recall him down to the smallest detail."
Acier's eyes lit up momentarily, but she quickly masked her excitement, crossing her arms. "And you can put that on paper? Paint his portrait?"
"Of course!" The painter puffed out his chest confidently. "It'll be indistinguishable from the real thing."
Acier offered a faint smile before glancing over her shoulder at Hilda, who was now third in line at the bakery. She turned back to the painter.
"Then what are you waiting for?" she hissed. "Hurry up and paint him—on a small canvas, something that can fit in here." She lifted her cloak to reveal a small leather satchel at her waist, currently holding only the transponder Hilda had given her.
The painter stammered, "Oh—oh yes!" He hurriedly flipped through his stack of canvases, pulling out one barely larger than a photograph. His grimoire floated to his side, and a swirl of colors materialized around him. Brushes hovered in the air, dipping into paints and picking up hues of silver, blue, black, brown, white, and beige, all perfectly blended.
Positioning the canvas vertically, the painter took a pencil in hand and, within seconds, sketched the void's sharp features with eerie accuracy. Even the oppressive aura of despair surrounding the figure seemed captured in the lines.
Acier watched nervously, stealing a glance over her shoulder. Hilda was now at the front of the line, chatting with the baker as he filled a bag with bread and pastries.
Turning back to the painter, she saw the brushes working furiously, filling the outline with vibrant color. The scene was unnervingly lifelike, and as the painter added the final touches, Acier jerked forward and snatched the portrait from his hands before he could react.
Startled, the painter gaped at her, but any protest died as Acier casually tossed a gold coin into his lap. His face lit up, and he grinned foolishly, tucking the coin into his coat with delight.
Leaning forward, Acier whispered in a low, firm voice, "Keep this to yourself."
The painter hesitated before giving an exaggerated nod and an okay sign with his hand. The money she'd given him was more than enough to live comfortably for two months—lavishly, if he wanted. He had no intention of crossing the heiress of House Silva.
Satisfied, Acier turned just as Hilda approached, clutching a brown bag to her chest. The aroma of cinnamon, pastries, and fresh bread wafted from it. Hilda's expression was a mix of bewilderment and concern.
"Were you commissioning a painting?" Hilda asked hesitantly, glancing past Acier to the painter and his disorderly setup.
Acier's expression hardened as she shook her head casually. "No, nothing from his samples caught my interest or gave me any reason to commission something."
Her lips curled into a pearly smile—one she knew could blind and disarm Hilda. "Besides, if I wanted a painting done, I'd task our House's private artist with the commission, not some…" She glanced over her shoulder at the painter and wrinkled her nose. "...Street artist."
The painter froze but quickly caught on, lowering his head with an exaggerated, self-deprecating smile.
Passersby frowned at Acier's apparent rudeness, throwing pitying glances at the painter, but none stopped or interfered. They simply moved along with their day.
Hilda gasped softly, startled by Acier's uncharacteristic rudeness. The princess must be more upset with the Old Master and Mistress than I thought. This is so unlike her. She quickly forced a nod and lowered her head, unwilling to meet Acier's gaze and risk drawing her ire. Instead, she held out the bag.
"I've purchased a variety of baked goods, young lady," Hilda murmured.
Acier nodded coolly, her tone soft but commanding. "Well done, Hilda. Let's find a park or somewhere quiet to enjoy them."
She glanced up at the afternoon sun and added, "Then we'll return to the estate. I've had enough excitement for one day."
"Ah?!" Hilda raised her head in surprise, her thoughts racing. I thought the Princess would try to stay out past the Old Master's curfew, but to return so early... Princess must truly treasure and respect the Old Master. She must be afraid of worrying him.
A soft smile spread across Hilda's face, pride swelling in her chest. She beamed at Acier. "Excellent, Princess. I know just the place—the view is simply exquisite."
Of course you do, Acier thought, a wave of jealousy flaring within her. Because when you're not serving me, you're free to come and go from the castle as you please. She suppressed the thought, her expression smooth, and returned Hilda's smile. "Then lead the way, Hilda—"
"Oi!"
Acier's words were cut off as a loud, gruff voice drew her attention. She turned to see a hulking, obese man stomping toward them, his steps shaking the cobblestones.
He wore a savage grin that only accentuated the gruesome scar slashing across the left side of his face. Perversely licking his lips, he stopped mere feet from them.
The onlookers and passersby scattered like leaves in the wind, casting fearful glances at the man. Vendors ducked behind their stalls, and mothers scooped up their children, retreating into alleys. Only the painter remained unfazed, glancing at the man with a look of pity. That idiot.
Hilda mirrored the painter's disdain, glaring at the newcomer with unbridled disgust. Who does this pig think he is, dirtying the Princess's sight with his wretched presence?
The man's beady eyes scanned their faces beneath their hoods, his smile growing wider as realization dawned.
I saw right, he thought gleefully. These two will fetch a fine price. His gaze lingered on Acier. Especially this one. A pity virgin goods are worth more—I would've liked to have a go at her myself.
His grin turned grotesque, his tongue darting across his lips in anticipation. Extending a meaty hand toward them, he spoke in a tone dripping with false charm. "You two lovelies will be coming with me—augh!"
He didn't finish. Acier vanished from sight, and in the next instant, a silver gauntlet was buried deep in his stomach.
His pupils dilated in shock as the breath left his body. Cold sweat broke out on his brow, and he looked down in disbelief to see Acier's fist still pressed against his gut.
Her expression was dark, her tone colder still as she withdrew her arm. The man collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud, wheezing in pain. Before he could recover, Acier's foot slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling backward onto the cobblestones, unconscious.
"Bwah." A mix of saliva and bile splattered from his mouth as he lay still.
As the silver gauntlet surrounding her fist dematerialized from existence, Acier clicked her tongue in disgust, but before she could say more, Hilda's voice broke through her thoughts.
"Young Miss."
"Hm?" Acier turned to see Hilda standing beside her, an ornate dagger glinting in her hand and disapproval etched on her face.
"You needn't have desecrated yourself with this filth," Hilda said evenly. "I could have handled it."
Acier blinked, then chuckled softly. She often forgot that Hilda was more than a maid—she was a battle maid, trained to act as a discreet bodyguard. Despite being younger and weaker than Acier, Hilda could deal with most mundane threats on her own. It was this training that allowed her freedoms most maids could only dream of.
But as Hilda's frown deepened, Acier shook her head. "Forget it. My mood is ruined. Let's just go home."
Hilda hesitated before nodding. She turned toward the unconscious man, the dagger twirling deftly in her fingers. "One moment, my Lady." This pig needs to pay for ruining your day. I won't kill him, but taking his other eye should suffice.
"Hilda." Acier's sharp tone froze her mid-step.
Turning back, Hilda saw Acier's no-nonsense expression.
"I said, let's go home." Her tone brooked no argument.
Hilda paused, then gave a deep curtsy. "Of course, Princess."
The formal address caused nearby onlookers, already gaping at the scene, to gape further. But Acier ignored their stares, turning on her heel and walking toward the hill that led back to the noble realm and royal capital.
Hilda followed closely, the dagger slipping back into its sheath as she matched her young mistress's stride.
—
House Silva, Acier's Bedroom
"You wished to see me, Young Lady?" The head butler, Alfred, bowed deeply as he entered Acier's room. She sat perched on a stool in front of her ornate makeup stand, the large mirror reflecting her calm expression.
Acier had returned to the estate earlier than expected, in time for lunch. This unanticipated promptness had filled her grandfather with pride. He had even granted her permission to continue her trips to Kikka until her birthday ceremony—provided she always returned in time for lunch.
The unexpected blessing had left Acier overjoyed, though it came with certain restrictions. She had to cease her early morning and late-night training sessions, a condition she had agreed to—somewhat. While she planned to pause her early morning sessions, her late-night training would continue, albeit covertly.
With her coming-of-age ceremony fast approaching, she reasoned that postponing her grueling routine until after the event would suffice. For now, there was much to prepare.
After lunch, she had retreated to her room and instructed Hilda to summon Alfred. The seasoned butler now stood before her, awaiting her request.
Acier turned on her stool to face him and inclined her head. "Yes, Alfred, I did. Are you busy at the moment?"
The butler bowed again. "Princess, my duty is to serve the Silva main family before all else. As the heiress of House Silva, your requests take precedence over all but the Master. These are the Old Master's orders."
Acier's smile softened. She opened a drawer at her side and pulled out a small white canvas. "Thank you, Alfred," she said, handing it to him. "I have a task for you."
Alfred accepted the canvas, his practiced demeanor masking his curiosity. "What would you have me do, Princess?"
Acier leaned forward slightly, her silver hair shimmering as it caught the light. "I want you to use House Silva's resources to find everything you can about the boy in this painting. His name, age, ancestry, likes, dislikes—his entire story. Compile it into a folder and deliver it to me by tonight."
Alfred's expression froze for a moment as he turned the canvas to examine the portrait. His practiced composure faltered, his thoughts swirling in shock.
It's this child... How could Lady Acier have crossed paths with him?!
He lowered the canvas and glanced at Acier, whose nonchalant facade barely concealed the nervous anticipation in her eyes. She twirled a lock of silver hair between her fingers, her voice light yet probing.
"Will that be a problem?"
Alfred slipped effortlessly into his signature smile, the one that masked even the most unsettling of truths. "Not at all, Princess. I'll see what I can uncover."
Acier's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Thank you, Alfred!" She paused, fiddling with her thumbs, before continuing in a softer voice. "This is a private commission, understand? It need not be shared with anyone."
Her meaning was clear. This was not to reach the ears of her grandfather, father, or mother.
Alfred suppressed the churn of guilt in his stomach, his smile unwavering as he nodded. "Of course, Princess. This will stay between you and me."
The gratitude that flashed across Acier's face only deepened Alfred's sense of self-loathing. Yet he held firm, bowing once more before retreating from the room, the canvas clutched tightly in his hands.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Acier let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her heart still fluttering with a mix of excitement and apprehension.
—
House Silva, Nathaniel's Office
In the historical office reserved for the patriarchs of House Silva, Nathaniel sat at his grand mahogany desk, the weight of centuries of legacy etched into its surface. His gaze was fixed on the portrait in his hand, his expression unreadable. After a long pause, he set the painting down and raised his steely eyes to Alfred, who stood upright before him, arms clasped behind his back.
Tap, tap, tap. The rhythmic sound of Nathaniel's knuckles against the desk punctuated the silence that hung heavily in the room. Minutes passed before he finally spoke, his tone cool and deliberate.
"How did my daughter become acquainted with this child?"
Alfred bowed deeply, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "Master, I consulted our loyalists among the barrier mages. They informed me that the Lady struck the boy on the jaw shortly after she stormed out of the manor during breakfast."
Nathaniel's expression remained unchanged, his voice just as devoid of emotion. "And then?"
Still bowing, Alfred continued. "Lady Acier attempted to respond, but the boy turned away without a word and left. It may be that his indifference piqued her curiosity, as she is unaccustomed to figures—particularly men—desperate to seek her favor."
Nathaniel's glare sharpened, silencing the butler mid-thought. "I do not need speculation, Alfred. Stick to the facts."
Alfred swallowed hard and resumed. "Forgive me, Master. Shortly after, the Princess's maid accompanied Lady Acier on a trip outside, with the Old Master's blessing. According to our spies in Kikka, the Lady used the excursion as a pretext to track and observe the boy. She commissioned a painting of him from the banished artist Boismortier, known for his scandalous affair with Lady Lugner. She then returned to the castle ahead of schedule after a sex trafficker attempted to capture her and her maid."
At last, a flicker of emotion crossed Nathaniel's face. His voice turned icy. "How was the pig dealt with?"
"Chopped into pieces and disposed of, sir," Alfred replied without hesitation.
A brief glint of satisfaction flashed in Nathaniel's eyes, only to be extinguished by Alfred's next words.
"Should I have the boy disposed of as well?"
Nathaniel's demeanor turned glacial, and his gaze pinned Alfred with a warning. "We have discussed this before, Alfred. Unless the boy acts against us, no harm shall come to him."
Alfred clenched his fists, his voice tinged with frustration. "Forgive me, my lord, but I must voice my concern. This decision is reckless. We have hidden his existence from the branch families for years, but they will eventually uncover the truth. If they use him as a political pawn, it could bring ruin upon your family."
His voice grew more urgent. "Master, that boy is a liability—he must be eliminated—"
"Pennyworth." Nathaniel's voice was a sharp blade, cutting Alfred off. He rarely used the butler's last name, and when he did, it signaled true fury.
Nathaniel pointed a finger at Alfred, his tone venomous. "Let me be perfectly clear: you are not to touch that boy. If any misfortune befalls him, I will hold you personally accountable. Am I understood?"
Alfred stiffened, bowing his head low. "Yes, my lord. Forgive me."
Nathaniel sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "My family is not so fragile that politics or one boy can topple us. And even if it were…" He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling.
"…That is the punishment for our sins."
Alfred hesitated, his expression conflicted, but Nathaniel spoke again before he could reply.
"Acier is the heiress of this House. If she requests information—especially concerning someone who is, in essence, part of our House—then it is her right to have it. Provide her with what she seeks."
Alfred froze, his voice uncertain. "All of it, my lord?"
Nathaniel shook his head. "There are truths that cannot be spoken, particularly those tied to that incident. Exclude or obscure those details as necessary."
Alfred bowed deeply. "Of course, my lord."
Turning to leave, Alfred reached the door but stopped in his tracks as Nathaniel's voice cut through the silence once more.
"Do not inform anyone of this—not my wife, not my father. No one."
Alfred turned back and bowed again. "Understood, my lord."
As the butler exited, closing the door behind him, Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting to the window.
He rose, walking to the tall panes, and looked out over the sprawling estate. His eyes lingered on the distant edge of the property, where the forest blurred into the horizon.
He sighed deeply, his hands clasped behind his back, before returning to his desk. Lowering himself into his chair, he picked up his quill and resumed his paperwork, though his mind lingered elsewhere.
Author's Note:
[1] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar
"My Lady... what exactly are we doing?" Hilda asked hesitantly, her gaze flicking across the circular coffee table to Acier.
"Mm?" Acier responded absentmindedly, not bothering to look at her maid. She rested her cheek against her propped-up right hand, elbow bent on the table, her gaze fixed to the left on a single spot she hadn't looked away from in an hour.
They sat on the outdoor balcony of a café overlooking Kikka's bustling marketplace, a quaint place Acier had dragged Hilda to after breakfast. She'd rented the entire balcony until lunchtime—an indulgence Hilda couldn't question but didn't fully understand.
Hilda tried to ignore the untouched array of decadent sweets on their table, focusing instead on where her princess's gaze lingered. Below, amidst the throngs of vendors and shoppers, she spotted him. The boy.
He was silver-haired, sitting stiff and emotionless at a shabby makeshift stall with little effort in its construction. A crude sign dangled above his station: "Medical Clinic." He looked like a hollow vessel—an empty shell in tattered clothing, barely alive.
Hilda's stomach churned. Why was her princess so fixated on him? They had arrived at the marketplace only an hour ago, yet the moment Acier's eyes landed on the boy, she had lit up with excitement to an extent Hilda hadn't seen in years. Without a word, she had rented the balcony, sat down, and proceeded to silently stare.
Her princess hadn't touched the delicacies brought to their table or even acknowledged Hilda's presence. Instead, Acier seemed utterly engrossed in the boy, as though he were a spectacle of immense importance. The array of expressions that danced across her face—fondness, sorrow, annoyance, sympathy, exasperation—confounded Hilda further.
Does the princess… like him? The thought hit Hilda like a bucket of cold water, and panic bubbled in her chest.
If Lady Amara or the Old Master find out, this won't end well.
Neither would tolerate Acier falling for a street rat—there was no other word for the boy, given his filthy, threadbare clothing. Nicklaus would undoubtedly kill the boy, whether or not the boy in question was even aware of Acier's supposed infatuation. Worse, he'd lock her away in the estate again, stripping her of the minuscule freedom that had miraculously fallen into her life.
And her mother… Hilda shuddered. To Lady Amara, even noble heirs weren't worthy of Acier. A nobody like that boy? The idea would be unthinkable.
If the Old Master ever interrogated Hilda about her princess's excursions, she doubted she could keep the secret unless she suicided. And that action in itself would be a confession of sorts that her princess was doing something she shouldn't. Her princess would lose everything again—her freedom, her will, her spirit. She would return to that lifeless doll Hilda had once known, pulled along by her mother and grandfather's strings.
Hilda's fists clenched. No. Not again.
She reached across the table, placing her slender fingers lightly on Acier's arm. "My Lady," she murmured softly, her voice steady yet imploring.
Acier blinked, finally pulling her gaze from the boy to fix Hilda with a cold, unamused stare.
Hilda swallowed her trepidation, glanced around to ensure no one inside the café was watching, and leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Princess… your status and his… they're too different. For both your sake and his, you shouldn't act on whatever it is you're feeling. Please, keep your distance."
Acier blinked, her expression morphing into one of incredulous disbelief. "You think... I fancy—" She gestured vaguely toward the boy, her wide eyes snapping back to Hilda. "—him?"
Hilda froze. Now I'm not so sure… She cringed inwardly but forced herself to nod. "Don't you…?"
Acier recoiled slightly, her nose wrinkling as if Hilda had just suggested something obscene. "No," she said stiffly. "God, no." She shook her head vehemently, casting a brief sidelong glance at the boy below—at Sebastian.
Sebastian Theodoros. That was his name. She had received it in Alfred's report last night, and now it stuck in her mind like a melody.
Well the first part of his name anyway, the second part… Acier had to try to hide her disgust recalling the things she read his father did to him or was at least suspected of doing, in Alfred's report.
He's just Sebastain… nothing else. Acier decided that would be his name, atleast to her.
Her gaze returned to Sebastain, her posture settling back into its previous contemplative pose. Her lips pressed into a thin line. How could I fall for someone I just met? And even if I did… who could fall for someone so… empty?
Hilda watched her princess slip back into her private world, the boy once again consuming her attention. She tried again. "My Lady… then may I ask, what exactly are we—no, what exactly are you doing?"
"Hilda," Acier interrupted sharply, her voice chilly. She didn't even bother to turn this time.
"Y-yes, My Lady?" Hilda stammered.
"Sit quietly and eat. You're distracting me."
Hilda stiffened, bowing her head. "Yes, My Lady," she whispered.
Satisfied, Acier gave a faint nod, her eyes never leaving Sebastian.
Watching him prompted Acier to review what Alfred had included in last night's report.
Sebastian. A name that meant venerable and revered. His parents had chosen it with a purpose—to mold him into someone who could climb the social ladder and drag them up with him. Their ambition wasn't modest either; they aimed to become official Silva nobility, high-ranking ones at that.
That name was meant to carry their dreams. They wanted him to be someone of renown, someone so perfect, so blindingly immaculate, that he could sweep their insecurities and failures under the rug. By extension, his success would reflect back on them, earning them the admiration of royalty and high nobility.
Acier's tongue itched to click in derision. She had seen this before—parents burdening their children with unrealistic expectations. Just another pair of venomous snakes among the common waste of nobility and royalty, she thought bitterly. And when their children couldn't meet those expectations? They were discarded or broken.
Her mind flashed back to yesterday. She had struck Sebastian in the jaw, gravely wounding him, only to watch as he healed himself effortlessly, almost robotically. At first, she thought his stiffness was because he was like her—an emotionless void, someone hollowed out by life's demands. But Alfred's report revealed the truth.
That stiffness wasn't emotional. It was practiced, natural, ingrained. The way Sebastian had yanked his book from her hadn't been an act of anger but an instinct, a conditioned response to take what was his and make himself scarce. He hadn't lashed out after being struck because he didn't care—he was used to it. He's used to being hit. Used to being hurt.
And that… that was where her sorrow for him began.
No one should have to live like that. Acier knew she was fortunate in many ways. Her mother and grandfather's suffocation had been unbearable, but it had never been physical. If they had added beatings to their control, she doubted she would still be standing.
She was no fool; she had never deluded herself into believing her suffering was the greatest in the world. There were countless people who would kill to live her life—a warm bed, cooked meals, the promise of another tomorrow. Compared to the vast majority of the kingdom, she literally lived like a princess.
But she had also never truly experienced someone who had it worse than her, not firsthand. Her sheltered life had kept her from the raw reality of others' struggles. Through Alfred's reports, she had begun to see what went on behind closed doors, the truths that couldn't be ignored.
And what she saw made her stomach churn.
Sebastian's parents were despicable. Lavish, riddled with debt, obsessed with appearances. They had lived far beyond their means, desperate to be seen as part of the upper class they idolized. They tried to wring their son for all his worth, and physically mold him into perfection. When it became clear that was useless as Sebastian couldn't fulfill their ambitions, they spiraled into despair and ended their own lives.
To Acier, their deaths were a blessing. Good riddance. They couldn't hurt him anymore. He was free now.
So why…?
Her gaze returned to him, sitting at his pathetic little medical stand with those dead, empty eyes.
Why do you look like that? she questioned silently. You should be happy. You're free. Is it because they were still your parents, and despite everything, you loved them?
Her thoughts churned. Or is it something else? Have you lost your purpose without them?
She tried to piece together the puzzle, forcing herself to understand. According to Alfred's report, Sebastian's parents had been people driven by pride and vanity, their wealth an illusion propped up by endless loans and debts. When their reality crumbled, that Sebastian couldn't live up to their desires, and make that appearance an eternal truth, so did they.
Pathetic. Acier clicked her tongue, disdain seeping into her expression.
Yet, as her gaze lingered on Sebastian, her features softened, her emotions twisting into something more complex—a strange blend of pride and fondness.
She studied him again, as if he were a masterpiece both flawed and magnificent.
Over a year had passed since the day Sebastian's parents had taken their own lives, and shortly after, it seemed as if he had lost everything.
The family house, along with most of their belongings, had been seized by the bank, with assistance from House Legolant. All he had left was the family land. Naturally, the bank couldn't take that—not even if they had the power. That land was Silva land, even if it was on the outskirts of the estate. It had been lent to Sebastian's family by the main house, her house, just as it was for all the branch families.
In truth, the land still belonged to her family. And the bank, no matter how bold, would never dare lay a finger on Silva property, even if they had cause.
But with nothing beyond that patch of land to his name, empty land, Sebastian had lived like a practical street rat. According to Alfred's reports, he had made frequent trips to the common realm, navigating black markets and alleyways, scrounging for coin however he could. He'd taken on odd jobs, spent only on the barest necessities—clothing, evidently, not included—and saved every bit he could.
And, as of yesterday, it seemed his efforts had paid off. He had finally saved enough to pursue what appeared to be his dream, or perhaps goal would be the better term, of becoming a doctor and had even opened his own clinic.
Acier felt a tangle of emotions about that.
She was proud. To achieve all of that on his own, without any help, was admirable. Impressive, even. But she was also worried. Without a proper license, his clinic could be shut down at any moment by the kingdom if he drew too much attention or made a mistake.
And, of course, there was exasperation.
Why take the hard way? she wondered, tapping her cheek in rhythmic contemplation. With his healing skills, he could have walked into the main estate and been groomed as a healing ward or even a high-ranking servant.
Meals, clothing, lodging, amenities, perks—it would all be provided, along with a decent salary.
So why go to such lengths to do everything himself?
Her gaze sharpened as possibilities began to form.
Is it pride? A desire to be independent? Or... Her eyes narrowed. Does he blame the main family for what happened to his own?
She whispered the question softly to herself.
"Does he refuse to serve us?"
Tension between the main house and the branches wasn't a new issue. It had been simmering for nearly a decade. The main family had been placing increasing pressure on the branches, demanding higher performance. But why? No one would speak of it, leaving Acier to piece together fragments of speculation.
Perhaps it was enough to make him resent us, she thought. Enough to refuse to kneel, even if he's barely holding on.
Her gaze flicked back to Sebastian. If that's the case… perhaps I can't blame him.
Across the table, Hilda kept her head ducked low, pretending not to have heard anything. She nibbled quietly on a pastry, her movements delicate, as if trying not to disturb the fragile tension in the air.
You think I fancy him?
The question Acier had posed to her maid replayed itself in her mind as the minutes ticked by. Sebastian still hadn't received a single visitor to his stall.
No, I don't fancy him at all, she thought firmly. Her fixation on him wasn't something as simple as infatuation. It was more complicated than that.
Those dead, lifeless eyes—she had seen them reflected in herself too many times. That was what drew her to him, what made her want to uncover the truth buried beneath his depression.
The fact that he was her age only deepened her intrigue. She felt as though she had stumbled upon a like-minded soul. And maybe, just maybe, that could lead to something she had always longed for: a true friend.
Not the kind of "friend" who came over for orchestrated playdates, thinly veiled attempts by nobles to curry favor with her family. Not the kind of "friend" whose parents hoped their son might one day win her heart.
No, Sebastian seemed different. His lifeless, emotionless demeanor convinced her that he wouldn't care about her status, her body, or her heart. The fact that he hadn't tried to cozy up to the main line only solidified that belief.
If she could befriend him, it would be something pure. No politics, no ulterior motives. Just two people who could talk to each other and confide in each other without pretense.
Just like Hilda once was…
But even Hilda, as her maid, had always been a bit reserved. Their difference in status had created an invisible barrier.
But this guy… Acier's thoughts raced. If he has no love or respect for House Silva, maybe he could treat me like a normal girl. Not a princess. Not Acier Silva. Just Acier.
Her heart pounded in nervous excitement at the thought, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within her. It was why she hadn't spoken to him yet, even though her time in Kikka was running out.
She didn't want to ruin this fragile possibility of friendship with a bad first impression. Or an even worse one, if he remembers me socking him in the jaw yesterday…
Acier cringed at the memory, trying to convince herself that he hadn't registered it—or that, somehow, it wouldn't matter.
But her interest in Sebastian wasn't just personal. There was another reason she felt compelled to watch him so closely, to invest her time in him.
It was her duty.
As long as Sebastian lived on Silva land, even without bearing the Silva name or wearing Silva colors, he was still under Silva rule. Under Silva management. Under Silva protection.
And as the heiress to House Silva, as its future matriarch, it was her responsibility to look after all her prospective subjects.
If Sebastian was hurting, and her family had played even the smallest part in that pain, she felt obligated to help mend his heart and provide him with support.
That sense of duty wasn't limited to him. It extended to every bastard and disowned child of House Silva, to every branch family member, even to the servants, maids, and butlers who carried no trace of Silva blood.
Acier straightened in her seat, resolve hardening in her chest.
I will help him, she vowed silently. And I will prove I need no man to inherit this house. I will care for its people, starting with Sebastian.
It was that inward vow that brought Acier to an awkward standstill. She watched time tick away, her gaze locked on Sebastian's stall, where he sat motionlessly. Still, no patients approached him. The sight made her cringe.
The common realm lacked doctors, yes, but it wasn't without apothecaries and others with medical expertise. The people weren't desperate enough to entrust their lives to a child, not when their meager wealth was at stake.
Who would gamble their health—perhaps their very life—on the abilities of a boy rather than seek out a renowned doctor? Even if Sebastian's rates were lower, which Acier assumed they were, commoners would likely grit their teeth and scrape together the money for a noble doctor's guaranteed care rather than risk an unproven alternative.
A child without even a grimoire. To them, even if he knew healing magic, how effective could it possibly be?
Acier had seen it firsthand—she knew what he could do. But the passersby didn't. They only spared him brief, disdainful glances before sneering or chuckling under their breath and continuing on their way.
To them, life was too valuable to gamble on the hands of a boy with no credentials.
Acier's stomach churned as she realized that at this rate, he wouldn't even be able to put food on his plate. She mulled over the problem, trying to think of a solution.
He clearly had no intention of joining House Silva as a healer—that much was obvious. That left her with another possibility: she could visit his stall as a patient.
But even that posed its own risks.
If Sebastian recognized her, he might grow suspicious of her intentions. Worse, if he harbored any negative feelings or prejudice toward her family, he might outright refuse her. That would ruin her chances of befriending him—or of helping him in any way.
Acier's eyes flicked sidelong to Hilda, seated across from her. A faint glimmer sparked in her lavender pupils.
"Hilda?"
"Y-yes, My Lady?" Hilda jerked her head up, startled out of her silent waiting. She had been sitting awkwardly, hands folded in her lap, after finishing her meal. Now, she looked visibly relieved to be addressed.
Acier twirled a silver lock between her fingers, her tone casual. "Are you sick or feeling under the weather?"
Hilda blinked in confusion. "No, My Lady, not at all. I'm perfectly healthy and ready to serve you!"
"Hmmmm…"
The sound made Hilda's brows twitch in frustration as she held back the urge to ask, What does 'Hmmmm' mean?!
But Acier paid no mind to her maid's visible confusion. Her focus had already shifted back to Sebastian.
She tapped her cheek in contemplation.
Should I… break her fingers?
The thought was so absurdly matter-of-fact that it didn't even faze her at first.
If I break her fingers, she'll have to seek Sebastian's services to heal them. Then she could make a big spectacle about his abilities to the passing crowd. Surely, others would take notice and start seeking his help…
Hilda didn't know why a sudden chill ran up her spine, but her body shuddered involuntarily.
Fortunately for her, fate seemed to intervene.
Just as Acier was about to fully commit to her inner plan, Sebastian made his first movement since she'd arrived. Her brow rose as she watched him lean down, rummaging through some unseen belongings behind his stall.
After a moment, he straightened back up, something wooden in his lap.
Acier tilted her head, studying the object as he set it on the stall's ledge and turned it around.
A triangular wooden block.
A moment passed as she noticed there were words on it, and that meant it was a sign.
She narrowed her eyes, squinting to make out the words etched into its surface. After a moment, the meaning clicked.
"Free Service."
Acier froze.
Hilda, noticing her sudden stillness, turned her gaze toward the boy as well. For a moment, both of them sat there, unmoving, their reactions almost comically synchronized.
Acier then proceeded to alternate between parting her mouth and closing it, as whenever she wished to speak no words came out, as she was struck speechless.
All she could do was blink, and scratch her head, trying to figure out what was going on in Sebastian's brain.
What in God's name are you thinking? How are you going to provide for yourself if you don't even charge a fee- Acier cut her own thoughts up, as for the first time today she noticed someone, or rather some people, approach Sebastian's stall.
—
After placing the sign on his stall's ledge, Sebastian didn't have to wait long before a passerby froze mid-step.
She was a relatively young woman, likely in her late twenties, with average looks, black hair tied in a short bun, and hazelnut eyes. She clutched a brown bag to her chest, the scent of fresh bread wafting from it, causing Sebastian's stomach to rumble faintly with hunger.
His face betrayed no sign of his starvation as he observed her. At her feet were two children, likely her own given the resemblance. The older one, appearing around six, stood beside his younger brother, who looked to be about five. Both gazed up at their mother in confusion.
The woman's eyes lingered on the older boy, whose complexion was noticeably pale. She smiled softly, her concern hidden behind a tender expression. "Nova, Nairaid, this way."
The children exchanged puzzled glances but obediently followed as she led them across the street toward Sebastian's stall.
Stopping in front of it, the woman gestured for her boys to stay quiet and behave. Perhaps through practice or education, they nodded dutifully, placing index fingers to their lips in a show of silence.
Despite being the elder, Nairaid seemed slower to respond. The woman rewarded Nova with a beam of approval and ran her fingers softly through Nairaid's hair, causing him to close his eyes in contentment.
Finally, she turned her gaze to Sebastian. Though his vacant, dull ocean-blue eyes unsettled her, she forced herself to remain composed. He looked more like a lifeless puppet than a human being, yet she spoke stiffly.
"Is this true… is it actually free?"
Sebastian nodded silently.
Her shoulders didn't relax. Instead, she pointed hesitantly at a glass jar sitting at the edge of his stall. It resembled the jars used at other stands to collect money, and suspicion crept into her voice as she asked, "T-then, what is that?"
Noticing his icy stare, she quickly added, "I-if you don't mind me asking."
Sebastian's reply was curt. "Tip jar."
The woman blinked, caught off guard by his lack of tact. An awkward pause hung between them before she gritted her teeth and pressed further.
"Like… i-if we're satisfied with your service, we can consider giving you some money… it's not mandatory, right?"
Her voice was cautious, her words calculated. Desperation pushed her to seek help for her son, but experience had taught her that "free" often came with hidden strings.
Free things cost the most.
She scrutinized Sebastian again, taking in his worn clothes and lifeless demeanor. Everything about him made her instincts scream to walk away, yet she stayed.
When Sebastian gave another silent nod, she let out a sigh of relief.
Without wasting another moment, she gently tugged Nairaid forward and knelt beside him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders.
"My Nairaid has been a bit out of it these past few days," she began softly, masking her worry. "His skin's been getting paler, he's been sweating, heating up… and he hasn't been paying attention to what's going on around him—"
"The flu."
The woman jerked her head up, startled. Sebastian's detached gaze was fixed on her son, as though dissecting him with invisible precision.
"Everything you just said," Sebastian repeated, "are common symptoms of the flu."
She froze, then shook her head vehemently. "That's not possible. It's August—"
"Who said you can't get the flu in August?" Sebastian cut her off, his tone as indifferent as before. "There's such a thing as the summer flu."
"No… no… no… that can't be."
Her voice trembled as panic seized her. Cold sweat formed on her brow, her hands tightening on Nairaid's shoulders. Fear clawed at her chest.
In these times, even something as seemingly simple as the flu could be a death sentence without proper medical care—care that most commoners, herself included, couldn't afford.
Her husband, a caravan worker delivering goods across the kingdom, had left her some emergency money before departing. But if she spent it all on a doctor, her children would starve. There wouldn't be enough left to buy food.
"C-can you do anything about this?" the woman asked Sebastian, desperation thick in her voice.
"Yes," he replied, his tone as emotionless as ever. Without a hint of sympathy, he continued, "The boy's illness is only in the preliminary phase. If it had progressed further, he wouldn't even be able to move around. Treating it before it worsens is simple."
"O-oh, thank goodness," she breathed, relief washing over her as she steadied Nairaid by his shoulders.
"What do we need to do, Dr.… um, I haven't caught your name yet—"
"I'm not a doctor."
Sebastian cut her off with an icy bluntness, then reached out over the stall's ledge, placing his hand unceremoniously on Nairaid's forehead.
"My name is Sebastian," he declared.
Before the woman could respond, a dazzling aqua-blue light erupted from his palm, momentarily blinding her. She blinked in astonishment.
He can use healing magic without a grimoire?!
Her thoughts raced as she gawked, the brilliance of pure mana drawing the attention of passersby, many of whom froze in place to stare.
Nairaid closed his eyes in bliss as a cool, soothing sensation swept over him. Streams of magic flowed into his body, seeping through his skin and coursing through his bloodstream. The mana targeted and eradicated the microscopic parasites causing his illness, flooding his organs with restorative energy.
After five minutes, Sebastian withdrew his hand, his magic ceasing abruptly. His gaze, indifferent as ever, fixed on the woman.
"Take him home and let him rest in bed," he instructed. "Feed him fresh fruits, vegetables, or lean meats if you have any. Make sure he drinks plenty of water, juice, or soup if he starts sweating again. And ensure that not only he but everyone in your household washes thoroughly with soap. Simple hygiene goes a long way to prevent disease."
His voice came out hoarse and stilted, as if unaccustomed to speaking at length. Without another word, he resumed his seat, falling back into his stiff, robotic posture as though nothing had happened.
The woman blinked in stunned silence, her gaze shifting from Sebastian to her son. Her eyes widened as she noticed Nairaid's complexion—once pale and sickly—now rosy and full of life.
The boy opened his eyes, beaming. A soft giggle escaped him as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Mama… I feel better now."
Her heart softened at his words. Looking back up at Sebastian, she felt a surge of gratitude. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a small bun of bread.
"Here," she said gently, drawing his attention. For the first time, his gaze didn't intimidate her. She placed the bun into his hand with care. "I know it's not money, or much of anything, but I hope this can help you in some way."
Sebastian glanced at the bread in his hand as his stomach let out a faint growl. Looks like I get to have lunch today, he thought inwardly. His expression remained as blank as ever, but he gave her a simple nod.
The woman smiled warmly before taking her children home, Nairaid happily skipping at her side.
From her vantage point on the café balcony, Acier watched the scene unfold. A wave of relief washed over her, followed by a soft smile as she noticed passersby casting hesitant glances at Sebastian's stall.
So that's what he's aiming for, she thought, feeling as though she understood his plan.
If no one was willing to risk their money on a no-name boy's services, Sebastian had created an offer they couldn't refuse: free treatment. Once he successfully healed several people, word would spread, and he'd build a reputation. Then he could start charging a fee—not the exorbitant sums demanded by licensed doctors in the noble and common realms, but something affordable for the average commoner or peasant.
Even if he didn't charge outright, people's discomfort with accepting charity would lead them to tip him or offer goods and services in return, ensuring his efforts weren't thankless.
And because he was a Silva, he didn't have to pay taxes. House Silva handled tribute to the kingdom on behalf of its estate members, meaning Sebastian could keep all his earnings.
He's making decent business! Acier grinned in satisfaction. If he avoided legal trouble and obtained official licensing in a few years, he could open a larger clinic—or even become a royal doctor. He could lead a good life.
In her mind's eye, she envisioned Sebastian's future unfolding. Smirking smugly, Acier felt a rare sense of hope and pride for him.
Acier watched as people in need began crowding around Sebastian's stall. Time flowed by, and she observed him tend to various ailments and troubles. He treated minor injuries like small bruises, bumps, and cuts, helped drunken passersby clean themselves and sober up, and even lent a hand to a few street beggars—giving them a fighting chance to survive another day. All of it was done with that same emotionless gaze.
Some people compensated him; others did not. Yet, despite this uneven exchange, Sebastian appeared to have accumulated a modest haul by the end of it all: three copper coins, a single silver piece, a banana, a pop tart, a wooden water bottle, a mason jar, a pocket knife, and a lighter.
Though he maintained his dull and lifeless demeanor, Acier felt something shift in him. The oppressive, depressing aura that seemed to radiate from him and hang over the street now retracted into himself, diminished greatly.
To her, he looked satisfied—maybe even pleased.
Acier suddenly noticed the time. Lunch was nearing, and she would soon need to return to the castle. Rising slowly from her seat, she brushed off her dress.
Noticing her movement, Hilda, ever vigilant, stood abruptly and curtsied politely. "We're leaving, My Lady? Should I have the café pack the remaining treats for us to take back—"
"Hilda," Acier interrupted, her tone sharp.
"Yes, My Lady?" Hilda responded deferentially, taking no offense at the interruption.
Acier turned to face her maid, her expression serious. The shift in atmosphere caused Hilda to grow slightly nervous.
"How do I look?" Acier asked, her voice unusually grave.
Hilda blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. She quickly suppressed it, replacing it with a practiced smile. "Apologies, My Lady, could you clarify what you mean?"
Acier crossed her arms and frowned. "Clarify? It's a simple question: how do I look?"
Hilda blinked again, her confusion growing.
Acier's brows twitched in irritation. She shook her hands in frustration. "Come on, Hilda, answer me! Do I look clean and tidy?"
"Of course, My Lady," Hilda replied with calm reassurance. "You look pristine and enchantingly beautiful, as always—"
"No! That's not good!" Acier hissed, cutting her off. Hilda instinctively jerked back as Acier closed the gap, grabbing her maid's shoulders.
"Quick, Hilda—de-beautify me!" Acier demanded, her eyes wild. "But not too much! I still need to look clean and regal enough to make a good impression!"
Hilda parted her lips, gaping at her princess in bewilderment. "My Lady, what on Earth are you talking about?"
Acier's grip tightened on Hilda's shoulders, making the maid wince slightly. "Do I have to spell it out for you? I'm about to go greet that boy down there," Acier hissed. "I want it to be clear that I'm not approaching him in a professional or romantic manner—just casually! Got it?"
Hilda blinked, her gaze shifting downward toward Sebastian's stall. She stared at the unassuming boy, then turned back to Acier, her jaw slack.
"Huh?" was all she managed to say.
Acier's forehead vein visibly bulged, and she raised a hand as if she were considering slapping some sense into her maid. Before she could act, however, her attention was drawn to movement below.
Two small figures had approached Sebastian's stall.
—
Sebastian set aside his meager earnings for the day as he noticed two small figures approach his stall. The children hesitated, their steps faltering, before coming closer. They were about the same age as the boy he had helped earlier, but these two were clearly in far worse condition. Their tattered, straw-like rags barely qualified as clothing, marking them not merely as peasants, but as true street rats.
Unlike Sebastian, who at least had a small plot of land and minor but essential benefits that ensured his survival, these boys had nothing.
The slightly larger and healthier-looking boy dragged the smaller one forward. The smaller boy limped on his right leg, his pale face twisted in discomfort.
Sebastian's sharp eyes narrowed subtly as he noticed the limp. He quickly schooled his expression, trying to appear neutral, unassuming—anything but intimidating. However, his attempt to suppress emotion only succeeded in making him look more lifeless, which in turn seemed to unnerve the boys even further.
The smaller boy tugged against his companion's grip, his eyes darting toward escape. But the bigger one gritted his teeth and stubbornly pulled him forward until they stood directly in front of Sebastian's stall.
Passersby glanced at the boys with thinly veiled disgust. Some pinched their noses, quickening their pace to avoid the flies and fleas that seemed to hover around the pair.
The bigger boy, Jonas, felt a sinking weight in his chest. He was sure Sebastian would tell them to leave, just as countless others had before. Yet, when Jonas met Sebastian's gaze, he found no rejection there—only a blank, inscrutable stare.
Jonas didn't know what to feel. Relief that they weren't immediately shooed away? Or fear, because he couldn't read the intentions behind those lifeless eyes?
The smaller boy, Jack, hissed in a low voice, "Let's go, Jonas. I'll be fine."
Jonas hesitated, but his gaze dropped to his brother's leg. The thought of leaving gnawed at him, and he shook his head firmly.
"Shut up and stay put, Jack," he thought, recalling their mother's dying words to look after his little brother.
Jack fell silent, though his fear remained palpable. Jonas squared his shoulders and looked up at Sebastian, forcing himself to meet the older boy's eyes head-on. He gritted his teeth, bit his lip, and knelt down, pulling up Jack's torn, baggy shorts.
On Jack's knee was a ghastly mark—a deep purple bruise encircled by angry red teeth marks. Jonas pointed to the wound, his voice trembling. "Sir, m-my brother got bit by a snake. C-can you help him?"
Sebastian remained silent, his empty gaze fixed on the injury.
Jonas swallowed hard, his lips trembling. He lowered his head, despair sinking in. Of course, no one's going to help street rats like us...
Desperate, Jonas forced a brittle smile. "Then… could I borrow your knife? I-I'll cut it open and suck the venom out. Don't worry, I'll do it right here so you'll know I'm not trying to steal it—"
"Are you an idiot?"
Sebastian's icy voice cut through Jonas's plea like a blade. Jonas stiffened, his breath hitching, as Sebastian abruptly stood and walked around the stall. Crouching in front of the boys, he loomed closer.
Jonas instinctively shifted to shield Jack, his voice cracking with panic. "W-what are you trying to do?"
Nearby passersby frowned at the scene but kept their distance, unwilling to intervene.
Sebastian's sharp gaze locked onto Jonas. "Who told you to cut open a snake bite and suck out the venom?"
Jonas blinked, taken aback by the unexpected question. He stammered, "M-Mister Scraggy said… h-he told me that's how I can save Jack…"
"A beggar?" Sebastian pressed.
Jonas gulped and nodded.
Sebastian's sneer twisted his otherwise emotionless face, and his tone dripped with disdain. "You took medical advice from a beggar?"
Jonas flushed with embarrassment, the heat rising to his cheeks. Behind him, Jack whimpered nervously.
Sebastian continued coldly, his voice laced with scorn. "Sucking out venom, or cutting open a snake bite to let it bleed out, is a myth. Doing so only makes things worse. It can damage blood vessels and nerves, and might even make the venom spread faster."
He jabbed a finger into Jonas's stomach, making the boy flinch. "If you'd followed that fool's advice, you might've killed your brother—or, at the very least, paralyzed him."
Jonas turned as pale as the moon, his body trembling. Behind him, Jack let out a shaky whimper, clutching his brother's sleeve. Jonas felt self-loathing wash over him like a wave.
Around them, the small crowd of spectators ducked their heads, murmuring in confusion.
Wait… isn't that how you treat a snake bite?
Jonas clenched his fists, panic evident in his tear-filled eyes as he pleaded with Sebastian. "Then how c-can I get the poison out? P-please tell me! How can I save my brother?"
"No need," Sebastian interrupted flatly.
Jonas froze, his face paling before it flushed red with fury. "You're saying I'm just supposed to let my brother die?!"
Sebastian responded with a swift flick to Jonas's forehead. "Ow!" Jonas yelped, clutching his head as his eyes watered. He looked up to see Sebastian calmly flicking his fingers, his emotionless gaze practically asking, Do you want another one?
Jonas quickly shook his head. He didn't.
Sebastian snorted and pointed at Jack's knee. "See these teeth marks?"
Jonas blinked and turned his attention to the wound, then nodded hesitantly.
Sebastian nodded in return. "Rows of teeth like this mean it was a non-venomous snake. That's why I said there's no need—there's nothing to take out."
Jonas and Jack, along with most of the onlookers, stared in surprise as Sebastian continued.
"If it had been venomous, there would've been two distinct puncture marks, like fang bites." He paused before adding with a touch of disdain, "Honestly, if you weren't such an idiot, you should've realized this already."
Jonas bristled, indignation coloring his tone. "W-what do you mean?!"
Sebastian's cold, deadpan stare made Jonas gulp. With an exasperated sigh, Sebastian explained. "Based on the dried blood, this bite happened hours ago, correct?"
Jack nodded timidly. "I-I woke up like this. The snake must've bitten me overnight, b-but I didn't notice because it was cold."
Sebastian nodded again and continued. "If it had been venomous and left untreated for this long, you'd already be dead. The pain and numbness you're feeling? It's just like a bruise that's been ignored. This is an easy fix."
Jack and Jonas froze, their mouths agape, as Sebastian reached out toward Jack's knee. A faint glow of water mana enveloped his hand as he placed it over the wound.
Jack hummed in relief, his stiff leg loosening as the feeling returned. After a moment, Sebastian pulled back his hand, revealing smooth, unblemished skin where the ghastly wound had been.
Jack shook his leg experimentally, his face lighting up with joy as it responded naturally.
Jonas turned to Sebastian, his face still a mixture of confusion and awe. "M-mister, what was that purple spot?"
Sebastian stood and shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably saliva or bile from the snake that bit him. I wouldn't know unless you brought me the snake—but it doesn't matter anymore."
Jonas hesitated, then nodded, satisfied with the answer.
Sebastian turned to Jack and spoke matter-of-factly. "There are a few things you need to keep in mind."
Jack straightened, nodding earnestly. "I-I'm listening, Mister."
Sebastian folded his arms behind his back. "First, if you notice swelling on that leg or any signs of infection, come back here immediately. Just because the snake wasn't venomous doesn't mean it wasn't dangerous."
Jonas's eyes widened slightly. Does that mean we can return here if we need help?
Jack nodded meekly. "Y-yes, Mister."
Sebastian continued, "Second, for the rest of the week, don't raise your knee above your heart. Understand?"
Jack bobbed his head again. "Y-yes, Mister."
Sebastian nodded in approval, then waved a dismissive hand. "Good. Now get lost—you're stinking up my stand."
The boys hesitated before their faces softened into shy smiles. "Thank you, Mister!"
Sebastian froze for a moment. Then, for the first time that day, a faint glimmer of emotion flickered in his eyes. He offered the barest hint of a smile, so subtle it might have gone unnoticed by most.
"No problem," he murmured, his voice low. "I hate snakes, after all."
It wasn't entirely unnoticed.
Across the street, Acier stood on a café balcony, her hawk-like gaze fixed on Sebastian. She caught that fleeting smile, and her heart raced. That glimmer of color in his eyes sent a flutter through her chest.
She wanted to see that smile more, she wanted to be the target of that smile.
She beamed as she turned to her maid, Hilda, shaking her arm excitedly. "Did you hear that, Hilda? He said he hates snakes! We're destined to be friends, we're soulmates!"
Hilda blinked, her smile tight with panic. "Y-Young Miss, I-I don't think that means what you think it means!"
But her words fell on deaf ears. Acier was lost in her own world, grinning ear to ear as she walked to the edge of the balcony.
With startling grace, she climbed onto the railing and leapt, clearing the two-story drop and the street below in a single bound. She landed lightly on her toes in front of Sebastian's stall, her movements as fluid as a dancer's, barely making a sound.
The crowd stared in stunned silence as Sebastian jerked his head toward her, visibly startled. He quickly composed himself, his eyes narrowing as he took in her presence.
Acier ignored the gawking onlookers, her attention fixed solely on Sebastian. She noted the recognition in his narrowed eyes and smirked to herself.
So, you do know who I am…
Acier chuckled inwardly, already planning her next move.
Just as Acier prepared to speak, Sebastian's voice echoed in her mind with crisp clarity.
"Princess Acier, is there something you need?"
She paused, blinking in surprise. Wait, in my mind? How did he—
Her thoughts trailed off as she noticed a faint pulse of mana. Lowering her gaze, she spotted a small, unimpressive copper ring on Sebastian's thumb, adorned with a speck-sized, clear magic gem.
Her eyes widened as the gem glowed crimson, and Sebastian's voice repeated in her mind.
"Princess Acier, is there something you need?"
Outwardly, Sebastian's face remained impassive, his lips unmoving. Yet, his voice resonated clearly in her thoughts. At that moment, Acier pieced together how he had silently coordinated with his vendors yesterday.
He's using a magic item to project his voice into their minds, she realized. The subtle reactions of his vendors suggested it was a two-way connection.
What's even the point of that? Acier wondered, her thoughts drifting. Is he so lazy or introverted that he avoids speaking out loud?
She shook her head. No, that makes no sense. He's been talking to patients all morning.
Brushing off the curiosity, Acier focused on her thoughts, testing the mental connection. "I wish to speak to you."
The gem glowed again, and Sebastian's monotone voice returned in her mind. "How may I be of service to you, Princess Acier?"
A thrill coursed through her. If there's ever something important or private to discuss, we can use this tool without fear of eavesdroppers. Acier bit back her excitement and mentally replied, "Acier is just fine, Sebastian. No need for the 'Princess.'"
Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly as his voice returned, tinged with sarcasm. "I dare not show you the slightest disrespect, Princess Acier."
The deliberate emphasis on her title made her grimace. Give him time, she thought, forcing a smile. He'll come around.
Determined to continue, she beamed mentally, "Well, first off, I'd like to say hello!"
Sebastian didn't respond with words, but the unimpressed raise of his brow spoke volumes. His expression screamed disbelief, as if to say, A princess doesn't go out of her way to greet a nobody like me.
Ordinarily, he would've been right. But in Acier's case, she truly was trying to make his acquaintance—no ulterior motives, save perhaps her desire to befriend him.
Hiding her nerves, Acier rallied herself. Don't worry, you expected this kind of distrust. You'll just have to melt that cold heart of his.
Shifting her approach, she mentally continued, "As the heiress of House Silva, I've made it my duty to get to know our branch family members, including you. If you have concerns or requests, feel free to let me know. I'll do my best to accommodate—"
"No need."
The mental interruption was jarring. Acier stiffened as Sebastian's dull eyes bore into her, their emptiness taking on an almost predatory sharpness.
"I have no intention of integrating with House Silva," he began, his voice chillingly cold. "This stall is proof of my desire for independence from your house. As soon as my finances allow, I'll leave the Silva estate entirely."
His words cut deeper than she expected.
"So you need not concern yourself with me," he concluded icily. "Look elsewhere."
Switching to his actual voice, Sebastian addressed her aloud. "Young Lady, if you're only here to stare, I'll ask you to leave. I have patients waiting."
Acier stiffened, turning to find the crowd staring at her. From their perspective, she had quite literally dropped out of the sky and was now glaring at their "new doctor."
No one dared approach, though their expressions spoke volumes. Another noble here to look down on us, their skeptical frowns seemed to say.
The scene wasn't helped by her extravagant dress, which screamed wealth and privilege. Those who recognized her silver hair were even more wary, fearing she might abuse her authority at the slightest provocation.
Even Jonas and Jack had fled as soon as Acier arrived, unwilling to risk an encounter with someone so high above their station.
Acier's stomach sank, realizing the misunderstanding. She caught sight of Hilda weaving through the crowd, her maid's expression tight with concern.
Pulling Hilda closer, Acier shot the crowd an apologetic smile. To their surprise, it felt genuine.
For a moment, their expressions softened. The bitterness harbored by those wronged by the aristocracy eased slightly, though many still watched cautiously.
Turning back to Sebastian, Acier gave him a gentle smile, undeterred by their earlier exchange. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sebastian," she said lightly, adding to herself, my new friend.
With that, she grabbed Hilda's arm and darted through the marketplace, her mana-boosted steps carrying her up the hill to the noble district. Please, don't let Grandfather be upset—I'm only a minute or two late for lunch.
Sebastian watched her retreating figure, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. The lifelessness in his gaze flickered slightly, giving way to guarded thoughtfulness.
How does Princess Acier know me? he wondered. And what does she want from me?
Author's Notes:
[1] Starting the next chapter the pacing is going to pick up a bit.
[2] From chapter 43, based on Sebastian's diary, this is the last intact entry corresponding to today's date, August 3rd 1600, so that should give you an idea of the time period, for any of those wondering.
[3] As always feel free to join the discord at: https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar
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