Translator: SumTLMan
Scholar Pasha, a venerable figure, stood by the window, enveloping himself in the smoke produced from his pipe. Though he had kicked the habit long ago, recent refugee crises which led to the theft of many of his possessions, had left him in constant fear. This heightened anxiety had brought back his old vice.
Lately, the tumult of war had ebbed. Refugees were sent back, bringing some sunshine to his disposition. The anxiety had waned, but the addiction had stubbornly persisted.
His old friend, Dim, would once chide him about his smoking. However, after the magical shower of light caused by Young Master Pat, most of the ailments afflicting the inhabitants of Grud Town were miraculously cured. Consequently, even Dim picked up the smoking habit again.
Now, neither of them would advise the other.
Feeling the warmth emanating from the furnace, and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, Pasha’s face reflected sheer contentment.
It’s exactly how one should feel during the depths of winter.
However, as Pasha reveled in this cozy moment, his eyes abruptly darted outside the window. The room was thick with smoke, and the world outside was obscured by swirling snow and dust. While his view was somewhat hindered, he thought he discerned a group of people out of the corner of his eye.
Furrowing his brows in puzzlement, Pasha murmured, “George has warned repeatedly. Who would be out and about at this hour? Especially when the night has fallen and the cold is biting. Who would wander the streets?”
Intrigued, Pasha set his pipe aside, breathed on the frosted window pane, and then used the sleeve of his aged garment to wipe the mist away.
As he peered through the now relatively clearer glass, a trace of confusion flashed in his eyes.
Three figures walked past, each radiating a peculiar aura, asserting their presence amidst the blizzard.
“One of them… doesn’t he bear a striking resemblance to Young Master Pat?” Pondering, Pasha got up, opened the door, and stepped out to get a clearer view.
But by the time he leaned out to get a closer look, the trio had reached the end of the street, leaving behind only faint silhouettes in the snowstorm.
“Did my eyes deceive me?” Pasha, rubbing his temples, turned to pick up the oil lamp from the bedside table, preparing to follow and ascertain his suspicions.
As twilight’s embrace was about to release Pasha to the evening’s venture, a minuscule silhouette suddenly leapt from the ceiling. Gracefully, it struck the wall with a single foot, harnessing the force of its rebound to land atop a table on the opposite side.
“Old man Pasha,” a dainty voice tinged with dissatisfaction began, “smoking within these walls is one thing — we’ve planted trees to absorb the smoke, after all. But flinging the door open at this hour? Are you trying to let the frost bite us?”
Turning with a huff, Pasha retorted, “Auchanchan, how many times have I said not to mimic Dim? Address me as ‘Grandpa’, will you? Such impertinence.” Though his words hinted at exasperation, his eyes shimmered with an undeniable warmth as he beheld the petite maiden atop the table, dressed in a dress as colorful as a bouquet.
Glancing outside to ensure their privacy, Pasha swiftly closed the door. “Quickly, up to the attic with you. The ground’s chill could bite; aren’t you afraid of catching cold?”
Auchanchan, confronted with Pasha’s evident concern, lost her earlier bravado. “I was asking, what business have you, swinging the door open and holding a lamp? Are you planning to venture out? Chief Kulakuka has warned repeatedly about the Perils of the Night. Why don’t you heed?”
“Alright, alright,” Pasha murmured, securing the door lock. “You always speak of danger outside. What is this looming threat?”
Chief Kulakuka led the self-proclaimed Kulakuka tribe. Barely a fortnight ago, the young Viscount personally ushered them in, allowing them to settle in the attics of both Sheriff George and Pasha.
In these passing days, Pasha had grown exceedingly fond of these “Fairies of the Attic.” Perhaps the loneliness of his hermit existence had caught up; the mere presence of chatter was solace to him. Moreover, these little fairies from the attic were understanding and helped with household chores, proving themselves trustworthy companions.
However, certain aspects about these new friends puzzled Pasha. First, it seemed the Viscount brought them from Pat Manor. Now, it was unclear why they were moved from the mansion. Second, Chief Kulakuka frequently warned against nocturnal wanderings, citing imminent danger. Even Sheriff George patrolled daily, urging townsfolk to stay indoors post dusk. Why?
Despite several inquiries, Pasha remained unanswered. Whenever posed, the Kulakuka tribe exhibited evident fear, their lips sealed.
Now, as he sought answers once more, Auchanchan mirrored this sentiment. Her eyes clouded, offering but a simple adage, “Curiosity killed the cat.”
With that, Auchanchan turned to ascend the staircase.
At that moment, Pasha sighed, “Did you not just inquire about the reason I opened the door? I had glanced out the window and thought I saw Young Master Pat returning. I wanted to step out to confirm.”
“Young Master Pat?” Auchanchan suddenly paused, swiftly turning to look at Pasha, his voice filled with urgency, “Are you certain it was Young Master Pat? Which direction did he head?”
“I can’t be entirely sure, but there were three individuals passing by on the street outside. One of them bore a striking resemblance to Young Master Pat,” Pasha recounted. “Judging by their trajectory, it seemed they were heading towards the mansion.”
“Young Master Pat, the mansion, nighttime… This is bad!” Auchanchan murmured, then abruptly leaped down the stairs, landing beside Pasha, “Hurry, open the door! We must intercept Young Master Pat at once!”
Pasha’s face was etched with confusion, “What’s going on?”
Hesitating for a brief moment, Auchanchan finally shared, “The mansion is currently quite perilous.”
…
Angel and the group halted several meters away from the mansion’s entrance. Ahead lay a boundary illuminated by a sanguine glow. To mere mortals, this radiant barrier was invisible, but they could distinctly sense its presence.
“We’ve reached our destination? It seems a tad dim,” White Bear remarked, surprisingly more composed than before, realizing that he would soon reunite with his kin.
From his viewpoint, the mansion seemed to have silhouettes of structures, yet there was no light emanating from within. Contrarily, Grud Town behind them was awash with lights.
Angel was certain that when he had last departed, under the cloak of night, Pat mansion was the most radiant spot in all of Grud Town. Adhering to the family motto, “The Lion Heart Fire, Never Extinguished,” every lamppost in the estate shone brightly throughout the night. If any light were to go out, the servants would rush to rekindle it promptly.
Now, the mansion was engulfed in an unsettling darkness.
Angel’s gaze shifted to Sanders.
Sanders, at that moment, exuded an air of calmness, though his eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his deep-set eyes seemed to peer intently into the darkness, as if searching for a lurking behemoth.
“Mentor, have you noticed any anomalies?” Angel inquired.
Sanders didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he adjusted his hat, casting a discerning look towards a specific point ahead.
Angel’s gaze shifted, settling on a lone tree outside the estate, now blanketed by thick snow and seemingly inconspicuous. However, a gust of wind soon swept away some snow from its branches, revealing a tree trunk charred to blackness.
“A tree scorched by fire?” Angel pondered, sensing the tree was not burnt by any natural fire; residual flame energy still lingered around it.
Given the near-extinction of elemental energy on the Old Land Continent, this fire energy on the tree appeared exceptionally pronounced.
“Who would burn a tree here?” Angel mused with an air of perplexity.
Sanders, however, interjected, “It wasn’t a tree burning. A battle took place here.”
A faint clarity glimmered in Sanders’ eyes as if he could peer through the dense snow layer, visualizing a recent skirmish.
Could it be that Suis couldn’t restrain Eureka and they clashed here? As Angel entertained this thought, Sanders corrected, “It was a duel between two apprentices, both likely of third level strength.”
A third level apprentice? A befuddled glint passed Angel’s eyes. What would they be doing here?
As Angel’s doubts deepened, Sanders suddenly turned his gaze towards the path they came from. There, panting heavily, an elderly man holding a smoking pipe approached at a leisurely pace, every breath visible in the cold air.
“Hold on! Is that Young Master Pat ahead?” The man’s shout echoed.
Immediately, a melodious and crisp female voice admonished, “Didn’t I say not to shout? Are you trying to get us killed?”
It wasn’t long before the newcomers stood before them.
“Pasha, and…” Angel’s gaze rested on the petite figure in a floral dress on Pasha’s shoulder, who offered a polite bow, “Auchanchan?”
“How did you two end up together?” Angel inquired, puzzled.
“Oh, thank goodness, it really is Young Master Pat!” Joy flashed in Auchanchan’s eyes. But in the very next moment, sensing the gravity of the situation, she hastily advised, “Young Master Pat, are you heading back to the mansion? Please don’t, it’s perilous right now!”
Angel and Sanders exchanged a glance. Angel then asked Auchanchan directly, “The mansion is in danger? What do you know?”
Auchanchan hastily nodded, “It was Lady Eureka. Just over half a month ago, she suddenly went mad… that evening…”
Taking a deep, labored breath, a glint of terror danced in Auchanchan’s eyes.
“That night, I witnessed numerous servants laid out in pools of blood. I overheard from others that even the Viscount almost fell victim to her madness… Thankfully, Lord Suis arrived just in the nick of time to subdue her.”
As Auchanchan relayed the horror of servants sprawled amidst blood, Angel’s face tightened with grave concern. Upon hearing of the near assault on Leon, a shadow crossed Angel’s face, darkening it.
“What happened after? How is Leon now?” Angel inquired anxiously.
“Viscount Leon is unharmed. The very next day he ushered us out of the mansion. Some servants, including myself, were relocated nearby. Only a handful remained in the mansion, including the Viscount himself.” Noticing Angel’s darkening mood, Auchanchan hastily reassured, “Young Master Pat, Viscount Leon ventured out some days ago and from what he shared, under Lord Suis’s protection, he should be safe.”
Should? Temporarily safe?
Angel wouldn’t tolerate such ambiguity. He gave Auchanchan an acknowledging nod, “Understood. Elder Pasha, please escort Auchanchan back.”
Panic flashed in Auchanchan’s eyes, “Young Master Pat, you aren’t thinking of going in, are you? Viscount Leon warned that the peak peril is during the night!”
“Rest easy, I’ve got everything under control.” Angel gave a reassuring smile to Auchanchan before turning to Sanders, contemplating their next move.
It was then that Auchanchan took note of Sanders. At the sight of him, her demeanor froze. While unfamiliar with the others, she had encountered Sanders before. Moreover, she recalled Babaya mentioning that Sanders, known as the War God of the Southern Region, was a wizard of unparalleled power!
With that thought, the weight on Auchanchan’s heart lightened, hope slowly regaining its ground.
With Lord Sanders by their side, perhaps they truly stood a chance against the crisis engulfing the Pat Mansion.
Meanwhile, Angel, initially awaiting Sanders’ input, observed Sanders’ gaze shifting suddenly towards the mansion’s depth.
“She’s here.”
Following Sanders’ line of sight, Angel witnessed a streak of crimson light momentarily illuminating the mansion’s recesses.