Translator: CinderTL
Inside Alvey's residence, after the figures of Paul and the others suddenly vanished, the faces of the six Iron Guards turned deathly pale.
They rubbed their eyes vigorously, but their discipline forced them to acknowledge the truth—Lord Paul Grayman, those around him, and the witch who had launched the attack had indeed disappeared into thin air.
The captain of the guards snatched up the remnants of ice crystals left on the ground—a sinister energy still coiled around them.
"Split up!" he ordered hoarsely. "Four of you stay and secure the scene. You—" He pointed at one of the guards. "Come with me to report back to the lord's mansion immediately!"
The sound of galloping horses tore through the night like thunder. Old Ford, who had just finished dinner, was informed of the emergency. He rushed over and hurried through the gates of the lord's mansion, only to hear footsteps behind him moving even faster. When Ford turned around, he saw Chief of Staff Schröder.
The two had no time for greetings, exchanging only a glance before walking side by side into the hall, where two others were already waiting for them.
Victor, the captain of the lord's guard, was pacing anxiously, while Steward Philip had his eyes closed in prayer.
"Chief Steward! Chief of Staff! Thank goodness you're here!" The towering guard captain now wore an expression as helpless as a child abandoned by his parents.
"What did you say?!" A minute later, the white-haired chief steward grabbed Victor by the collar. "The Marquis… and the Ladiaes were assassinated? They… disappeared? What do you mean by 'disappeared'?"
"They vanished—right in front of six men, gone into thin air!" Victor's hands gestured uselessly in the air as he repeated the unbelievable report from the guards.
Chief of Staff Schröder frowned. "Are these six men reliable?"
Victor nodded firmly. "Every guard assigned to Lord Grayman's safety has been rigorously vetted. Their loyalty is beyond question."
Old Ford turned to the steward. "Philip."
The steward stiffened. "At your command, Chief Steward."
"Prepare a private room for us. No one is to come near."
In the dimly lit chamber, the flickering candlelight cast the shadows of four men onto the walls.
Old Ford placed a cup of strong coffee on the oak table and said gravely, "Our top priority is to prevent chaos."
Schröder frowned in worry. "According to our intelligence, the orc chieftain Abal is leading a large army through the Neron Corridor. Of all times, why now?"
The Chief Steward looked at him. "I have an idea. We can use the orc army's movements as a pretext—though this will only be for internal military purposes—to order all troops to be on high alert."
He raised his gaze to the others. "We'll increase patrols across the region. That way, we can legitimately mobilize forces to search for the lord and his wife. Perhaps… they were magically transported somewhere nearby?"
None of those present were strangers to the concept of magic.
"No time to waste!" Schröder immediately grabbed a quill and began drafting the military order. "I'll make sure the official command is sent out before dawn."
Steward Philip tapped the table lightly with his fingertips. "Should the academic conference at Weiss Academy proceed as planned?"
"The conference must go on!"
The Chief Steward's tone was firm. "We must avoid unnecessary speculation. However…" He paused. "We'll need to assign reliable personnel to discreetly monitor the venue. Also…"
He turned to the guard captain. "What about the witnesses?"
Victor clenched the hilt of his sword and pressed his lips together. "The six guards who saw everything have been confined to the lord's mansion. Mr. Alvey, once he regained consciousness, also agreed to cooperate."
Old Ford continued, "We'll need Cecil's men to keep an eye on any unusual activity in the city, especially anyone suspicious who's been inquiring about the lord's whereabouts. I suspect the conspirators behind this—the Arcane Order—won't stop here. Wait… Could the lord's disappearance have been intentional on the assassin's part?"
From Alvey's account, they already knew who had sent the assassin.
The Arcane Order—a powerful force intertwined with the Gabella Empire.
Victor shook his head. "I questioned them, but the guards said it didn't seem that way. Besides, the assassin's target was Alvey. It's unlikely they'd abandon Alvey only to cast a spell targeting the lord and the others. It seemed more like something Lady Ladia did—trying to escape to safety?"
Schröder interjected, "If Lady Ladia cast the spell to evade danger, why did the assassin disappear as well?"
He slammed a fist on the table. "Damn it! This involves magic, and the only one among us who understands it—Lady Ladia—has vanished along with the lord."
His words reminded Old Ford of something.
"Right—there's also Derson Plant. He's a mage as well."
Victor frowned. "You want to consult him on this? I'm not entirely convinced of his loyalty to Alden."
"You can phrase it differently when you speak to him."
…
When the sun rose, scholars staying in various parts of Alden Town began making their way to Weiss Academy. On the surface, everything appeared normal.
Inside the academy's grand hall, the venue for the conference, a somewhat unfamiliar moderator—likely one of the academy's professors—lightly tapped a brass bell on the podium. As the murmurs in the hall gradually subsided, he bowed slightly to the assembled scholars, his tone steady but slightly unnatural.
"Honored guests," the moderator adjusted his half-moon spectacles, "we've just received word that Lord Grayman is unable to attend the conference these next few days due to urgent political matters."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Several scholars who had traveled from afar exchanged puzzled glances—everyone knew of the lord's passion for scientific conferences.
The moderator's fingers unconsciously brushed over the agenda. "The lord specifically requested that this not affect the proceedings. He hopes you will continue delving into these world-changing discoveries."
He forced a smile. "As he often says—'Truth does not fade in the absence of any one person.'"
The academic conference continued as scheduled.
Father Anderson stood at the podium, sunlight streaming through stained glass and casting dappled patterns on his gray-white robes.
The gaunt priest carefully opened a linen pouch and poured out dozens of multicolored peas onto a velvet cloth.
"Behold the creations of the Divine Father," he said, his voice trembling slightly with excitement. "Over the past few years, I have cultivated tens of thousands of pea plants in the monastery's garden."
A collective gasp rose from the scholars as Anderson separated a few peas with his fingers. "When purple-flowered peas were crossbred with white-flowered ones, the first generation bore only purple flowers. But in the second generation—"
He suddenly pulled away the black cloth covering the podium, revealing dozens of clay pots filled with pea plants blooming in purple and white, arranged in precise mathematical ratios.
"—the second generation displayed a ratio of three purple flowers to one white!"
The priest's eyes burned with the fervor of discovery.
"This proves that heredity is not chaotic blending but follows sacred mathematical laws!"
(End of the Chapter)
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