"Was I not clear enough?"
Teresia forced a smile.
"After tonight, the Tower of Chronomancy and Zijinghua's surface-level peace will be gone. Mordiana was going to become your enemy anyway, right? And…"
She bit down hard.
"Linen Norton—you value me, don't you? You've never said it, but someone like you wouldn't go to all this trouble for an ordinary woman. If you accept this deal, you can…"
"I do value you, Miss Teresia."
Linen's voice—just a touch too hard-edged—cut her off.
Teresia's black pupils trembled. She parted her lips, staring at that sharply defined profile and those far-seeing lake-blue eyes, and for the first time, she felt him as something frighteningly unfamiliar.
"But, Miss Teresia—do you know what the word 'deal' actually means?"
"A deal is an exchange of things of roughly equal value, made on the premise that both sides are willing."
"Do you really think what you just did qualifies as a deal?"
Teresia fell silent.
Yes.
She really had lost her mind.
She was just an assassin with a bit of Arcana talent—someone who could die in a stinking ditch or a dark corner someday and no one would care.
And Mordiana?
Mordiana was a legendary powerhouse at the peak of mankind. One of the Tower of Chronomancy's Twelve Ring-bearers. One step further and she could pry at the authority of gods—a seeker of the ROOT.
Someone like Teresia could climb for a lifetime and still never reach the filth under her skirt.
And yet, just because Linen seemed to like her a little, value her a little, she had tried to push him into fighting that kind of monster.
Was that a deal?
It was closer to a threat.
"Miss Teresia," Linen said flatly, "you were asking me for help just now, weren't you?"
"Huh?"
Teresia froze.
She stared into those lake-blue eyes as they turned to her—and her mind went blank.
What kind of joke was he telling?
Was she asking him for help?
Was she… asking Linen Norton for help?
Would she ever do something like that…?
Teresia fell into a long, long silence.
Something in her seemed to crack. Things sealed under dust—things that could have been forgotten—spilled out all at once.
Humans had never mastered the Arcana. The Weave had simply chosen humans.
The essence of Arcana was the Weave's pattern in reality finding a suitable vessel.
Princess Hysteria, from the moment she was born, held in her hands the eternal fire inherited from her ancestors. Elena, growing up in an unremarkable corner of the world, became the master of illusion because she longed for a beautiful future. Novie, who simply adored someone, would spend her whole life trying to become the light in Onii-chan's palm.
And Teresia's first attribute was Mind—an art of ruling memory and thought.
But she had never wanted to become the sort of schemer who could seize everything with words and performance. Nor did she care for killing enemies from a thousand miles away with a whisper, making them butcher one another like puppets.
Teresia had a practical streak, a bit like Linen's. Only a Teresia like that could use Terminal Bullets filled with her father's ashes without flinching.
So why had her first attribute been Mind?
Why something so intangible and showy—something with no real direct damage to speak of—that even before Linen confined her, she hadn't bothered training it?
Memories and emotions sealed away with crude technique suddenly began to leak out under the surge of feeling, like an old black-and-white film playing slowly in her head—an answer without words.
A little girl hiding in a wardrobe in a Mana Spirit-ravaged village, peering through a crack as her father clutched his head and screamed—yet still injected the last vial into her without hesitation.
A teenage girl pinned by the throat to a wall in a dark alley after other bounty hunters taunted her and stole her job—spitting in their face while they laughed at her.
A female assassin after a kill, fooling the communications officer, biting down on a wooden stick, then slowly digging a bullet out of her abdomen with a sterilized dagger—her face colder than iron.
So many hidden memories.
Teresia awakening Mind Arcana hadn't been a mistake by the Weave.
It was because, for years, the person she'd needed to use Arcana on most…
Was herself.
A spell cast on yourself won't be resisted. A First Ring was enough. You didn't even need to practice much.
Because she lived carrying hatred. Any emotion besides hatred had no reason to exist.
So she used Arcana to bury "useless" memories—and with them, she buried the most unnecessary feeling of all, the one that had existed alongside hatred back then:
"Why… why did Dad become like this? Please—someone, anyone—come save everyone…"
"God or devil, I don't care. If someone kills those bastards right now, then they'll be… my god."
"It hurts… feels like my guts are spilling out. Digging the bullet out myself really is… heh. What am I thinking. Whatever. One more sealing spell."
The flood of memories and the breaking dam of emotion crashed in together, so painful she could barely breathe—
Yet somehow, not beyond what she could bear.
Because that memory-sealing technique that had run through most of her life…
Had been blank, for months.
In the months she'd been imprisoned by this man, she couldn't remember using that memory-sealing spell on herself even once.
There had only been the occasional taste of cream puffs and little cakes—so sweet she almost couldn't bear to savor them.
And the guy who would hum a tune after class, push the door open, and grin as he produced a cake.
If it were him—this man in front of her, always calm and in control—
Maybe in that inferno he would've snatched the vial from her father and thrown it into the fire.
Maybe at the end of that dark alley he would've appeared leaning on a cane, a few watchful guards behind him.
Maybe when she was digging a bullet out of her own gut, he would've smiled and sent the liaison away for her, mocking her sloppy technique as he pulled proper surgical tools from his coat.
A deal?
A threat?
What right did she have to threaten this man?
Those were just prettified substitute words her subconscious had chosen.
Teresia simply didn't want to face reality.
Because deep down, those fantasies had always been fantasies.
She knew that if she opened her mouth, Linen might agree—but the everyday life where they could share sweets and snipe at each other as equals would vanish forever.
Afraid that asking him for help would change what they were, she was even willing to brainwash herself—using a "deal" to cover what she truly wanted.
But even for that reason...
Was she going to miss her chance at revenge?
Just because she couldn't bear to lose those fantasies?
In the end, Teresia made her choice.
Black hair fell forward as she lowered her head, hiding her eyes. Yet through the strands, she still looked up at the blond young man across from her with that pleading, hopeful gaze.
"Please, Linen Norton… help me. I'll do anything."
But under her hopeful stare, the young man—broken into fragments by the gaps in her hair—only shook his head slowly.
"No, Miss Teresia. That's not the answer I want."
As Teresia's hope began to congeal into something rigid and brittle, Linen even laughed.
"I don't know what you suddenly figured out, but don't tell me you've started treating me like some kind of savior?"
"That's too bad."
"Because I'm not that."
"You asked me for help—but I don't recall having any obligation to help you just because you're in trouble, do I?"
"I do value you. But the person I value is the cold, proud Miss Teresia."
"The moment you throw away your dignity and beg me for help… that person stops existing."
"Miss Teresia," Linen said softly, "you haven't forgotten who I am, have you?"
"You're… a devil."
Her voice shook. Tears slid down her face. Every line he spoke was like a blade pressing into her heart—cold, with a faint edge of mockery.
And that word seemed to hit Linen's funny bone.
He burst into delighted laughter.
He was howling.
"Bwahahahahaha!"
"You're right, Miss Teresia. Even the Cardinals suspect I am. Maybe I really am a devil."
"But I'm not just a devil."
His eyes sharpened. The lazy air around him vanished in an instant.
"I'm a devil—and I'm also this empire's Third Prince."
"I'm the biggest villain on this land."
"Saving people out of compassion isn't my job."
He looked down at Teresia—stunned by his laughter—with a thread of contempt in his gaze, his voice unhurried.
"Gods redeem. So I don't redeem. I only make deals."
"But you—"
He tilted his chin toward her.
"You're not worthy of making a deal with me."
"Pick up your dignity, Miss Teresia."
Teresia stared at him, meeting those indifferent lake-blue eyes.
It lasted only an instant, but in her mind it felt like countless things were lifted, weighed—and set back down.
Then her lips curved.
This… stubborn, dishonest bastard.
Linen smiled too. His perpetual-motion engine had almost turned into a useless puppet. Another Affection crisis defused—honestly, I'm pretty damn good.
"True." Teresia laughed softly, wiping at her face. "I really was being stupid. Imagine asking a bastard like you for help."
"And I shouldn't be catching feelings over a deal with you."
"That's right," Linen said, nodding with bright satisfaction.
In that instant, both of them got an answer they hadn't quite expected…
And the one they wanted most.
Now, it was time for something more serious.
Linen's expression turned intent.
"I'm going after Mordiana because she came onto my turf and pissed me off. We share an enemy, that's all."
"But since you were the one who became her enemy first, I understand the rule of first come, first served."
"You mean…?"
"I won't deal with her for you."
"I'll only deal with her with you."
"And I think your revenge schedule could use a small adjustment. You should know—I'm conservative. I don't like ideas that are too aggressive."
"That's how it should be," Teresia said, nodding slowly.
At last, she picked up the calm that belonged to an assassin.
She really had been swept away by emotions and hatred she'd suppressed for too long—so much that she'd entertained an overly aggressive thought: make Mordiana suffer a huge loss here, then drive her out.
Watching the outside through Linen's brooch, Teresia knew perfectly well that inside the castle, the only one who could face Mordiana head-on—and even press her—was the Empress.
And the Empress had just maintained a city-grade barrier for a long stretch. Even if the barrier was down now, that cost didn't disappear.
Worse, she still needed enough energy in reserve to guard against Zijinghua's number-two figure—
Reinhardt, Duke of the North.
That old lion was the one Teresia had observed the most. And yet even now he sat steady as a fisherman, accepting the duty of guarding the Empress without stabbing her in the back. He didn't even seem to care what happened to his ally, the Eight Great Houses.
At this point, even Teresia—an outsider—had no idea what he was planning. "Old Lion" didn't fit anymore; "Old Turtle" suited him better.
So the plan needed to change.
If they could guarantee that everyone in the castle except the Eight Great Houses got out alive, that counted as success.
And from another angle—why had Mordiana made such a huge show of raising a shadow barrier here, risking righteous dogpiling by Zijinghua's legendary powerhouses?
Wasn't it to make a grand, spectacular demonstration—inflicting destruction on this disobedient empire to build her own reputation?
Instead, thanks to a tiny Third Ring small fry like Linen Norton, the Mana Spirits took massive losses for almost no results.
That was humiliating enough already.
If they could ensure everyone else made it out alive, then Mordiana would have achieved essentially nothing.
A Ring-bearer charging to the doorstep of another empire's capital, loudly declaring she'd assassinate their sovereign—
Only to walk away empty-handed, with the Empress still alive.
Another Ring-bearer might not care. Ring-bearers weren't gods; failures happened. And the Tower of Chronomancy wouldn't truly punish them.
But Mordiana wasn't like that.
Her personality alone made her unpopular in the Tower. Back when Teresia was still there, she'd heard colleagues mutter about this glory-hungry Ring-bearer—no one daring say it aloud because of her record and status.
This disgraceful defeat?
People would gossip about Mordiana for the rest of her life.
And the Tower of Chronomancy wouldn't have planned something this blatantly provocative toward a royal house. This had to be Mordiana acting on her own.
Stack those together, and Mordiana might become the earliest Ring-bearer to start preparing for a sages' candidacy.
Just imagining it made Teresia's heart sing in secret.
As for what came later—now she knew who her enemy truly was, and she'd allied with Linen. They could take their time.
"Fine." Teresia sneered, her usual bite returning. "You look like you already have a backhand. Let me guess—an Arcana Scroll that teleports everyone out? Or something else?"
But her words drew only confusion from Linen.
"Run? Why would we run? If I really had a way to get everyone out, why would I bother destroying the shadow singularity at all?"
Teresia fell silent.
"Then what's your 'more conservative' plan?"
"I've always thought letting Mordiana live is leaving a disaster behind—for the empire and for us. I don't want an Eighth-Ring powerhouse thinking about me all the time, especially one who's excellent at Spatial Arcana."
"So, to be conservative…"
Since her main body is here...
Linen chopped his hand down like a blade.
"Let's kill her."
Teresia stared at him, no longer sure what expression belonged on her face.
Off to the side, Lily—who had already finished making sure the corpse was properly, completely dead, and who had the sense to keep quiet while listening—couldn't help curling her lip.
Kids these days.
They're too easily shocked.
After watching Linen's performance in the Holy Trial from beginning to end, Lily knew one thing for sure:
Linen really was a conservative.
He'd just always felt the "radicals" were being way too conservative.
---
T/N: oh fcourse of course, killing her is a very conservative way mhm yes sir, also omggg yes i alway sliked teresia
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