Chapter 113: Their Respective Paths 2

Contrary to Bloody’s expectations of resistance, the captive’s earnest plea to be accepted as a disciple left her momentarily taken aback – realizing she held no grounds for objection if the subject herself proved so amenable.

‘While the circumstances began as an abduction, if she takes the initiative herself, then so be it…’

Certainly, potential complications could still arise down the line. Yet proceeding along this trajectory lessened the likelihood of their mentor becoming directly entangled.

For a witch, individual will constituted the paramount tenet – one their discerning mentor would undoubtedly respect.

As Bloody pondered, Soul enthusiastically affirmed the Bohemian woman’s choice:

“Indeed, I knew you would make the wise decision. From our first encounter, I sensed we shared a kindred spirit.”

“You honor me with such praise. I shall strive to prove a diligent pupil worthy of your tutelage.”

What had been outright hostility mere hours prior swiftly melted into cordiality once their interests aligned – an amiable rapport forged through their newfound accord.

“Then let us begin with formal introductions. I am Soul Mary.”

“And I…Ah…Fredy Mast.”

Though her assumed name emerged somewhat stilted, Soul offered an ingratiating smile – recognizing the novice’s palpable nervousness as only natural given the circumstances.

To Soul’s appraising gaze, this remarkable ingénue represented not just her pioneering protégé, but a tantalizing wellspring of raw, unrefined talent begging to be cultivated into greatness.

‘The more I observe her, the more captivating she becomes. I shall undoubtedly mold this gemstone into a witch for the ages – perhaps indulging deeper…intimacies, if fortune smiles upon me.’

Having surrendered her noble identity under the alias ‘Fredy Mast’, Queen’s singular driving ambition now crystallized into an all-consuming obsession:

‘Power… That alone shall be my pursuit from this point onward. Strength enough to singlehandedly sweep aside thousands with each strike. If I can attain such might, it will far eclipse anything as paltry as becoming Bohemia’s heir.’

Having witnessed Soul’s devastating prowess firsthand, Queen understood the profound truth of her words with utmost certainty.

Moreover, their earlier discussion revealed them as emissaries from the formidable Dragonian Empire under its Empress’s sovereignty – a realm where merit reigned supreme regardless of gender.

Surely within such an elevated domain, her talents would find the opportunity to flourish uninhibited rather than face perpetual subjugation as some lesser lord’s marginalized heir.

‘Yes… I am no longer Queen Andreas. Henceforth, I shall live authentically as the witch Fredy Mast – forging my own destiny unshackled!’

“Well…? What news…?”

“…Regrettably, we found no leads whatsoever.”

Crestfallen soldiers delivered their dismal report, their dejected tones leaving Count Turen utterly drained as he slumped in despair.

“…I see… Very well, you’re dismissed.”

“Y-Yes, my lord…”

As his men filed out with heavy hearts, the Count remained alone – burying his anguished face in trembling hands while his body shook with choked sobs.

‘How…? How could this have happened…? My own daughter Queen, abducted and her very life left uncertain…’

The notion of his beloved firstborn fallen into unknown hands – her very survival now hanging by a thread – flooded Turen with immeasurable grief intermingled with profound self-reproach.

As the eldest daughter of their noble Andreas lineage and among Bohemia’s most accomplished mages, Queen had been a source of immense pride the Count had nonetheless struggled to outwardly express.

Had he been but an ordinary father, he would have lavished such affection upon her without reservation.

Yet as ruler of Bohemia governing its assembled nobility, any overt favoritism toward his children inevitably intersected with thorny matters of succession.

Especially after resolving to firmly secure the heir’s mantle upon Santara,ShowingQueen open affection risked destabilizing that delicate balance and fracturing Bohemian unity altogether.

An eventuality only exacerbated by her own stellar reputation and capabilities.

Thus, Turen had willfully distanced himself from directly demonstrating his affections for Queen – a conscious effort only compounded as Santara’s own meteoric resurgence solidified his position as heir-apparent.

Yet now, confronted with his firstborn daughter’s precarious unknown plight despite his heart’s secret yearnings…

The facade of indifference Turen had meticulously maintained toward Queen came crashing down – immersing him in a raging torrent of guilt-ridden anguish.

‘No matter my justifications concerning Santara’s future, I went too far in withholding my fatherly affections from that poor girl… At the very least, I should have fulfilled the bare minimum as her parent…’

Bitterly regretting his long-concealed emotional negligence even as he prayed fervently for her safe return, wherever Queen’s unknown captors held her…

Count Turen finally allowed the floodgates to open as he wept in solitary despair within the castle’s hushed depths.

“Haah…”

Consumed by profound trepidation, I paced restlessly about my chambers.

Queen’s abduction had thrust Bohemia and myself into uncharted territory – a crisis whose full ramifications remained utterly opaque.

While the Holy Empire’s Emperor represented the likeliest culprit behind this outrage, I could only fret over what draconian demands that utterly ruthless monarch might issue in its wake.

‘As dire as this is, Father will surely avoid any overly rash decisions. Yet we can still expect to bleed dearly regardless – the only question being to what degree…’

An eventuality wholly unprecedented in the original canon left me struggling to envision potential outcomes, much less their full-ranging impacts.

My unease compounded by this gaping uncertainty plaguing every speculative projection I attempted.

Amid my spiraling consternation, Polena’s voice cut through my discordant thoughts:

“It seems unlikely to be their handiwork, after all.”

“Hmm? What seems improbable, exactly?”

“This latest assault – I doubt the Holy Empire’s Emperor orchestrated it despite the suspicious circumstances.”

“But in this scenario, who else possesses the motive and means? Mansfelt lacks the capacity, and none among our present allies would dare such brinkmanship.”

“While the political suspicions indeed point toward the Emperor, the real issue involves the substantive evidence behind the attack itself.”

“…What do you mean?”

“The magic employed by the assailants – do you recall its precise nature?”

“According to witness accounts, the intruders commanded ghostly apparitions – not mere handful, but veritable legions potentially numbering in the thousands.”

“Precisely. Not the conventional necromancy manipulating corpses, but the forbidden rituals controlling souls themselves – the Black Arts practiced solely by the witches of the Eastern Dragonian Empire.”

“…What?”

Polena’s startling revelation left me utterly aghast – my mind rebelling against the ominous implications she now intimated.