Chapter Thirty-Seven: Too Much Drink Leads to Trouble

Squinting at the brilliant sun now at its zenith in the deep blue sky, Leslie lowered his head and rubbed his eyelids twice. After taking a few steps, he pressed the side of his forehead with his other hand, slowly and firmly squeezing several times, hoping to dispel the haze and headache brought on by his hangover. Yet, the effect was far from what he expected.

“It must be because my hands are too rough,” Leslie thought, looking down at his calloused palms. Absentmindedly, he scratched them, recalling a certain soft comfort that had already begun to fade even in his imagination.

He swallowed hard. It hadn’t been long since he left the Lord Mayor’s residence, yet he already felt parched and dry from the sun.

Braving the sunlight, he walked a while longer before someone ahead noticed him, stopping by the roadside and slightly bowing in waiting.

“Isn’t this Captain Leslie? Haven’t seen you in days.”

Leslie said nothing but patted the shoulder of the man in passing, a gesture of greeting.

However, he misjudged the strength of the pat, causing the man to wince and lurch forward as if about to fall. Leslie caught him just in time but immediately felt his wrist weaken, as if it had lost all strength.

He really had drunk too much these past days.

At the celebration banquet in that small town two days ago, he had gotten thoroughly drunk, not waking until noon the next day. By the time he returned to the city, it was already afternoon. The count had given their guard unit a two-day leave, but that evening, a few guards dragged him out drinking again until late at night. The maid sent by the young master earlier had nearly failed to rouse him.

Leslie could hardly recall the last time he had indulged himself like this… Perhaps over a decade ago, when he was an adventurer and mercenary?

“Oof… Captain Leslie, if you press any harder, I won’t see the sun tomorrow…”

The man on the road kept chattering, but Leslie’s headache was severe, and he lacked the energy to respond. He tapped the pouch at his waist, signaling he had business, then strode off.

He wasn’t lying; if it weren’t important, he wouldn’t have ventured out in such a hangover state.

Feeling through the cloth bag, Leslie found the contents stiff—things he would never use in this lifetime.

“Hmm? Why do you look like that? Went drinking again last night… If I’d known, I’d have come later… It’s alright; the uncle gave you all leave so you could relax… I don’t have much use for these spoils from the underground mine, you take them and sell them; share the proceeds with the others.”

These were weapons and equipment seized from the underground mine.

The young master did not pick up junk; what he brought back were usable items. Some were sent to the armory for the guards’ use. What Leslie was now taking to dispose of were several wands no one could use.

Among them was even a magical item, worth at least a dozen gold coins!

“Guess I wasn’t mistaken about the young master,” Leslie mused. “The gold earned on this trip alone matches several years’ salary. And to think there’s extra income now.”

He swore to himself he would follow the young master for life, whether the young master planned to remain the lord of this place or become some kind of Saintess heir.

Seeing a horse-drawn carriage parked by the roadside ahead, Leslie massaged his temple, quickened his pace, lifted the curtain, and climbed aboard.

Though it was the young master’s order, Leslie dared not casually use the Lord Mayor’s carriage for side earnings; what he did on the road was another matter.

“Where to… Oof, Captain Leslie! Where are you headed?” The coachman’s casual glance turned respectful at once.

“To that… that…” The alcohol still clouded his mind. Leslie held up his hand, hesitating, unable to recall the name of his destination. He peeked out again, “That tower! To the tower!”

“That tower…” The coachman looked and replied, “Candle Yard?”

“What ‘Candle Yard’?” Leslie was momentarily stunned but, hearing the odd nickname, recalled the true name of the towering mage’s tower: “It’s called the ‘Court of Illumination’!”

“Ah, same difference,” the coachman smiled. “Sit tight; we’re off.”

Hooves clattered as the carriage jolted into motion. Leslie steadied himself and gazed out through the window toward the soaring tower that pierced the sky.

Though unfamiliar with magic, he knew exactly where to go to sell a mage’s weapon—the Casters’ Association, of course.

After some time, Leslie took out one of the eerie wands from the pouch.

The young master had said these were wands used by necromancers; respectable places might not want them, and even if they did, the price would be low.

Leslie was determined: the few worthless sticks he could let go cheaply, but that high-grade magical wand would not be sold for less than twenty gold coins.

If necessary, he would wait until the next leave to seek out less reputable buyers. Good goods never lacked buyers.

The carriage rattled along the street; without magical assistance, it shook violently. Leslie, still groggy from his hangover, dozed off and woke several times.

Suddenly, waking with a start, he saw the tower's top barely visible above the carriage window. Knowing he had arrived, he rubbed his face hard to wake himself.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

The horses slowed, and the carriage stopped. The coachman turned, “Here we are, Captain Leslie.”

Leslie jumped down, reminding, “Wait here.”

“All right.”

Standing beneath the tower, Leslie looked up at the diamond-shaped black slate above the door, surrounded by strange, indecipherable patterns of candles. No wonder the coachman called it “Candle Yard.”

The Court of Illumination was the continent’s primary governing body for spellcasters, commonly known as the Casters’ Association. It provided guidance and services to spellcasters while establishing rules, responsibilities, and permitted spell usage.

Though Leslie had no magic talent, during his adventuring days, he had heard from mage companions about the organization’s origins.

Legend held that magic was originally the private art of the moon elves, inaccessible to other races. Humans first learned magic when an ancestor mage named Os accidentally entered the moon elves’ domain. Recognizing his talent, the elves taught him magic but never revealed their faces, instead lighting a faint candle in a dim courtyard ruin to instruct him without showing themselves.

Whether true or not, the name “Court of Illumination” endured as the association’s title—later interpreted as the caster’s guiding light in a vast, dark magical world.

“True or not, as long as they accept these wands, it’s a good place…”

Leslie paused at the door, feeling the pouch at his waist before stepping into the association’s hall.

“Is anyone here? Why is it so quiet?”

Surprisingly, the midday Casters’ Association was nearly deserted. In the past, he would always see robed figures coming and going, even late at night.

He looked around and walked further inside.

This was not his first visit; he roughly remembered the layout. The main hall was for receiving ordinary mages and common folk; underground were laboratories; the tower contained archives; the top was an observatory reserved for the most senior mages.

Reaching the reception desk, he noticed someone crouched there, engrossed in flipping through a pile of books, muttering to himself.

“No records of the 235th year’s star observations… no, not here… Noslia, yes, Noslia…”

Leslie cleared his throat, but the mage ignored him, seemingly not hearing.

He knocked on the desk and called out, mindful that this was one of the few places in Aurei City where he couldn’t act arrogantly and had to abide by their rules.

The mage finally looked up, annoyed, “What?”

Leslie tossed the wands onto the desk, “I have some wands. Do you take them?”

“No.” The mage glanced briefly before returning to his book. Suddenly, he fixed his gaze on one wand, then stood up.

“Oof…”

Having squatted too long, he shook his head, staggered back two steps before steadying himself. Leslie shook his head in disappointment.

What a weak mage...

“Where did you get this?” the mage asked, inspecting the high-grade magical wand.

“Spoils,” Leslie replied. “My young master seized it from a necromancer.”

“As expected…” The mage muttered, then asked, “Where’s the necromancer?”

“Burned.”

“Burned?” The mage’s eyes widened.

“Dead, so burned.” Leslie said. “Don’t you mages know about the trouble at Vale Town?”

“What trouble?”

“The undead escaped from the mine.”

“Oh, that. Heard a bit, but it’s not important.”

Not important? Leslie rolled his eyes. He pointed at the wands, “This necromancer did this, an old monster from over two centuries ago.”

“Over two centuries…” The mage stroked the wand’s carvings, then came back to himself. “These are necromancer items. By association rules, they cannot circulate within the empire. I’m confiscating this wand.”

“Confiscate?”

For the first time, Leslie, captain of the Aurei City Guard and head of the Lord Mayor’s guard, heard this word from someone else and found it unfamiliar.

“It means you can leave.” The mage waved dismissively.

Bang!

Leslie slammed his weapon on the desk, then patted the Lord Mayor’s badge on his chest, “Why don’t you confiscate this too?”

“That’s…”

The mage noticed his identity, “The Gemino family badge… You’re from the Lord Mayor’s office?”

Leslie snorted, leaning in, “These wands were won with my young master’s life. If you want them, pay in gold. If you say confiscate, I can teach you what real confiscation means. Don’t forget whose territory you’re in.”

The mage glanced at him and shook his head.

“I just suspect these wands have an illicit origin. Fine, since you’re from the Lord Mayor’s office, I trust what you say. These wands have little practical value in the empire but are old enough to be worth research, and that’s all.”

Leslie frowned, “Do you think I understand any of that?”

“Alright.” The mage sighed. “What I mean is, you won’t get a high price. These wands… um… are worth at most twenty gold coins.”

“The ‘Supreme God’?”

“Charon!”

Twenty Charon gold coins—already meeting Leslie’s expectations.

He breathed a sigh of relief, but frowned, “Too low. Add a bit. Twenty-five gold coins.”

“Impossible.” The mage shook his head. “Honestly, only this wand has value.”

“Then twenty-one gold coins, all for you.”

“…”

The mage studied him a moment, sighed, opened a cabinet, and began counting gold.

“Twenty-one gold coins. Here you go.”

Leslie counted again to confirm the twenty-one coins, his face brightening, and his impression of the grim-faced reception mage improved greatly.

“By the way, why is no one else here today? Just you?”

“Because of the meteor shower the night before last. Everyone went to study star charts that were abandoned for years. The observatory at the top of the tower is almost collapsing from the crowd.”

The mage packed up the wands, explaining, “Some even went into the wild to track meteor fall sites… Seeing meteors is considered good luck, but so many falling at once makes people uneasy… God of Truth above, give me a sign, at least tell me which book has similar records…”

Thinking of that awe-inspiring meteor shower, Leslie felt dazed.

It was the first meteor shower he had ever seen, its impact no less than the divine miracle he had witnessed in the square.

Last night, while drinking, someone said they saw the young master standing on the mountain with arms wide, as if welcoming the falling stars.

Could that meteor shower have something to do with the young master?

Snapping back to reality, Leslie saw the mage return to the floor, ignoring him, absorbed in the ancient astrology books.

He didn’t linger and turned to leave the Casters’ Association.

Summer was nearing, and the midday sun bleached colors away—white and fierce—searing the earth with invisible, distorting heat. Even the dozen steps from the door to the carriage felt distant.

He needed to hurry back, he thought, to report to the young master and then sleep. Otherwise, he truly couldn’t endure it.

Suddenly, as he stepped into the sun, Leslie heard the flutter of wings, and a shadow swiftly swept over him.

He looked up.

A pair of enormous white wings spread beneath the azure sky, gliding forward.

“That’s…”

An Aerial—a winged messenger of the church.

“In this direction…”

Leslie glanced down; the winged messenger was not flying toward the monastery but seemed to be coming from there.

Was it heading to another city?

Leslie stood by the carriage, eyes fixed on the wings drifting farther away, then suddenly focused.

It was not leaving.

It was descending.

Its descent was toward the Lord Mayor’s residence.

“Quick!” Leslie jumped into the carriage. “To the Lord Mayor’s residence, quickly!”

“Right!”

The carriage sped through the city, but no matter how fast it went, it could not match the descending messenger’s pace.

Before Leslie reached the residence, he saw the church messenger, having delivered their message, flying back from that direction.

Without hesitation, Leslie ran into the estate, heading straight to the young master’s room.

“Ha… ha…”

Breathing heavily outside the door, he calmed himself before signaling the watching maid.

“Young master, Captain Leslie is here.”

“Come in.”

The maid opened the door.

Eric closed the notebook on his desk and looked toward the door, having already heard the heavy breathing outside, wondering what urgent matter Leslie had.

“You’re back so soon,” Eric asked. “Did you sell those things?”

“Ah? Sold them.” Leslie entered, pulled out the freshly acquired gold coins, and pushed them all before the young master. “Sold for twenty-one Charon coins—all here.”

Eric, not forgetting what he had said over an hour ago, pushed the gold back casually, “Share them with the others.”

“Thank you, young master. I accepted it on behalf of the brothers.”

Leslie pocketed the coins and quickly scanned the desk. Nothing was different from his previous visit.

Could the church messenger not have come for the young master?

“Young master, I think I saw a church messenger fly by just now.”

“Church messenger?”

Eric abruptly lifted his gaze, glanced at the sky and courtyard outside, then looked back at him. “You didn’t mistake it?”

“I didn’t…”

Leslie was about to confirm but felt a sudden sinking doubt. Had the alcohol not worn off, or was the sun’s heat making him dizzy again?

Drinking really complicates things… His head ached anew.

“I don’t think I was mistaken…”

He was trying to recall the scene he had just seen when the maid outside spoke again.

“Young master, Sister Alaina and Sister Sophie have arrived.”

“Show them in.”

Eric stood and glanced at Leslie. “You really didn’t mistake it.”

The door opened, and two nuns entered, one after the other.

“Mr. Eric.”

Not minding Leslie’s presence, Alaina held a letter with both hands, lowering her gaze when it met Eric’s eyes.

“A letter from the Saintess. Please depart immediately for the Holy Capital.”

Finally, the moment had come. Eric’s spirit lifted.

But…

“Immediately?”

“Yes.” Alaina replied, pressing the letter toward him. “The Saintess requests Mr. Eric and those authorized by the Gemino family to accompany her to the Holy Capital. There is urgent business to discuss.”

Eric accepted the letter. The nun’s voice faltered.

“The Saintess says… her time is running short.”