Astope Quarter, Unit 145. Morning of Wednesday.
Hazel sat with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap. It was a nearly perfect posture for sitting, the result of her upbringing since childhood.
Something that, at present, the young lady felt she was being disrespectful.
'I still can't get used to this…' Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes dropping to her body for the fifth time that day.
The black fabric of the dress greeted her. As did the white apron, and she couldn't forget the little ruffled hat on her head. A complete maid's uniform…
She really still couldn't believe she'd agreed to this.
Inevitably, her face twisted into a grimace. Hazel looked up and focused her attention on the kitchen.
"Is it really necessary for me to wear this in here, Teacher Adryan?" she asked hopefully, her voice almost seeming to beg for a "No."
From the kitchen, without taking his eyes off the stove, a man with long red hair let out a chuckle.
"You have to play the part, remember?"
"I know. But…" Hazel faltered for a moment, squirming slightly in her spot, "It's… weird."
Adryan finally turned his gaze to his student, one eyebrow arched in curiosity.
"You've worn all kinds of clothes and costumes before, and you've never complained. What's different about this? Isn't it honorable enough for you? Don't tell me my student is a snob?" The man questioned teasingly.
Was this a case of classism?
"N-no, that's not it!" Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but her answer was still decisive.
It wasn't that she considered this role beneath herself. Nor was it that she considered this work dishonorable. In her eyes, there was nothing of the sort.
Even so, Hazel really couldn't help but feel a natural aversion to what she was doing.
"I-it's just… How can I explain it…" The young woman's words caught in her throat, unable to give a reason that wouldn't sound inappropriate.
Sigh
A sigh sounded beside her. At the same time, Hazel felt a disappointed gaze rest on her shoulders.
Then, a bored voice answered for the young woman.
"It's the weight of her heritage."
Brown eyes focused on the long sofa to her right, where a white-haired woman was sitting.
Flora rested her cheek against the sofa, wearing a thick evening gown and holding a bowl of strawberries and melted chocolate on her lap. Her gray gaze watched the unfolding scene, unimpressed.
Pop
Flipping the last pancake with extra chocolate chips and placing it on the last plate, completing their breakfast. Adryan tilted his head slightly. The stove flames went out with a thought as he set the table.
"Oh? An heritage, you say?" he asked curiously, placing the plates in their spots and calling the two Marauders to eat.
As he said that, the redhead walked back to the kitchen for a moment. The hair tie holding his hair in a ponytail vanished as he took off the apron he'd worn while cooking and hung it on the kitchen rack. With that done, he returned to the table with a coffee pot.
Seeing what the princess had done, the corners of the Jacob's lips twitched.
"Are you sure you weren't a housewife in a past life?"
"Maybe. Who knows?" Adryan shrugged nonchalantly.
What could he say? Cooking was something he enjoyed. Even more so when he was cooking for someone else.
"Mm." Swallowing the last chocolate-covered strawberry, Flora stood up with the bowl in her hand, walked nonchalantly to the table, and took her usual seat. Adryan sat to her right while Hazel sat across from them.
With a hot coffee cup in her hands, she looked curiously at the older woman in fron of her.
"Teacher Flora, could you explain a bit more about what you said just now?"
The young Match didn't start eating right away; she just waited patiently for her superior to explain what she'd said more clearly. Although Hazel somewhat understood what she meant, another perspective—especially from someone like Flora—was welcome.
Taking her time, Flora began to place strawberries on her pancakes slowly. When she had a half-filled circle, she finally spoke calmly.
"As the heiress of a family with a history, you have to live up to certain expectations. The most important one: do nothing that tarnishes or belittles the family name. Acting like a servant will generate unconscious rejection, no matter how necessary you know it is.
"Think of the knightly families from the time of Emperor Roselle.
"For several generations, every heir had taken up the sword and gone on expeditions to bring back and defend the honor of the name on their shields. But when the Emperor invented firearms, the honor of the shield—carried by multiple generations—meant nothing in the face of that firepower.
"For a time the suicide rate among the heirs of these families, as well as casualties in battle, was very high. Even though they had witnessed the power of firearms, they rejected their use and clung to their bows and swords.
"This was more a result of the legacy they carried than of their own foolishness. In their eyes, it was better to die with a sword or a bow in hand than to live with the burden of having abandoned the family's path."
Finishing the circle of strawberries on her pancakes, Flora placed the bowl in the middle of the table. A faint smile graced her lips, which soon gave way to a small laugh.
"Really, people are curious."
"…Thank you for your words, Teacher Flora," Hazel bowed deeply to the woman, feeling her heart had been touched.
Now, the white-haired woman gave her a blank look.
"What are you thanking me for? I just explained the reason for your rejection. Not that you didn't need to do it."
Raising a white eyebrow, Flora added, unimpressed, "Even those families accepted the power of weapons; you have to accept your place, too."
Hazel froze in place; her eyebrows touched her forehead as she felt her heart break.
"Ph-hahaha!" The redhead burst into laughter, failing to contain his laughter at his student's broken expression. "Come on, Hazel, you can do it! Hahaha!"
Although he was laughing on the outside, the Jacob's words resonated strongly within him.
Taking a small sip of his coffee, Adryan glanced sideways at his dear worm.
'That came more from experience, didn't it?'
The Hermits of Fate were full of people like that. People who tried to fight a gun with a sword.
Well, "fight" was a very strong word. The more appropriate word would be "survive."
Surviving an atomic bomb with only a damp piece of paper as a shield—the very same paper that was a trap left by the bomb itself.
Among these survivors, Flora was, without a doubt, the one who stood out the most. She was the only member who, instead of merely surviving, wanted to use her sword to attack.
A small smile broke across Adryan's face as he closed his eyes, amused.
Truly, a woman with an appetite.
That last thought made his smile widen slightly. Opening one eye, he looked at his student playfully.
"If it makes you feel better, I can buy a maid's dress and join you in this."
"Teacher Adryan?" Taken aback, Hazel blinked in confusion for a moment before laughing in disbelief, "Please, don't joke like that. You're a man—why would you wear a dress?"
"Why? Don't you think I'd look good in one?"
"Um…" Not knowing what the right thing to say was, she decided to keep quiet.
It wasn't that the man would look bad—he certainly had the curves to pull one off—but that was an image she didn't want in her head.
At the face his student was making, Adryan only chuckled softly, "Hehe. I was just trying to cheer you up. You don't have to be so uptight."
The corners of the green-haired girl's lips twitched.
Flora stopped her fork midway for a moment before bringing the huge strawberry pancake to her mouth and chewing slowly. She glanced sideways at the man next to her.
Her sixth sense was screaming at the top of its lungs.
'He… wasn't joking?' Her grip on her fork tightened for a moment, and Flora felt the tips of her ears grow slightly warm.
What was this crazy guy planning now?
Sensing that the bait had been taken, the redhead's eyes narrowed slightly and seemed to emit a strange gleam.
His lips moved, but no sound came out; yet, accustomed to reading those familiar, thick lips, the message still got through.
"Did you actually believe that?"
'Urgh.' Feeling a chill run up her spine and growling inwardly at the warmth in her ears, Flora lifted her foot and kicked the man's calf hard.
Thud!
The table jumped a little, and Hazel looked on, confused. With her gaze, she turned to the two adults in front of her for an answer, but they just kept eating as if nothing had happened.
Not wanting to probe further, she simply looked down and focused on enjoying her breakfast instead.
"By the way, Hazel, I've already figured out how you'll be acting as a Swindler in Azshara."
The young woman's head snapped up like a whip, disbelief shining in her eyes: "Really, Teacher?!"
"Did you think I only brought you along to dust the furniture?"
Chuckling a little at that reaction, the redhead slid thick wads of blue tickets toward her.
When he found out his student was coming to Lenburg, he already knew exactly how to help her digest her potion.
After all, the method he'd chosen was one that had tormented countless souls in the modern era of this world and his own. And one that, more than likely, had brought about the death of more than a few who'd used it.
With the preparations he'd made, his student's potion would undoubtedly be digested before they left Azshara.
Knowing the disaster this would bring, the smile on his face sharpened: "Tell me, have you ever heard of resellers?"
Somewhat confused, Hazel raised an eyebrow.
Now, that was an interesting word.
…
South of the Sonya Sea, Blue Avenger. Captain's cabin.
Adjusting the sword at his waist and ensuring his revolver was loaded with several demon-hunting bullets for the third time, Alger Wilson nodded to himself, finally satisfied.
These were merely just in case. As long as he was careful, it wouldn't be necessary to use either of them.
With everything ready, the man finally put on his coat. Running a hand through his blue hair, the pirate stepped out of the room into the sunlight.
His eyes scanned his surroundings intently.
The harbor where he had disembarked was full of fishermen and sailors busy with the day's catch. Shouts and orders echoed throughout the harbor, mingling with the crashing of the waves to create a somewhat chaotic atmosphere.
Saying goodbye to the men who were staying behind to watch over the ship, Alger descended to the dock. His boots made a clack-clack sound against the old wood.
This island bore the name of Iron Island.
Over 100 years ago, it was tied to the Loen Kingdom because of the high-quality iron of their mines, which gave the island its name. But the mine soon dried up, and, coupled with the constant conflict with the Feysac Empire—which also sought to control the mine at the time—the relationship deteriorated until it became nothing more than a minor fish trade, the new economy of the place.
This soon turned the island into a hub for pirates.
Like most islands where they took refuge and relaxed, the busiest places were the brothels as well as the bars, which were always full of pirates with substantial bounties on their heads.
These were only minor pirates; Iron Island had such a small Beyonder circle that no renowned pirate would bother to even take a look. That's why they could almost always go unnoticed as long as they didn't draw attention or cause serious trouble that would prompt action from the local authorities.
'This island no longer has a church. However, since the economy depends on fishing, almost the entire population believes in the Lord of Storms. That's why the local language is loenese...' Walking through the harbor and blending into the crowd, Alger kept his heart calm.
The smell of fish was naturally overpowering, but as a Beyonder of the Sailor Pathway and a man of the sea, it was easy for him to ignore.
At a glance, it was easy to tell the pirate ships apart from the fishing boats. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for.
In the least-trafficked part of the docks, almost hidden by the shadows of the warehouses, there it was.
A two-masted ship. The color of burnt oak and flying a flag bearing the image of a hound with bloody teeth.
That was Bloodhound Chris's ship. The Burnt Witch.
Staring at the ship for a few seconds, Alger Wilson left the docks.
Making sure no one was following him, he slipped behind some boxes filled with bait and jumped into the water. Quickly disappearing into the dark depths.