"Oh, damn. Triss… you're still breathtakingly beautiful!"
Triss narrowed her eyes with a smile and replied warmly, "It's been a long time, Giancardi."
The dwarf in front of them was named Molnar Giancardi—a dwarven banker, and one of the key figures Lann had come to see on this trip.
The office was dimly lit but pleasantly cool, filled with the scent of ink and parchment, along with a musty trace of dust covering oak furniture, tapestries, and old books.
Lann took a seat with a confident, commanding air. House followed and placed two items onto the desk before them.
The dwarven banker put on a pair of spectacles. When he looked at the items, he let out a deliberately exaggerated exclamation: "Ha! A Lead Ring. I've heard even Colonel Barclay once fought alongside you—only someone like you could earn Mahakam's friendship! Let's see... aside from the Lead Ring, there's also a letter, and the seal is—"
"...The Elder-in-Chief's seal."
His voice suddenly dropped.
His expression turned grave, and the performative reverence vanished in an instant. With utmost precision, he began to read the letter line by line, word by word.
The room fell completely silent.
Meanwhile, Lann gestured subtly toward House. The attendant immediately began to remove his armor and then respectfully accepted a set of clothes Lann retrieved from the inventory. He put them on without a word.
Triss also handed him a bracelet. Once House slipped it on, the vertical amber pupils in his eyes instantly transformed into those of an ordinary human. In the blink of an eye, he became indistinguishable from any wandering mercenary looking to secure a loan.
"Go," Lann said with a nod, giving the silent signal to carry out the task entrusted to him.
At that moment, the dwarf banker looked up again. He exhaled deeply, then fixed Lann with a scrutinizing gaze.
"I now understand the Elder-in-Chief's stance, Duke Lannister. How may I be of service to you?"
"Let's start simple," Lann said, smiling. "I want to know exactly how many market districts, trade routes, and industries your bank controls here in Gors Velen—and how much of the city's tax revenue is under your influence."
He paused, then added with a glint of curiosity, "I've also heard that your family once operated a bank in Vengerberg, back in Aedirn? If you could give me a brief overview of how things stand there as well, that would be even better."
Listening to the exchange behind him, House silently shut the door, turned, and walked out of the office—out of the bank—melting into the current of Gors Velen like a drop of water.
...
The streets were filled with the sounds of rolling cart wheels, the heavy clatter of oxen and horses' hooves, and the rhythmic thumping of coopers rolling barrels.
Everyone was busy. The clamor left the young student, who had skipped class and fled from Aretuza, feeling a little overwhelmed. She clumsily stepped off the wooden walkway—only to stumble right into ankle-deep muck and garbage in a moment of panic.
"Careful, Elena."
A strong arm reached out. A slightly rough palm brushed against her soft skin, sending a jolt through Elena like a sudden shock. In the blink of an eye, her cheeks flushed as red as if she had downed an entire goblet of wine.
With a light pull, Ace—whose body was honed through constant training—easily lifted the girl from the mud. But he had used a bit too much strength, and Elena was pulled forward, stumbling right into his chest.
She gasped quietly, her hands instinctively pressing against his torso. The firm muscles beneath her palms sapped what little strength she had left, and her arms slackened helplessly.
But just before her blushing face could press into that solid chest, Ace gently caught her by the shoulders, maintaining a distance close enough to be intimate—yet not overly forward.
"Are you alright, Elena?"
She looked a little disappointed but still offered a soft thanks.
"Thank you, Ace. I never thought you'd really help me skip class. This is my first time at the Gors Velen market, and it's just so, so…"
The gentle smile on Ace's face turned even warmer. Because at the very moment Elena thanked him, he felt a wave of warmth flow through his body. His exhaustion from staying up late the night before vanished completely. Energy surged back into his limbs—his strength and magical flow even climbed another level.
Even though he had felt this sensation many times before, Ace still couldn't help but indulge in it for a moment.
Praise be to Lord Lannister. Praise be to the strength of the Lion's Pride!
Beaming inwardly, Ace calmly pulled out a notebook from inside his coat.
"It's no trouble at all, Elena. For me, this was just a small favor."
Which wasn't a lie. Ace was planning to visit the market anyway—bringing along a student was merely an extra step.
One task down. A bunch more to go.
He flipped through the notebook, checking the list of errands and purchases.
Hmm… Caitlyn wanted a pearl. Little Bukali needed a doll. Rollin was looking for a hair clip decorated with white lilies…
Oh right—if he brought back a fresh batch of pigments for Lady Lydia, she'd definitely be pleased, wouldn't she?
Elena was still speaking animatedly to herself.
"But skipping class—what a crazy thing to do. If the teachers find out, it could cause huge trouble for you. Ace, for you to take such a risk for me, I honestly don't even know how to—wait… what are you doing?"
Ace closed his notebook with a warm smile.
"My mentor asked me to pick up some magical supplies. I figured I'd bring you along for a stroll through the market too. Would you like to come?"
"Your mentor is Mr. Vilgefortz, right? Then let me help!" Elena said excitedly.
"My father gave me so much allowance over the years, and I've been stuck in the academy with no chance to spend it! I'm a count's daughter, after all! Whatever you need—just leave it to me!"
Ace's smile grew even more sincere.
…
The boy and girl laughed freely together, completely unbothered by the world around them.
Just off the main street, in a nearby alleyway, House stood motionless—expressionless—as he stared at a long-lost companion he hadn't seen in years.
His fingers first clutched the lionhead pendant around his neck, then slowly, almost involuntarily, drifted toward the hilt of his sword.
The duke had sent him to find Ace. He hadn't expected it to be this easy.
And yet—
"This guy… for some reason, I suddenly don't feel like walking up and talking to him…"
...
The merchants were shouting, the customers yelling even louder, and lost children were wailing on the roadside. The mooing of cows, the bleating of sheep, and the clucking and quacking of poultry mixed into a cacophony.
Dwarven craftsmen were focused intently on hammering metal plates, only stopping now and then to take a swig of liquor. From a corner of the square came the music of flutes, violins, and hammered dulcimers—likely the work of bards and street musicians performing together.
Ace knew this market like the back of his hand. He strolled down the street with Elena gleefully skipping beside him.
A few merchants who recognized Ace gave him strange looks. This apprentice mage had the build of a knight and looked very familiar—but the girl at his side was someone they didn't recognize. Probably a new one, they figured.
Yes, this market was a familiar place to Ace.
But today was not like any other day, for something big was about to happen on Thanedd Island.
"Two students… no, only one of you is actually my student," a woman's voice suddenly rang out. "Why are you not at the academy?"
"And the other one—are you a dropout from Ban Ard? Or perhaps an apprentice under some mage?"
Ace turned around and saw a strikingly beautiful woman. She was tall, with golden hair and a green dress cut low at the neckline, her figure stunning like a mermaid who had come ashore.
Beautiful women were supposed to make one feel at ease, but Ace felt all the hairs on his body stand on end.
Elena's face had gone pale as well.
"Lady Margarita…"
"Name? Class? Who's your mentor?" Margarita's voice was icy. She was a teacher at Aretuza.
As she spoke, Ace suddenly felt a sharp, needling pain across his skin.
Magic!
This sorceress is actually trying to use magic in the middle of the market square!
"Wait, Rita." Another woman suddenly stepped out from behind Margarita, seemingly trying to stop her. This woman had smooth, neatly combed black hair, bright eyes, and thin lips. A short lavender cape was draped over her shoulders, trimmed with hazel dormouse fur.
"This is a crowded market!" the dark-haired woman emphasized.
Ace nearly wanted to cheer for the newcomer, but Margarita remained unfazed. On the contrary, the magical fluctuations around her hands only grew more intense.
With his current level of magical knowledge, Ace instantly recognized the spell—it was a paralysis enchantment.
He tightened his grip on Elena's hand. If a truant student got dragged back by a teacher, it would definitely mean a beating at the very least. His eyes darted around, quickly evaluating possible escape routes.
But before he could make a move, something even more unexpected happened—
—An alchemical bomb spun out of a nearby alley and rolled onto the street.
With a loud boom, a cloud of green smoke burst open, engulfing everything nearby. Caught completely off guard, Margarita inhaled a lungful of it and let out a shriek, nearly collapsing.
"Tissaia—!"
Violent magical fluctuations erupted around the black-haired sorceress as the power of the elements surged from her body.
She had actually managed to resist the dimeritium powder—if only for a moment!
Tissaia yanked Margarita back and raised her hand, sweeping away the lethal haze with a gust of elemental wind.
But all that remained ahead was a chaotic mess of overturned market stalls and scattering people. A halfling clutched desperately at the sheepskin he used to craft wineskins, while a half-elf held tight to the dolls on his stall. A dwarf frantically shoved his malachite wares into a box, trying to keep them from being shattered by panicked feet.
No female student.
No male apprentice.
No sign of whoever had thrown the dimeritium bomb.
Margarita let out a heavy cough. "Tissaia?"
The rector of Aretuza wore a grim expression. "Let's go."
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