Page and the coachman had rested in the gatehouse all night.
They hadn't suffered.
Celeste had people send them cooked meat, wine, and a heating brazier.
When Page saw Sylas later, Sylas explained, "The Master slept here last night and has already left. Let's go back."
Page was young and understood nothing, so he naturally believed it.
Whether he believed it or not was irrelevant anyway.
He was Isolde's informant, with no real connection to Victoria.
Sylas sat in the carriage on the return journey.
He was sullen and unhappy.
He played incessantly with a small storage pouch in his hand.
This kind of storage pouch was quite exquisite, like a sachet. Usually hung from the waist, it wouldn't attract others' attention.
Sylas fumbled inside the pouch for a long time.
Then he felt somewhat disappointed.
Celeste had filled it with a large quantity of tonics, clothes, and jewelry. But nothing actually useful.
Not even a single copper coin was given to him.
A pure free ride.
These tonics definitely couldn't be consumed.
The tonics Isolde gave were already very potent; adding Celeste's would surely make his nose bleed.
Just then, he suddenly saw an apothecary through the carriage curtain.
Sylas's heart stirred; he hurriedly stopped the carriage.
Then, he said to Page, "I'm going to the apothecary to buy some medicine."
Page wanted to accompany him.
Sylas said faintly, "Stay seated. The road is full of snow."
Page glanced at the heavy snow outside; it was knee-deep.
He was young and short; seeing snow this thick made him not want to get out of the carriage.
Sylas got down from the carriage and walked straight into the apothecary.
"What would you like, Lord?" The apothecary owner greeted Sylas promptly.
On such a cold day, anyone coming to buy medicine had to be well attended to.
This Lord was handsome with an extraordinary air, clearly from a wealthy noble family.
Her attitude was naturally exceptionally good.
Sylas, however, turned to look at the carriage outside, ensuring neither the coachman nor Page were watching him.
He then stepped forward and said cautiously, "Shopkeeper, I'm selling medicine. Please look at these tonics. If the quality is acceptable and the price right, I'll part with them."
...
Life became routine.
Sylas had somehow grown accustomed to this bitter existence.
Isolde would come by from time to time to cuckold him, then subject him to various humiliations.
Victoria would come back when she had time to play the Lady Sovereign, sharing her work achievements with him.
The new laws would be implemented next year; she would surely succeed.
Sylas didn't dare advise her to slow down.
Victoria was already caught up in a frenzy.
She was now utterly immersed in the reforms; it had become her life.
But from Celeste's fragments of conversation, Sylas learned that many in the court were already dissatisfied with Victoria.
Reforms meant touching interests.
New laws meant restraining those who were previously unconstrained.
This was a life-and-death struggle.
But Victoria could no longer care.
She was like an arrow shot from a bow; there was no turning back.
Sylas felt himself pulled into a storm.
It wasn't that he feared death.
He just feared Isolde would finally reel in the net and drag him back.
By the next year.
Sylas sensed the atmosphere becoming abnormal.
The wind blows hard before a storm.
He could even see a hint of killing intent and fighting spirit on Isolde's face.
He kept an even lower profile.
These three women—whatever they told him to do, he did.
He absolutely dared not voice any objection.
Today, the entire Marquess's manor was bustling with activity.
Both Isolde and Celeste had given him a day off.
Actually, according to Isolde's intention, she planned to have the officials' families enter the palace to pay respects to the Empress.
And incidentally, spirit Sylas away.
But after Sylas pleaded for a long time, he finally got a brief chance to catch his breath.
He was directing everyone in the Marquess's manor in preparing for the Spring Festival activities.
Just then, a maid found Sylas.
"Lord, someone outside the manor requests an audience."
"Sigh..."
Sylas sighed helplessly.
This person was either Isolde's or Celeste's.
No matter whose person it was.
They were here to summon him for... company.
He irritably rubbed his hair and said, "Where are they?"
"In the guest room now."
"Understood."
Sylas walked to the guest room like a zombie.
He found a rather plain-looking woman.
She was around forty years old, not tall, with a short stature, and her face showed some traces of hardship.
She wore a black wide-brimmed hat and a thick padded coat, looking like a broker or agent.
Sylas's breath hitched. He hurriedly closed the guest room door and looked at the woman without saying a word.
This woman's hat was the kind worn by people of Lyonesse!
This wasn't someone sent by the Isolde or Celeste!
The woman, upon seeing Sylas, was momentarily stunned, then quickly knelt and said softly,
"Young Master, my name is Ser Sevyn. I am the General's attendant.
The General sent me to make contact with you."
"Sevyn... you..."
Sylas stared blankly at the kneeling woman, then felt a throbbing pain in his head.
His mother's attendant had actually found him.
But weren't they captured by Aethelred and locked in a dungeon?
Could it be that, from the very beginning, this was false?
Sylas held his head and sat on the heated brick bed. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the nausea, and said, "Speak."
Sevyn took out a thin letter from a pouch close to her skin, and along with it, a small iron seal.
Sylas took the seal and the letter. He didn't rush to open them but asked in a trembling voice, "So... Mother and little sister... they are both safe now, right?"
Sevyn: "Reporting to Young Master, the General and the Young Marshal are currently on Sapphire Isle in the Eastern Sea, seeking a path to restore our nation."
The first part of her sentence sounded truthful, but the latter part seemed somewhat lacking in confidence.
Driven out to the seas, still thinking of restoring the nation.
It was indeed somewhat unrealistic.
But for Sylas, this was simply the biggest joke imaginable.
Agitated, his head buzzing, he suddenly bowed his head, and blood began to flow from his nose.
These past few days, Isolde had been stuffing him with tonics daily.
Now, with this agitation, the nosebleed naturally wouldn't stop.
"Young Master, Young Master..."
Sevyn panicked. She hurriedly tried to heal Sylas.
A stream of magic entered his nasal passages, stopping the bleeding.
But his mind was still in turmoil.
He closed his eyes and said lifelessly, "Sevyn, help me. Remove this Servant's Chain. I want to die. Quickly."
"Young Master..."
Sevyn smiled bitterly. At this moment, she didn't dare act rashly.
After all, the old General had specifically instructed that her son must have the courage to live on.
They wouldn't blame Sylas.
Sylas forced himself to calm down. He murmured, "Forget it, forget it. Let it be. Sevyn, this is the Marquess's manor. I cannot keep you here. Do you have somewhere to go?"
"After delivering the message, this subordinate must... ah... must return to my hometown," Sevyn hesitated before finally stating her plans.