Chapter 3

As his shadow loomed over her, the man took a few steps backward, causing the palpable sense of difference between them to diminish somewhat.

"Th-thank you," Azriel hesitated and offered her gratitude, her gaze fixed on him.

His gray eyes, resembling glass beads, traveled down her form. They lingered on the frayed hem of her apron, which had been cleaned but was showing signs of wear. His gaze then meandered to her slender legs and the tattered soles of her shoes. His eyes trembled slightly.

"Why are you living like this?" His voice, deep and deliberate, resonated through the air. She felt a peculiar familiarity with it.

Azriel was momentarily entranced by his voice, only belatedly realizing that he had posed a question.

"Pardon me? What did you say?"

"Why are you living like this?" He repeated, and his tone, dry and detached, lacked any trace of sarcasm.

"Do you know me?" Azriel inquired, furrowing her brow. "Who are you?"

The man remained silent for a brief moment before responding slowly, "I'm not supposed to, but I do."

Perplexed, Azriel blinked at him. "Do you know me or not? Who are you?"

"I am Rhema Reshith."

"Are you a wizard, by any chance?"

"Yes."

Enchanted by his mysterious aura, Azriel hadn't noticed until now that the man's attire resembled the robes commonly worn by wizards. She hadn't heard of any new wizard arriving in town.

Oh, could he be the great wizard visiting from the capital?

Azriel lowered her gaze, attempting to hide her surprise. "You must be the one coming from Modjankle. Excuse me."

"I didn't come from there."

"What? Then…"

"Can I fix the shoes?"

In response to his sudden question, Azriel glanced down at her feet. Her soles had nearly been torn half off after tripping on a stone.

"If you don't allow me, then I can't do it. Give me permission."

"P-permit what?"

"Can I fix your shoes?"

"My shoes? I'm grateful for your kindness, but I'm in a hurry now—yikes!" Azriel began to respond in confusion before letting out a shriek.

Just as she was about to express her gratitude for his kindness, he bent at the waist, seized her foot, and lifted it, causing her to lean backward. At the same time, she felt something soft beneath her hips, providing her with a seat.

When she glanced back to see what she was sitting on, she nearly hiccupped. Her seat was merely empty air. It felt as if she were perched on a plush cushion, yet there was nothing visible.

Clutching her bag of butter, almost on the brink of crushing it, she barely managed to divert her gaze from the peculiar sight and focus on her foot. The man knelt on the ground before her with nonchalance, supporting her foot in his hands.

His robe, so pristine it made her hesitant to touch it, covered the alley's dirty ground.

"Reshith," he murmured a spell and ran his fingers over the torn sole, causing her shoe to mend until it appeared brand new.

Azriel watched the spectacle with wide eyes, her astonishment rendering her speechless. More than the actual magic that repaired her shoes, she was taken aback by his demeanor—his posture as he knelt and held her shoe.

Instead of forming coherent words, she felt as though she might cough.

As her shoes were restored to their proper state, the man was about to release her foot but hesitated and halted. Just above the leather covering her foot was the faintly visible brand seared into her skin. His eyes briefly narrowed.

Realizing he was examining the edge of her brand, she hastily withdrew her foot and stood, not wanting a stranger to discover her past as a slave.

"Th-thank you for your help!" She bowed her head and hurriedly left the alley.

The man remained standing, watching her departure, his expression unchanged.

***

Azriel had been suffering from hunger since lunchtime. The head maid, already seething over the crushed butter and Azriel's tardiness, was further infuriated by the missing coins, which had evidently slipped from her apron during her fall.

This time, her punishment was limited to a skipped meal, as the staff was preoccupied with preparations for the impending arrival of the wizard from the capital. Otherwise, the head maid would have taken the opportunity to physically reprimand her, perhaps by grabbing her by the hair.

"You're responsible for the water today!" the head maid yelled, her frustration stemming from her inability to discipline Azriel more thoroughly due to her busy schedule. "Do it all by yourself!"

The water facilities within Colte Castle were exclusively designated for the use of the Colte family and their guests. Servants had to fetch water from a pump situated in a distant corner of the courtyard.

For a single person, this was an almost impossible task, yet Azriel had no choice. Her body was frail, and she could only carry a limited amount of water at a time. Even if she tirelessly transported bucket after bucket, there would still not be enough water to satisfy the demands.

As expected, the busy servants expressed their irritation whenever they discovered the water pail empty.

Red marks began to appear on Azriel's hands from the constant handling of the bucket's handle. Her legs quivered from the ceaseless back-and-forth between the pump and the water pail, all on an empty stomach. Her back wounds continued to burn as well.

This has to be the worst day.

With trembling hands, Azriel pumped water when another fit of coughing overtook her. Bent over, she accidentally nudged the water bucket, which teetered on the brink of spilling its contents.

However, pale hands reached out to steady it. Despite her watery eyes from all the coughing, she found those hands to be beautiful—noble and elegant, as if they had never endured any form of labor.

"Are you feeling unwell?" the owner of those hands inquired as he gently placed the bucket on the ground. "Your cough seems persistent."

It was the same peculiar wizard from the alley she had fled earlier.

Alarmed, Azriel rubbed her eyes and squinted to confirm his presence. She was not mistaken, and his appearance was unmistakable.

"You— you—" she struggled to speak amid her coughing.

Slowly retreating, Azriel continued to cough. The man before her still wore the same pristine white robes as before. Despite kneeling on the grimy ground of that filthy alley, his attire bore no stains. He remained an enigmatic figure, materializing out of thin air without a trace or sound.

"Do you wish to cease your coughing?" the man suddenly asked.

Who wouldn't want to stop coughing? Each bout of coughing left her breathless and her chest aching. Instead of replying, she nodded in agreement amid her coughing fits.

Without further ado, the man advanced toward her, closing the gap with just two strides. He then bent forward, extending his hand toward her. His pale fingers, with their elegant length, reached out as though they were about to encircle her throat.

Startled, Azriel instinctively attempted to dodge his grasp, but he firmly seized her shoulders, his hands sending an unusual chill coursing through her body as they wrapped around her neck. A peculiar sensation emanated from his cool touch, spreading throughout her.

"…What?"

"You're all right now."

When he withdrew his hands, her coughing ceased entirely, as if it had never happened. The congestion in her lungs had also vanished. Azriel gently brushed her chest, now feeling refreshingly clear.

Could it be that this kind of ailment can be healed with magic? But there was no incantation… Did I miss it?

Although she was not a wizard herself, she knew that wizards typically uttered incantations when casting spells. It was common knowledge.

"Thank you," Azriel looked up at the man once she had caught her breath. "I appreciate your assistance once again."

Having received help from him twice already, she felt compelled to repay him in some way, regardless of his mysterious identity. She remained perplexed about why he was helping her, though.

The man inquired quietly, "Why are you engaged in this occupation?"

"It's because it's my job. But, Mr. Wizard, um… what is your name?"

"I am Rhema Reshith."

"Ah, I see. I'm Azriel. By the way, how did you come here, Mr. Reshith? I wasn't aware of any guests."

"Please call me Rhema, Azriel."

"But that's… How could I address a wizard by his first name?"

"I'm not comfortable with you calling me Reshith," the man's brow furrowed slightly, and an emotion akin to displeasure or embarrassment flickered across his face, taking Azriel aback. "Just Rhema will suffice."

Perhaps he doesn't like his last name being used. I recall reading that a wizard's surname isn't their true name but a magical one—a spell… Oh, maybe he doesn't want others to speak his magical name.

"In that case, Mr. Rhema…"

"I've told you," he persisted, his tone calm, though stubborn, "Rhema is sufficient."

I can understand why people say wizards have difficult personalities…

As Azriel struggled to adjust to addressing a strange wizard by his first name, she changed the subject. "Well, umm, if you don't mind me asking, why are you here? If you happen to be lost, I can guide you."

"I'm not lost. I came to deliver this."

Rhema extended a well-packaged box toward her.

Even before she accepted it, Azriel recognized what it was. The gold-plated emblem at the box's edge was familiar—it bore the same logo as the shop where Deborah's cherished dress shoes had been purchased. She reserved those shoes solely for special occasions.

Noble children of Deborah's age would boast about owning such shoes from a renowned boutique in Modjankle, the capital of Aucandor.

Azriel found it challenging to associate herself with something so precious.

"Is this… for me?"

"Your shoes appear quite worn," Rhema spoke calmly as he handed the box to a stunned Azriel.

Afterward, he hesitated for a moment before posing another question. "You mentioned this is your job. Did you choose it willingly?"

"I didn't choose it, but it's the role I must fulfill. But, Mr. Rhema, this is too much. Why would you…?"

"Azriel! Where are you slacking off again?" The head maid's sharp voice reverberated throughout the yard.

Startled, Azriel swiftly pushed the box back toward Rhema and picked up the empty bucket. Returning with an empty bucket would surely result in curses.

"I'm fetching water, Head Maid!" Azriel hastily grasped the pump handle and raised her voice in response. "I'll be there shortly!"

"Did you install a new pump to draw water from?" The head maid's agitated voice drew closer. "You must have been dozing off, you cunning girl! You won't be having dinner tonight either!"

Observing the girl's pallor as she rushed to the pump, Rhema quietly murmured a question, "Would it be considered unauthorized if I were to eliminate the woman who is interfering in your life?"

His words were drowned out by the sounds of pumping and the sloshing of the bucket filled with water.

"What did you just say?" Azriel inquired. "I couldn't hear you over the water."

"…Forget it. That was a question I already had an answer to."

A sense of disquiet rippled across his composed face, followed by Rhema muttering to himself as he rubbed his temples. He seemed somewhat embarrassed.

"It's been a while since I last felt regret over something."

His perturbed countenance made him appear quite ordinary. Azriel ceased pumping and gazed at him, a feeling of déjà vu washing over her. She had the sensation of having encountered this person and witnessed this expression before.

But when was it…?

"Don't just stand there staring! I knew it!"

The head maid stormed around a hedge and arrived at the pump in a state of fury.

Azriel's horror was palpable as she caught sight of the enraged woman and instinctively glanced back at Rhema. To her astonishment, he was no longer there, having vanished as though he were a mere illusion. In his place, instead of a wizard, lay the package she had encountered earlier, resting on the ground.

Where did he vanish to? Is this some form of magic? I distinctly recall reading that teleportation magic had vanished from existence a long time ago, so how…?

She had previously come across information about teleportation magic in a book she had translated into Limble. It was one of the magical arts that had been lost during the decline of an earlier civilization. The probability of her misremembering was low, as she retained nearly everything she had read.

The head maid's massive hand struck Azriel's stunned head. She flinched and barely had time to utter a scream.

"You! You don't even make an effort to appear diligent in my presence now. Why do you persist in living?" the head maid berated her.

Bracing for another blow, Azriel squeezed her eyes shut, only to be met with an unexpected silence. Slowly, she cautiously opened her eyes.

"Head Maid?"

The head maid's arm remained poised, but her body had become rigid, frozen in place.