Chapter 6

"I am Azriel," she introduced herself, her voice trembling, "Lady Deborah's whipping child."

Azriel had never disclosed her surname: Esthera. It was highly unusual for a slave to bear a surname, and even commoners were rarely granted one.

"A whipping child?" Tarbo's lips curled into a faint smirk.

Count Colte, visibly perspiring from the peculiar situation, quickly interjected, "Do you have a fondness for this girl? I initially purchased her as a slave, but now, under His Highness the King's decree…"

"She was a slave?" Tarbo interrupted sharply. Rolling his eyes, he studied Azriel from head to toe without ever averting his gaze. "In that case, Count, sell her to me."

"Pardon?"

"I said, sell her to me."

"Trading slaves is now forbidden…"

"I had no inkling that you were such a law-abiding man," he sneered. "You certainly don't seem like one. Then, lend her to me for a few days."

"Ahem, um, what do you intend to use her for?"

"Must I elucidate, Count?" Tarbo diverted his attention away from the frozen Azriel and gestured toward the count. "I understand you require connections in the capital. I shall draft a letter of introduction to the Duke of Rudimna. How does that sound?"

"Are you truly referring to the Duke of R-R-Rudimna?"

The mere mention of one of Aucandor's most influential dukes nearly flipped the count's eyelids. He rubbed his hands together in an enthusiastic nod.

"You may avail her for your purposes as much as you desire," he continued. "Shall I dispatch her to you this very night?"

The count's use of the word "tonight" conveyed a clear implication. His tone revealed the depth of his imagination regarding the wizard's intentions for Azriel. He did not forget to send a menacing glance toward Damon, who was on the verge of objecting.

Tarbo was momentarily taken aback by the count's insinuations and briefly glanced back at Azriel. Her complexion had turned pallid, and she clutched the hem of her skirt tightly. Observing her trembling hand, Tarbo chuckled and stroked his unkempt beard.

"Well, I'll just take her now. Thank you for the meal, Count. I will return her when I return from the ruins."

With those words, Azriel's fate was sealed. She held her breath, thoughts racing.

I must escape immediately, she thought, her mind spinning frantically.

As she agonized over how to extricate herself from this dire situation, Tarbo rose from his seat and firmly grasped her wrist. She trembled in terror as she tried to pull away, but he whispered something in her ear.

"I do not desire your body. Follow me. Don't you want to know what you truly are?"

At his words, Azriel ceased resisting, and Tarbo led her out of the banquet hall. She stumbled along behind him until he finally released her upon reaching a guest room, guided there by the butler. Azriel held her reddened wrist, visibly shaken.

After locking the door, Tarbo spoke. "I plan to take you to the ruins."

"Pardon? The ruins?"

"I have no interest in your body. What captivates me is what lies within that body. The immense ma…"

Abruptly, he halted and glanced beyond Azriel, his eyes widening. Azriel was startled, but before she could turn around, someone pulled her from behind. A snowy cloth obscured her vision, and the scent of birch filled her nostrils.

"Please, rest for a moment, Azriel."

Wishing you sweet dreams.

With those strangely familiar words, Azriel lost consciousness.

Rhema Reshith materialized in the room out of thin air. He gently lifted the slumbering girl into his arms.

Tarbo watched this scene, dumbfounded, and was startled when he met the stranger's gaze.

Long, silver hair, a white robe, an almost otherworldly beauty, metallic gray eyes, and an appearance seemingly accomplished through teleportation magic—Tarbo Tameion himself was an exceptional wizard.

Not only could he gauge the level of magic the silver-haired wizard had employed in that brief moment, but he also recognized his identity.

There was only one wizard capable of wielding such advanced magic in the wake of the ancient magic civilization's fall.

Pale with fear, Tarbo grabbed the door handle.

"I suspected you possessed deep mana, but I didn't anticipate you recognizing Azriel," Rhema stated matter-of-factly as he approached Tarbo.

His speech was deliberate, and his steps careful, as though he didn't want to disturb the slumbering girl in his arms.

Tarbo desperately tugged at the door handle, but it refused to yield.

"Do you know who I am?" Rhema inquired softly, now standing quite close.

"The… the Wizard of the Horizon…"

In the annals of legend, wizards possessed the power to summon lightning, cleave the earth, sway the tide of war, and engage in epic battles against dragons.

These extraordinary sorcerers of old were now relics of a bygone era, for contemporary wizards tended to perform more commonplace feats.

However, among their ranks, there was one individual who could truly be called a living legend.

On the northern expanse of the continent lay a vast plain known as the Endless Wilderness.

Once adorned with towering mountains and rolling hills, it had transformed into a sprawling expanse of open earth. In every direction one gazed, the horizon stretched endlessly before them.

Folklore held that this transformation had occurred as a consequence of the cataclysmic clash between the White Wizard and the Black Dragon.

The White Wizard, the vanquisher of the Black Dragon, bore the title "The Wizard of the Horizon".

This appellation carried dual significance: it alluded to his power to reshape mountains into the distant horizon, as well as his unique position as the guardian of the horizon itself—the boundary demarcating the realm of gods from the realm of mortals.

His epithet symbolized that his mastery of magic transcended the realm of humanity and approached the divine. Tales, both ancient and contemporary, revolved around the legend of the Endless Wilderness, often recounting encounters with the enigmatic Wizard of the Horizon and the miraculous aid he provided to those in need.

On each occasion, the White Wizard's appearance remained unaltered, a testament to his undying nature and timeless existence.

News of his existence had spurred adventurers, scholars, and even kings to traverse the land in relentless pursuit of the enigmatic Wizard of the Horizon, hoping to secure his favor and have their wishes granted.

His immortality and boundless power had ascended beyond mere legend, morphing into myths and, for some, religious devotion. These tales were widely known among the populace, but for wizards like Tarbo Tameion, there were whispered stories of a different nature.

The rumor among wizards went like this: "Wizards vanish when they reach the horizon." It was a haunting tale that claimed any wizard who crossed paths with the Wizard of the Horizon would vanish without a trace.

Whether they simply disappeared or met a grimmer fate remained a mystery. Many skeptics dismissed this tale for its lack of substantiated evidence, given that most reports involving encounters with the White Wizard depicted acts of benevolence and miraculous deeds.

Tarbo, too, had not paid much heed to these stories—until now.

At this very moment, upon encountering this individual, his intuition screamed that he was undoubtedly face-to-face with the Wizard of the Horizon. Hence, he struggled frantically, pounding on the door with a fervor as if trying to shatter it, but no one came to his aid.

"My name is Rhema Reshith. I am unsure of how much you are aware of my identity, but I have come to see you for a reason…"

Fear gripped Tarbo as he turned back.

The Wizard of the Horizon abruptly ceased speaking, his gaze locked on the slumbering girl in his arms. He stared intently at her closed eyelids before raising his head.

"…Explaining would be tiresome. Just consider yourself unfortunate."

Rhema extended his hand.

Tarbo gasped and attempted to evade him, but to his astonishment, his body refused to budge. He struggled to utilize his magic, but his mana lay beyond reach. Wide-eyed, he could only watch as the hand approached him.

The long and elegant hand made contact with Tarbo's forehead, which bore the scars of burns. Starting from the point where the Wizard's finger met Tarbo's skin, the wizard's body disintegrated into particles resembling sand.

"Urgh… Ah…"

"Rest in peace."

Even his anguished cries crumbled into sand. The sand figure bearing his likeness soon descended into a heap of sand.

When Rhema retracted his hand, a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, dispersing most of the sand out of the window.

Thus, Tarbo Tameion, a middle-aged wizard, vanished, leaving behind only a few grains of sand.

Rhema's attention instantly shifted from the disposed wizard to the girl cradled in his arms. Azriel lay in a deep slumber, her breaths gentle and even.

Surveying the guest room, he noticed a large and opulent bed.

While it did not meet her standards of comfort, he had no other option but to lay her there.

Her hair, previously secured in a maid's style, appeared to discomfort her. With a subtle wave of his hand, he untied her hair, allowing it to flow freely down her back.

Seated at the edge of the bed, he delicately combed her disheveled locks with his fingertips, his gaze fixated on her pale, unadorned feet.

"…Azriel, you've grown so much," he murmured softly, "I almost didn't recognize you at first. In my memories, you were but a child, and now you appear closer to a lady."

He spoke in hushed tones to the girl, though she could not hear him.

"You have grown even more beautiful than I could have imagined, but I cannot say the same about the life you are leading."

Rhema shifted his gaze to Azriel's wrist. Tarbo's grip had left a vivid red mark on her delicate skin. He studied it for an extended moment. His hand, resting on the bed, twitched slightly.

"I swore not to interfere in your life."

Rhema rose from his chair with deliberate grace, choosing not to touch her injured wrist. He rarely hurried, which was only natural for someone who had lived a life nearly as eternal as time itself and possessed powers verging on omnipotence.

"Ever since I found you again," his face momentarily contorted, "I have been constantly tempted to break that vow… Even though I made the pledge because of this."

He took a few steps back from the bed. Before vanishing from the room, he muttered, as if justifying his actions.

"I removed that head maid because I no longer wished to see her. It's not that I intended to meddle in your life. As for the wizard from earlier, I took care of him as an extension of my duty, so it does not qualify as interference in your life, either."

Rhema resumed his graceful steps and disappeared as if he had been erased from existence. Only his last words lingered in the quiet room.

"Until you grant me permission… I will uphold that vow."

***

In the depths of night, Azriel awoke once more. She raised her body, emitting a soft groan while briefly wincing and struggling. The wounds on her back stung from lying down.

"I should be coughing by now, but I haven't coughed at all."

Since the enigmatic wizard at the water pump had halted her cough the previous day, Azriel had not coughed a single time. She instinctively touched the area around her neck before realizing that the bed she lay on was unusually plush and smooth.

"This place…"

Though the room was cloaked in darkness, the moonlight streaming in offered enough illumination for her to make out the room's contours. It was the same guest room where Tarbo had brought her earlier. She panicked and swiftly rose from the bed.

"What's happening? Why was I sleeping here…?"

She hastily examined her attire and began recalling what had occurred just before she blacked out: a white garment, the scent of birch, and a man's deep voice.

"…Rhema Reshith?"

Clearly, he was the wizard she had seen and sensed. Azriel was utterly bewildered.