Chapter 21
“Not bad.”
Aisel was very interested in creating magical tools.
Not only the communication stones she had shown Winter, but she had been working on many different inventions.
Winter, drawing on memories from her past life, would often give Aisel various ideas, and that had been the decisive factor in their growing close friendship.
Aisel officially signed a contract with Callista, receiving royalties for distributing the magical tools she developed across the continent.
This was what helped Callista gain recognition throughout the land.
Several of her inventions became massive hits and were commercialized continent-wide, and both Callista and Aisel earned astronomical amounts of money.
Thanks to that, Aisel, who loved money, naturally had her pockets full.
Under the pretext of brainstorming new magical tools, Aisel would spend all but a month or two of the year traveling across the continent.
This time, she had been formally invited to a magic conference in the Empire and was returning from it.
“Everyone seemed very interested in the tools I created this time.”
Hearing this, Winter took out a device from her waist, about the size of two palms held together.
The design was originally Winter’s idea, and it resembled a “gun” from her past life. Its function was a mana control device—a support tool for those who struggled to regulate their magical energy.
It had been developed by Aisel herself and given to Winter as a birthday gift for her coming-of-age.
Winter was so pleased with the invention that she had considered commercializing it, but Aisel was reluctant.
“How about developing it for children?”
“That would be risky. It’s difficult to make it lighter. Honestly, you might be the only person on the continent who could even use it.”
Young children just beginning to awaken their magic didn’t need such a device. In fact, very few could handle the overwhelming mana Winter could.
“It wasn’t a mana amplifier, but quite a few people were curious about why you made it.”
Aisel recalled conversations from the conference.
“You must have drawn all the attention again?”
“Well, I am pretty talented,” Winter said, pretending to flick her not-so-long hair dramatically.
“Then why are you back already? Don’t you usually have a post-conference celebration?”
“There’s a fledgling heading out on a journey, so a celebration is not important.”
Even though Aisel’s schedule had probably been tight, she had still come to see Winter off, which made Winter’s heart pinch in appreciation.
“You know, if you cry now, I’ll tease you for the next ten years.”
Knowing this, Aisel smirked.
“I’m not crying!”
Winter shouted indignantly, and the words effectively pushed back the tears that had started to form.
“Oh, here they go again. These two firebrands,” Erquil said, shaking his head as he watched them squabble side by side.
Then he turned to Winter.
“The signal from the barrier just came in.”
“Then….”
“Yes. It seems those you’ve been waiting for have arrived.”
At that, Winter slowly rose to her feet.
The thought of returning to the capital made her feel strangely mixed—half excited, half reluctant.
Seeing Winter’s expression heavy with wistfulness, both Erquil and Aisel chuckled softly.
“Hurry along,” they said.
“Yeah, go on and scram,” Winter replied with a grin.
Erquil had never been fond of people, and Aisel kept her identity as a disciple of the Great Sage mostly hidden. So this was where the farewell took place. Winter shared a brief goodbye with them in the two-story house she had grown attached to, then strode down the hill.
The wind tousled her hair, but Winter paid no mind, walking forward without hesitation.
Soon, she spotted a small ship docked at the end of the island.
She saw a woman and two men disembarking from the vessel.
“…Huh?”
Winter hastened her pace in surprise.
The man walking at the very back was unmistakably familiar.
“That… the mask…”
It was the rabbit mask she had seen before.
‘Here to meet someone.’
‘Ah, a relative?’
‘No… more like… a master?’
Winter couldn’t believe the “master” in question was herself.
No wonder he already knew her name—it all made sense now, and she let out a dry laugh.
The three approached quickly.
None of them were strangers, yet Winter’s gaze stayed fixed on the man at the back.
But there was one more shock: the moment their eyes met, he deliberately removed his mask.
It fell slowly from his face.
Against the backdrop of the setting sun over the sea, his previously hidden white face was revealed.
At the same time, the color of his hair and eyes seemed to shift with the sunset, unveiling his true form.
The face looked remarkably like the one Winter had imagined for so long, yet in some ways entirely different.
“…Impossible.”
Silver hair gleaming, red eyes reminiscent of an old pendant—Winter covered her mouth in shock.
“Mei…?”
As if hearing the whisper, Medilian’s eyes widened.
He glanced briefly aside and moved his lips.
‘Ba.’
“…Ba?”
‘Ram.’
Wind? Wind, perhaps? Winter narrowed her eyes to interpret his words.
‘Doong.’
But there was no need.
“Good grief.”
‘I.’
Winter let out a helpless laugh.
After eight years, to be greeted with “wind” as a salutation—it was surprisingly casual.
“It is an honor to serve you, Lady. My name is Hirkan.”
The man at the front introduced himself.
He then pointed to the two people behind him in order.
“This is Debora.”
“…Hello,” Debora greeted, bowing.
Winter noticed a hint of hostility in Debora’s violet eyes and was puzzled.
Debora was a character from the original story, raised from childhood in the Zenima trading company as Hanta’s foster daughter.
Winter didn’t understand why someone who should be in the Zenima company had become part of the Duke’s secret guard.
Moreover, in the original story, Debora was extremely loyal to Medilian, so Winter couldn’t fathom why she now seemed antagonistic toward her.
“And this is Dylan,” Hirkan said, gesturing toward Medilian.
“Dylan, huh,” Winter muttered, surprised by the codename Medilian used in the secret guard.
It was absurd to see the Vladimire Ducal House alive and well, and even more absurd that Medilian had become part of the secret guard.
It was a name he had used in covert operations while hiding his identity as the prince—so this revelation was shocking.
“Shall we go, Lady?”
The Duke had put considerable effort into meeting her after such a long time.
Taking a small boat from Nutra Island to Manutra Island, they arrived at a massive passenger ship, even larger than the occasional ships used to transport goods from Callista, and people on the island murmured from afar.
“Is this really everyone?”
Climbing aboard, Winter frowned slightly, but Hirkan seemed confused by her question.
“Yes. Would you like anyone else brought along?”
Other than the crew, the only passengers were Winter and the three members of the secret guard. Medilian’s gaze fell on Winter at the question.
“No. That’s fine,” she said.
It made her think once again how extravagant the Duke’s hospitality was after eight years.
As they departed, Winter traveled along the grand canal surrounding the capital, heading home.
As soon as she learned the ship had departed, she quietly whispered to herself:
“I think I need to rest first.”
She stormed into her assigned room, slamming the door. Inside, Winter panicked.
“What in the world is going on…?”
Her mind, previously in a daze, slowly pieced together the situation.
The well-built man she had met on Manutra Island earlier that day—the one wearing the rabbit mask—was, in fact, Medilian.
“…My goodness, my goodness, my goodness. God!”
Thanks to this revelation, Winter frantically invoked the gods in her mind.
It didn’t bother her that the secret guard included him, but that he was Medilian was an entirely different matter.
Her brain raced as she checked if she had behaved rudely, neglected him, or misrepresented herself in any way.
Finally, recalling her mischievous behavior—eyeing the masked man’s physique and smiling happily—she squeezed her eyes shut.
She was about to bite her fist and cry when there was a knock at the door.
Quickly composing herself, Winter said,
“Come in.”
And as she turned, she froze—the person entering the room was none other than Medilian himself.
