MLWP 59

MLWP

Chapter 59 The Promise Beneath the Tower

“What the—why are you here?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be resting longer?”

Rose and Marin asked in turn, their voices filled with surprise.
Silia, looking equally taken aback, replied,

“Then what about you two?”

“It just feels more authentic to do experiments down here. Besides, the upper floors still aren’t fully repaired.”

“…You’re doing experiments in the Mage Tower’s underground prison?”

“Yup. It’s not like there are many prisoners here anyway. And today’s experiment turned out pretty useful.”

They both turned to glance at the scarecrow-like sorcerer they had dragged along. The poor man was trembling violently.

“Thanks for helping with the experiment.”

“If I ever listen to you lunatics again, I’m changing my major!”

He shouted and bolted away, making the two laugh as his figure disappeared down the corridor. Rose turned back to Silia.

“Anyway, seriously—why are you here?”

“I just needed to catch my breath.”

“Catch your breath?”

By now, news had reached her through Juline that the entire capital was still buzzing after the recent events. As a result, Silia’s name had become widely known—much more than she’d ever wanted.

‘Feels like my brilliant plan for a quiet retirement is slipping further and further away…’

The royal ball was fast approaching, and the growing momentum made it impossible to back out. Royal events, she mused bitterly, never happened slowly.

Just as she was muttering to herself, Carla had made an announcement:

“We’ll begin intensive short-term training.”

That meant history, culture, royal etiquette, every possible form of decorum, plus the arts—music, painting, literature.

“Shoving several centuries of royal history into your head in a single day isn’t exactly pleasant,” she sighed.

But dancing was the real problem.

She’d treated it like a form of martial arts, only for the dance instructor to flee in terror halfway through.

“This is a ballroom dance, not a martial arts tournament, Miss Silia.”

Carla’s flat remark had been the finishing blow.
And so, needing a break, Silia escaped to the one place that still felt familiar—the Mage Tower.

Cramming lessons into her head wasn’t difficult. On battlefields in her previous life, survival often depended on rote memorization of tactics and information. Her body might have been slower now, but her mind was sharp.

Still, dancing was far from her nature.
Pretending to enjoy something that made her itch was pure torment.
If she claimed illness, she’d be allowed to rest—but then everyone would fuss over her, and that was worse.

The Tower’s restoration was still incomplete and chaotic, but the underground prison—spared from much of the damage—was surprisingly cozy.

“At least this place didn’t take too much of a hit.”

“Right? Guess the power of the Promise is still holding.”

“The power of the Promise?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard yet?”

Marin nodded and explained,

“The Tower’s underground is protected by the Dragon’s Oath of Guardianship. It used to cover the whole Tower, but… judging from recent events, the power’s probably weakened over the centuries.”

“You mean the Guardian Dragon, Norrmungand?”

“Exactly. Never seen it myself, though.”

“Yeah, dragons haven’t shown themselves for ages.”

Rose and Marin exchanged curious looks.

“I heard its wings were as wide as ten men combined. Think that’s true?”

“Not ten—more like twenty.”

“Huh? And how do you know that?”

Silia only shrugged.

‘Because I’ve actually seen it.’

The Guardian Dragon Norrmungand had joined the latter stages of the Great War against the demonic beasts. Considering that dragons normally avoided human affairs, the title of Guardian hadn’t been for show.

From afar, she had witnessed its majestic, awe-inspiring beauty.

But even Norrmungand had eventually fallen—overwhelmed by endless hordes of monsters. Silia could still recall the image of that noble creature torn apart midair before tumbling lifeless beyond the horizon.

“There were even rumors that the dragon once lived beneath the Tower.”

“Yeah, in a secret chamber below this prison level. Nobody’s ever confirmed it, though.”

“I doubt it. Dragons prefer comfortable environments.”

“Funny—you say that like you’ve met one.”

“Well… I might have. Or might not have.”

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

Rose and Marin giggled a few more times before saying their goodbyes and heading upstairs.

“Hm.”

Now alone, Silia rose and swept her gaze along the wall. The mention of a “secret chamber” stirred a memory of something that had been bothering her.

“Could it be this?”

She stepped into one of the cells and pushed at a brick that had caught her attention.

‘Whenever something looks off to me, it usually is.’

The brick slid inward smoothly, as though designed to do so.
A faint click echoed somewhere deep inside.

She waited, but nothing else happened. Probably just one of the countless old magical devices scattered around the Tower.

“Well, even in my past life, Norrmungand’s resting place was never known.”

She doubted any dragon would live in such a damp, musty space anyway.

Just then, Rose’s voice echoed faintly from above.

“Silia! While you’re here, mind lending a hand? They need help clearing the stairway rubble!”

“Coming!”

When Silia left, silence reclaimed the underground.

Click.

Something unlocked in the depths, drowned out by the distant sounds of crumbling stone.

By the time Silia finished helping with the restoration and returned to the count’s mansion, dusk had fallen. Instead of heading straight inside, she slipped into the garden.

‘Carla doesn’t know the meaning of “giving up.”’

If she wanted to skip today’s lessons entirely, she’d have to kill some time first. She felt a little guilty—but Carla would understand.

‘Not enough hours in the day to deal with all this.’

Wandering aimlessly, she found herself again before the greenhouse.
It reminded her of the day she’d first arrived.

“So much has happened since then.”

Surrounded by the same lush trees and glowing mana spheres, she murmured,

“You’re all still the same.”

“That almost sounds like you’re tired.”

The voice came from a shadowy corner of the greenhouse—one she immediately recognized.

“Ah right. This was the Second Prince’s domain. Greetings, Star of Ahaim.”

“No need for formalities. Oh—here, take this.”

From the darkness emerged Crondel, holding out a small, ornate box.
Inside lay a beautifully crafted mask—white, with a crimson sapphire gleaming at its center.

“Is this yours?”

“No. It’s yours. This royal ball’s a masquerade, remember? I had one made for you.”

“Well, aren’t you generous.”

Indeed, this year’s royal ball was to be a masquerade—to honor all the nameless heroes who had saved the capital.

“The Princess also ordered the city’s granaries to open and shelter the displaced.”

“Yeah, that’s already been announced.”

“Using the ball to balance public backlash, huh. Smart woman, your sister.”

“The masks serve a similar purpose.”

“How so?”

“There are high nobles who never attend unless they can hide their faces. A sort of… cultivated mystique.”

“So she means to draw everyone out of hiding.”

An opportunity, Silia thought. Before she could voice it, Crondel murmured,

“I’m sure my sister has a reason for gathering so many people.”

His gaze, intense and unwavering, met hers.

“To finally bind you to her side.”

“If someone overheard you, they’d think the Princess was your romantic rival.”

“Isn’t she?”

“Don’t take jokes so literally.”

“It’s not a joke. I meant it. Even when we first met here, remember what I said?”

“Something about wanting me to ‘accept you,’ wasn’t it?”

“Exactly. A long-winded way of saying I want you on my side.”

She’d known that all along—but it was the first time he’d said it so plainly.

Crondel smiled wryly.

“I do have my own motives, sure… but it’s not about fighting for the throne. Things are just too unstable right now. I want some foundation to stand on. Getting murdered in my sleep isn’t on my list of ambitions.”

“So you’re going to compete with your sister for me?”

“There’s another reason too.”

Crondel’s smile faded, replaced by genuine earnestness.
Silia raised an eyebrow, inviting him to continue.

“Because I want to keep seeing you.”

“…That’s a reason?”

“I mean it. If my sister wins you over, she’ll never let me near you again.”

He was serious—too serious for her liking.

“When I’m with you, I have fun. Real fun. I don’t want to lose that. So if making you my ally is the only way to keep that, then yes—I’ll do it.”

“You really are addicted to entertainment.”

“That’s why I’m trying so hard to impress you.”

Gently, he lifted the mask from its box and placed it over her face.
There was no mirror, but judging from the pure delight on his face, it suited her perfectly.

With a teasing smile, Silia asked,

“So, do you dance?”

“Dance?”

“My instructor ran off. Teach me a few steps, will you? You royals know these ballroom routines better than anyone.”

“Well, yes, but… how can someone so good at martial arts be bad at dancing? Usually it’s—”

“Skip the lecture. Just dance.”

“Hah. Fine. I might not even make it to the ball anyway, so I’ll take this as advance practice.”

“Missing a royal event? You’re getting lazier by the day.”

Laughing, Crondel took her hand and carefully placed his other hand on her waist. His touch was warm.

“Like this. One, two…”

That night’s lesson ended only after Silia had stepped on his feet over a hundred times.

But thanks to that—