The Peaceful Life Of A Maid Who Hides Her Power And Enjoys It

“…your airship?”

The man looked at the swordmaster in confusion. In turn, the swordmaster asked Rue,

“Do you mean that the unidentified airship outside belongs to you, Mrs. Weatherwoods?”

“White body. The lower part is painted with a sky blue band, and the wings of the stern are blue. Isn’t that right?”

The man opened his mouth in surprise as he addressed the swordmaster.

“Er, that’s right. Your excellency, the airship’s appearance is as she described.”

I was as surprised as the man as I looked at Rue.

Did he have an airship? Then when did he call for it?

The volunteers from Ragel will take 7 hours to arrive, so how much earlier had he called for his ship? Or had it just been on standby?

“…I know it sounds tiresome, but because of the current situation, we can’t allow you to dock right away. Please answer a few questions first.”

Rue nodded with a face of great annoyance.

It wasn’t until we’d been asked at least 10 questions that we were allowed to leave the shelter.

Perhaps it was because Yeager and Volkwin were worried about us moving about without Viscount Weatherwoods himself with us, but they followed us too.

It was nice of them, but annoying nonetheless.

“This is it.”

The man led us to the back of the villa, where a grassy field whose end could not be seen stood.

In it stood the Black Ragel, the black-airship that seemed to be owned by Raphael, and a white airship I hadn’t seen before.

The procedures afterwards were very troublesome as well.

“Mrs. Weatherwoods, so you’re saying Viscount Weatherwoods is currently inside the Iregiel Villa, resting, and your ship’s crew needs to go inside to escort him out? I’m sorry… but only authorized personnel can enter the villa.”

I’m omitting the whole process it took to persuade them since it’ll take too long to explain.

While I was listening to them, a crew member from Rue’s ship entered the villa and returned with a big piece of luggage on their back.

The luggage suspiciously looked like a person rolled in a blanket.

‘Is that supposed to be me?’

Well, they can’t see the Viscount’s face like that, but still, that was a bit of a violent way to escort a noble.

“Daisy?”

Rue tugged on his grip on my hand and snapped me out of my thoughts.

“It’s over.”

At the same time, the airship’s engine began to work.

As the noise of the engine spread in all directions, green grass and soil rose in the air like dust.

The swordmaster approached us and greeted Rue.

“Well, then, Mrs. Weatherwoods. Feel free to call for help if you encounter any problems on your return. I hope to see you again in the near future.”

And he tried to say goodbye to me, but he was cut off by Rue.

“Let’s go, my dog.”

Rue, holding my hand and blocking the swordmaster’s view, began climbing a ladder connected to the airship’s entrance. Yeager and Volkwin, who’d been following us closely, shouted from under the ladder.

“Mrs. Weatherwoods, please tell Gray that we’re very worried about him, and that he must send us a letter when he gets well! He can address it to the newspaper company or the Panula mansion!”

“Please greet him for me too!”

This was kind of touching.

‘But will the day Viscount Weatherwoods contacts these friends of his ever come?’

When Rue and I both successfully boarded the ship, its  door completely closed.

Our long and tiring noble council meeting had come to an end.

…was what I thought 5 minutes ago.

I’d been a little too relieved.

Yes, the end is also a new beginning.

As I was standing on my return-ship home, a strange and bizarre scene unfolded before my eyes.

“- — – —!”

“- — – – – – -!”

A large group of about 30 people were kneeling on the floor with their heads bowed.

As if to greet a king. 

The words escaping from their mouth were only directed to one person.

“- — – —!”

Only one, Rue.

“- — – – – – -!”

In a foreign language that I couldn’t understand a word of.

* * *

The volunteers from Ragel arrived at 7 pm, a little ahead of schedule.

Raphael stared silently at the military ships with the royal crest.

More than a dozen terrorists, of all ages, were being taken under custody by soldiers, with their limbs restrained. As usual, immediately after requesting volunteers from Ragel, he had to undertake a brief field investigation.

But Raphael had yet to launch an investigation into the mental magic trap by the terrorists.

The reason was simple. Because it was a waste of time.

‘Each person has at least four imprints of a vow on their body.’

It was the first time assassins had been so thoroughly silenced.

It seemed the mastermind had wanted to block potential confidentiality leaks from all sides.

an imprint of an oath.

Fourteen years ago, the imprint of the oath was treated as a perfect top-level magic spell that could never be reversed.

This was because no one had discovered the method of destruction yet.

But not now.

The turning point had been the magic war.

The advancement of magic theory had been so tremendous since the war that even a spell seemingly as permanent as a binding oath could escape its grasp.

Humanity eventually discovered the method of destroying them.

However, this remarkable achievement had not been announced to the public.

Discovered within the Ministry of Military Magic, the highly unstable method remained confidential for nearly three years. Endless supplementation and modification occurred during this time, yet the arduous and intricate process of eradicating the oath’s imprint proved to be so complicated that it made one sigh.

Just in order to break a single oath, the magic flow in the subject’s entire body had to be completely stabilized, which required a great amount of manpower. The recruitment of wizards for this was difficult to begin with.

However, as many as four oaths had been carved into the assassin’s body and soul.

It would take too much time and manpower to erase the oaths one by one by using the method of destruction. In addition, the way they had installed that magic trap over the villa earlier was very professional, so the military was still ignorant of the details of the many oath markings on their body to even attempt to break them.

This was…

‘The mastermind behind this is most probably someone who knows the military has a way to destroy the imprints of an oath. The culprit is a person who knows considerable secrets about the Penrotta Military.’

So what was the criminal’s purpose?

Soon after, one of the officers leading the terrorist’s detention approached him.

“Commander-in-Chief. We’re ready to transport the terrorists. Twenty volunteers have also been deployed to the Black Ragel, and all passengers have been identified. I await your orders to depart.”

“What about Duke Jurian?”

“Yes! He’s checking the victims aboard the Black Ragel.”

“Then we’ll depart for Ragel.”

“Yes!”

Raphael was lead onto the ship by a sergeant.

Since he wasn’t the captain of this ship, he was escorted to a private cabin where he could rest until they reached the capital.

knock, knock.

As soon as he reached the cabin, Desherro knocked on the door.

“Sir, new reports have been posted concerning Queen Island.”

Desherro held a letter that had arrived with the volunteers.

Raphael looked at the envelope that stuck out before him with uninterested eyes.

“Desherro, didn’t I say the other day that you needn’t report on this matter to me anymore?”

Even as he said that, he received the letter.

His hands were relaxed as he held the already opened envelope in his arms.

The fact that the envelope was open meant that Desherro had already confirmed what was in it, which meant he had also kept Raphael’s orders in mind when he decided to present it to him afterall.

“Yes, you did. But I still believe you should check this one.”

Desherro’s gaze were strangely determined.

“The maid belonging to Viscountess Weatherwoods that you met today. Do you remember her name?”

He remembered a young, shy woman hiding behind a gorgeous beauty.

“Bertie Lucian.”

That was her name.

At his answer, Desherro slowly moved his lips.

“You do remember. As you know, the refugees from Queen Island are becoming more and more stable and independent due to the therapy sessions and vocational education provided at the refugee shelters. Among them, a man who’d left the shelter some time ago recently re-visited one…”

Desherro, taking a small breath, continued in a steady voice.

“When he heard of there being a new survivor, he was curious and asked their name, and…

Bertie Lucian, he testified, is a woman who died 14 years ago. It seems that the new survivor forged her identity.”

Identity Forgery.

The identity of the maid he’d met seven hours ago resurfaced in Raphael’s head.

A woman found on Queen Island not long ago.

Viscount Weatherwoods’ maid.

Her real name wasn’t Bertie Lucian.

Light green eyes and brown hair. Tall for a woman.

“After securing his testimony, we checked the records at the manpower office at Midwinterre, which had been the first place Bertie Lucian had visited upon her arrival there. Bertie Lucian’s records at the office are as follows: Her name is Daisy Fager, her hometown is in the southern harbour, and her family only consists of a younger brother.”

Except for her appearance, all the information they had on Bertie Lucian was fake.