MROITSOKIAW 6

Kasumireaz quickened his pace the moment they stepped out of the tent. He was always brisk in a soldierly way, but today he moved with unusual urgency. His posture remained perfectly straight, his uniform unwrinkled as ever, yet there was a faint tension in the set of his back.

Walking half a step ahead in long strides, Kasumireaz murmured,

“I called out at first, but there was no reply. I was surprised.”

There was no mockery in his voice—he truly seemed surprised. Yet his expression barely changed, so to anyone unaccustomed to him it would be hard to tell whether this was genuine astonishment or an unspoken reprimand.

Ark understood perfectly what was being pointed out.

He had always been aware his mornings were poor. The reason was simple: his sleep was light. And it was light because—given his position—assassins were a constant threat. A childhood spent never truly at ease had carved that habit into him.

When the quality of sleep was poor, waking was inevitably unpleasant.

But that was a different thing from not waking at all. He was trained to rouse at the slightest presence. He had never once made the kind of mistake that would leave him unaware of his surroundings. If he lacked that sense, he wouldn’t be standing here now. In any case, his issue was simply that after waking, he was slow to think for a while.

“She was unexpectedly comfortable to hold,” Ark said. “I dozed off.”

“It helped me,” Kasumireaz replied without hesitation—the very man who endured Ark’s ill temper every morning.

Ark let it pass and stifled a yawn.

They left the commander’s tent and stepped into morning sunlight. The weather was flawless—perfect for a ceremony. It would be a splendid day, one fit to celebrate the departure of the young lions.

Returning the guards’ greetings, Ark and Kasumireaz headed to the stables.

The stablehand spotted them and immediately led out two horses. Their tack was already fitted; all that remained was to mount and depart.

“Where are we going this early?” Ark asked, placing his foot in the stirrup as he looked at Kasumireaz.

He had no intention of whining about inconvenience or an empty stomach, but riding out at dawn like this was rare—unless it was the battlefield.

And to do it on the very morning of the investiture ceremony—why?

“We’re going to Vestofa.”

The name Kasumireaz gave was that of the nearby city by the garrison—the very place where the ceremony would be held.

“I will explain later. There is something I need you to confirm.”

“Understood.”

If the Captain of the Royal Guard spoke so, Ark could tell something had happened. If it would be explained later, there was no need to press him here and now.

Ark swung onto his sleek blue roan, Kasumireaz onto his glossy chestnut, and they set their horses running toward the venue where the ceremony was scheduled to begin at noon.

＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊

“You truly did not touch her?”

Even in that state—?

On the road to Vestofa, Kasumireaz’s voice from horseback held a fresh note of disbelief. Ark’s mouth curved faintly.

“Do you think I’d let her escape?”

“No.”

“An immediate answer. Bold of you.”

“I have your many illustrious precedents to rely upon.”

“Hah. Fair.”

“Then it is as I thought?”

“Aye. But I still don’t know why she insists on calling it ‘nothing happened.’”

“She claims to have someone she has vowed herself to. Perhaps that is why.”

“Someone?” Ark snorted softly. “She didn’t react like a woman who has one.”

“When you say that, it only confirms you did touch her.”

Kasumireaz’s question that followed—So what will you do?—was unspoken, but clear.

It was about the spy suspicion.

If Ark had uncovered a concealed caster, what then—imprisonment and execution, or forced repatriation to the enemy nation of Reitea, depended entirely on Ark’s will.

Up to now, the pattern had been the same: a few days in confinement, then forced return. The endless stream of spies was tiresome, but indiscriminate executions were a nuisance, and Ark disliked unnecessary effort.

Naturally, they would be squeezed for information before being sent back.

It was maddening to be challenged repeatedly. Kasumireaz—Captain of the Royal Guard—handled that “squeezing” by his own judgment. Considering Ark never saw the same face twice, he seemed to drive the lesson in rather thoroughly.

Kasumireaz’s question carried the meaning: Shall we proceed with the usual measures this time as well?

Ark thought for a moment, then said no.

“I’ll keep her close for a while.”

“…Pardon?”

Kasumireaz actually pulled on the reins and slowed his horse. He had nearly surged half a length ahead, and Ark matched him by easing his own speed.

The once-light rhythm of hooves turned measured and slow.

“Is it truly that shocking?”

“Yes. A night’s amusement is one thing, but keeping a spy at your side is recklessness—even for you, Lord Ark.”

“She’s… uncertain. That’s why.”

“Uncertain?”

“She doesn’t appear to be a concealed caster. I tried every release key. Nothing broke—no concealment lifted. Or rather… it looked as though there was no spell to be lifted at all.”

Kasumireaz’s mouth drew into a tight line. His expression said plainly: I cannot believe that.

“Concealing one’s identity may bypass the law-circle, but no caster can evade your scrutiny. Yet without magic, infiltrating the garrison is impossible.”

“Exactly. That is why I say she’s uncertain.”

The garrison they had just left was a strategic point, placed to guard the border of the Albarique Empire. Nearby, the regional city of Vestofa had flourished, making it one of the most lively border regions.

This year, the annual knighthood investiture would be held in Vestofa, so Ark—who held the right to confer knighthood—had traveled all the way from the imperial capital.

Because the garrison existed as a defensive outpost, it was perpetually warded with detection spells against intruders.

And now that Ark—higher in rank than even the garrison commander—was present, the security level had been raised to its absolute peak. Layer upon layer of spells had been laid down. The closer one came to Ark’s tent, the stricter they became: not only detection, but bindings meant to restrain intruders, spells meant to steal consciousness—powerful workings, woven in dense succession.

Even a highly skilled caster would struggle to slip through all of them.

In fact, most who attempted infiltration were caught at the first defensive line, and none had ever crossed the second. The deepest part of the garrison—where Ark’s tent stood—lay inside yet another barrier: the third defensive line.

Only a “concealed caster” could reach that far.

Detection spells reacted to magic. There were ways to suppress magical signatures, but a caster was still a caster; a certain amount of magic clung to them as a matter of nature.

Concealed casters exploited that principle. Until given a release key, their magic was forcibly sealed down to the level of an ordinary person. Their memories were sealed as well. Outwardly they posed as merchants or courtesans, drawing near their target while secretly searching for the key.

The release key could be the target’s name, contact with an attendant, any number of triggers.

Once released, the caster regained their full power and memories and struck at the assassination target at once.

It was a tactic that excelled at catching enemies off guard—yet concealment was a spell only high-ranking casters could place. Useful, but not something that could be mass-produced.

And Ark, though a knight by trade, held a high magical rank as well—and the eye to see through such tricks. Few could escape that gaze. Usually, he forced concealment open by triggering the key, but if he wished, he could tear it apart even without one.

Last night, he had shown no restraint.

And yet nothing had been released. Not a flicker. And physically, she had offered almost no resistance at all—he had pinned her with one arm.

Judging only by results, she was completely innocent.

The conclusion pointed to one thing: she was simply a woman.

And yet the question remained—how had she crossed the first, second, and third defensive lines at all?

If she walked in openly, she would have been thrown out at the front gate.

If she attempted to breach the perimeter elsewhere, the detection spells would catch her instantly unless she used magic to avoid them. Even if she somehow slipped past the first and second lines, the third was no gentle thing.

The moment someone stepped into it, a binding spell activated.

It did not distinguish between enemy and ally. The only standard was whether one possessed authorization to enter the command zone. Without it, even allies would be seized without mercy.

If an intruder tried to avoid that first binding spell by casting magic, that itself became the signal: a spell to steal consciousness and a spell to forcibly drain magic would strike at once. The first binding was bait—set with the expectation it might be evaded. The true threat lay in the following two. Handling three powerful spells at once was difficult even for a high-ranking caster.

And even if someone managed it, the mere activation of the third line alerted the command, triggering full combat readiness. Not even a kitten could escape the lockdown that followed.

It was impossible to believe a mere woman—let alone one so guileless in certain respects—could manage such a feat.

If she truly could, slipping Ark’s restraint would have been effortless. But none of it fit. The logic refused to join.

It was as though she had simply fallen out of the sky.

The notion was absurd, yet Ark had no evidence strong enough to dismiss it outright.

The investiture ceremony loomed directly ahead, and the Martial Music Gathering would follow soon after. It was a critical period for the empire, with important events stacked tightly together.

Caution was required.

“On top of that,” Ark added, “she truly seems not to know who I am.”

“She doesn’t know last year’s champion of the martial tourney? Surely you jest.”

Ark had thought the same last night. He had never in his life introduced himself twice, not until then.

And yet she had done nothing but complain that his name was long. No other reaction. Not even a trace of spy-like intent. She hadn’t raised her hand to ask for employment as a musician for the sake of advancement, nor pleaded to be kept at his side as a favored woman.

Given Ark’s titles and status, it was an unusually strange response.

“She may have come from some far borderland,” Ark said.

“A remote region so isolated that even imperial messengers cannot reach it?”

Kasumireaz’s face remained openly skeptical, yet his understanding of Ark’s meaning was exact.

“Doesn’t it sound interesting?” Ark replied.

“…Does it?”

“Stop frowning and humor me. There’s something I want to investigate.”

Kasumireaz kept his brow furrowed, but he turned his gaze forward and handled the reins. He did not agree—but neither did he intend to oppose.

Satisfied with his capable, accommodating aide, Ark urged his horse onward, increasing speed once more.