Chapter 136: Betrayal of Conscience

Chapter 136: Betrayal of Conscience

Betrayal of Conscience

Ingrid

Unknown to many, there was a reason for Lady Audrey's recent silence. Apart from the Baroness herself, only Ingrid was privy to her training setbacks. Despite the initial promise shown in mastering skills like night vision and basic strengthening magic, it ultimately turned out to be false hope.

"Three nights ago, I assisted My Lady in trying to tap into her source, but we were unsuccessful. Since then, I've tried several methods, but..." Ingrid explained to Lord Lansius.

The Lord exhaled deeply, his posture straight, his face marked with a hint of worry. His slightly unkempt black hair lent him a somewhat brash appearance, belying his thoughtful demeanor. Turning to Lady Audrey, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder and reassured her, "Audrey, no matter what, mage or not, you're still you—the same woman I fell in love with."

Ingrid blinked in surprise and looked away. Such a show of affection was uncommon. But she realized that it was probably a calculated move, as the Baroness, though still sulking, was no longer angry. Instead, the two shared an embrace.

Pouting, the Lady muttered, "You made me a Baroness, and I can't even become your mage."

"You're already more than a mage to me," he said with a smile.

"Liar," she responded softly. "Isolte trained me as a hunter, and I couldn't even fend off a half-breed. I'm a failure."

"Hey, don't say that." Lansius' gentle gaze then caught Ingrid's. He smiled and nodded at her, motioning that it was okay to leave Audrey to him. Ingrid quickly bowed her head and excused herself.

Upon leaving the tent, Ingrid felt an echo of her student's frustration in her heart. The predicament was unheard of, yet not impossible. Back in her own tent, she left the second set of carpets untouched on the floor, in case the Lady wished to talk or attempt another session.

Sighing, Ingrid sat down, lost in thought.

Lady Audrey had demonstrated basic strengthening and night vision in combat, clear indicators of her gift of magic. Yet, it was now discovered that her source was empty, devoid of any mana flow. The revelation was devastating. Without the source, her mastery of the strengthening skill would be as useless as a fireplace without firewood.

That revelation was the one that turned the Lady emotional as Ingrid confirmed her fears: her magical potential had vanished.

Despite numerous attempts, Ingrid could detect only the normal amount of magic within the Lady’s body.

Whatever magic potential Sir Morton and Ingrid had once seen was now gone. And without the source, it couldn't be replenished.

Ingrid leaned against a wooden pole that supported the tent, feeling a pang of guilt. She had praised the Lady, assuring her she was one of her talented students, but it had turned out to be misleading.

After some time, Ingrid retrieved a silken pouch from her waist, revealing the gemstone of strength that the Lord had used on that fateful night.

Moved by his generosity as the host and her guilt towards the Lady, Ingrid began channeling magic into the gemstone. An expert like her required no incantation, but a mental command. The mana then flowed from her source into the stone.

She could feel the stone was ancient and dwarven-made. Unlike the gemstone of light which was younger and less intricate, this ancient gem was reluctant to accept her magic. Like a picky eater toddler, the gemstone would only occasionally take a nibble or two before refusing more. It was the mage's duty to harmonize her magic, coaxing the gem to accept more.

The process was mentally exhausting, akin to nurturing a plant. Slowly, the monotony overwhelmed her, and her thoughts drifted.

Could it be that the Lady had so little source that she had used it all in that fight without realizing it?

Ingrid had yet to shake off that train of thought when a sharp sting disrupted her concentration. The gemstone, which had just begun to nibble at her mana, now fell silent.

She groaned in frustration. Her thoughts had been so focused on the Lady that she overlooked her own burgeoning issue. For several days, she had noticed that using magic had become difficult and sometimes painful. Initially, she thought it was just fatigue from continuous travel by carriage, as they were on the march. Yet now, she felt suspicious that there might be another cause.

Have I reached my limit...?

In regards to the magic source, there were two schools of thought. One maintained that the source was finite, and thus one could only use what was available. The adherents of this belief discouraged unnecessary, constant, or frequent usage of magic, fearing it would deplete the source.

While they agreed that the source could replenish, they viewed it as too small to be relied upon. This perspective was widely accepted, as it accounted for why older mages lost their ability to use magic, suggesting they had exhausted their finite source.

Interestingly, though not widely known, a mage could tap into an alternative source. However, this path was rarely taken due to the intricate and obscure art of identifying the perfect location for a new source and executing the process. Not just any ancient forest or cave qualified as a source, and suitability possibly varied from one individual to another.

This knowledge was a nearly forgotten art, likely retained only by the grand progenitors or elves who had honed their magical skills long before humans. With that in mind, Ingrid decided not to pursue this path, fearing she might give the Lady another false hope. She had never heard of anyone, not even the wise mages who taught her, ever performed a source transfer. Reflecting on her mentors made Ingrid think about her own journey.

She had been in the east of Lowlandia for several years on a personal errand, traveling from towns to villages in search of affordable land for her retirement, as well as looking for talented children with gifts. Fortune had led her to be assigned as Lady Audrey's tutor, but now, her own gift had begun to wane.

As she allowed her mind to wander, her thoughts unexpectedly drifted to the Lady's golden eyes. The sight, both mesmerizing and unnerving, still sent shivers down her spine. To Ingrid, it was a breathtaking display of raw magic, one she feared she might never witness again.

***

Lansius

The results of Audrey's mage training were still a shock. Although she had come to accept the results, a lingering sense of disappointment shadowed her. Becoming a mage meant growing closer to her master, Isolte—a dream of hers. Yet now, that dream had turned into a tangled mess. She even suspected that Isolte might have taught her incorrectly, which could explain why her subsequent training with Ingrid was fruitless.

As of now, Audrey could only use whatever remained of her magical potential, which she believed to be small and stagnant.

"A laughable situation," she openly mocked herself as they sat in their private quarters, sharing salty snacks while waiting for supper. "A mage without a source. A wick without a candle."

Lansius chuckled. Their relationship had changed since their marriage. Audrey now was more comfortable showing her vulnerable side, trusting that Lansius wouldn't be offended or treat her wrongly. Thus, she could act this way when they were alone.

"Why the laughter?" she looked at him, judging.

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"Because you look cute," he said gently.

"Hmph, flattery."

Lansius smiled. "So, what did Ingrid say about this?"

Lansius chuckled but remarked, "If I use the same lousy pretext to invade Nicopola, then what's the difference between me and Gottfried?"

Audrey sighed and quoted, "In times of great moral crisis, neutrality is a betrayal of conscience."

Hearing that, Lansius was stunned. He had heard a similar adage before. "Did Ingrid teach you this?"

Instead of answering, she grinned and replied proudly, "No, I read it in a book. So, indeed, the way to conquer you lies within the pages." Her expression turned smug.

Lansius chuckled and exhaled deeply before confiding in her, "I refuse to become an enabler of greed, but I'll listen to counsel. Let's reconvene tomorrow morning."

***

The next day, as the sun rose above the mountains in the east, the guards who kept watch on the shallow river crossing spotted silhouettes approaching. He immediately sent a man to alert the camp. As the silhouettes grew nearer, the guards paled; it was clear that groups of half-beasts were marching toward them.

Suddenly, their cheval de frise barricade seemed grossly inadequate. The guardsmen found a sliver of consolation in the presence of a small column of armed men and officers on horseback, alongside the half-beasts. Their presence made the approaching group look less dangerous.

The groups of half-breeds and humans marched in an orderly manner, their banner clearly marking the heraldry of Umberland.

"Halt, this is the encampment of the Lord of Korelia," one of the captains shouted, as a hundred more allies poured in from their camp, weapons in hand.

"Salut! We are here under orders from the Lord of Umberland to escort a guest and deliver a letter," one of the half-breeds, clad in ringmail and wielding a glaive, responded with dignity.

...

Against the Lord's expectations, in the morning he was greeted by an envoy escorted by half-breeds and humans who patiently waited a distance away from the command tent. Despite recent developments and the alliance, many were still nervous about being near half-breeds.

As the Lord and Lady were preparing themselves, the lone guest waited, standing tall and comfortably as if a sentry. She was among the younger of the half-breed bloodline in Umberland. Her ancestors were third-generation half-breeds who remained as slaves in Nicopola long after the rest of their kind had disappeared from the region.

Even when owning half-beasts became unacceptable and was seen as perversion, many in power still kept them as exotic mates. Humans in this world, blessed with mutated genes passed down from the ancients, could produce offspring with another race. Unfortunately, this ability was seen as a sign of their virility, thus the practice remained popular among certain groups.

However, being a noble was not always a rose garden. Even before the era of hardship that began a century ago, many houses had fallen into financial trouble and thus needed to sell the poor creatures away.

The guest's ancestors were among the lucky ones who did not wear the eastern kingdoms' collars. Their human brothers and sisters learned about the Kae monastery, and the half-breeds were quietly smuggled into Umberland.

Her ancestors were of the third generation, who could speak as fluently as humans, but the guest belonged to the sixth generation. This generational count was determined only by the number of human lineages she possessed. After four or five generations of human parents, the half-breeds developed an intellect almost indistinguishable from that of humans, while retaining some of the beastmen's physical features.

At a glance, to humans, the guest appeared indistinguishable from Lord Beatrix, sharing a similarly wolfish face. However, her eyes radiated a certain youthfulness.

A squire came out and without a fanfare escorted the guest into the command tent, where she spotted the Lord and Lady along with their command staff.

The half-breed politely offered a sealed letter, which Sterling took and delivered to Lansius, who then read:

The Lord instructed me to write this introduction letter. The half-breed in your presence does not have a human name, and her native name cannot be transcribed using common words. She is interested in one of your gallant knights, Sir Harold, and would be honored to serve as a fighter, scout, cook, or even, in her own word, as a warm blanket.

The Lord deemed this arrangement fitting and has agreed to her request. Please do not misinterpret our intentions. We simply wish to offer a warrior who desires to serve under your command. May her prowess be a valuable asset in your endeavors, and may the experience enrich her tribe upon her return.

May you always enjoy good health and favorable weather. And may the friendship between our Houses remain strong and truthful.

Lansius handed the letter to his wife, who immediately perused it. She looked calmer upon seeing Sir Harold mentioned in the letter.

"It's said that you wish to serve as Sir Harold's fighter companion," Lansius asked the guest.

"Indeed, My Lord," the half-breed answered firmly.

Every eye turned to Sir Harold, who cleared his throat but remained stoic as he responded, "I don’t recall granting the Lord of Umberland any favors."

"To be given such a lavish gift so shortly after a discussion smells of treason, my good sir," Sterling jested.

"And you must be my chief enabler, boy. I'll be sure to drag you down with me, just in case," the tall knight retorted.

Everyone chuckled at their banter, even the half-breed.

Observing her, Sir Harold commented, "I don’t remember seeing you among the attendees. How do you know me?"

"I saw you from atop the battlements," her maw formed what appeared to be a smile.

Sir Harold's gaze met Lord Lansius', who then gestured for him to continue. Turning back to the guest, Sir Harold asked, "Do you have issues with humans or Nicopolans?"

"Only if they have problems with me," she said forthrightly.

Most people in the room nodded, deeming the answer somewhat fair.

Servius, who had been silent, stepped forward and asked boldly, "Do you see me as a threat?"

The half-breed locked gaze with the old condottiere. "You have a distinct smell, just like the rest of this army, but as far as I'm aware, I have no issue with anyone here."

"And what about the Nicopolans at the ancient bulwark?" Servius pressed on.

Instead of answering, she challenged nonchalantly, "What about them? They shouldn’t pose a threat."

Her answer drew everyone's attention, so she clarified, "The plague. They fell victim to a plague."

***