138.

Entering the banquet hall where the ball would be held was not difficult. Noble families’ personal maids frequently came and went from such halls—for various reasons, such as checking how the hall was decorated, locating the host’s seat, or determining which dresses and accessories would suit the atmosphere of the hall. The justifications were countless. Of course, Anna’s maid outfit proved extremely helpful in this process.

Contrary to her expectations, the interior of the banquet hall was surprisingly ordinary. Crimson and gold banners symbolizing the royal family hung from the ceiling, and each table and pillar was beautifully adorned with woven flowers. Ro swept her gaze around the hall.

Where could it be? If she were the one, where would she have drawn the magic circle? Her first thought was beneath the banquet hall’s carpet. But inside the hall, there was only a single crimson velvet pathway—nothing more. And even that would be removed once all the nobles had entered.

Ro nervously bit her fingernails. Could this not be the place? Was she completely mistaken? Yet her intuition kept screaming that this was indeed the right location. Then where? If she were Lady Audrey, where would she have hidden it?

‘For Lady Audrey, the upcoming ball isn’t a victory celebration—it’s a gathering to commemorate her reclaiming the goddess’s body. At least, that’s how she would see it. So it wouldn’t be somewhere far from here. She’d want to come and go easily.’

She anxiously interlaced her fingers, rubbing them as she thought nonstop.

‘But she couldn’t perform the ritual openly, so it must be somewhere private—somewhere she could escape to if needed, a somewhat secluded space…’

At that moment, Ro suddenly lifted her head. On this floor of the banquet hall, there were numerous doors leading out to the terraces.

* * *

It was a noisy, rowdy tavern. Thick cigarette smoke filled the air, and a sour, unidentifiable stench—perhaps cheap beer—stung the nostrils. When the creaking wooden door swung open, every pair of eyes inside turned toward the entrance. A hooded figure stood in the doorway. But just as quickly as the glances gathered, they scattered again—judging the figure to be of no interest. Though why that feeling arose was difficult to explain.

The figure appeared to have a clear objective from the start. Walking calmly across the tavern, they headed straight for the dirtiest table in the farthest corner. There, a man lay slumped over, fast asleep. Judging by the number of rum and gin bottles scattered across the table and on the floor beside him, he had drunk heavily. The stench was unbearable.

“Turner.”

The hooded figure shook his shoulder to wake him. But Turner merely scowled and waved a hand dismissively—less effort than one would use to shoo away an annoying fly. The stranger shrugged as if helpless, then abruptly kicked the chair Turner was sitting on. Already unbalanced, the chair tipped easily. Turner crashed noisily to the floor.

“Damn it. What the hell?”

He scrambled up from the ground, clutching his nose with a pained expression. Whether from hitting his head or the sheer amount of rum he’d downed was unclear. When the hooded figure laughed aloud, their voice resonated with a strange, multi-layered echo. Turner got the impression that multiple people were speaking through a single woman’s mouth.

“I know you’re busy nursing heartbreak, but I’ve come with information about an arm.”

“…Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

The figure pulled back the hood, revealing a young, lively face. The woman asked, “Aren’t you the one who buys and sells information?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes.”

He scratched his head vigorously. Perhaps the odd impression from her voice earlier had just been the alcohol after all.

“Now everyone and their dog knows I’m an informant. I should consider changing professions.”

He reached for a water bottle to clear his head. Only after taking a sip did he realize it wasn’t water, but gin. Unfazed, Turner calmly took a few more sips before setting the bottle down. He let out a satisfied “Ah,” wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and said, “Alright. What’s this rumor about the arm?”

“There’s a strange rumor going around. About the Crown Princess… and Lady Montrosa, the Viscountess.”

“What?”

“There may be danger threatening the Viscountess’s safety.”

“…”

It wasn’t a rumor at all—just a supposition. Yet the woman’s brazen demeanor made the words start to feel real, as if they carried actual weight.

“Proof?”

“I’m merely passing along the rumors circulating in the capital. You’ll have to investigate the details yourself, I’m afraid.”

“…”

Damn it. Whether that woman lived or died… Turner chewed on a curse. Don’t think about it. Don’t react. Pretend you heard nothing. Nothing at all. Yet the same words echoed in his ears like tinnitus: There may be danger threatening the Viscountess’s safety…

He let out a helpless laugh. He felt like he might tear up from sheer frustration. What had that woman ever given him, to make him feel this way all on his own? Calling it heartbreak was spot on. Her husband was a man so exceptional that Turner couldn’t win against him even if he died a hundred times. And every time he got involved with that woman, it only ended in misery. He looked rough, worse than ever. And yet, whenever he thought of her smile, he found himself thinking he wouldn’t mind looking even more pathetic than this.

“…Fine. Alright. Fine.”

He staggered to his feet.

“Going somewhere?”

The woman asked, sounding pleased. Turner dug into his pocket and tossed a gold coin into the air. The woman opened the hem of her hood to catch it.

“I’ve received information, so verifying it is my duty. If it turns out to be false, whoever you are, I’ll make you pay back ten times what you just took.”

The woman pocketed the gold coin. Her manner was bold, carrying an odd sense of dignity. Turner felt as though he’d seen her somewhere before. Despite her striking appearance—someone he surely wouldn’t forget even if he’d only passed her once. Normally, he might have dismissed the feeling, but his instincts were screaming that something was off. It was best to trust a merchant’s instincts.

“One last thing—can I ask you something?”

“Want to buy more information?”

“If necessary. How much?”

“Depends on the question.”

“Have we met before? What’s your name?”

The woman smiled and opened her mouth to speak.

* * *

Ro tried to enter the terrace, but her attempts were repeatedly blocked. Knights stood guard there with near-perfect vigilance. The moment she set foot on the first step leading up to this floor, eyes turned toward her from all directions. And eventually…

“This area is strictly off-limits.”

She was finally stopped in front of the third terrace on this floor. The knight even added, with feigned politeness, “Damn it, as if anyone didn’t know.” With guards stationed tightly in front of every door leading to the terrace. Ro quickly made up a plausible excuse.

“My young mistress wanted to know the layout of the terrace, that’s all.”

“Your young mistress?”

The knight’s blank eyes scanned up and down her attire—specifically, the maid uniform embroidered at the hem with the Montrosa family crest. He reflexively asked, but seemed unaware of what he should have noticed.

“It’s not possible.”

“Can’t I just take a quick look upstairs?”

Ro stamped her feet as if disappointed, but her sharp eyes closely tracked the knights’ movements. They seemed to patrol the front of the terrace regularly, yet there was one door where they lingered longer. When passing from the third to the seventh door, they peered inside more carefully. Maybe it was just her imagination… Then, one of the doors opened, and someone stepped out. Just as Ro tried to get a better look at who it was, the knights blocked her view.

“Return to your quarters.”

“But—”

“Do I have to personally escort you to your master?”

Staying any longer would be pointless. Pushing further might draw attention all the way up to the higher-ups, or even Lady Audrey. Ro raised both hands as if showing she meant no harm and obediently left. The moment she exited the banquet hall, she reached into her pocket. Her fingers closed around the torn piece of paper she had carefully brought with her when she changed into Anna’s clothes.

‘My plan to sabotage the magic circle has been thwarted, but I haven’t come away empty-handed.’

Though the knights had swiftly blocked her view, preventing her from clearly seeing the person who came out of the terrace, the individual’s identity had become unmistakable. A perfume so overpowering it made her head throb with pain—its nauseating scent still vibrated in the air.

Lady Audrey. It was her.