“Could Edith have been caught and mistreated by the angered subjects or mercenary corps members?”

A surprised Izajel immediately approached Elizabeth to ask,

“Elizabeth, you can’t find Edith? What’s this about binding magic?”

As far as she knew, Elizabeth had no reason to look for Edith. They didn’t share any particular relationship or common ground.

Caught off guard by the innocent yet pointed question, Elizabeth found herself momentarily speechless.

It didn’t seem like she had spoken that loudly, yet the word “binding magic” seemed clearly heard, making lying difficult.

“Well… I found out that Sophia cast a binding spell on Edith while I was interrogating Eugene, who was in my care.”

“Binding magic?!”

Only then did Izajel understand why Edith had asked her to summon a mage while going through the trouble of pulling Sophia down.

“Yeah, I was thinking of breaking the spell for her. Considering the situation, you know.”

Elizabeth thought she had managed the unexpected question well, but Izajel couldn’t help harboring doubts.

“Sophia casts binding magic, and Elizabeth is going to break it?”

Everyone in the mansion knew that Sophia and Elizabeth weren’t on good terms.

Wondering how Elizabeth, who wasn’t even a mage, could break a binding spell, Izajel decided not to dig any further.

“Elizabeth’s followers… they do seem like trained soldiers.”

Even Izajel, who was ignorant in martial arts, could tell that their postures and movements were exceptionally disciplined.

She thought Elizabeth was a close friend, but the constant secrets and lies made her untrustworthy now.

“So… where were you going?”

“I was obviously trying to run away. Izajel, you’re not thinking of staying in the mansion, are you? Are you mad?”

Taking a closer look, each of Elizabeth’s followers was carrying a bundle of luggage. It seemed she was planning to flee before the invaders could capture the western part of the mansion.

Izajel managed a bitter smile as she respected Elizabeth’s decision.

“Edith has disappeared too. We need at least one person to stay and find out what the people who came to the mansion want.”

“You’re staying? Here?”

“At least until the negotiations are done. Take care, Elizabeth.”

“…”

Elizabeth looked back momentarily at Izajel walking towards the center of the mansion.

The girl who used to laugh with an innocent face, sing, and drink tea, dreaming of becoming a singer, was now nowhere to be found.

‘…Just a kid.’

Feeling an inexplicable sense of defeat, Elizabeth continued walking away from the mansion.

“Our scribe knows the inner structure of the fortress, making the takeover a breeze.”

Sitting on the central staircase of the mansion, Helen spoke. Reinhardt, who was guarding her, nodded slightly.

“If Walter had taken the lead instead of just being a scribe, it would have been even faster.”

Walter had planned most of the strategy for capturing the fort but excused himself saying he had other matters to attend to.

Thanks to this, the mercenary corps members, drunk on a sense of victory, were enjoying the estate’s wine.

“We have no choice but to believe Walter when he says it’s important. He’s been waiting for this day the longest, so it must be crucial for him to leave the merits to others.”

Helen remembered how Walter looked at the fourth wife of the Fortrion Lord during the Thanksgiving feast. While Walter hadn’t explained, it probably had something to do with her.

“By the way, Captain, it feels awkward when you speak formally to me.”

“Haha, you’re going to be the Count of Fortrion soon, so you’d better get used to it.”
Helen and Reinhardt, engaged in a light conversation, slowly made their way towards the western side of the mansion where Elizabeth and Izajel were located.

At that moment, amidst the murmurs of the crowd, a resolute noblewoman with a stern countenance revealed herself.

“I, I am Izajel Portrion. I have come as the representative of the Portrion mansion to listen to your story and negotiate.”

Despite her petite stature, she trembled visibly, but her voice remained clear. Helen, intrigued, rose from her seat on the staircase.

“Since you’ve come for negotiations, let’s move to the table.”

Members of the mercenary unit placed a wooden table and chairs in the middle of the hallway, seemingly borrowed from somewhere.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Portrion. I am Helen Portrion.”

“Helen… Portrion?”

“My mother, who once served as a maid, shared a bond with your late Lord Nicholas Portrion’s great-grandfather. I believe proof of our lineage can be provided in due time.”

Izajel nodded. Helen’s appearance had evoked the portraits of Portrion lords that hung in the family’s hallways, which was one reason. Additionally,

‘Did Edith know that there was Portrion lineage within the mercenary unit?’

This thought crossed her mind, triggered by a conversation she had with Edith during a tea-drinking session some time ago.

“Izajel, if you could buy honor with money, would you?”

When Izajel first heard Edith’s intriguing question, she answered lightly.