Aster watched as the cart was taken away, then shifted his gaze to Kylance.

The subtle but strange look in the Tower Master’s eyes made Kylance’s expression tense. Before Kylance could speak, Aster broke the silence.

“It’s fortunate, isn’t it? That it wasn’t Lady Blante.”

“Yes.”

Kylance replied, his tone clipped.

“In that case, I’ll get back to the search.”

“Thank you.”

Kylance replied, nodding slightly before turning on his heel.

Perhaps the strain of the moment had taken its toll, for his emotions were still unsettled. He needed to compose himself quickly – if the knights saw him in this state, it might disrupt their concentration.

Kylance hurried back to the tent.

There was one thing he had not noticed.

Aster wasn’t following through on his words. Instead of rejoining the search, he stood where he was, his brow furrowed as he watched the cart disappear into the distance. 

At first glance, Aster’s expression seemed unhappy, as if the result wasn’t what he wanted.

But that wasn’t the case.

The strange look in his eyes was merely due to his fascination with how eerily identical the hair on the body was to Lady Blante’s. 

In fact, when he first saw it, even though he knew Lady Blante was alive, he couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if it was really her.

Of course, he hadn’t tampered with or manipulated the body. But for a brief moment he entertained the thought:

‘Would it have been better if the body had turned out to be Lady Blante’s?’

Although he still didn’t know why Lady Blante had attempted suicide, one thing was clear – she didn’t want to return to the Grand Duke.

If this body had been confirmed as Lady Blante’s… perhaps the Grand Duke would have finally let her go.

This fleeting thought had crossed his mind. 

Then he quickly realised how presumptuous his thoughts had been.

If Lady Blante were officially declared dead, she would have nowhere to return to once she regained consciousness.

Regardless of her relationship with the Grand Duke, Lady Blante’s place in the world had to be preserved.

Aster finally looked away from the cart as it disappeared into the distance.

He let out a long sigh.

“It’s late and we haven’t found anything.”

Earlier that evening, while pretending to join the search, Aster had used a duplication spell to visit the capital and investigate what had happened to Lady Blante.

But he had learned nothing new. Just the facts he already knew.

The Grand Duke had petitioned the Emperor, and the Blante family’s ancestral plaque had been removed from the list of founding noble houses.

“There must be more to it…”

There was no way Lady Blante would have attempted suicide for that reason alone. 

She had promised him that she would get over everything. 

Aster sighed in frustration and looked away from the night sky. 

Perhaps he should visit the Blante estate. 

Just as he made up his mind and turned, his shoulder bumped into someone. 

“My apologies. Are you all right, my lady?”

The person he had bumped into was a woman. 

“I’m fine, Tower Master.”

In an instant, Aster reached out and pulled the hood from her head. 

As the woman’s startled eyes locked with his, Aster spoke coldly.

“You’re fine, right? Then tell me – who are you to impersonate a mage of the Tower?” 

The robe the woman wore was unmistakable, a robe reserved for the mages of the Tower. 

But Aster was sure that she wasn’t one of the mages he had brought with him today. 

“…!” 

The woman, obviously confused, suddenly turned and tried to flee. 

Aster chuckled dryly at her audacity and snapped his fingers. In an instant, the woman fell face first to the ground. 

“Impressive,” he said sardonically. “You’ve managed to combine two of my least favourite things – theft and idiocy.” 

With another snap of his fingers, the woman’s body was lifted from the ground and brought back before him, standing upright. 

Spitting sand from her mouth and brushing it from her face, she looked thoroughly shaken. 

“I ask again – who are you?” Aster said sharply. “If you do not answer correctly this time, I will see to it that you are prosecuted for stealing from the Tower.” 

As Aster repeated his cold question, the woman’s shoulders began to shake slightly.

“Well… I… I’m…”

Before she could finish, Lowell stepped forward and called her name.

“Caroline? What are you doing here?”

“Caroline?”

Aster repeated, the name unfamiliar to him.

It confirmed what he’d already suspected – she wasn’t someone from the Tower he’d brought with him.

Aster’s sharp gaze narrowed, his eyebrows arched in irritation.

Lowell, who had only just noticed Aster’s presence, approached with a startled expression.

The tension between Aster and Caroline was palpable.

Lowell glanced between them, assessing the situation, before carefully breaking the silence. 

“Tower Master… is there a problem with this woman…?”

Before Lowell could finish his sentence, Aster pointed at Caroline.

“Don’t you see? Look at what she’s wearing.”

He pointed specifically at the robe Caroline was wearing – a robe that only mages of the Tower were allowed to wear.

As the moonlight fell on the robe, Lowell finally took a good look and his expression became serious.

The mage’s robe was more than just clothing; it was a symbol of identity and status, worn only by those officially recognised by the Tower. It served as proof of their affiliation and offered its wearer the protection of the Tower.

It was, in essence, a badge of legitimacy. On many occasions, mages had used their robes to prove their membership of the Tower when they had forgotten their official badge.

For Caroline to wear such a robe was a serious offence. It was like being caught red-handed trying to infiltrate another nation under a false identity.

Lowell shot Caroline a look that screamed, “Have you lost your mind?” before addressing her sharply. 

“Wait, why are you wearing a mage’s robe…”

Lowell began, but Aster cut him off sharply.

“As the Grand Duke’s advisor, you must understand the seriousness of this transgression. Now, what is this woman’s identity?”

“Well…”

Lowell hesitated, obviously reluctant to answer. If he admitted that a mere maid – a servant to a noble, no less – had stolen and worn a mage’s robes, it would surely provoke the Tower Master’s wrath.

But there was no point in hiding it. Aster wasn’t someone who could be fooled so easily.

Finally Lowell spoke.

“This woman is the head maid of the Duchess Viasteus.”

For a moment Aster’s expression hardened and he said nothing. 

The fact that a mere maid had stolen a mage’s robes must have left Aster speechless with disbelief.

Lowell braced himself, expecting Aster’s anger to erupt at any moment. But Aster wasn’t as angry as Lowell thought. Instead, he seemed to be lost in thought.

Admittedly, this situation should have enraged him.

Had Seoden been present, he would probably have flown into a rage and insisted that the maid be dragged back to the Tower to face severe punishment.

But Aster had no interest in such a tedious ordeal.

From the moment he’d captured her, his plan had been simple: find out who she was, where she got the robe, get it back and leave it at that.

As for whoever had been foolish enough to lose the robe, he’d planned to track them down and hit them with a fireball spell to teach them a lesson.

Frankly, it wasn’t the first time a mage’s robe had been stolen.

Too many mages were so engrossed in their research that they constantly misplaced their belongings. 

Because of this carelessness, the robes, originally designed as a symbol of unity among mages, had become a substitute for identity cards. 

So Aster had initially assumed that this was just another foolish woman who had taken advantage of the large group of mages, found a carelessly discarded robe and decided to wear it.

He had planned to give her a scare, retrieve the robe and leave it at that.

But there was something strange in her eyes. It wasn’t the desperate gleam of someone obsessed with becoming a mage – it was the guarded look of someone hiding something.

That was why he had continued to push her.

Especially under the current circumstances. This area was restricted, closed to the public.

The sea where Lady Blante had fallen to her presumed death.

And here was a woman in a mage’s robe, lurking suspiciously.

She was far too strange to ignore.

But now he learned that she was the head lady-in-waiting of the Duchess Viasteus…

Duchess Viasteus was the Emperor’s cousin and widely known as the godmother of Grand Duke Seyerd.

Aster had recently seen her at the Marquis of Bayern’s party, where she had accompanied the Grand Duke.

From what he’d observed, their relationship didn’t seem as strained as rumours had suggested. Then again, it didn’t seem that close either.

Still, it was hard to imagine their maid going to such lengths, disguising herself and sneaking around like that. Such covert behaviour was something to be expected between enemies, not allies.

If Duchess Viasteus wanted information, she could have approached her directly – or at least sent a maid openly and without subterfuge.

‘Why this approach?’

It wasn’t as if the Grand Duke had forbidden the Duchess to enter.

Aster’s train of thought suddenly stopped as a realisation hit him.

‘Unless… that was exactly what had happened.’

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that his suspicions were correct. 

At that moment, Caroline, who had been silent until then, finally spoke.

“I apologise, Tower Master. I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t steal that robe. I only borrowed it for a short time.”

“Borrowed it?”

“Yes. I paid one of the mages here and asked to borrow it for a short time. I swear I didn’t steal it. You can confirm that with the mage if you like.”

She didn’t seem to be lying. Now that her identity had been revealed, she showed no signs of hiding anything – or of trying to run away.

Still, the idea of a mage accepting money to lend her robe… Aster could only sigh in despair. He decided to deal with this foolish mage later – preferably by stuffing a fireball into his mouth.

Clucking his tongue, he held out his hand to Caroline.

“Fine, I’ll take your word for it – for now. But hand over the robe.”