Chapter 11 - A Crisis

“I am Azriel, Lady Deborah’s whipping child.”

Azriel had never told anyone of her surname: Esthera. It was abnormal for a slave to have a surname. Even commoners typically were not given one.

“A whipping child?” Tarbo’s lips twitched.

Count Colte, who was sweating profusely at the strange situation, hurriedly interrupted them, “Do you like that girl? I formerly bought her as a slave, but now under His Highness the King’s ordinance…”

“She was a slave?” Tarbo cut him off. Rolling his eyes, he ran his gaze up, down, and through Azriel without taking his eyes off her. “Then sell this one to me, Count.”

“Pardon?”

“I said sell her to me.”

“Trading slaves is now f-forbidden…”

“I had no idea you were such a law-abiding man,” he sneered. “You surely don’t look like one. Then, lend her to me for a few days.”

 

“Ehem, hmm, what are you going to use her for?”

“Do I need to explain it to you, Count?” Tarbo drew his attention away from Azriel, who was frozen and pointed his chin to the Count. “I see you need connections in the capital. I’ll write a letter of introduction to the Duke of Rudimna. How about that?”

“Do you really mean the Duke of Ru, Ru, Rudimna?”

The Count’s lid almost flipped as one of the two most powerful dukes in Aucandor was mentioned. He rubbed his hands while nodding frantically.

“You can take her for your use as much as you like,” he continued. “Should I send her to you tonight?”

The nuance carried in the Count’s use of the word “tonight” was explicit. His tone revealed the extent of his imagination for the wizard’s use of Azriel. He did not forget to shoot a menacing look at Damon who was about to protest.

Tarbo was dumbfounded by the Count’s implications and briefly looked back at Azriel. Her face had turned pale and she was clutching the train of her skirt. Seeing her hand shaking, Tarbo chuckled and brushed his shaggy beard.

“Well, I’ll just take her now. Thanks for the meal, Count. I’ll return her when I return from the ruins.”

Azriel’s fate was sealed by his words. She held her breath.

‘I need to escape right now!’ she thought as her head spun frantically.

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As she agonized over how she would get herself out of this situation, Tarbo rose from his seat and grabbed her wrist. She tried to remove herself from his grasp in terror, but he whispered something in her ear.

“It’s not that I need your body, so follow me. Don’t you want to know what you are?”

At his words, Azriel stopped resisting and Tarbo dragged her out of the banquet hall. She continued to stumble behind him until he finally let her go after arriving at a guest room that the butler had guided them to. Azriel held her wrist, which had turned red. After locking the door, Tarbo opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m planning to take you to the ruins.”

“Excuse me? The ruins?”

“I’m not interested in your body. Instead, what I’m interested in is within that body. The enormous ma…”

He suddenly stopped and looked beyond her, his eyes widening. Azriel was surprised, but before she could look back, someone pulled her from behind. Snowy cloth covered her sight and the scent of birch brushed the tip of her nose.

“Please sleep for a moment, Azriel.”

‘Wish you a sweet dream.’

With those final words that were somehow familiar, Azriel lost consciousness.

Rhema Reshith appeared in the room out of nowhere. He lifted the sleeping girl into his arms. Tarbo watched the scene, stupefied, and was startled when he caught the stranger’s eye. Long, silver hair; a white robe; an almost inhumane beauty; metallic, grey eyes; suddenly appearing through what could only be teleportation magic; and the ability to make the girl fall asleep without uttering a single incantation… Tarbo Tameion himself was quite an outstanding wizard. Not only was he able to ascertain the level of magic the silver-haired wizard performed in that short period, but he also recognized his identity. There was only one wizard capable of practicing such a high level of magic after the fall of the ancient magic civilization. Turning deathly pale with fright, Tarbo grabbed the door handle.

 

“I knew you were a wizard with deep mana, but I didn’t know you would recognize Azriel.”

Rhema spoke plainly as he approached Tarbo. His speech was slow, and his gait was careful. He seemed to be trying not to disturb the girl in his arms. Tarbo madly pulled at the door handle, but it would not open.

“Do you know who I am?” Rhema asked quietly. He had now come very close to him.

“…The, the Wizard of the Horizon…”

Wizards of legend could call lightning, split the ground, turn the tide of war, and fight dragons. Those kinds of wizards were things of the past since wizards these days performed more ordinary feats. There was, however, one who could be described as a living legend. On the northern side of the continent existed a plain called the Endless Wilderness. It was once a land of many mountains and hills, but now it was open earth. No matter which direction a person looked, one would only be able to see the horizon. People said that the land had turned that way as a result of the aftermath of the battle between the White Wizard and the Black Dragon. 

The White Wizard who had slain the Black Dragon was named “The Wizard of the Horizon,” which conveyed two meanings: “the one who turned mountains into the horizon” and “the one at the horizon—the boundary between the sky of god and the land of man.” His title signified that his mastery of magic was nearer to God than man. Tales centering around the legend of the Endless Wilderness, old and new, were widespread and often told of meeting the Wizard of the Horizon and receiving help from him. 

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