[Leila Asprey Vol. 1] Chapter 2 Part 4: Basilfeld, City of Spectral Ships

AUGUST 28, 2022 ~ FLAMETJD

The bulletin board on the street corner was plastered with posters.

Spotting a familiar face among them, Leila stopped. The portraits were drawn in a rather cutesy style, but the coy wink and two golden ponytails were unmistakably those of Adelaide’s, even though the image was greatly at odds with the real deal.

It appeared to be a talisman advertisement targeted at normal families, written in the languages of five different countries. The one in the Empire’s common tongue read: “Wish-granting talismans! Confessing to your crush? This one’s for you!”

So your idea of capturing your beloved’s heart is to bewitch them? What’s wrong with you?

Wait… Speaking of which, has she ever desired a man before? I mean, she’s got looks, money and power. Or maybe she’s the type to shoo all her suitors away.

Deep in thought, she strode on. The floating structure she stood on was a haphazard mess of metal sheets and wooden boards.

As she walked, she couldn’t help but be in awe of her surroundings. The thing that stood out most was the unevenness of the ground—to her, the wooden planks tacked together screamed of cutting corners. It’s uneven and bumpy, I can see signs of rot everywhere, and some places feel like they’re going to give in. There was no end to the comments she could make about the place.

Though, Leila supposed, it felt different enough from the drunk roaring lurch of the ship she had taken.

“I was sweating bullets just now, you know.” An irritated Cyrille walked up next to her.

“Hmm?”

“You two really have a terrible relationship.”

“Yeah… You could say that.” Leila replied nonchalantly, as she was presently on cloud nine. With Seniolis entrusted to House Astrid, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Did something happen in the past?”

“Haven’t you already done your homework?”

“Look, all I know is that you two had an argument once. I never went to sniff out all the details, so I know nothing about the whys and hows of your little spat.”

“Oh…”

No surprises there. Even if Cyrille had heard it from a bystander, she probably wouldn’t have gotten much. After all, Leila herself couldn’t even explain why she had been so hot-headed back then.

“It all started because of this guy, y’know. My senior disciple.”

“Ah, now that you mention it… Yes, I recall he was present too.”

“Yeah, he was. And he’s the kind who—” Spinning her finger in the air, Leila searched for the right word. “Never mind. It’s not something I oughta say.”

“Huh? Why did you suddenly clam up? You’re just going to leave me hanging like that after catching my interest?”

“You don’t need to know about that guy, that’s all.” She dismissed the issue with a wave of her hand.

This isn’t like me. For what it was worth, Leila Asprey was born into nobility, even if her behavior might’ve indicated otherwise. She’d mastered all the skills essential to those of high birth such as acting like a puppet and constantly wearing a fake smile, or using pleasantries to sustain a conversation. All in all, she’d been very good at behaving like a goody-two-shoes, which was exactly what the adults had wanted.

Despite having gone through a great deal and having her standing change significantly, those skills were yet to fade. If all it took were a few pretty words to steer the banquet back on track, she could’ve done that as naturally as she breathed.

Just then, a few kids around her age ran past, laughing and chasing each other. They leapt joyfully and with ease across the uneven planks. To an outsider, it was a baffling sight, yet she supposed it was the most normal thing to those born and bred in Basilfeld.

“Those are some weird clothes.”

“They’re cloaks from the Garmond Flowing Sands Confederation. I hear they are rather prone to getting sunstroke there.”

“I don’t hear their tongue being spoken very often.”

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“That would be dunespeak. Around a third of the people from Garmond speak that language. Perhaps the nearby blocks are where those folks congregate.”

“Can you speak it?”

Pausing for a moment, Cyrille replied: “Enough to understand a regular conversation.” 

“Cool. Are all of the Sage Tower’s scholars like this?”

“Not really… In fact, they called me a once-in-a-lifetime child prodigy, though that was only up till a few years back.”

“Up until a few years back?”

“I was actually quite a big deal too, you know. It was only after a truly gifted genius appeared that people started treating me like ‘Oh, so that guy’s still around?’ So, as you can see, all I’m useful for is doing all the troublesome jobs no one else wants to.”

I see. That explains a lot. Accompanying the Regal Brave on a trip overseas was an important enough job that it could not be left to some total weakling. When it came to the Imperial sages, though, the skilled ones were generally shut-in old men whose only interests were seeking knowledge. They were not, by any measure, suited for long journeys.

Conversely, a once-lauded prodigy who had now lost her halo of special treatment would, of course, be ordered around to do this and that.

“Sooo…” Leila swiveled her head. “There’s still lots of time. Why don’t we take a look around here? There’s a lotta things I’ve never seen before in the Empire, so I’ll be very happy if you could explain those along the way.”

“Absolutely not,” Cyrille replied coldly. “My job is to assist the Regal Brave in successfully carrying out Seniolis’ purification, not to poke my nose around looking for trouble. We will head to our lodgings at once.”

“Wait, wait, wait! I just wanna, y’know, sightsee a little? There’s nothing dangerous in that, is there?”

“Right now, your body contains enough curses to kill forty thousand people. Am I wrong?”

Urk. “W-well, that’s true, yeah. From a certain point of view. But I’m humanity’s strongest saint, and that’s like, pretty much nothing?”

“Try harder.”

“Ugh.” This is troubling. She wasn’t outright lying when she said that, but it wasn’t really true either. Currently, her physical condition was a far cry from its peak, and though she tried not to show it, she was feeling the beginnings of a high fever. Even if she kept lying, it would all fall apart once Cyrille did a simple checkup.

“Even if you were completely healthy, I still wouldn’t allow it. We’ve just finished a long trip over the sea and I insist you rest for today.”

“Good grief. Fine, I get it.” Pursing her lips, Leila made some slight adjustments to the belongings slung around her back. “By the way, our hotel’s this way, right?”

“Yes. It’s straight ahead, so no detours.”

“C’mon, I wasn’t trying to do that. I was double-checking, y’know, just in case.”

“Just in case?”

Leila grinned at the mystified Cyrille. “Yep. I don’t think there’s any need to worry, but on the off chance we get separated before reaching our hotel, we’ll just meet up there, yeah?”

“You…!” Cyrille must’ve felt that she was up to something.

Her mouth opened in protest, but Leila was far too quick by half. She steadied her breathing, masked her presence, and disappeared, leaving only the faintest afterimage of a smile behind.

Even among the most seasoned assassins, only a select few knew how to use this cloaking technique. It relied on neither concealment nor confusion, because its user would just disappear from their target’s perception altogether. By every measure, someone who used it could still be where they were, but to untrained laymen they could not be seen, touched or felt.

“Gah! Argh! Aaaaargh!” Cyrille’s outstretched hand grasped thin air and she frantically looked left and right. There was no trace of Leila Asprey anywhere—she’d made a clean getaway.

“That—” Hammering her forehead with an open palm, she shakily leaned against a nearby wall. 

She threw her head back, letting out an unabashed, unreserved, and unbridled roar of frustration.

 “That bratty lass!”

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