Chapter 6
The sun had been down for an hour—the same hour he had arrived—but the party was in full swing, and yet Arzhel wanted out. And he was going to do it. A sly smile crossed his face as he cast a critical glance at his assistant, who was happily devouring the buffet. What a glutton. He had been the one to force him to come, and now he was abandoning his master—how ungrateful!
Arzhel scanned the room full of servants. Sullivan seemed like the kind of man who didn't care about social status—inviting his servants to his daughter's party wasn't something all nobles would do. But that wasn't why Arzhel was here. He returned to the buffet table, slipping some appetizers into a napkin. Parties didn't necessarily have to be held inside, he thought, glancing out the large window.
The moon was beautiful, and the air of freedom was close.
"Seed! I'm leaving," Arzhel said, turning toward the exit.
Seed froze, mid-handful of shrimp, panic on his face. How did this idiot not choke?
"B-But you haven't even calculated Miss Angela's power yet!" he whispered urgently, looking around for her under the curious eyes of the guests. "And the research isn't finished!"
Ah, yes, he had forgotten about the girl. High society seemed to admire this perfect, kind family, but Arzhel knew Count Sullivan well—a truly cunning man. Beneath his courteous demeanor and loving husband act hid a politically ambitious, self-centered schemer. Case in point: he had the audacity to ask the mages from the tower to evaluate his children a second time. Magical progression happened naturally at the Mage Tower, but to polish his image, Sullivan insisted on a public evaluation.
Arzhel didn't care, but Sullivan had crossed the line by "borrowing" a basic crystal from the tower. Those fools had let him take it because he was supposedly an important supplier of magical stones. Who cares about that! He had already evaluated his daughter once—why make them come again? Not that it was his request anyway.
He shot Seed an impassive look.
"Find her yourself, and make her evolution spectacular—that's why you're here. I'm not a clown Sullivan can pay to entertain buffoons like him. Goodbye!" He then walked out, waving over his shoulder, ignoring Seed's frantic cries.
The cool night air hit his face, and Arzhel finally breathed freely. Social gatherings were so boring—he preferred doing his own work. Arzhel was a mage apprentice, but being the most powerful and the master's apprentice at the tower was still dull. Only the tower's residents really knew him; to outsiders, he was just another apprentice among many.
Arzhel sat on the edge of a fountain in the Sullivan garden and looked up at the sky, bored. Maybe he could find something to set on fire? He popped a small cake into his mouth, chewing with no enthusiasm.
Sorel, his fire spirit, appeared behind the fountain, looking as unimpressed as ever, his gaze fixed on his master.
"Sorel," Arzhel groaned, eyes pleading, "have you found anything fun to do? Parties are supposed to be fun, but all I see are nobles with sticks up their asses." He muttered.
Sorel tilted his head, as if to say his master was ridiculous, then finally nodded and pointed toward a building.
"Really!?" Arzhel suddenly perked up, his red eyes narrowing toward the secondary building. "Maybe Sullivan is hiding black crystals there! Show me the way, my friend!"
Black crystals were the opposite of ordinary crystals—they were dangerous demon eggs that fed on blood or human flesh. Anyone suspected of raising or releasing these anomalies voluntarily faced execution by hanging.
Well, he didn't want to destroy a happy family just for fun—that would be bad karma, and not funny at all.
Sorel stopped behind a building that looked like the servants' quarters. Arzhel looked around, raising an eyebrow at his spirit companion.
"…Are you dancing for me?" a soft child's voice suddenly asked.
Arzhel's eyes widened, and he ducked behind nearby bushes. What was a little girl doing in this deserted area? He followed the sound and spotted a tiny figure at a lone window. Squinting for a better view, he saw a girl sitting on the windowsill, wearing a white lace veil covering her face down to her chest. All he could see were her long, shiny dark hair strands peeking out from beneath—but why was she wearing a blood-stained servant's dress?
"Happy birthday ♪ Happy birthday to me!" the girl sang cheerfully, clapping her hands.
She seemed younger than Arzhel. What was she doing in this dark room? Who was she talking to? He looked beside her and was shocked to see a spirit, in the form of a fairy, dancing proudly to the girl's beautiful singing voice. But that wasn't the question.
"Is it her birthday?" he thought, eyebrow raised.
He couldn't stay hidden for long—why was he even hiding!? Sighing in exasperation, he realized he couldn't pass up the chance to meet an invoker like her. This girl had to be powerful, capable of summoning a spirit. Until now, he had been the only one for a hundred years. Arzhel felt a thrill at his discovery—not power-hungry, just a bit curious, he told himself.
"Hi!" he called cheerfully.
The girl screamed in surprise and dropped inside, quickly closing the window. Arzhel scratched the back of his neck nervously under Sorel's disapproving glare. Maybe he should have gone slower? He sighed and knocked on the window. Now that he was closer, he could see that the room was low-ceilinged, clearly meant for a young girl—anyone could enter and harm her.
Arzhel frowned, perplexed. Even for a servant, this was strange.
"Come on, sorry for scaring you," he apologized. This was new for him.
"Can you open the window? If you want, I can step back." Without waiting, he moved to a tree in front of the window and sat there.
"I'm Arzhel, nine years old. I didn't mean to bother you," he explained. "My friend heard something, and I followed."
Telling her his name and age might put her at ease. After all, a nine-year-old couldn't do much harm. Well… in another story, he could set a building on fire just for fun, but she didn't know that. Arzhel shrugged.
The window creaked open, and the little fairy emerged cautiously, eyeing Arzhel. He raised his hands and smiled broadly—so interesting.
Sorel floated toward the fairy and began "speaking" to her, at least that's what Arzhel assumed. He didn't know the language of spirits—another fascinating discovery. This evening wasn't so unpleasant after all, Arzhel thought with a grin.
The fairy seemed familiar with Sorel; she smiled, nodded, then entered the room. Did it work? The girl cautiously stepped out, still watching Arzhel through her veil, adding even more mystery.
"So… what's your name?" he asked.
"V-Vidalia," she hesitated.
"Pretty name!" he complimented sincerely.
Vidalia nodded, incredulous.
"So it's your birthday? I don't have a gift, but I have some small cakes if you want." He offered.
Maybe it was too soon? He had never tried to talk to other kids or make friends his age—kids were boring. Vidalia seemed about to refuse, but her stomach growled loudly enough for him to hear, making him frown further.
Arzhel could sense her blush behind the veil. He smiled, taking out the napkin of small cakes. The fairy reached out and took one.
"T-Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome," Arzhel said. "Sorry to ask, but why are you alone here? I saw a lot of servants in the party hall—why aren't you there?"
Vidalia tensed, biting her biscuit. Oh… so Sullivan was hiding things? Finally, a little scandal.
"Is it because it's your birthday too?" he guessed. "They don't want a servant celebrating on the same day as their daughter?"
She shook her head.
"No?" he said. "Then you don't seem hurt… but your clothes are stained with blood. Did you make a mistake and hurt someone else, and they locked you in here?" He asked, not believing it.
She looked at her clothes incredulously and nodded. It wasn't true—but Arzhel smiled as the mystery deepened. The Sullivans might not be as noble as they pretended.
"The blood is dry, and the stains suggest it came from your face, but the veil prevents me from being sure," Arzhel continued. "Still, it looks like you somehow hurt yourself and left a nasty mark. That growling stomach is proof you've been locked up for a while. But why?" He asked, grinning wickedly.
Vidalia stared at Arzhel behind her veil, hands trembling. Perhaps—just perhaps—he had gone too far.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you again," he apologized. "But I promise you can trust me. Maybe I could help you?"
She seemed torn. The fairy moved closer, reassuring her, then seemed to notice Sorel floating lazily beside Arzhel.
"They… they don't know my birthday," she said softly, looking at her hands. "I did something wrong… I think?" Her voice wavered.
She thinks? Could someone really be unsure if they'd done something wrong? Arzhel didn't know about others, but he always knew when he was bothering people in the tower—otherwise it wasn't fun.
"What did you do, if you don't mind telling me?" he asked.
"Uh… Madame Wisia said hurtful things about my older sister, so Mother got angry," she explained in a small, dragging voice.
Arzhel couldn't believe his ears. So the Sullivans had another daughter—a seemingly black sheep of the family. What could a little girl do to be denied outings—or worse, locked up?
"Wait, hold on. You're a Sullivan?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
Vidalia tilted her head, then shook it vigorously. No—then who was her older sister?
"No, Count Sullivan is my father, but… how did you guess? I didn't actually say," Vidalia began to panic.
He hadn't done anything—she had just revealed it. Arzhel simply smiled. What news! The perfect Count had an illegitimate child? Arzhel watched the little girl panic before him. Mmh… he couldn't help her, unfortunately. Making her known to the public wasn't hard, but it wouldn't stop the Sullivans from hurting her.
"What happened with Wisia?" he asked to change the subject.
Vidalia hesitated, then sighed, focusing on her hands.
"She admitted that when I was older, I could become the rose of society, but Mother didn't like what she said and got angry… and accidentally threw a vase at my head," she said, embarrassed, looking everywhere but at Arzhel.
How could someone accidentally smash a vase over a child's head? Wisia and her big mouth! Arzhel had heard of her—married to Baron Richard, who died three years later. Wisia later opened a clothing shop and had the audacity to criticize the mages' cloak. Anger rose in Arzhel. How could an adult do that to a child? This woman, who pretended to be a caring mother, was cruel. Tch.
"When did this happen? Can I help you heal?" he asked, moving closer to inspect for injuries.
"No, it's fine! Naya healed me with her magic. When I tried to wash the wound, she appeared from the water like magic! And my face was as good as new," she laughed.
The fairy nodded proudly, lifting her invisible sleeve. So it was such a strong spirit? Arzhel smirked.
"You control water?" Arzhel asked, eyes wide.
"Yes… why?" Vidalia's voice sounded worried.
"It's rare to see an intermediate-level water elemental. Mages in the tower are only level C, and water at this level has healing properties," he explained, seeing Vidalia in a new light. "But I won't complain—you're a real surprise, little Vidalia." He grinned wickedly.
"The tower? Level C? Healing!?" she asked, confused. "And I'm not little! I'm twenty—uh, six! Yes, six! You're small too—you're only nine! You can't criticize me for my size!" she said indignantly.
Naya nodded and shook her head. Arzhel smiled softly—he had finally lifted her spirits. He hadn't expected to find an illegitimate, mistreated daughter hidden by the Sullivans, but if he could at least keep her company and occasionally discover more compromising secrets about Edwin Sullivan, it would be two birds with one stone.
Moreover, Arzhel watched Vidalia speak enthusiastically with Naya and Sorel. He wanted to get to know her a little better.
"Vidalia, may I have the honor of being your friend?" Arzhel asked sincerely.
Everything just got a lot more interesting! Arzhel grinned wickedly.