“…What?”
“I’ll give it to you if you pay five million Kir.”
For reference, the average monthly salary of a royal palace official was two million Kir.
A hollow laugh escaped her. She had wondered what kind of nonsense he’d say—turns out, he was the classic scammer type.
How much swindling must he have done to rack up a karma score of 99?
Clucking her tongue, Jeril turned away. She was honestly afraid he might hit 100 and die right there in front of her.
“Stop conning people before you reach the point of no return.”
After throwing out that final warning, she swiftly climbed into her carriage. What a bizarre man.
Back at the mansion, she picked up her pen. There was a request she needed to entrust to a member of the secret organization.
Lately, there are way too many people with high-risk karma scores.
Jeril had developed her own system for categorizing karma levels:
1–29: normal
30–59: caution
60–89: danger
90–99: high risk
When she thought about it, it was strange. There wasn’t even a war going on, yet the number of high-risk individuals had sharply increased.
I’ll have to find out whether the numbers are really increasing—or if they’ve just been hiding until now.
“Deliver this to Chelsea Rebellin.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“Ah—what the—!”
She was clearly speaking to Bell, yet a cold voice answered instead.
The air in the center of the room split open, and a person suddenly emerged.
“Hello, Jeril. It’s been a while.”
“I told you not to appear like that!”
From the crack in space crawled a woman with black hair—a sight Jeril would never get used to.
The woman landed lightly on the carpet, her crimson eyes narrowing with a faint smile. Jeril clutched her pounding heart and shouted.
“You put magic in my room again, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I had no choice. You’re my lifeline, after all.”
Chelsea Rebellin, the sub-marchioness of House Rebellin, calmly wrapped an arm around Jeril’s shoulders—more like a headlock than a hug.
“I feel alive again.”
“I think I’m about to die.”
“I wouldn’t kill you. You’re my lifeline.”
“I meant that figuratively… Never mind.”
Chelsea was a dark sorceress.
Their connection began seven years ago when Jeril had helped her during a period of madness. Since then, Chelsea had become the public leader of Jeril’s secret organization.
“The Blue Mage really is amazing. Thanks to you, the damned voice in my head finally shuts up.”
“I keep telling you, it’s not because of blue magic.”
She’d never heard of blue magic curing mental instability. It had to be a placebo, but Chelsea truly believed that Jeril’s magic was what calmed her madness.
“Anyway, here. Look into what’s written inside.”
Chelsea accepted the envelope without expression, skimmed through the letter, and immediately burned it to ash with a flick of her fingers.
What a waste of paper. I should’ve just said it out loud.
Nodding, Chelsea leaned in again—apparently, this made the magic more effective.
“I’ll investigate and report back.”
With that, Chelsea slipped back into the black rift. Jeril shouted after her in alarm.
“If you come here like that again, I’ll kill you for real!”
“As long as you’re alive, I can’t die.”
Chelsea’s faint smile vanished into the darkness.
That night, the streets were dim.
An old woman wandered alone—it was the same con artist who had tried to scam Jeril earlier.
“My brother will really be cured, right? This is all the money I saved for his treatment, please take good care of it.”
“Don’t you worry, ma’am.”
The old woman squinted at the boy running off into an alley. The glare of an approaching carriage made her eyes sting.
“Heh, people are all so stup—”
Thud.
The vile sentence never finished. The lavish carriage had slammed into the old woman.
A door opened.
Someone stepped down, irritation dripping from their every move.
“Ugh, what a nuisance. Get this cleaned up.”
The cold-voiced person stared down the empty street.
“It’s been a while,” they murmured.
The day of the ball finally arrived.
From morning, Jeril had been dragged around mercilessly by the maids.
“I’m a person with free will, you know!”
“Of course you are, miss!”
Her weak protests did nothing. The maids, all smiling serenely, held her firmly in place and busied themselves with dressing her up.
When the wild pampering session was over, Jeril stood before the mirror.
Her gown was of pale blue fabric, densely studded with sapphires. The silver of her hair and the lake-blue of her eyes shimmered under the morning sun—it was a perfect match.
So ‘sapphire’ and ‘densely studded’ really can belong in the same sentence.
She mentally calculated how much all this probably cost. Just then, the maids left and Leon walked in.
“Are you trying to advertise that you’re a Blue Mage? Everything’s blue.”
“That’s just your prejudice talking.”
The siblings exchanged a brief, affectionate greeting—just the light touch of fingertips. Leon, grinning mischievously, offered his arm and guided her toward the stairs.
He’s grown so much.
Just a few years ago, he’d been shorter than her. Now, the tall figure leading the way felt almost unfamiliar.
It seemed only yesterday that their parents’ separation had sent him into his rebellious phase.
He’s finally turned into a decent human being, huh.
Her chest warmed sentimentally—
“Hurry up, slowpoke!”
“…Figures.”
Of course.
As they descended the stairs, Leon asked,
“Didn’t you say you found a partner for the ball?”
“Yeah. Ian Perch, the young duke.”
“But there’s only our family’s carriage out front.”
“…What?”
Jeril froze mid-step, mouth slightly open, when a servant came rushing up.
“Young lady! A letter just arrived from House Perch!”
Jeril swore she had never opened an envelope so quickly in her life.
Leon, sensing something off, asked cautiously,
“…What does it say?”
“This…”
“Huh?”
There was a metaphorical beep—as if static filled the air—before a stream of colorful curses poured from Jeril’s mouth.
Leon silently backed away.
So this is what Blue Mage madness looks like.
The letter, bearing the Perch family crest, was reduced to shreds in her furious hands.
The imperial palace walls collapsed?
Not just one section, but several—creating what people were calling “rat holes.”
Ian wrote that while he had a guess who was responsible, he was required to stay on duty in case of a possible terrorist attack.
“As if it isn’t obvious who did this… that lunatic…”
The image of a sharply furrowed brow and a lazy, sun-drenched smirk came vividly to mind.
[If you’re lying, the rest of your life will never see the light of day.]
…This was bad.
Still, she didn’t really think Caron would kill her. The man she knew as Kal wasn’t that kind of person.
Ugh, not this again.
She pressed a hand to her chest where that strange tightness was building again.
There was a reason she’d gone to such lengths to find another partner and keep her distance from Caron.
Lately, Jeril had been confused about his true nature.
Before meeting him, she’d believed he was nothing but a merciless butcher—
A monster with no story, no past, no emotions—someone destined to kill me.
But now, she knew that wasn’t true. The memory of his pale, sweating face as he suppressed a groan kept flashing before her eyes.
This was affection—no, human warmth toward Kal, or rather, Caron.
But I know how his story ends.
She didn’t want to invest emotion in someone doomed to die.
So she planned to distance herself—to think things through, to make a plan.
…If I really have to change the original story.
Jeril shook her head to clear the growing tangle of thoughts. First, she needed time.
Her strategy for avoiding Caron was simple:
Operation “You Didn’t See Me—I Came With My Partner.”
In other words, pure evasion.
When she told Leon the plan, he grimaced, saying it was lame—but still helped her faithfully.
Thank goodness Caron’s a royal. That means I can enter early and hide before he arrives.
With Leon’s help, Jeril cloaked herself with invisibility magic and slipped behind a pillar.
That damn man—he’s already looking this way again.
