Wreath of Lilies, Cauldron of Poison

Chapter 216

Changing Mindset

Amongst all the mansion in Courandhel, the mansion of Countess Theodora was one of the most unique one. It once belonged to the architect who built Courandhel’s Iron Gate. And signs of its first owner’s taste was apparent in the choice of dark stones that made up its walls. The windows were tall and wide, to let the sunlight in during the afternoon. And more than half of its exterior were covered in green ivies. Her garden too, was a sight to behold. With Forget-me-nots and Irises growing healthily around a small fountain from whence a pleasant sound of flowing water could be heard. A handful of sculptures of small fairies holding small urns dotted its edges.

Laughter filled the intimate teatime as Connie recounted the heart pounding stories that were her accomplishments ever since she left for Greyvault.

“…my, the stories did not do you justice, Duchess Cornelia,” Countess Fornelle said, sipping the tea from a fine porcelain cup. “So young, and so courageous. Ah, dare I say, your feats eclipsed that of the Hero!”

“Oh, please,” Connie gave a humble smile. “I’m sure our Hero is out there somewhere, doing Hero things. Saving a damsel in distress. Being an all-around nice guy and things like that.”

“Well, that would be hard, wouldn’t it? Seeing as it was the Dragonslayer that had outright kidnapped him. Say what you like about the senile old man, but he has a way of turning even the most milquetoast of a man into a man of true grit,” the old woman slathered a scone with as much clotted cream as one could possibly can on an uneven piece of pastry and took a generous bite. Then somehow managed to not have any leftover cream on her lips.

“Granted, they might lose an arm in the process.”

“I mean, Sir Sakagami is a Hero, right? Surely Lord Sabrac would not go that far,” Countess Fornelle said, horrified.

“My dear, that man have done so many outrageous things that minstrels practically ran themselves ragged trying to catch up with his tales back when he was young. But chasing stories, that is young people’s game. People like me, we like to contemplate. Really think about things.”

Countess Theodora put down her cup gracefully with nary a clink. “And that’s what I like about you, Duchess Cornelia. It’s rare to have someone who actually understands what they are talking, to really think about what a word really means, instead of just regurgitating words they learned from last week’s book club."

"And what a boon it is for Courandhel's literary scene. Will you be staying in Courandhel long?” Countess Fornelle asked.

“Sorry to say, I am planning to leave as soon as my official Dukedom conferment is done.”

“Ah, the wonders of bureaucracy,” Countess Theodora sighed. “By right, it should have been yours when your father died. Even though everyone has already acknowledged you as your House’s successor…”

“Haha, I guess so. The Capital does not agree with me. And I do not agree with it. Far too much politics to my liking.”

Despite the large age gap between the three of them, physically and mentally, Connie found that she got along well with them and insisted to be called by her first name. Though the older women still used her title, stickler to the rules of conduct as they were.

“What a shame, I’d have liked to introduce you to my fellow writers.”

“It would be my pleasure to do so during my next visit, Countess Fornelle.”

“Greyvault…” Countess Theodora sat back as she recalled a memory of her past. “As I recall, even back when I was a little girl, it was not a prosperous place.”

“And it still isn’t,” Connie said without taking offense. “Its people had been used by its past leaders to the point of despair, such that they were left to rely on false hope to keep on going,” she shook her head with a pained frown. “As its new leader, I will not stand for it.”

Connie took a few gulps of the fragrant tea and spoke. “I want them to be able to grasp a chance at a better life, and for that, they must be educated properly. I think learning letters would be the quickest way to create a foundation for it. But it isn’t going well.”

“That’s no surprise. As far as I know, for most commoners, education is the farthest thing in their minds. Just living day to day is hard enough for them,” Countess Fornelle said.

“And sad to say, but education is a privilege of the rich,” Countess Theodora stated. “Even now in the Capital, less than a quarter of the commoners living here know their letters, just enough to get by. And for most Nobles, educating their subjects is something that just is not worth it.”

“And what do you think of it, Countess Theodora? Is educating commoners something useless in your eyes?”

The old woman sat back and pondered. There was a nostalgic look upon her greying eyes. “Back when I was a spry young lass, I spent a summer in my family’s territory in the West. There, I met a young boy. He was the son of my father’s gardener.”

A rare smile appeared on her lips as she recounted the past. “We often played together in the streams, and on some days, when it was too foggy or the ground was too wet due to the rain, we would stay inside and we read storybooks together. He was a bright one, took him no time to learn the letters. He would accompany me when the tutor comes to teach me, he soaked everything like a sponge. And you know what?” She tapped the side of her nose. “He was also my first kiss.”

Countess Fornelle went wide-eyed when she heard that. “Countess Theodora!”

“Hush, we are all adults here. And what’s wrong with a bit of romance in my youth? I had had some more adventurous dabbling before I met my husband. You’ll see when you get married,” the old woman winked. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. It was a very sad day when I had to leave. I gave him the books that we had read together and told him to become a better man, even promised him that I’d marry him when I return. Haha, I was so innocent back then.”

“And then, did you come back?” Connie asked.

“I did, and I you know what I found? That the boy’s father had sold the books I gave him for some boots. I was so mad that I refused to see him until I had to return. Not long after, the boy died due to a bandit’s attack. I cried for days. But now…I don’t even remember the boy’s name,” Countess Theodora laughed bitterly.

“How sad,” Countess Fornelle said, dabbing her eyes with a pink handkerchief.

“Unlike your books, Countess Fornelle, there is no fairy tale ending in real life,” the old Countess said, then she looked at Connie. “Do you see what I am getting at, Duchess Cornelia? You can lead a donkey to a water trough, but you cannot make it drink. If you really wish to teach them, then you must change how they think.”

“…a wise suggestion. I will think about it.”

“I’ll ask my friends to donate books to your cause,” Countess Fornelles said, fixing the flowery hat upon her head. “I too will send some of mine to Greyvault. It would be a nice thing for the children to have.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Connie bowed her head slightly in gratefulness.

As they were conversing, they heard the sound of leather soles hitting the pebbled path.

“A letter for you, Madame,” the old manservant named Richmond came over with a silver platter, upon which a thick envelope and silver paper knife were placed.

“Ah, thank you Richmond,” Countess Theodora said, eyeing the envelope with a thin smile. “It’s from Rianne, I presume.”

“Yes, Madame. Would you like me to read it for you?”

“That’s fine, Richmond. Can you bring us another pot of tea? This one’s already gone cold.”

With a polite bow, Richmond took the pot away. As he did, Countess Theodora took the paper knife and asked. “Do you mind if I open the letter? It has been quite some time since the last time my daughter sent me letters.”

The two women did not deny her the rare pleasure. The old woman gently slipped the knife under the red wax used to seal the envelope and brought out its content.

“You’re not going to read the first page?” Connie asked when she saw her putting away the foremost piece of paper from the handful of papers.

“Oh, no. My daughter never used less than a hundred words of greetings before getting to the main point. Bless her husband for his infinite patience. I know if I was him, I’d have killed myself in the first year,” the old woman said with a nostalgic smile.

Countess Fornelle leaned over to Connie and whispered. “Her daughter’s married to a man in Al-Khemiya. I heard he has a fairly successful career there.”

“…Hmm…hmmm…” the old woman read the letter with surprising speed. When she was finished, the old Countess had an odd, thoughtful look.

“Is…something the matter?” Countess Fornelle asked. The old woman jolted out of her ponderings and stammered. “Er, yes…yes…sorry. I wandered off for a bit…” her voice was steady, but there was a hint of anxiety in it. “It’s gotten a bit cold outside. What do you think about ending out little get-together today?”

Sensing the oddity of the old woman’s words, Countess Fornelle said. “If there is anything…anything that I can do, please.”

Countess Theodore gave her a thin smile. “I appreciate your offer. But please, don’t worry. It’s nothing. It’s just my old bones acting up again.”

The teatime ended in a slightly awkward note, but Connie did not think much of it. Countess Theodora seemed to be a shrewd woman. If there was any problem, she should be able to take care of it using her connections.

In a large chamber underneath the busy street of Courandhel, Mr. Butters – dapper as ever – was popping a piece of caramel from a paper bag into his mouth. Around him were facades of houses in the slums. It was recreated with the utmost attention to detail.

Suddenly, a metal needle flew at him from the shadows of a house. He tilted his head with an unconcerned look, dodging it expertly. Another needle came, and another, all aiming at his vitals. With ease, the man dodged everything. Then, a dagger came at him. The sudden difference in speed caught him off guard and he moved one beat slower.

The attacker did not miss this chance and rushed in, moving for the kill. But the man threw the bag of caramel toward the attacker, obscuring the attacker’s sight.

A knife shot through the scattered caramel, but the attacker managed to evade it by twisting their hip.

“Yes, keep your movement tight and compact,” Mr. Butter’s other hand snatched the bag of caramels mid-air and took a peek inside. “Oh dear. I’ve only got half a bag left.”

Through the one eye that she had, Illumca saw a gap and swung her weapon at his leg. “Yes, that’s it. Keep moving.”

The gentleman Assassin held his knife the orthodox way, as taught by his predecessor. Knife point forward, with his arm extended only slightly. He received Illumca’s attacks while commenting on her movements. At times dodging, at times parrying.

When Mr. Butters took a step back, she suddenly stepped in, her right boot stepping onto the man’s foot, hindering his movement. She swung her dagger up upward, continuing her motion. Mr. Butters reacted instantly by tilting his head backward.

“Oh, almost nicked me,” the gentleman said with a snicker. Mr. Butters made a fist with his left hand, his knuckle protruding slightly. The deadly attack stopped when it barely touched Illumca’s neck.

The Dark Elf gulped as she felt as if she had just evaded a crisis and backed down, feeling for her neck. She knew that if it hit, she would’ve been incapacitated in an instant.

“That’s my hundred and seventeenth loss,” she said dejectedly.

“If I can be so easily defeated by a newly awakened Unrestrained Candidate like you, it’d have made my decades of experience a waste,” the man said. “But do not be discouraged. Compared to when you started training with me, your use of Stealth has gotten a bit better. Combined with that unique foot movements of yours, you’d have little trouble with B-Rank Assassin, barring some exceptions.”

“Take note, being stealthy is not just about using that Skill, but also killing your own presence by breathing shallowly and steady your heartbeat. Something you can only learn by repetition,” Mr. Butters advised. “Also…try not to emit such killing intent. A great Assassin should think of killing the target like…say, turning your palm upside down. It should be a natural act. And if you must, only show that intent at the last second.”

Though Illumca was a good fighter and have enough magic power to be able to subdue an Ur-Kulak with relative ease, as an Assassin, her mastery of Skills and mindset was at most that of a C-Rank. This was because she had never been taught by a proper Assassin how to act as one. Mr. Butters, who had spotted this problem from the start, had been drilling this mindset into her since the start of her apprenticeship. She was forbidden from using magic or Offensive Skill and focused solely on stealth.

“It’s…hard.”

“It is. That’s the reason why A-Rank Assassins are so good at what they do. But do remember, you are a Mage Assassin. I can only teach you half of what you are capable of. As for the other part, it’s up to you to improve.”

“How?” she asked. Though earlier in their relationship, Illumca was feeling unsure about learning from him, his teachings had helped her improve by a lot as an Assassin.

“How should I know? I am no Mage. By nature a Mage and Assassin is a starkly different job. One requires you to get close to get a clean kill, while the other needs you to stay out of harm’s way to cast Spells. The only thing you can do is to learn as you go. Or, find a Mage Assassin who can teach you. The latter is far easier than done.”

“…I understand.”

“And one last thing. Today marks the last day I can teach you personally. Tomorrow, I’ll be heading off to Vorzenny.”

Illumca sheathed her dagger. She gave him a cursory look. “So early?”

“Yes, indeed. I have some foreign personages I’ll be taking care of, and hopefully earn some coins in service of the Kingdom,” the man said with a witty grin. “Speaking of which, will your Mistress join the war?”

“I don’t know. But as far as I can see, she has little interest in it.”

“In that case, she’d better hoof it from the Capital. I heard from my men that there are voices in the Palace that are trying to involve her in the war. Her being such a famous person these days. She is a useful propaganda in the eyes of some Nobles,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders. “Just hearsay, mind you.”

“Thank you for the warning. I’ll tell her.”

Mr. Butters nodded firmly and smiled. “Then, come with me to the storage room. I’ll give you some useful items to bring as parting gifts. Can’t have my apprentice dying while I’m gone.”

When Illumca returned to the Steelheart’s Mansion after receiving her gifts, she saw that Connie and the others were standing in the garden. She was sitting with legs crossed, looking upwards at the second floor of the mansion where the Master Bedroom were. Next to her, Martell bore in his arms a silver tray with a pitcher of cold water, within which slices of lemon were swimming about.

“Are you sure we’re doing this, Milady?” Nick asked, the expression in his face was complex. He too was looking at the house

“Oh? I thought you hated this place.”

“I don’t have many good memories about this mansion. But still…”

“It’s just a house,” Connie scoffed. “And I can no longer stand the thought of that departed bitch’s remains still staining my property,” Connie said disdainfully.

“The smell just never goes away,” Martell said with disgust, his mind remembering the day when they had to remove Joan Carell’s body from the bed. Her body had been on the bed for so long that her skin had fused with the bedsheet. Furthermore, upon lifting her from the bed, they found that underneath her body, the pus and the blood that had seeped into the mattress had become nesting ground for maggots. It had caused the maids who were there to be unable to eat for days. Even now, that clammy, unpleasant stench still haunt the room.

Martell’s body squirmed at the unpleasant memory. “Just the thought of it makes me nauseous.”

“That’s why, we might as well demolish the whole wing and be done with it.”

“Madame Sui, what’s happening?” Illumca asked, approaching them with a quizzical expression.

Madame Sui poured Illumca a glass of cold water from the silver tray that Martell was holding as she answered. “Mistress wants to get rid of the whole wing where the Master Bedroom was. This one supposes that it’s unavoidable. It’s bad luck.”

“Alright Connie! I’m starting!” Akula bellowed from the opened window above them. When she saw Connie giving her a signal to go ahead, the Centaur ducked her head back into the room. Moments later, the roof exploded into smithereens. Next, the walls. Dust and broken wood rained down in front of them.

“Is...that much power necessary?” Illumca asked.

“It’s not. But it sure is satisfying,” Connie grinned, enjoying the scene of destruction. “Keep it up, Akula! But be careful where you step!"

Just as she said that, there was a loud scream and they saw through the large window of the library, that Akula’s large body had fallen to the first floor, directly below the Master Bedroom.

BAMF!!

“Akula!” Connie quickly got up from her seat and opened the window. “Are you okay?”

“(Cough, cough). I’m fine…” she said. "The pile of books softened my landing. But I think I cracked the wooden floor."

As the Centaur got up from the book pile, Connie saw something glowing under the floor.

"Akula, what's that under you?"

The wheat-haired Centaur looked down and swept away the books to reveal a door made of stone. It seemed that when Akula fell, her weight was too much for the poor floor. On closer inspection, a runic circle had been drawn over its surface, emitting a dim red glow. And on the four corners of stone door, were carvings of the image of Steelheart’s icon.

Connie climbed over the window and crouched before it. As she swept the dust covering the stone to take a closer look, the circle glowed brighter and the door subsequently slid open with heavy creaks.

“Lihua,” Connies called out. “Keep the perimeter safe. Do not let anyone enter this place without my permission.”

The raven-haired Madame bowed quickly and relayed Connie’s order.

Illumca, who had followed Connie into the library saw the runes on the door and spoke with a look of surprise. “These are…elven letters...?”

“They are...?” Connie rubbed her chin with a grin. “How curious.”