10.

 

Baron Klaus led her to the waiting mana-carriage.

“Your luggage has already been loaded.”

“So… this is the mana-carriage I’ve heard about…”

The mana-carriage—Antagon’s masterpiece, the marvel that made the entire continent yearn for its technology.

It resembled a regular carriage, at least in form, but the front was entirely different. The driver’s seat was enclosed with glass, and where the horses would normally be, the lower body of the vehicle protruded outward with large wheels on either side.

“It runs on mana stones. Right here—in the engine room—is the mana engine, the very heart of Antagon’s innovation.”

“Ah…”

Though the man’s explanation was polite and thorough, Azniel barely understood any of it. And judging by how he didn’t pause for questions, it didn’t seem like he expected her to.

“When we arrive in Ashfeld, Ian will walk you through a few things. Nothing too burdensome. Just the basics you’ll need to know as the wife of Antagon’s chairman.”

“Hello. I’m Ian Garrison, the chairman’s chief secretary.”

“Ah… Hello. I look forward to your guidance.”

It was the brown-haired gentleman she’d seen before in the Pope’s office, greeting her now with a friendly smile.

“Sister Azniel.”

“Your Holiness…”

From within the Papal Palace, the Pope and several high-ranking clergy emerged to see Azniel off.

“The Church shall never forget your two decades of devotion. May Dara’s blessing follow you always.”

“For the glory of Dara.”

“For the glory of Dara.”

The Pope pressed his hands together in prayer, and the clergy around him followed suit.

“Think of the Church as your family home. Should you ever need anything, feel free to come and go.”

Even as the Pope said this with a smile, his eyes slid toward Klaus, glinting with greed—perhaps, if Azniel played her cards right, she might win more support than the promised amount.

Klaus, who stood between the carriage and the palace doors, seemed unfazed—neither affirming nor denying. His expression was one of quiet amusement.

“You’ve worked hard. May Dara always love you.”

The Pope chuckled and gently patted her shoulders.

It was a farewell scene that felt more like a well-scripted performance—and Klaus had no intention of letting it run long.

“Well then, we should be on our way. We need to arrive before sunset.”

“Of course. Safe travels.”

It might have seemed curt, but the Pope, still wearing his affable smile, stepped back without complaint.

“May peace be with you all in Dara’s embrace.”

Azniel offered one last bow.

“Well then.”

Standing beside the mana-carriage, Klaus extended a hand to her—an invitation to step inside. Just like when she had no choice but to accept his strange proposal in name only, Azniel had no choice now but to take that hand.

As she entered the mana-carriage, a world unlike anything she knew unfolded before her. The controls, the wheel—it was all foreign. So unfamiliar, in fact, that Azniel found herself too stunned to even react.

By then, Klaus and his party had taken their seats. Once the driver started the engine, the mana-carriage began to move.

“Take care, Saint!”

“Please stay well!”

The apprentice girls waved until the very last second, their figures shrinking rapidly as the carriage rolled smoothly toward the gates.

The Great Temple where Azniel had spent her entire life, the garden that connected the dining hall and convent, the Sanctuary where she had devoted her last few years—they all passed in a blur.

When they reached the gates—so familiar by now—no one dared stop a mana-carriage bearing the Antagon crest. The pilgrims lining the road from the Sanctuary to the gates scattered in a panic to clear the way.

“…”

Azniel felt a heavy discomfort, as if she were betraying the very people who had come here in hope. They wouldn’t recognize her, but even so, she instinctively lowered her head.

“Don’t worry.”

The man who had been resting against the window this whole time spoke abruptly.

“Potion distribution starts today. It’s unfortunate they didn’t get to witness your miracle, but they’ll still achieve the purpose they came to the Holy Kingdom for. There’s no need for you to be concerned.”

“…”

“It’ll take three hours. You should try to get some rest.”

With those final words, the man folded his arms and closed his eyes. Through the pale glint of his glasses, Azniel could see the line of gold lashes neatly resting over his closed lids.

He had positioned himself leaning against the door, as if to maintain as much distance as possible between them. And somehow, that distance—just a few handspans—felt impossibly vast.

Only the soft hum of the mana engine remained as the sole sound in the carriage.

* * *

The carriage ran for three hours straight before finally reaching its destination.

Baron Gestern’s estate, located just outside the royal capital of Gillioth, in the district of Dwellshire—a prized stretch of land among the surrounding territories. The fact that the estate stood in such a location was a clear symbol of royal favor and privilege. Azniel, stepping outside the Holy Kingdom for the first time since coming of age, would only learn that fact a little later.

For the entire ride, Azniel kept her eyes fixed on the changing scenery outside the window. The views that flashed across her retinas constantly shifted, giving way to new landscapes, and all that remained was a vague impression of a world entirely different from the Holy Kingdom. But as a saint who had lost her place, she applied herself dutifully to the task of learning this foreign realm.

Eventually, the roadside began to line with rows of cypress trees. Their canopies formed a green ridge—just beyond which, the mansion appeared.

It was vast, almost rivaling the scale of the Papal Palace. Like its owner, the mansion was both imposing and ornate. Every brick of the stone exterior fit together without a gap, and the entrance’s roof and pillars were adorned with white marble. Even without elaborate decorations, the material itself exuded quiet opulence.

Passing through the main gate, the mana-carriage circled the garden. Through the windows, Azniel saw a landscape thick with perfectly maintained trees, marble statues, fountains—artfully arranged with deliberate symmetry. The garden was several times larger than that of the Papal Palace, sculpted into flawless order. She gazed at it, entranced, until the soft sound of gravel crunching under the wheels came to an abrupt stop.

“We’ve arrived.”

At Ian’s announcement from the front seat, Klaus opened his eyes. Though they had been shut the whole journey, there wasn’t the faintest trace of drowsiness on his face.

He stepped down from the vehicle in a single, fluid motion and turned to offer his hand into the carriage.

“Careful, please.”

Azniel’s golden eyes moved anxiously. They flicked across the gentleman’s gloved hand held out before her, the unreadable mask of his expression, and the unfamiliar faces of the staff lined up by the grand entrance behind him.

A completely unknown place, a completely new sight, unfamiliar faces, and the overwhelming man-made beauty of the secular world she had never touched. Add to that the churning discomfort in her throat—anxieties and motion sickness stirred up by the entire journey.

Her face had surely gone pale from the tangle in her mind. But there was no way around it. She took Klaus’s firm hand, and slowly stepped out of the carriage.

“Ugh…”

Or—she tried to. But her vision went white, her legs buckled, and she nearly collapsed.

“As expected, you are quite frail.”

Klaus’s firm arm caught her at the waist.

In a heartbeat, the distance they had kept for the last three hours vanished.

“I forgot that you likely had little experience riding in carriages, Saint.”

Lowering himself for just a moment, he slipped an arm behind her knees—and lifted her effortlessly.

“A-ah, I—I… Baron…!”

“Let’s decide on what you’ll call me after you’ve rested.”

With that, Klaus strode confidently into the mansion with his long legs, carrying her in his arms. It all happened before Azniel could even steady her spinning vision.

Sudden. Just like their arranged marriage.

Then, as if remembering something, Klaus added with casual detachment:

“Welcome to Ashfeld.”

* * *

The place where Klaus set Azniel down was a small sitting room nestled deep within the mansion. It didn’t feel like a formal reception room for guests, but more like a parlor meant for spending time with close acquaintances.

“I am Jerome, the head butler in charge of this household. And this is Margaret, the head maid.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

My lady…
The unfamiliar title left Azniel stunned for just a moment.

“We look forward to serving you. For the time being, this young lady will assist you as your personal maid. If you ever feel uncomfortable or need anything, please don’t hesitate to speak with either of us.”

“Hello! I’m Annie. I’ll do my best to help you!”

A girl with honey-brown hair braided into a single neat plait quickly gave a cheerful bow.

“Thank you. I’m Azniel. I look forward to being in your care.”

Still seated, Azniel dipped her head slightly and met the eyes of each person one by one as she returned their greetings.

‘Thank goodness… the atmosphere doesn’t seem bad.’

Though everyone’s expressions were reserved and professional, there was no hint of contempt or dismissal toward her.

‘I thought they might resent having to serve some unwanted burden…’

After all, Klaus Gestern was a man admired by all—someone even courted by princesses.

One of the lingering anxieties that had made her uneasy over the past few days quietly began to dissolve.