Rosaria rode in silence, her expression clouded with thought.
Even after descending the Padova Mountains and entering the town of Parsa, she said not a word, simply riding her horse side by side with Annamaria.
“There’s a gloom on your face, Rosaria. If you keep wrinkling your brows like that, you’ll age at lightning speed, you know? Oh, come to think of it, there’s already a wrinkle—”
Startled, Rosaria touched her forehead, then shot Annamaria a glare, her look full of annoyance.
“Why must you always be so spiteful? I’m reflecting on how useless I was, and yet you say such things?”
“Useless? Hardly. Blocking the Fire Dragon’s heatwave with a single boulder wasn’t just useful, it was a feat beyond normal human ability. In the first place, it was my blunder that triggered Bruno’s trap and summoned the Fire Dragon. Because of that mistake, if you hadn’t intervened, I’d have been roasted alive. You’re the one who saved me from that fate.”
“I couldn’t defeat the Fire Dragon.”
“Nobody could, normally.”
Rosaria lowered her voice, as if probing, and asked, “Then how were you able to do that? After using up your magic power to the limit in that situation. Didn’t you say you’d be defenseless after drawing out the enemy, and that cooperating with me was essential?”
Annamaria straightened up and looked ahead, stroking Galileo’s head as he sat on her lap, and let out a soft, confident laugh.
“When you were unable to move, I managed to use more magic power than I ever expected from myself. Isn’t that what they call desperation strength? Well, I’m not just any ordinary mage. Don’t underestimate me.”
She could feel Rosaria’s gaze on her profile, but refused to meet her eyes.
After a while, Rosaria seemed to look away and let out a snort.
“…Fine. At any rate, we must capture Bruno Stecchi without fail.”
“By all means. Ah, over there.” She pointed toward a tavern on Parsa’s main street.
Even taverns have their ranks.
The main street radiates out from the church, and the shops facing it are mostly high-class establishments: fabric stores, fur shops, magic tool merchants, confectioners, bakeries, restaurants.
It’s said that prices drop by twenty percent once you step into a side alley.
The main street, paved with stone, was filled with passersby dressed neatly.
A tavern on the main street is a refined social place, even if it’s called a tavern.
A golden thread stretched from the ball of fluff in Annamaria’s palm, leading straight to the imposing building with an oak front door.
Intricate ivy patterns adorned the brass window frames, and the brick walls were smoothly finished with stucco, giving the place a dignified air.
Embedded in the stucco was a stone plaque bearing the tavern’s name: “Chick’s Feather.”
Dismounting in front of the establishment, they were met by the stable boy, who hurried out to take their horses.
Responding to the stable boy’s signal, the manager emerged from inside.
He looked briefly surprised to see two young women—one in a plain cotton dress, the other in a fine but mud-stained riding outfit.
But as soon as he saw their faces and the silver familiar, his eyes widened.
“If it isn’t the Silver Countess and the Wild Countess. It is an honor to have you grace our establishment. But, if I may, what happened to your attire? If you wish, I can arrange for new clothes at once.”
It was the kind of attentiveness expected of a first-class establishment, but Rosaria promptly shook her head.
“We appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary. We simply wish to rest a little. May we come in?”
Such composure was natural for her, as she was accustomed to acting as Captain of the Knight Order, responsible for maintaining order.
She patrolled Parsa and its outskirts daily, watching over the people’s safety.
Inside the oak door was a small antechamber, where they tidied up before proceeding further in.
Beyond lay a spacious hall, with a high ceiling of amber latticework drawing the eye.
Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, bathing the room in a gentle light.
The center floor was sunken, furnished with numerous leather couches, chairs, and low tables. Guests relaxed as they pleased, and women in dresses carried glasses of wine from table to table.
The thin haze of tobacco smoke drifted in the air.
On a table seating five or six, glasses and playing cards were scattered about.
The pastimes of this tavern were wine, tobacco, and card games.
The games were played for money—not with the rowdy atmosphere of a back-alley gambling den, but still, now and then, a table would erupt in shouts of excitement.
Shown to a seat by the window, Annamaria placed the ball of fluff on the table and followed the golden thread with her eyes.
“That’s Bruno Stecchi.”
At the center of the sunken floor, six men were playing cards.
Three looked like shopkeepers, one like a dandy, one a nobleman’s son, and one—a young officer in the Magic Army’s uniform.
The golden thread led straight to the young officer.
With a slender face and black hair, he looked somewhat cunning, though his features weren’t unattractive.
He wore a lazy grin now, but if he composed himself, he might pass for an earnest young officer—one capable enough to serve at Jeremiah’s side.
He likely wore the Magic Army uniform to give himself a more imposing presence, but for someone who had deserted after stealing his superior’s secret, it was shameless.
“Shall we go?” Rosaria tightened her expression and was about to rise, but Annamaria caught her hand to stop her.
“Wait. If he’s acquired Jeremiah’s magic power, he should be on par with me. If we confront him directly together, we can capture him. But the tavern will be destroyed.”
As Galileo, front paws on the table, peeked at the menu, his ears twitched.
“That manager would probably be in tears.”
“Then what should we do?”
“I’ll see if I can steal Smeraldo, which holds the magic power.”
“Isn’t it dangerous—for you?”
“Not in the least.”
She exchanged a glance with Galileo, then stood up.
“Looks like you’re having fun. May I watch up close?”
She approached the table where the cards were being dealt, smiling as she spoke.
The six men glanced at each other, unable to immediately identify this beautiful black-haired girl who had appeared so suddenly—her attire was simply too plain.
But one of the merchant-looking men gasped and half-rose from his seat.
“Isn’t that the Wild Countess!?”
“Please, as you are.”
She stopped him with a gentle gesture.
“As you can see, I’ve come incognito. I just wanted to experience a little diversion. May I join you?”
She tilted her head and glanced at the seat beside Bruno.
He smiled and nodded, “It’s an honor, Lady Annamaria.”
He seemed to know all the minor nobles who governed this region.
Sitting next to him, she cast him a mischievous look.
“Please, don’t use that name here. I’m just an ordinary girl today.”
“Oh my, is that so? Forgive me, miss.”
With affected charm, Bruno winked at her, and Annamaria observed him up close.
‘There’s an unusual presence at his chest.’
No matter how skilled a mage, you can’t judge another’s magic power or expertise at a glance.
Underestimating an opponent and challenging them to a duel could lead to disaster.
But with inanimate objects, you could sense the strength of their magic power.
And magic tools are precisely such objects.
A jewel imbued with a powerful soul becomes a kind of magic tool.
Is what Bruno wears at his chest Smeraldo?