Hate me, Miss Witch!

"A marriage contract?" Shiayar repeated the term, glancing at the elegant and dignified head steward before him. "I thought you came here specifically to settle scores with me for dismantling the Club Thorns of Sin..."

"How could that be? Master Shiayar, you worry too much." Riel's humble smile didn't falter. "Such dens of iniquity, indulging in debauchery and extravagance, are intolerable to society—they should have been eradicated long ago. Actually, there have always been those within the family dissatisfied with the chaotic law and order in the Dewell Port Area. However, we do not possess law enforcement authority. Your collaboration with the Military Department in eliminating it has indeed brought us considerable peace of mind."

"By the way, Master Shiayar, please wait for a moment." After another flawless bow to Shiayar, Riel turned and returned to the carriage. Then, he emerged holding a wooden box in both hands.

"Please accept this, Master Shiayar."

Shiayar glanced at Riel. Despite being a Titled Rank Beastmaster, the man referred to himself as an "old servant." He took the wooden box and opened it.

Inside the box was a letter with a red backing. In the bottom left corner was a scarlet rose, indicating it was from the "Crimson Rose" Borgia family. And in the top right corner, there were three cherry-red roses. In the noble circles of the Fresta Empire, such marks on a letter signified a marriage contract. Generally, after the heads of two noble families had negotiated, weighed their options, and reached a consensus on their mutual interests, they would issue such a marriage contract to the betrothed parties.

The envelope bore a line of gilded script—"For Shiayar Ingritt."

Shiayar furrowed his brows, looking up at Riel. "I do not bear the surname Ingritt. And I don't recall ever having a marriage contract with any young lady from your family..."

...

"That was arranged by your elders, Master Shiayar, when my family's young lady had just been born. At that time, you were only a few months old; naturally, you wouldn't remember." Riel regarded Shiayar with a kindly expression, like a benevolent elder. "When the Borgia and Ingritt families established the marriage contract, I also accompanied the Family Head to Ceylon. Moreover, I also held you, Master Shiayar, when you were still in swaddling clothes. It's just that you were too young to form memories then; you may have long since forgotten."

A profound sense of regret and sorrow flickered in Riel's aged eyes. "Our Family Head and your father, Master Shiayar, agreed that you would both be informed of the marriage contract's contents when you and our young lady turned seventeen. It's just that—" His voice grew heavy. "No one could have imagined such a devastating tragedy would befall Ceylon. They had even agreed to toast as in-laws with fine wine at your and the young lady's wedding, Master Shiayar. Now, that prospect has become an eternal farewell..." As he spoke, Riel drew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the corners of his eyes.

"At the time, everyone believed no one survived the tragedy in Ceylon... Yet, against all odds, you miraculously survived, Master Shiayar." His expression turned more solemn. "I know you were very young at the time of that great upheaval, Master Shiayar. Perhaps the shock of the catastrophe impacted your mind, causing you to lose some memories. And over the years, you've relied on yourself to survive, even changing your surname to avoid attracting misfortune. I also know that, having lost your family's protection, you've reached your current standing entirely through your own efforts. In such circumstances, you must be exceptionally wary of the outside world, and you may not readily trust my words. But," Riel's words became serious and sincere, "even though the 'Winter Flower' has shattered, the Borgia family is by no means one to forsake gratitude or abandon vows for profit. Our family's power, though perhaps modest, comes with its own dignity. We do not need to rely on alliances through marriage to maintain our strength. Although more than a decade has passed, the Borgia family will continue to honor the original marriage contract."

As he spoke, he bowed deeply to Shiayar.

"In seven days, Miss Histanlia will return to the Empire Capital from the Sacred Court of the Theocratic Kingdom. At that time, the Borgia family will host a grand banquet for our young lady and you, Master Shiayar. Invitations to the banquet have already been dispatched to all prominent nobles in the Royal Capital. It will be announced in all newspapers, and many members of the Royal Family will also be invited— We hope you will attend, Master Shiayar, to discuss the specific date for your wedding with our young lady."

"Also..." Riel's voice lowered slightly. He approached Shiayar and spoke softly, his voice a mere whisper, "Over the years, as members of an oath-sworn family, the Borgia family has never ceased to pursue the culprits behind the destruction of Ceylon. Furthermore, I can tell you that we have picked up their trail. I know you must wish to personally slay the main perpetrator, Master Shiayar. Therefore, on the day of the banquet, we will surely have a surprise for you."

"With that, please allow this old servant to take his leave." Having said all this, Riel donned his formal hat once more and made an attendant's bow to Shiayar.

Shiayar looked deeply at Riel's amiable, smiling face. Very, very deeply.

It could only be said that this was befitting the head steward of the Borgia family, who managed most of its affairs. His ability to tell blatant lies was such that even Norton would feel inadequate by comparison. He could genuinely portray black as white and not feel the slightest bit awkward. If I had truly suffered protective amnesia from severe psychological trauma in Ceylon, I might have actually believed the man's outrageous claims.

However—Riel's final words, the so-called surprise prepared for him, did genuinely pique his interest.

Shiayar watched as Riel boarded the carriage he had arrived in, and it soon vanished at the end of the street.

「At the intersection of the Fresta Empire and the Golden Plains.」

Deep Blue Territory, on the outskirts of the border city Resa, in the Gray White Hills. After extensive excavation by the Black Vulture Palace Guard, dispatched by Imperial authorities, the complete ruins of the Ancient Dukedom Azure Garden were unearthed and cleared.

Yet now, only a single figure stood atop the sprawling ruins of the Azure Garden Royal Capital. She was a witch with pure silver hair. The encroaching dusk swirled around her, enshrouding the entirety of the ruined capital in twilight. Silvia stood on the land that had birthed and raised her. She had exchanged her somewhat worn, dark gauze dress for a fashionable lady's gown, a new style from the Empire Capital's Black Lily District.

Her fair, beautiful face showed no ripple of emotion. The enormous, ancient tome remained suspended in the twilight, frozen in midair, pages open.

Lines of faint golden script materialized on the heavy pages of the book.

Back here again...

After achieving Legendary status, I returned to the Azure Garden Royal Capital countless times to investigate. However, the Godly Descent of numerous Fabled Creatures that night obliterated all clues pertaining to it.

Now, more than five hundred years later, it's natural that no useful information remains here.

However, I did sense a turbulence in time. Not long ago, an Echo of History must truly have appeared here.

Brother Shiayar, did you come to my time through an Echo of History?

Indeed, to find the truth behind everything, I still need to go to the Empire Capital... although I'm actually somewhat afraid to see Brother Shiayar...

Or perhaps, I'm actually afraid that his answer won't be what I hope for...

The faint golden script gradually came to a halt.

A white jade bowl materialized in Silvia's hand, filled with golden-brown grilled fish. This type of food, due to its overly simple and crude preparation, didn't meet the aesthetic standards of nobles or grand restaurants. Fioran had gone to great lengths to find it at a small street-side stall.

She picked up a piece of the grilled fish, elegantly bringing it to her lips with wooden chopsticks. This was a skill Shiayar had taught her when he had nothing better to do, a skill Silvia hadn't forgotten even after five hundred years.

As the food touched her tongue, Silvia closed her eyes, seeming to freeze in place, lost in thought for a long moment before her senses returned. Her lips occasionally curled into a smile, occasionally quivered, but joy outweighed the sorrow.

Faint golden writing appeared again on the book.

The control of the heat, the seasoning, the ingredients, the marination, and the cooking method... all are countless times superior to that skewer of grilled fish from back then.

Yet, ultimately, it still falls short of the flavor from beside the campfire on that winter night.

After an unknown period, Silvia's beautiful eyes opened, a stream of gray-silver light flowing from them, as clear and radiant as the bright moon. The mingled joy and sorrow in her eyes vanished. In an instant, she reverted to being the peerless Gray-Silver Witch.

Light footsteps approached. Fioran, wearing a metal mask, dismounted from her Black Scales Drake and walked to Silvia's side. Fioran held a brand-new newspaper, issued by the Royal Press.

She handed the newspaper over. "Your Eminence Silvia, as per your instructions, I came to inform you immediately upon receiving news of Shiayar Egutt." Fioran looked at the silver-haired witch, seemingly frozen in the twilight, then cautiously began, "I believe you might find something in here... interesting..."

Silvia accepted the newspaper from Fioran with a somewhat puzzled expression, her cool gaze sweeping over it. With her Legendary-level spiritual power, a single glance was sufficient to absorb every word on the newspaper.

The next moment—

RIIIIP!

The newspaper was violently torn apart by the Gray-Silver Witch's fair hands.

And upon the tome, the once neat and elegant faint golden script instantly became disordered.

Brother Shiayar... is getting married?

—Excerpt from page 705 of the "Diary of the Gray-Silver Witch," Holy Calendar Year 903, Month of Sprouting, 3rd day.