But Isabella wasn't a pushover. She denounced Agosto, accusing him of being a complete fraud.
“You haven’t even seen what the scar on my cheek looks like.”
Agosto smiled broadly.
“Do you know my true identity?”
“They sell medicines well to the King. Apothecary, skin care specialist, alchemist.”
Isabella answered shamelessly.
“Did you hear that?”
“You should be the pharmacist.”
She snorted. Agosto remained unfazed by Isabella's cold reaction. He finally spoke.
“I am a sorcerer.”
“A sorcerer...?”
Isabella felt a pang of anxiety as she entered unfamiliar territory. And with it, a hint of fear. Her mother, by dabbling in black magic, had destroyed both her position in the family and her father's future. She asked in a tone that suggested she was being discriminated against.
“Are you some kind of fortune-telling witch?”
Agosto laughed lightly.
“I can bring into this world what is not of this world.”
He reached out and touched Isabella's cheek under the cotton. Isabella slapped his hand away in shock.
“What are you doing!”
She took a step back and cursed.
“If anyone sees, we’ll both die!”
It was true. If Leo III learned of their physical union, he would never spare either Agosto or Isabella.
He reached out again, unconcerned, and stroked her scar. It was raised high above her.
Every time Isabella spoke, her muscles moved. The lump of calloused flesh inside her moved with her. It was a vivid sensation.
“There’s no way to make this better.”
"What?"
She was just about to lose her temper. Agosto was her last hope.
“But it can be made invisible to human eyes.”
Isabella immediately became quiet. She sensed something unusual. Unbeknownst to her, the spell Agosto was referring to was the same one the Balasa Ordo's priestess grandmother had used on Ariadne's arm.
“In anyone’s eyes?”
“In the eyes of no one but yourself.”
To be precise, that is, excluding those who can see through themselves and their secret arts, and those who have stepped into the mystery and escaped the world's causality, like those who have ascended the judgment seat.
But what Agosto is saying to Isabella now is a little different from what Ariadne's Moorish grandmother had promised.
"Forever?"
“As long as I live, forever.”
Ariadne's lasted only a month. Besides, it wasn't like there was a 100% chance she wouldn't be seen by others.
The Salman priestess of Balasa Ordo had clearly explained to Ariadne that 'in most cases it is invisible to others, but when the power of the spell is weakened, the illusion may be removed.'
This wasn't Agosto deceiving Isabella. The difference between them stemmed from the differences between Amhara's secret arts and Balasa Ordo's, and Agosto's personal choices differed from those of Salman the Priestess.
“In return, a price is required.”
Isabella asked immediately.
"Money?"
“No. It’s a magic ingredient.”
Isabella scoffed. She was worried it would cost a fortune, but if it was just the materials, there was nothing she couldn't get.
“Just ask me anything. I’ll get it for you.”
They say the face of the most beautiful woman in the world will be completely healed. What could Leo III possibly not provide? He may not know, but he's already created a pond of mercury in the Orte Forest. Anything will come out of it.
However, after hearing what the material was, Isabella could not be certain that Leo III would bring it to her.
“A living newborn baby less than a month old.”
Her violet eyes searched Agosto's expression. Could it be... a baby...?
Even Isabella's pupils shook.
The Marquis Guatieri paced anxiously through the secret chamber of his first villa. It was a small study, directly connected to an outside door, the servants barely even noticing its presence. Those who should have arrived long ago were still unannounced.
'You're not being caught, are you?'
The Marquis of Guatieri, with his uneasy imagination, squirmed. It couldn't be true. As far as he knew, the opposing side was first-class compared to most national powers or mercenary groups. This was especially true when it came to stealth. At the very least, they were clearly superior to the Etruscan Kingdom's guards, who would likely be guarding the area.
Just then, the invited guests arrived.
“Governor.”
It was a title he chose because he couldn't call Guatieri by his name or title outright. Guatieri grumbled inwardly, saying that if he was going to give him a name anyway, he should have called him "Governor" instead of "Sir."
“Why are you so late? Come in.”
The men who set foot in the first villa of the Marquis of Guatieri were dressed in Etruscan nobleman's attire.
“What do you say in your home country?”
The Marquis asked out of the blue. The one with the better impression of the two briefed them on the situation.
“The sea is still blocked.”
He was a native Etruscan speaker, but his speech was different from that of San Carlo or from any other region of the Etruscan kingdom.
Moreover, their clothing, upon closer inspection, was suspicious. It resembled the attire of the Etruscan nobility, yet differed subtly from the fashions of San Carlo. Nor was it the shabby attire of a country gentry.
The quality of the fabric, the generous use of fabric, and the elaborate stitching all suggested that the clothing was of a very high quality.
The belts, gloves, and hats that men in San Carlo often wore for show were practical and tailored to their specific needs. While a necklace or two might have been worn, their attire was devoid of any ornamentation.
“They say it’s doubly difficult these days because the Moorish Empire ships are also active.”
One of the two men, the other, the skinny and stubborn one, spoke up.
“You must do a good job at the job you are assigned to.”
He seemed strict at first glance. His words were equally so. Guatieri changed the subject.
“Is that what I’m doing? That’s what the gentlemen who didn’t come today are doing.”
He wasn't interested in the details of the job. He was simply concerned about avoiding responsibility and his own primary interests.
"Not that. I'm talking about the matter I asked you to confirm with your leadership."
“Oh, that’s it.”
A man with a round face smiled bashfully.
“They always say it’s difficult back home.”
It wasn't the answer he was expecting. Guatieri couldn't hold back any longer and burst into rage.
"Are you suggesting we do this together or not? Do you even realize how much risk I'm taking on?"
The stubborn one answered without emotion.
"It's okay if we don't get caught. We're first-class. Trust us."
“Not everything in the world goes so smoothly!”
“We do what we set our minds to.”
The Marquis was furious. He wasn't someone he could communicate with. It seemed like nothing would change even if they exchanged words.
“Anyway, I should at least be guaranteed the title I requested back then!”
Roundy said as if he were in trouble.
"We are all equal. Except for one person, none of us possesses the title you desire."
The Marquis de Guatieri snorted.
“Where in the world is there equality!”
If they were truly equal, the two emissaries who had just visited his mansion could not have been wearing such clothes.
There isn't a single country in the entire Central Continent with the production capacity to clothe its entire population in silk. Inequality exists because some people wear rough cotton garments while others, like those guys, appear draped in silk and fur.
“I don’t know how you guys will handle it, but I have to accept it.”
Roundy said politely.
“We will request maximum cooperation from our home country.”
“And I need more money.”
The dry-faced envoy's expression was visibly crumpled. But Guatieri remained confident.
"You said we need to work harder? Honestly, isn't this deadlock caused by your side failing to properly fulfill their duties?"
The slimy one tried to argue with him. Roundy stopped his colleague.
"It would cost a lot of money to create the picture you want with only my own efforts. Especially in a situation where I can't step forward."
In front of Rubina and Cesare, the small eyes of the Marquis Guatieri, who had been so chubby and cute, were shining with greed.
“Besides, I’m trying to tie you up with the King.”
'King?'
The chubby messenger was suspicious. Of course, he had a perfectly good-natured smile on his face.
"That, too, requires a considerable amount of money. There's a lot of talk about what else we need to do, but wouldn't a single word from His Majesty the King solve everything?"
The good-looking messenger, in contrast to his successful facial expression management, was very skeptical.
The Etruscan King had lost much of the King's favor. Even if he bribed the King's close associates to persuade him, it was no longer a matter of his own free will.
Given Leo III's current political position, it seems unlikely that he could be as dogmatic and forward-thinking on this matter as those gathered here would like.
Leo III was a King brimming with legitimacy. However, he had committed numerous tax-related missteps and was not supported by the feudal lords.
That was also the reason why they were now able to contact the Marquis of Guatieri, the head of the Etruscan lords.
“Look at this, Mr. Secret Envoy.”
The Marquis Guatieri lowered his voice. His voice was a mixture of urgency and anger.
“It’s not easy even for me to create the picture you want.”
“You haven’t even seen what the scar on my cheek looks like.”
Agosto smiled broadly.
“Do you know my true identity?”
Isabella shook her head. In the past, she wouldn't have had even an ounce of interest, but now she felt a slight curiosity.
Isabella answered shamelessly.
“Did you hear that?”
“You should be the pharmacist.”
She snorted. Agosto remained unfazed by Isabella's cold reaction. He finally spoke.
“I am a sorcerer.”
“A sorcerer...?”
Isabella felt a pang of anxiety as she entered unfamiliar territory. And with it, a hint of fear. Her mother, by dabbling in black magic, had destroyed both her position in the family and her father's future. She asked in a tone that suggested she was being discriminated against.
“Are you some kind of fortune-telling witch?”
Agosto laughed lightly.
“I can bring into this world what is not of this world.”
He reached out and touched Isabella's cheek under the cotton. Isabella slapped his hand away in shock.
“What are you doing!”
She took a step back and cursed.
“If anyone sees, we’ll both die!”
It was true. If Leo III learned of their physical union, he would never spare either Agosto or Isabella.
He reached out again, unconcerned, and stroked her scar. It was raised high above her.
Every time Isabella spoke, her muscles moved. The lump of calloused flesh inside her moved with her. It was a vivid sensation.
“There’s no way to make this better.”
"What?"
She was just about to lose her temper. Agosto was her last hope.
“But it can be made invisible to human eyes.”
Isabella immediately became quiet. She sensed something unusual. Unbeknownst to her, the spell Agosto was referring to was the same one the Balasa Ordo's priestess grandmother had used on Ariadne's arm.
“In anyone’s eyes?”
“In the eyes of no one but yourself.”
To be precise, that is, excluding those who can see through themselves and their secret arts, and those who have stepped into the mystery and escaped the world's causality, like those who have ascended the judgment seat.
But what Agosto is saying to Isabella now is a little different from what Ariadne's Moorish grandmother had promised.
"Forever?"
“As long as I live, forever.”
Ariadne's lasted only a month. Besides, it wasn't like there was a 100% chance she wouldn't be seen by others.
The Salman priestess of Balasa Ordo had clearly explained to Ariadne that 'in most cases it is invisible to others, but when the power of the spell is weakened, the illusion may be removed.'
This wasn't Agosto deceiving Isabella. The difference between them stemmed from the differences between Amhara's secret arts and Balasa Ordo's, and Agosto's personal choices differed from those of Salman the Priestess.
“In return, a price is required.”
Isabella asked immediately.
"Money?"
“No. It’s a magic ingredient.”
Isabella scoffed. She was worried it would cost a fortune, but if it was just the materials, there was nothing she couldn't get.
“Just ask me anything. I’ll get it for you.”
They say the face of the most beautiful woman in the world will be completely healed. What could Leo III possibly not provide? He may not know, but he's already created a pond of mercury in the Orte Forest. Anything will come out of it.
However, after hearing what the material was, Isabella could not be certain that Leo III would bring it to her.
“A living newborn baby less than a month old.”
Her violet eyes searched Agosto's expression. Could it be... a baby...?
With the first seven ounces of blood flowing from the baby's heart pierced while still alive, I shall make your scar invisible to human eyes forever.
***
The Marquis Guatieri paced anxiously through the secret chamber of his first villa. It was a small study, directly connected to an outside door, the servants barely even noticing its presence. Those who should have arrived long ago were still unannounced.
'You're not being caught, are you?'
The Marquis of Guatieri, with his uneasy imagination, squirmed. It couldn't be true. As far as he knew, the opposing side was first-class compared to most national powers or mercenary groups. This was especially true when it came to stealth. At the very least, they were clearly superior to the Etruscan Kingdom's guards, who would likely be guarding the area.
Just then, the invited guests arrived.
“Governor.”
It was a title he chose because he couldn't call Guatieri by his name or title outright. Guatieri grumbled inwardly, saying that if he was going to give him a name anyway, he should have called him "Governor" instead of "Sir."
“Why are you so late? Come in.”
The men who set foot in the first villa of the Marquis of Guatieri were dressed in Etruscan nobleman's attire.
“What do you say in your home country?”
The Marquis asked out of the blue. The one with the better impression of the two briefed them on the situation.
“The sea is still blocked.”
He was a native Etruscan speaker, but his speech was different from that of San Carlo or from any other region of the Etruscan kingdom.
Moreover, their clothing, upon closer inspection, was suspicious. It resembled the attire of the Etruscan nobility, yet differed subtly from the fashions of San Carlo. Nor was it the shabby attire of a country gentry.
The quality of the fabric, the generous use of fabric, and the elaborate stitching all suggested that the clothing was of a very high quality.
The belts, gloves, and hats that men in San Carlo often wore for show were practical and tailored to their specific needs. While a necklace or two might have been worn, their attire was devoid of any ornamentation.
“They say it’s doubly difficult these days because the Moorish Empire ships are also active.”
One of the two men, the other, the skinny and stubborn one, spoke up.
“You must do a good job at the job you are assigned to.”
He seemed strict at first glance. His words were equally so. Guatieri changed the subject.
“Is that what I’m doing? That’s what the gentlemen who didn’t come today are doing.”
He wasn't interested in the details of the job. He was simply concerned about avoiding responsibility and his own primary interests.
"Not that. I'm talking about the matter I asked you to confirm with your leadership."
“Oh, that’s it.”
A man with a round face smiled bashfully.
“They always say it’s difficult back home.”
It wasn't the answer he was expecting. Guatieri couldn't hold back any longer and burst into rage.
"Are you suggesting we do this together or not? Do you even realize how much risk I'm taking on?"
The stubborn one answered without emotion.
"It's okay if we don't get caught. We're first-class. Trust us."
“Not everything in the world goes so smoothly!”
“We do what we set our minds to.”
The Marquis was furious. He wasn't someone he could communicate with. It seemed like nothing would change even if they exchanged words.
“Anyway, I should at least be guaranteed the title I requested back then!”
Roundy said as if he were in trouble.
"We are all equal. Except for one person, none of us possesses the title you desire."
The Marquis de Guatieri snorted.
“Where in the world is there equality!”
If they were truly equal, the two emissaries who had just visited his mansion could not have been wearing such clothes.
There isn't a single country in the entire Central Continent with the production capacity to clothe its entire population in silk. Inequality exists because some people wear rough cotton garments while others, like those guys, appear draped in silk and fur.
“I don’t know how you guys will handle it, but I have to accept it.”
Roundy said politely.
“We will request maximum cooperation from our home country.”
“And I need more money.”
The dry-faced envoy's expression was visibly crumpled. But Guatieri remained confident.
"You said we need to work harder? Honestly, isn't this deadlock caused by your side failing to properly fulfill their duties?"
The slimy one tried to argue with him. Roundy stopped his colleague.
"It would cost a lot of money to create the picture you want with only my own efforts. Especially in a situation where I can't step forward."
In front of Rubina and Cesare, the small eyes of the Marquis Guatieri, who had been so chubby and cute, were shining with greed.
“Besides, I’m trying to tie you up with the King.”
'King?'
The chubby messenger was suspicious. Of course, he had a perfectly good-natured smile on his face.
"That, too, requires a considerable amount of money. There's a lot of talk about what else we need to do, but wouldn't a single word from His Majesty the King solve everything?"
The good-looking messenger, in contrast to his successful facial expression management, was very skeptical.
The Etruscan King had lost much of the King's favor. Even if he bribed the King's close associates to persuade him, it was no longer a matter of his own free will.
Given Leo III's current political position, it seems unlikely that he could be as dogmatic and forward-thinking on this matter as those gathered here would like.
Leo III was a King brimming with legitimacy. However, he had committed numerous tax-related missteps and was not supported by the feudal lords.
That was also the reason why they were now able to contact the Marquis of Guatieri, the head of the Etruscan lords.
“Look at this, Mr. Secret Envoy.”
The Marquis Guatieri lowered his voice. His voice was a mixture of urgency and anger.
“It’s not easy even for me to create the picture you want.”
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