An Unthinkable Situation

Translator: CinderTL

As the morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows into the study, Alvey was brought in. This Gabellan scholar looked much more haggard than Paul remembered, with dark circles under his eyes showing he hadn't rested well these past days.

"Grayman!"

When he saw Paul behind the desk, Alvey's voice trembled slightly. He quickened his steps forward but suddenly stopped.

Paul stood up and walked around the desk: "You've suffered."

He noticed the dark circles under Alvey's eyes and felt a pang of guilt.

Despite the testimony of the guards present at the time, Alvey had still been placed under house arrest. Investigators from the intelligence department had repeatedly questioned this elderly scholar, trying to extract any clues about the lord's disappearance from his lips.

But what could he possibly know?

Alvey shook his head and let out a bitter laugh: "Your subordinates were just doing their duty. After all, that day..." His voice trailed off, clearly recalling the nightmare brought by that silver-haired female assassin.

Paul gestured for him to sit down and personally poured a cup of tea, pushing it towards him. The tea swayed gently in the cup, reflecting Alvey's tired yet relieved face.

Alvey pushed up his slipping glasses, the lenses reflecting the morning light from outside.

"Sir!" His voice carried the unique inquisitiveness of a scholar, "Could you tell me what exactly happened that day? How did you and the ladies suddenly disappear?"

Paul picked up his teacup, the rising steam blurring his features.

"It was a protective magic," he said softly, "or rather, a passive Arcane Art. In times of crisis, it transports the subject to a special Mental Space."

"Mental Space?" Alvey's fingers unconsciously rubbed the teacup. Although he had been exposed to magic back in Gabella, hearing about such an experience firsthand still made his pupils contract.

"This... this seems to be a realm that even the masters of the Arcane Order have never touched. Could it be that you're also..."

"Oh no, no, I don't have a single bit of magic in me." Seeing the misunderstanding, Paul quickly waved his hands in denial. "As for whose magic this is, it's not convenient to reveal that yet. I'm truly sorry."

"Haha, it's wise to be cautious." Alvey nodded in understanding.

"The flow of time there is different from reality," Paul put down his teacup. "We spent ten years there, maybe even longer, while only seven days passed in the outside world."

"Ten years?!" The teacup in Alvey's hand fell to the floor, fortunately not breaking.

His face was filled with astonishment. "This is simply unbelievable..." His voice grew softer, eventually turning into a murmur.

When Alvey picked up the teacup and straightened up again, his eyes were shining with fervor.

"Sir, could you describe that space in detail? Is it the same as our world?" The scholar's thirst for knowledge drove Alvey to ask.

"Well... ahem, we'll talk about that another time." Paul mercilessly rejected his question.

"Another matter, I've ordered all your restrictions to be lifted. From today, you'll be a specially appointed professor at the Social Sciences College of Weiss Academy - of course, if you're willing."

Alvey was momentarily stunned, then nodded resolutely, "I'm willing, sir."

He recalled his conversation with Paul before the assassination attempt—deconstructing the cultural heritage of the Orcs and eliminating the cohesion of Orc society.

At this thought, Alvey's fingers tightened around the teacup, oblivious to the few drops of hot tea that splashed onto the back of his hand. Although his freedom had been restricted during this period, he was allowed to read newspapers from the outside world. Alvey knew that the Orc Chieftain, Abal, was preparing for a second invasion of Orr, and he was aware that the entire Northwest Bay was preparing for war.

It was Antonio Griffin's compromise that had fueled the Orcs' ambitions. As a Gabellan, Alvey felt it was his duty to rectify some of the mistakes made by the emperor.

"This is great!"

Paul laughed but quickly composed himself, adopting a troubled expression. "Also, I hope you'll meet someone, and I hope you won't be angry."

"Why would I be angry?" Alvey was utterly baffled.

Paul cleared his throat and turned to look at the screen in the corner of the study. "Come out, Hilda."

There was a faint rustling of fabric from behind the screen, and when the silver-haired figure slowly emerged, Alvey sprang up from his chair as if electrocuted. His teacup fell to the ground once more.

"It's... it's you!" The old scholar's voice rose sharply, his finger trembling uncontrollably as he pointed at her. His face turned deathly pale, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead—this was the very assassin who had pursued him relentlessly from Gabella, forcing him to detour through the grasslands and trapping him in the Orc Clan for a year—Coleridge.

Coleridge had gone by many names, but Hilda was the one given to her by her parents, the name she considered her true identity.

This name had been buried deep within the witch's heart, unknown even to her companions in the Arcane Order and His Majesty Antonio, whom she had once served—she had planned to reveal it to him at some point in the future, but now everything had changed.

After a long period of interaction in the alternate dimension and the establishment of a solid trust, the witch, with her heart laid bare, revealed her true name to Paul and the others.

Standing at the intersection of light and shadow by the window, Hilda's frosty expression betrayed no emotion; she was as aloof as ever.

But only those who knew her extremely well would notice that the witch's hand, hanging at her side, was unconsciously rubbing the silver embroidery on her sleeve—a small habit she had when trying to conceal her nervousness.

Paul was one of those who knew her extremely well, perhaps better than anyone else in the world at this point. He immediately sensed the awkwardness and unease in her heart.

But there was no helping it—the witch had nearly taken the old scholar's life.

"Apologize!" Paul demanded sternly.

Hilda pursed her lips.

"Mr. Alvey," she began stiffly, her voice like the clashing of icicles, "regarding my previous offenses..."

Her words caught in her throat, and her silver eyelashes lowered slightly, casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.

Hilda glanced sideways, feeling Paul's hopeful and encouraging gaze.

"In any case, I have committed various dangerous acts against you in the past, and I hope for your forgiveness!"

As if throwing caution to the wind, she blurted it out in one breath and gave a slight bow to Alvey, her snow-white face flushing with a hint of red.

The study immediately fell into an eerie silence.

Alvey's rapid breathing was clearly audible, his gaze shifting back and forth between Paul and Hilda, as if trying to confirm that this wasn't another nightmare.

"Father in heaven, can someone tell me what's going on?"

(End of the Chapter)

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