Discoveries (ii)

Location: Valenhart Estate Courtyard

The afternoon sun dipped low, casting a warm golden hue over the Valenhart Estate's courtyard. The crisp northern air carried a faint hint of frost, though the neatly tended garden beds, their soil rich and dark, promised resilience even in the face of winter's approach. Magda stood near the center of the courtyard, her crimson eyes scanning the horizon with quiet thoughtfulness. The long braid of her jet-black hair swayed gently as a cool breeze swept through the space.

Dame Vivian Whitestone and Calista Merren stood nearby, their contrasting figures a striking reminder of their differences. Vivian, tall and broad-shouldered, exuded the strength and poise of a seasoned aura user. Her emerald green eyes held a sharpness that rarely softened, and her auburn hair, tied back into a practical ponytail, caught the light as she shifted her weight. Beside her stood Calista, the mage, with her auburn hair streaked with silver glinting under the sunlight. Her petite frame and calm demeanor were deceiving, masking a sharp wit and formidable intelligence.

Magda turned to her retainers, her voice breaking the comfortable silence. "Flora and Fredrick's wedding will be held tomorrow," she announced, her tone warm but deliberate. "It seems everything is ready."

Calista inclined her head thoughtfully, her emerald-green eyes glimmering with interest. "That's good news. A wedding in the North promises its own charm. The Valenharts are known for their lavish celebrations."

Vivian, however, hesitated. Her expression faltered for a brief moment before she straightened, her emerald green eyes flashing with a mix of emotions.

Magda's crimson gaze lingered on her. "Is something the matter, Dame Vivian?"

Vivian stiffened slightly, her voice steady but clipped. "Nothing, Your Highness." She turned her gaze to the horizon, her jaw tightening. "Just thinking."

Calista, ever perceptive, allowed a faint smirk to cross her lips. "It's in the nature of warriors to harbor stray thoughts," she quipped, her tone carrying a hint of superiority.

Vivian shot her a sharp look, her hazel eyes narrowing. "And it's in the nature of mages to spout useless commentary," she retorted, her voice low and edged with mock irritation.

Magda's lips twitched in amusement as she watched the two women exchange their usual banter. Vivian folded her arms across her chest, her tall frame radiating a mix of annoyance and reluctant tolerance, while Calista tilted her head, her expression entirely unbothered.

"I wasn't spouting commentary," Calista said smoothly, her voice carrying an air of measured superiority. "I was merely observing. You're the one turning observations into conflict."

Vivian rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "You'd think a mage could learn to mind her own business."

"Only if it were boring," Calista replied lightly, her smirk widening.

Magda shook her head slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Enough, you two. The courtyard is peaceful—let's not ruin it with squabbling."

The women quieted, though Calista's smirk remained. Magda's gaze, however, lingered on Vivian. There was something in her stiff posture and the flicker of conflict in her emerald green eyes that spoke of deeper thoughts.

As the silence stretched, Vivian's mind drifted despite herself. The mention of Flora's wedding had triggered memories she had tried to bury. Her relationship with Ethan von Shelb, the eldest son of the Shelb family, had always been complex. She had known him since childhood, their bond forged through years of rivalry and camaraderie.

Hearing of Flora's impending marriage brought an unexpected pang of regret. Ethan had once pursued Flora with an intensity that left Vivian both frustrated and confused. She had told herself it didn't matter—had even convinced herself to cheer for Ethan when he seemed genuinely happy. But the truth was, the idea of him now standing alone while Flora moved on stirred something uncomfortable in her chest.

Magda's voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you sure everything is fine, Vivian?"

Vivian blinked, her gaze snapping back to Magda. For a moment, she considered confiding in her, but the idea felt too vulnerable. Instead, she forced a small smile, masking her inner turmoil. "Yes, Your Highness. I'm just… reflecting on how much has changed."

Magda studied her for a moment longer before nodding, her expression thoughtful but kind. "Change is inevitable, but it's not always unwelcome."

Vivian inclined her head, grateful for Magda's understanding but unwilling to say more. As the conversation shifted back to the wedding preparations, she forced herself to focus on the present, pushing thoughts of Ethan and the past to the back of her mind.

For now, her duty was to Magda and the tasks ahead. Anything else could wait.

Location: Merchant Guild Hall, Shelb Estate

The Merchant Guild Hall hummed with energy, the lofty arches amplifying the murmurs of traders and aristocrats as they exchanged thoughts on the presentation they had just witnessed. Polished chandeliers cast warm light across the hall's marble floors, their glow reflecting on the sleek, metallic prototype of a horseless carriage displayed at the center of the room.

At the podium, Micheal von Shelb stood with a quiet air of command. His sharp blue eyes swept over the gathered investors, his platinum blonde hair tied neatly in a half-ponytail that gleamed under the chandeliers. Dressed in a perfectly tailored coat, he exuded poise, authority, and just enough charm to keep the crowd engaged.

"As I've outlined," Micheal concluded, his voice cutting clearly through the lingering murmurs, "this isn't merely a carriage—it's the future of travel and trade. From noble families seeking luxury to merchants transporting goods across vast regions, this innovation will redefine efficiency, reliability, and safety."

As the applause began to ripple through the room, Micheal stepped back slightly, observing the reaction. Among the audience, discussions began in earnest, some leaning in to whisper animatedly while others gestured broadly to emphasize their points.

One portly investor tapped his cane against the marble floor, his brow furrowed. "I'll admit, the presentation was compelling," he muttered to a younger trader beside him. "But do we know if the infrastructure exists to support these carriages?"

The trader, eager and sharp-eyed, shrugged. "Infrastructure can be built. The real question is how quickly this product can scale. If Lord Shelb's claims hold true, this could be revolutionary."

From the back of the room, a sleekly dressed woman in emerald green spoke up, her voice carrying over the hum of conversations. "Revolutionary, perhaps. But only if he prioritizes the military contracts. The Empire's support is what will make or break this project."

Another investor near the front scoffed lightly, adjusting his polished cufflinks. "The Empire will come to him once they see the potential. Micheal von Shelb isn't chasing markets—he's creating them."

The room buzzed with varying opinions, but Micheal's faint smile didn't falter. He allowed the debate to unfold, knowing that each word spoken only entrenched his audience further in the vision he had crafted.

"I'll put in ten percent," a seasoned trader declared, tapping his ledger decisively. "On the condition that we see working prototypes in northern conditions by next quarter."

"Ten percent?" another voice scoffed. "I'll double that if he ensures exclusive access to the first batch for our merchant guild."

A younger investor, his eyes sharp with ambition, leaned forward. "Twenty percent is reckless. I'll wager five for now, but I expect returns within two years—or I pull out."

Micheal finally stepped forward, raising a hand to quiet the room. His measured gaze swept over the investors, the faint smile on his lips never wavering. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice calm and steady, "your enthusiasm is noted and appreciated. Rest assured, every investment will come with detailed projections, guaranteed timelines, and unmatched transparency. This is not just an opportunity—it's the foundation of a legacy."

The murmurs softened as the crowd absorbed his words, and Micheal inclined his head slightly, a picture of composed gratitude.

As the audience began to disperse, Micheal stepped out into the cool afternoon air, adjusting his coat against the gentle breeze. The golden light of the late sun bathed the bustling streets of the capital, casting long shadows that stretched toward the guild's towering columns.

"Lord Shelb!"

Micheal turned at the call, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as he spotted a man approaching. The figure, dressed in sturdy but finely tailored northern attire, carried himself with confidence.

"Yes?" Micheal replied, his tone polite but reserved.

The man inclined his head in greeting. "My name is Andrik, a buyer from the Valenhart Duchy. Your presentation was impressive. Those horseless carriages could revolutionize transport in the North, particularly with our harsh terrain. Might I propose a trade agreement?"

Micheal hesitated, the proposal intriguing but not quite aligned with his current plans. As the words of polite refusal formed in his mind, another thought struck him. The Valenhart Duchy—Magda's mother's adoptive family's seat—was in the North. Magda herself was there now, secretly investigating the mana disturbances.

His sharp mind turned quickly. If he redirected the conversation, he could use this opportunity to travel north without suspicion.

Offering Andrik a small, thoughtful smile, Micheal spoke. "I appreciate your interest, Andrik, but I believe there's something even more pressing that your Duchy could benefit from right now."

Andrik's brows furrowed in curiosity. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Micheal gestured for him to walk alongside him as they descended the steps. "You've heard of the red sky incident in the Armond Pass, I assume?"

Andrik nodded. "I have. The resilience of the Armond soldiers was remarkable."

Micheal inclined his head. "They had help. Aura-fixers—a fitted vest and joint protector made from mana-threaded leather. On impact, the material hardens, absorbing the force and stabilizing the wearer's aura. These devices saved countless lives during the chaos."

Andrik's eyes widened. "Mana-threaded leather? A vest that absorbs impact? That could be revolutionary for our soldiers, especially with the Ice Phoenix cycle looming. But is it scalable? And affordable?"

Micheal's faint smile widened. "Scalable, yes. The production process is already being refined for larger orders. As for affordability, consider the alternative—unprotected soldiers falling in battle, their aura drained or their bodies broken. The cost of loss far outweighs the investment in protection."

Andrik stroked his chin thoughtfully. "If you can demonstrate their effectiveness, I believe the Duke would be very interested."

Micheal nodded. "I'll arrange a demonstration. In fact, I'd like to accompany the shipment to ensure the first batch meets your Duchy's expectations. I'm personally invested in the success of this project—it's more than just business to me."

Andrik blinked in surprise, then offered a faint smile. "Your passion is undeniable, Lord Shelb. Few nobles would insist on personally overseeing a trade shipment. I'll speak to the Duke about including you in the arrangements."

Micheal inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, Andrik. I assure you, you won't regret it. This collaboration has the potential to strengthen not just the Valenhart Duchy but the North as a whole."

As Andrik departed, Micheal lingered for a moment, his mind racing ahead. This venture wasn't just about business—it was the perfect excuse to travel north and cross paths with Magda.

"You won't even see it coming, Magda," he murmured under his breath, his tone tinged with amusement.

With his plan set, Micheal adjusted his gloves and strode into the bustling streets, his next move already falling into place.

Location: Micheal's chambers, Shelb estate

The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of Micheal's chambers, casting a golden glow on the elegant chaos that had overtaken the room. Fine clothes, half-unpacked trunks, and various trinkets were strewn across the polished floor as Micheal von Shelb stood in the center, frowning at a set of leather gloves.

His platinum blonde hair, tied into its signature half-ponytail, gleamed under the light as he carefully inspected a box of treats. Inside were an assortment of vanilla and chocolate confections—Magda's favorites. He closed the lid with a faint smile, imagining her surprise when he presented them during their "accidental" meeting in the North.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself, placing the box delicately at the top of his suitcase.

The sound of a door creaking open drew his attention. Barnaby Trent, Micheal's loyal butler, stepped into the room, his sharp emerald-green eyes sweeping over the scene with an expression that hovered between amusement and exasperation.

"You've truly mastered innovation, my lord," Barnaby quipped, folding his arms. "But packing, it seems, remains your greatest challenge."

Micheal glanced up, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm merely testing the boundaries of chaos. Isn't that the first step to creativity?"

Barnaby arched a brow, stepping over a haphazardly discarded scarf to retrieve an overturned trunk. "If by 'creativity,' you mean an unmitigated disaster, then yes. You're excelling marvelously."

Micheal chuckled, setting the gloves aside as Barnaby began efficiently folding clothes and arranging items into neat piles. "I don't recall hiring you as my personal critic, Barnaby."

"You didn't, my lord," Barnaby replied smoothly, tucking the confection box into the suitcase. "But in the interest of preserving your dignity, I find myself compelled to offer unsolicited commentary."

As the butler moved with practiced precision, Micheal sat on the edge of his bed, propping his chin on his hand. "You're enjoying this far too much."

"On the contrary," Barnaby replied, his tone dry, "I find this task alarmingly familiar. Do you recall your last journey to the Armond camp? The state of your luggage was a crime against organization."

Micheal grinned sheepishly. "I made it, didn't I?"

"Barely," Barnaby muttered, placing the final item into the trunk with a decisive thud. He closed the lid and turned to face Micheal, his expression softening slightly. "My lord, if you find yourself in trouble during this trip—real trouble—I want you to call for me. Loudly. No matter where you are, I'll find you."

Micheal tilted his head, an amused glint in his sharp blue eyes. "What are you, Barnaby? A fairy godmother? Shall I click my heels together and wish for you?"

Barnaby didn't smile. His emerald-green eyes held an enigmatic intensity that made Micheal pause. "Something like that," the butler said quietly.

For a moment, the room grew still, the weight of Barnaby's words hanging in the air. Micheal's playful smirk faltered as he searched his butler's expression for answers.

"And what, pray tell, is 'something like that'?" Micheal asked, his voice lighter than the question warranted.

Barnaby's lips curved into a faint smile—too faint to be reassuring. "Let's just say, my lord, that my loyalty extends beyond the usual bounds. But perhaps it's better if you don't ask too many questions."

With that, he stepped back, adjusting his waistcoat as though the conversation had never veered into strange territory. "Now, if there's nothing else, I'll see to the horses."

As Barnaby exited the room, Micheal remained seated, his brow furrowed in thought. The lingering sense of mystery made him shake his head, a wry smile returning to his lips.

"Fairy godmother," he muttered under his breath, rising to his feet. "More like a she-devil in disguise."

He glanced at the now-immaculately packed trunk, and his grin widened. Whatever Barnaby's secrets were, Micheal decided he was content to leave them undiscovered—for now.