Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Unrestrained Woman

"What do you mean?" Hearing the woman's words, Charlesberg couldn't help but frown, his mind racing as he tried to recall if he had offended this woman in that place. As for what she had said before... Charlesberg dared to swear upon the entire Charles family name that, counting this time, he had only met this woman twice in his life!

"Ah, it seems you truly don't remember..." The woman gave a somewhat helpless wave of her hand, exhaled a plume of blue smoke, and said to Charlesberg in an utterly enchanting voice, "Tell me, my lord Count... do you really believe the people from the Hall of Martial Souls merely sent a few assassins after you, nothing more?"

"You—!" In an instant, the timid hesitance on Charlesberg's face vanished, and in the slit-like depths of his eyes, a glint of murderous intent flashed!

"Oh? Are you wondering how I know about the Hall of Martial Souls?" The woman laughed, her voice playful, "Charlesberg, I can tell you—I know far more than that. I even know exactly why the Hall of Martial Souls would go to such lengths to hunt you down..."

Her voice was as bewitching and sultry as ever, yet as soon as Charlesberg heard it, a chill so cold it seemed to pierce bone rose from his heart, making him shiver involuntarily.

"My lord!?" East, sensing Charlesberg's shift, hurried to support him, his eyes fixed intently on the woman before them. In that instant, a surge of killing intent erupted from him!

"Stop, East!" Charlesberg, too, could feel East's murderous aura. East might not know how terrifying this woman truly was, but Charlesberg did. Gritting his teeth, he barked, "Don't lay a hand on her... You’ll be killed!"

"My lord!..." East, as a second-tier Soul Master, could hardly believe that the woman before them possessed any truly fearsome power. Seeing Charlesberg so passive before her only fueled his growing anger. He opened his mouth to protest, but just then, the woman let out a soft, cold snort. She stretched out her arm, and with a motion beneath her sleeve, made a subtle grasping gesture.

They were two or three meters apart, and her movement was so casual that it seemed nothing more than the small, indignant gesture of a wronged woman. Yet at that very moment, East suddenly felt as if his entire body had been shackled. He couldn't muster the least bit of strength in his limbs; aside from his eyes, he couldn't move at all—not even to open his mouth to shout!

Worse, he found himself utterly unable to call upon his soul power!

For the first time, a trace of terror appeared on East's face. Yes, terror. Not even when facing a fourth-tier Soul Master had he ever felt this way. Now, for the first time, he truly felt what it was to be completely at someone else's mercy, as powerless as an ant, unable to resist in the slightest!

That woman—she had done nothing but make a simple, casual gesture!

"Procis!" Seeing this, Charlesberg bellowed almost in a rage, but after a moment of silence, his fury seemed to deflate all at once. He lowered his massive head in defeat and said weakly to the woman before him, "Enough, Master Triss, please don’t make a scene any longer..."

"Who are you to command me?" In that instant, the woman's tone turned upside down—her previously seductive, playful voice now as icy and sharp as a blade. She spoke to Charlesberg in a chilling rasp, "You should know, I am in a very foul mood right now!"

"Oh, heavens..." Charlesberg rubbed his aching forehead in resignation. With this capricious, willful woman who refused all reason, he could only sigh inwardly at his own misfortune. Why had he been so unlucky as to cross paths with her? At that moment, Weir also finally realized the woman's true identity.

Triss Myer Procis—Ninth-tier Fire Grand Mage, President of the Vera Empire's Magic Guild, and Four-Star Court Mage of the Vera Empire.

"Honored Lady Triss, might I be permitted to say a few words?" At this point, Weir stepped forward and offered the woman on the carriage an impeccable noble’s greeting—so perfect that even a court etiquette master could find no fault.

"And who might you be?" Had Weir not spoken up, he was almost certain the woman would never have noticed him at all. Her tone made it clear.

"I am a mage of the Inner Guild," Weir stated directly, forgoing any introduction in favor of declaring his affiliation. As he had expected, when the woman heard he was a mage of the Inner Guild, she uttered a soft exclamation of surprise.

"I don't believe we've ever met, have we, boy?" Procis asked with a trace of curiosity. Notably, she had shifted from calling him "you" to "boy."

"I only passed the guild’s examination and joined two days ago, my lady," Weir replied.

"The day before yesterday? And Semily already had you included on this mission? How old are you, boy?" Procis asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Sixteen," Weir answered concisely. There was not a hint of undue humility or flattery in his bearing; his every word and gesture was perfectly measured. Had he not confessed it himself, anyone would have taken him for a scion of the nobility.

"Oh?" Procis’s interest was piqued. She sent out a wave of magical perception, and before Weir could react, she had already withdrawn it.

"A fourth-tier Mage? And you seem to have a fair breadth of knowledge... Well then, young man, may I know your name?" In just a few moments, Weir had been elevated in her eyes from "boy" to "young man."

"Weir... Cyathea Weir," he announced.

"Cyathea? What a marvelous name! Cyathea... Cyathea..." Procis clicked her tongue with approval. In the magical lands of the continent, Cyathea wood was one of the rarest magical materials, and even Procis herself only possessed a single piece. Its rarity was self-evident.

Procis had already taken a liking to Weir, and with this name, her impression of him improved further. She even beckoned him to come up and sit beside her on the carriage. As for Charlesberg? By now, it seemed she had all but forgotten him.