Chapter Sixty: The Right of Belonging

“So, esteemed Lady Tris, would you care to tell me why you are here?”
Veil carefully took his seat in the carriage—not out of nervousness before Procis, but because the wooden floor beneath his feet looked terribly unreliable. He suspected that if he pressed down even a little, he might break through and leave a hole.

“Oh? Why am I here? Hmph, that’s a question you ought to ask that fat Chelse—what good deeds has he been up to?”
Procis deliberately emphasized the words “good deeds,” snorting coldly as she cast a careless glance at Chelseberg.

“Ahem… Lady Tris, I don’t see how anything I’ve done has anything to do with you,”
Chelseberg coughed twice, pulling at the fat on his face as he forced out a response.

“Hah?”
Procis gave a peculiar cry, pointing at Chelseberg from within her sleeve. “How could it have nothing to do with you? Chelseberg, do you really think the Martial Soul Hall only set a few ambushers near the capital? Hmph, think about it. If the Martial Soul Hall truly wanted you dead, why would they send so few to intercept you?”

“Did you know, Chelseberg? There were four Grand Soul Masters trailing your party. If I hadn’t stepped in to deal with them, do you think you’d be standing here, talking to me so unharmed?”

“What!?”
Everyone was visibly shocked at Procis’s words. Chelseberg was stunned to learn four Grand Soul Masters had followed him without his knowledge. As for East and Veil, they were thinking… She dealt with four Grand Soul Masters alone? This woman’s strength borders on the monstrous!

“Tch!”
Seeing Chelseberg’s dumbfounded expression, Procis snorted, lazily stretched, and pointed her ornate pipe at Chelseberg, giving it a couple of shakes. “Anyway, all the threats along the way have been taken care of. Let’s discuss what comes next, shall we?”

With that, Procis’s tone shifted, becoming alluring, her final nasal utterance almost a moan—a deadly temptation for any man. Yet both Chelseberg and Veil inwardly sighed… Her change of attitude is faster than flipping a page!

“Well then… Lady Tris, what exactly do you mean by ‘what comes next’?”
Chelseberg instinctively asked Procis, but she responded with a cunning laugh. “Oh? Have you forgotten, Count? I’m talking about… the artifact.”

“What did you say!?”
At Procis’s words, Chelseberg sprang up as if struck by lightning. He’d never spoken of the artifact, not even to his most loyal guard East, yet this woman blurted it out without hesitation. Of course, even if East knew, it wouldn’t be a problem—Chelseberg trusted his loyal guard wouldn’t spread any secrets. The only concern was that boy, Veil…

A hint of murderous intent flashed in Chelseberg’s eyes as he looked at Veil, but to his surprise, the boy was staring right back.

“Count, you were just thinking about killing me, weren’t you? Ah, of course—the artifact is a secret for you… Alas, that’s only so for you, or for certain self-important people.”

Veil gave a faint smile, his gaze flickering over Procis. Though her face was hidden beneath her oversized hat, Veil was certain she could see everything in front of her. At that moment, he quietly winked at her.

“What do you mean?”
Chelseberg’s heart tightened. He demanded an answer from Veil.

“You see, secrets in the palace aren’t always as mysterious as they seem. On the surface, only a handful know about the artifact in the Empire of Vira. But can you really guarantee no one else has learned of it in the shadows? Perhaps the rumor didn’t come from the palace, but from the Martial Soul Hall.”

“That’s just speculation! An excuse!”
Chelseberg immediately dismissed Veil’s words. At that moment, Procis, who had been lying sideways on the wooden boards, sat up and pressed most of her body against Veil’s back. She pointed her ornate pipe at Chelseberg. “Count, am I not the best example? And from what I’ve learned, there are two others who know about the artifact. Of course, neither of them is a certain general or duke.”

“A certain general? A certain duke?”

Hearing Procis, Chelseberg’s jowls twitched. She was clearly referring to General Standar and Duke House!

“Damn it! When did that brat start colluding with this madwoman?”
Chelseberg cursed inwardly, took a deep breath, and turned to Veil. “Fine, never mind that for now. Boy, what are you getting at?”

At this moment, the shrewd fat man chose to engage Veil rather than Procis—perhaps thinking Veil would be easier to handle. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Procis might be troublesome, but Veil was no pushover either.

“It’s simple. All I want to discuss is the matter of ownership.”

Veil smiled faintly and uttered an astonishing phrase that left everyone dumbstruck.

Chelseberg hadn’t expected it, nor had Procis. She didn’t know how Veil had learned of the artifact, and had assumed the cunning boy merely wanted to use her as leverage against Chelseberg. Yet, to her surprise, Veil openly brought up the matter of ownership.

“Is this boy after the artifact?”
The crafty fat man wondered instantly, but quickly dismissed the thought.

“No, he speaks only of ownership, not possession. Ownership? The struggle for the artifact is between the royal family and the Martial Soul Hall—the only two with the power to contend. But this boy is talking about ownership? What does he mean by that?”