Pilgrimage [Western Fantasy] - Chapter 13

Her beauty and generosity made her well-liked wherever she went.

Yet, when both beauty and wealth overflow, they could also breed fear and suspicion.

The businessman, surrounded by her dazzling presence, struggled to keep his composure. “Of course, what sort of clothes are you looking for?”

“They don’t need to be overly extravagant,” the girl replied, her hair softer than satin, her tone calm. “And the colors shouldn’t be too bright.”

【Do you know this place?】

As the businessman departed, Estelle glanced down and lightly spun the ruby on the table. “I’ve been here before.”

Beneath the glittering surface of the royal capital, darkness lurked deep within. This shadowy street in the heart of the slums was ruled by ruthless “businessmen.” For instance, the tavern at the corner doubled as a front for a deadly assassin group. The drinks served were not just intoxicating—they could cost you your life. The more expensive the bottle, the higher the price on your head.

Estelle remembered the gruesome photos of her and Cizelle’s heads, enough to fund repairs for the slum’s roads and public transit. The mastermind behind the scheme must have been terrified of an untimely and obscure death at the hands of Shun Teng, suffering a heavy loss as a result.

Cizelle took her hand, and together they inspected the progress of the rebuilding. A child hiding in a nearby alley watched them quietly. Neither woman wore fancy clothes; instead, they wore simple, worn garments. Cizelle took charge of the project and handed out sweets to every child they passed.

The sun shone warmly, and she smiled as she greeted the passersby. Even the lazy beggar on the street returned her smile without malice.

Her close companion had just finished speaking, and the serious, cold expression she wore moments before softened as she noticed Estelle’s gaze.

The businessman’s voice brought her back to the present, placing a package on the table. Estelle shook off the memory and took the clothes, meeting his calm, lake-blue eyes. “I will return here in three days at the same time.”

Morning light gradually chased away the night as Estelle glanced sideways and smiled at the businessman for a few seconds. “A child sings.”

Her expression was clear but distant, like a faraway melody.

The businessman stared, sensing her words were meant for more than just him. After speaking, she turned and left without waiting for a reply.

In the bustling center of the city, rumors flew freely. The noble ladies exchanged recent gossip with teasing smiles.

Among the chatter: a priceless ruby recently auctioned, and a semi-abandoned manor in the northwest of the capital gaining a new owner.

The manor’s previous owner was an elderly count from a well-established family. Childless and facing a grim future, he chose to sell the family estate—a symbol of his lineage—rather than see it confiscated by the crown after his death.

He cared little for the nobles who sneered behind his back. Having risen from nothing, he valued survival over reputation. To him, a face was just another object to be weighed and traded.

Standing by the manor’s gate, the old count waited patiently for the new owner. To his surprise, the arrival came half an hour earlier than expected.

When the coachman’s groom appeared, the count’s smile faltered. But it was when the girl with pearl-white hair stepped down that his face tightened with concern.

The girl wore no veil, revealing her youthful, delicate beauty. The count hadn’t expected such a young buyer.

Her steps were light, her demeanor calm and graceful. “Shall we stop standing here?” she asked.

Though the ruby’s price could buy a lavish villa in the city’s heart, the businessman on Black Street was unprepared for his client’s modest choice—a rundown manor far from luxury.

He considered himself lacking conscience but still held a certain honor, akin to a legendary dragon-slayer. Bound by his word, he would fulfill any request, even digging up bones beneath tombstones.

So when Estelle named the deadliest assassin as her escort, the killer arrived punctually on the agreed day, driving the carriage to her temporary resting place.

The girl who purchased the manor was humble, and the count cared little for appearances. What drew him was Estelle’s seemingly cold yet gentle and forgiving nature.

In a place like the Imperial Capital—where a single coin could corrupt countless souls—finding a noble person of talent, kindness, and beauty was rarer than stumbling upon lost millions in the slums.

Looking at the mysterious girl before him, the old count ventured a straightforward question: “Are you related to the Earl of Stoke?”

It was a bold guess, but he recognized her resemblance to the imperial rose.

Why did he only notice now? His eyes narrowed with regret, cursed by enemies and betrayed by time, yet soothed by the girl’s presence.

No matter—they were different in temperament and spirit, and admitting the mistake was impossible. The lingering regret was brushed away like dust on silver.

The assassin, dagger at his side and poison-stained blade ready, would have ended the count’s questions swiftly had they continued.

But the count’s desire to live and knowledge of the situation forced him to lower his hand.

Used to arrogant, foolish killers among the nobility, the assassin smirked after the count left. “Such a big shot.”

Estelle nodded thoughtfully. Understanding the times and knowing when to yield was a rare skill—not something taught but lived.

“I once made a list,” the assassin said.

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d want to hear,” Estelle replied.

The assassin shrugged. “It doesn’t matter; the employer is dead.”

The manor was empty; the servants had either followed the count or left with severance to find new work.

The assassin stared at the pearl hair ornament given by the businessman, now worn by Estelle, and continued the story.

A powerful lord had once captured a beautiful girl during his travels. Her beauty could have made a knight swear eternal loyalty and then end his own life for her.

The lord fell helplessly at her feet, opening his treasure vaults without question to fulfill her desires. But he forgot his wife had died young, leaving behind two children.

The man who purchased the most expensive wine in the tavern hid his true intentions in the wine’s name.

For that name alone, the assassin had fled the capital overnight, lost three horses, and taken a life with ruthless precision.

The lord’s head rested on the table as the assassin cleaned the bl00d and handed the lord’s son over to the “royal rose.”

Years later, the assassin heard the son who had inherited the lordship died suddenly.

Estelle sighed. “Don’t play word games—the employer isn’t truly dead, right?”

The assassin blinked, confused. With a youthful face barely older than Estelle’s, he said, “No, he really is dead.”

“It was the payer, not the employer, who died,” the cool girl mused, dragging her chin. “Two people: one paid, one killed.”

“You’re quite sharp,” the assassin admired.

“Is this the old man’s praise for solving cases without traveling far?” Estelle teased.

“No, just obvious.”

Who benefits most when the deceased is removed?

Naturally, it’s the lord’s daughter, who inherits the title, and the beautiful girl who was taken.

“So I still can’t grasp this noble dignity,” the assassin complained, breaking his cold image. “If he liked her at first, why not marry her officially? Why make her a secret mistress and shatter her youth with an old man who plots murder?”

“Also, why claim she’s low-born if you keep her as your mistress?”

“And the man who wanted to kill his own father while keeping her in the territory… it makes no sense.”

The assassin was baffled.

He remembered the two women he’d seen in the draped castle, tears and wildness in their eyes.

At that moment, he knew the man who believed he’d won was destined to be torn apart.

“Because they don’t see others as human,” Estelle said softly, gripping her dagger, the lightning outside casting sharp reflections on the blade. “Those who don’t treat others as human aren’t human themselves.”

Her expression was cold and weary. “Presumably, when she cried, her heart was full of happiness, right?”

“What would you do?”

Estelle raised her dagger. The assassin understood her answer perfectly.