Pilgrimage [Western Fantasy] - Chapter 20
Primo had initially planned to select typical presents that noblewomen usually receive—like lavish fans, the latest fashionable dresses, or exquisite jewelry—but a vague feeling nudged him otherwise—he sensed she wouldn’t be particularly interested in such things.
“Your Excellency?”
“Let’s head back.”
Halfway through the carriage ride, he changed direction, returning to the palace. Once inside his room, he started searching through various boxes until he finally found something suitable.
—This would serve as the gift.
This time, Primo chose not to take the carriage. After politely refusing the coachman, he left the palace alone.
On the way to the manor on the outskirts of the imperial capital, he passed through a neighborhood inhabited by ordinary citizens. Most nobles, despite having country estates nearby, preferred to make a long detour rather than travel through such common areas, but Primo paid no mind to this. Wearing fine but not overly extravagant clothes, he passed through the civilian district.
“Big sister is amazing!” Several children gathered at a street corner applauded and cheered a black-haired girl wearing a walking skirt. She held out a blooming lily in her palm. Primo glanced over and his eyes locked with hers for a moment. “Miss Adelaide?”
She turned her head, and the gentle smile vanished from her face. It was Estelle, just leaving the manor.
She seemed annoyed—truly, one problem after another.
Only an hour earlier, Estelle had just tried to leave the manor when the doorbell rang. Opening it, she found Abel Stock—her father—waiting quietly outside.
Her heart tightened, and an uncontrollable dark mood welled inside her. She didn’t bother to mask it and flicked imaginary dust off her sleeve. “Abel Stock?”
The man opposite her wore a calm, almost artistically refined smile, as if he had stepped out of a court painter’s masterpiece. “Estelle.”
He extended his hand: “Let me come home with you.”
A sudden surge of anger flared up. Estelle closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling as if she had just expelled the burden of ten years. Countless sharp ice spears formed around her, aimed threateningly at Abel Stock.
The spears drew closer, stopping just short of piercing his throat.
Abel’s eyes were chilling, nearly inhuman in their coldness. Two men with similar features stared at each other—one soft and gentle, the other fierce and aggressive. The count smiled and flicked the spear near his neck away. “Estelle, I understand your anger at the family’s decision, but you must comprehend the principles of the Stock family.”
The strategic earl’s smile faded.
The ice spear slammed hard into the ground. Estelle’s cold gaze met the tiny wound on his neck. Suddenly, Abel’s figure melted into a puddle of water and reformed a few steps away—mirror magic.
The earl, unshaken by her attack, remained expressionless. Estelle tilted her head. “I am not your daughter, Earl Stock.”
Abel’s eyes remained fixed on her. “Is that so?” Deep within the city, the count sensed a strong murderous intent and dissatisfaction radiating from Estelle. He spoke meaningfully to a magician resembling her: “Is your current body truly unrelated to me by bl00d?”
With that, Abel Stock turned and departed.
After a long pause, Estelle stepped forward and picked up a bookmark he had dropped.
“What’s this?” She flipped it over and examined the strange magic circle sketched on it.
After meeting Abel, she felt inexplicably weary. She didn’t want to visit the palace. Instead, she dressed and went to see the children in the nearby civilian area—where she unexpectedly ran into Wimborne Primo again.
After greeting her, the green-eyed young man knelt down, pulling out some flower seeds and handing them to the curious children. “Do you want to take these home and watch them grow?”
Estelle glanced at him, her mood slightly lifted. “What are you doing here?”
“I was originally planning to visit you.” Wimborne stood, smiling warmly—much more sincere and comforting than Abel’s demeanor. “Didn’t expect to run into you on the road.”
Estelle glanced down at the little girl clutching her skirt. “I’ll take her back first.”
“Do you like little kids?”
“No, I don’t.” Estelle denied his guess. Her head was adorned with a crooked wreath—crafted by the children moments ago. She said, “Taking care of children wastes too much energy, and they’re noisy. I don’t like it.”
She bought a pile of bread from a street vendor and shared it with the children, who thanked her happily as they gathered around.
Wimborne observed this quietly, then changed the topic: “Do you come here often?”
As people moved about, Estelle’s reply was faint, barely audible unless one listened closely.
“Do you have any business with me?”
Leaving the civilian district and heading back toward the manor, the path was surrounded by tall plane trees casting shadows on her face. Wimborne’s thoughts raced. “Those children have been placed in a welfare home here in the imperial capital. You don’t have to worry.”
“What else?”
Estelle stopped and turned. “That’s not the main point.”
Wimborne’s eyes, bright and full of spring’s greenery, met hers. “Your Highness, he harbors an unusual grudge against you.”
She smiled.
“I understand, thank you.”
His mind went blank again.
Am I… do you like her?
Naturally, Estelle didn’t catch his quiet question. After thanking him, she remembered the bookmark in her pocket and flipped it over, pointing at the magic circle.
“Mr. Primo, have you ever seen a magic circle like this?”
The design featured a bl00d-red goat at its core. The surrounding symbols weren’t the common Hippo script but something far more obscure and complex. The overall shape resembled an inverted seven-pointed star, encircled by red moons.
“I’d say it’s a dark magic circle,” Wimborne answered cautiously. “It appears to require a bl00d sacrifice.”
“Yes.” Estelle tapped the bookmark. “But I don’t understand the surrounding symbols. Does it look familiar to you?”
After thinking hard, Wimborne shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, I’ve never come across any ancient magic texts like this.”
Wanting to spare her embarrassment, Wimborne suggested, “I could write an introduction for you to the Magic Tower, so you can consult with magicians who specialize in ancient texts. You might also access some resources there.”
Estelle didn’t immediately respond. She fingered the bookmark thoughtfully. Wimborne’s heart skipped a beat. “Miss Adelaide! No matter how curious you are, please don’t take unnecessary risks.”
Snapping back to reality, she smiled at his worried face, reminiscent of the former Sizer, who always cautioned himself nervously.
“Alright, I got it.”
No need to trouble anyone.
After watching Wimborne leave, Estelle examined the bookmark again. Whether Abel meant it or not, this item was closely tied to him.
She didn’t sense Abel’s murderous intent but rather felt he was deliberately leading her to follow the magic circle’s clues to uncover some secret. As for his purpose…
Is your current body not related to me by bl00d?
She recalled the peculiar remark Abel had made before leaving.
If he truly believed she was Estelle, the question was basically: “Are you really not my biological daughter, Estelle?”
But what he emphasized was whether the body she now inhabited was unrelated to him by bl00d. In other words, was the Estelle body she used not actually his daughter’s?
This implied he was certain she wasn’t his real daughter but saw her as someone who merely resembled her.
Estelle concluded he believed:
“I am another person occupying Estelle’s body.”
Abel Stock seemed very confident this ‘guess’ was true—or rather, not a guess but a fact he imagined might have happened.
And everything—the bookmark—had something to do with this magic circle.
Was it a challenge? No, more like a provocation.
It was a clear declaration of war, silently daring her: Do you have the courage to face me?
Estelle found this somewhat amusing. Abel was considering two possibilities. One, the least likely, was that she had come to him on her own and humbled herself. The other, the more probable and desired, was that she had sneaked into the Stock estate, giving him a chance to capture her.
His bait had worked, and Estelle was touched—but unfortunately…
“Who said he’s going to catch me for sure?”
She entered the manor and closed the black iron door behind her.
Night had deepened. Two men dressed in black robes knelt in Abel Stock’s study.
“Head of the family, the magic around the dungeon remains untouched. No one has broken in, and there’s no foreign scent inside.”
A dark figure slipped silently through the window, climbing over the wall.
“My lord count, the lady from the Quimper estate hasn’t left either. After dinner, she was reading in the garden and just returned to her room to rest.”
“… Unexpected that she remains so calm.”
This was unlike what Abel had imagined. In his mind, this reckless and fearless girl would be impulsive and vengeful. But recently, her provocations had been clear, and yet she was still holding back?
What the count didn’t know was that his estimation of her had risen.
“Why didn’t you go out tonight?”
The mysterious voice returned to Estelle. After hearing the full story, it asked with concern. She didn’t look up.
“I haven’t finished reading yet. I’ll wait until I do.”
The voice sighed, clearly helpless.
“Quite stubborn, Miss Estelle.”
She gave no reply. Just as she tried to turn a page, her fingers froze, and the voice in her mind ceased.
She grabbed the arrow on the table and flung it out the window. “Who’s there?”