Chapter 142

“That imperial royalty’s place of exile was called Rowendel.”

“….!”

Evelyn’s lashes trembled as though she couldn’t trust her own ears.

Did he really say Rowendel…?

She drew a sharp breath to steady herself, then asked in a careful tone.

“Isn’t Rowendel only a small village?”

“That’s right. A place so insular that one might well call it sealed away from the world.”

What transpired within Rowendel, Marcen added, seldom reached the ears of the outside world.

As she listened to him, Evelyn couldn’t help but wonder why he had mentioned the place of exile for the mad imperial royalty. Then, as though to answer her unspoken doubt, the guildmaster promptly handed her a document.

“It seems to be connected to the heresy you mentioned before.”

“Then you mean…!”

Her words trailed off as she hurriedly unfolded the pages.

The document Marcen handed her contained records concerning a heresy devoted to worshiping the Moon Goddess. In only a handful of years, the number of Diana’s devotees had swelled with unnatural speed. And the birthplace of this heretical order was none other than Rowendel…

The very same village that was home to Dahlia Lorenheim.

She now felt certain that something far more unsettling was unfolding, diverging from the course of the original story. The female lead, who had been present each time she found herself in peril.

‘Is this really nothing more than a coincidence?’

Evelyn, who had begun entertaining the absurd thought, let out a faint, bitter laugh as she bit at the inside of her cheek.

It seemed I would soon have to visit Rowendel myself.

Marcen, noting how pale her face had grown, spoke with concern.

“You don’t look well, my lady.”

“Ah… It’s nothing.”

When she shook her head, he drew a silver-edged card from his coat and handed it to her. On the card was inscribed a single word: ‘Serpene.’

Puzzled, she tilted her head as she examined the card.

“What’s this?”

“I thought it might serve you better than it does me.”

With a casual shrug, the guildmaster went on to explain about Serpene. It was a black market, free of imperial control, whose name had begun to circulate quietly among the nobility. There, goods not easily obtained by ordinary means were traded, and its dealings had surged dramatically in recent days.

Of course, Serpene was nothing more than an illicit auction house, its dealings never declared to the customs office. However, the very fact that such a market could operate in secret within the capital meant its overseer was no ordinary figure.

‘Maybe the hand behind it belongs to a high-ranking noble.’

Even so, unable to grasp the other party’s intentions, Evelyn furrowed her brow slightly and asked.

“But why would I need this?”

Marcen’s lips curved into a cryptic smile, as though he were sharing a particularly intriguing rumor.

“In the coming days, sorcerers and heretics are said to be attending there.”

“….!”

The silver-edged card he had given her, then, was nothing less than an admission pass to Serpene itself. Evelyn stared at it, her eyes caught between astonishment and dismay.

Perhaps the one who oversaw Serpene was a figure tied to the heresy.

The thought crossed her mind that visiting the black market might allow her to uncover the truth behind the heresy. If she could secure tangible evidence there, it would be a discovery beyond price.

Having made up her mind, Evelyn tightened her grip around the silver-edged card. It seemed she would have a lot to do once she returned to the estate.

As she gathered her thoughts, she expressed her gratitude to the guildmaster.

“You have been of great help to me.”

“You always pay generously, do you not?”

At the man’s deliberately playful remark, she answered with a gentle smile.

“It’s nothing compared to the value of the information I receive from you, isn’t it?”

Marcen often insisted that no payment could compare to the life of his younger sister, but she didn’t see it that way. No matter how fair the price she offered, the information he delivered was always beyond her expectations.

It remained an undeniable fact that Marcen was a steadfast ally.

Just as Evelyn was rekindling her resolve, thinking she should prepare a restorative potion for him before long, another thought stirred in her mind.

‘Ah, come to think of it…’