Canossa Castle was built on an island formed by a natural river channel. Standing on the eastern wall, one could directly overlook the magnificent waves at the sea mouth; beneath the high gray walls was a moat, connected by a drawbridge, with tall round arrow towers at each corner.
Knights were already waiting at the castle’s drawbridge to welcome the hero’s party. One elegantly bowed: “The Marquis has been waiting for a long time. Please follow me.”
Melissa straightened her sword belt and strode confidently behind the knight, crossing the tall, deep archway and entering the castle’s courtyard.
The sounds of the blacksmith forging weapons and the noise from the stables immediately rushed forward, in stark contrast to the city’s quietness. Inside Canossa Castle was a scene of bustling war preparations.
“The Marquis has already summoned all nobles in the territory, ready to fight the magic army to the death,” the genteel knight said proudly, raising his chin, bright light shining in his pale blue eyes.
Melissa nodded seriously. Naily casually glanced at Karl, seeing him with his hands pulling his hood, surveying the surroundings, unusually showing curiosity. The customs of Karlencia were completely different from the north. But he quickly noticed Naily’s gaze, withdrawing his look and maintaining a nonchalant expression.
The castle’s main hall was brightly lit, with freshly polished ancestral armor and weapons hanging on the walls. In the firelight, these heavy instruments seemed alive, ready to charge into battle. At the high platform at the end of the hall sat the man over fifty, dressed luxuriously – Marquis Berdwen.
Seeing the hero approach, Berdwen stood up. Though not tall, he was well-maintained.
The white-templed lord stood high, smiling down at everyone, displaying the friendly demeanor typical of Nafari merchants, yet his gray eyes held the coldness and sharpness of one who had battled waves for years.
“Welcome to Canossa, destined hero. May the three goddesses be with you.”
Melissa and Naily knelt halfway in salute. Karl seemed stunned for a moment before following suit.
Berdwen immediately helped Melissa up, beginning his prepared speech with a smile.
Naily began to drift off…
Dishes were continuously brought to the long table. The large pots of steaming fish soup were fragrant and enticing. As jugs of Nafaret’s almond wine were added, the table soon became filled with laughter and cheerful voices. Guests walked and clapped along with the minstrel’s singing, teasing the maids shuttling between the tables.
Naily sipped her wine, involuntarily infected by the joy of her tablemates, and smiled while leaning against the wooden pillar. Even if the demon king were to arrive, a cup of wine could still bring happiness.
“May I have the honor of knowing the name of this beautiful lady? I am Brulyd,” came a drunken pickup line that pulled Naily from her thoughts. She raised an eyebrow and surveyed the brown-haired man who had approached. Naily had no interest in a romantic encounter and subtly moved a bit further away.
The man moved closer again, leaning his elbow on the hall pillar and winking. Naily’s mouth twitched, preparing to escape, but unexpectedly, he grabbed her shoulder and mumbled, about to kiss her. Naily struggled twice without breaking free when a thick, hard-covered book suddenly came crashing down, directly hitting Mr. Brulyd’s forehead.
“Ouch!” Brulyd screamed.
Curious onlookers glanced over, burst into laughter, assuming he was simply drunk.
Naily peeked out from behind the pillar and sighed with relief: “Thank you.”
The magic user bundled in a black robe did not respond, nervously pulling his hood even lower.
“Why did you leave your seat?” Naily asked.
After a moment of silence, Karl softly answered three words: “Many people. Noisy. Dislike.”
Naily had no intention of staying after this commotion and tentatively asked, “I’ve already eaten. Shall we return to our rooms together?”
Karl didn’t answer but turned and walked towards the exit, apparently agreeing.
The two walked silently up the spiral stone stairs, one after the other. Naily followed behind Karl, watching his robe trailing on the ground, somewhat worried he might trip on the hem.
But in fact, Karl was experienced in walking stairs in a long robe, moving quickly and steadily. After all, Naxiye’s mages probably spent their days going up and down in the Tower of Sages, wearing robes.
The green-haired, yellow-eyed youth laughed softly, his voice unusually soft and delicate for a male: “It is truly a great honor to meet you, please forgive Geralt’s earlier discourtesy for not greeting you immediately.” His smile deepened at the corners of his lips as he bowed elegantly, yet without humility: “Nesiye mage Geralt, serving the Kalisiya Marquis, extends his most sincere greetings to you.”
This Mr. Geralt spoke in a flowery manner, and the string of elegant words provided very limited useful information: he was a mage from Nesiye, currently working for a lord, and that was all.
Wait, wait a moment? Another Nesiye mage? Wasn’t it said that there were no more than a hundred Nesiye mages wandering outside Kalisiya across the continent?!
Geralt seemed to suddenly notice the two people beside Melissa, taking a surprised breath.
He first nodded to Nelly: “Nice to meet you, beautiful lady.” His demeanor was much more aloof and proud, clearly not intending to engage in further conversation with Nelly, merely offering a symbolic greeting.
Then, his amber eyes narrowed slightly, and he turned unhurriedly, addressing a black shadow silently walking towards the deck:
“Don’t be in such a hurry to leave, imposter.”
The last three words, Geralt deliberately separated each syllable, pronouncing them slowly and with emphasis, dripping with mockery.
“What do you mean, Mr. Geralt?” Melissa’s previous friendly smile disappeared, stepping between Geralt and Karl.
Geralt twirled a green lock of hair around his pinky, laughing softly: “Geralt merely feels that now anyone can claim to be a Nesiye mage, which cannot help but make him worried and sad for the Sage Tower’s reputation.”
Like a mischievous child, he leaned to one side, popping his head out from behind Melissa to continue speaking to Karl: “Should Geralt popularize the rules of the Nesiye Sage Tower to everyone on the continent?”
Karl turned around at this moment, pulling his hood up expressionlessly, revealing a pair of cold red eyes.
His tone was as light and restrained as always, but like a lyre newly strung, each sound was tight and dry: “Most Nesiye mages are selected at birth, enter the Sage Tower before the age of seven, isolated from the world, and can only leave after completing their studies.”
He blinked slowly: “But I am not.”
Geralt let out a scornful laugh, seemingly about to retort, but Karl gave him a flat stare, and Geralt immediately fell silent.
The atmosphere between the two was tense.
Karl spoke again without fluctuation: “I am indeed not a pure-blood who grew up inside the Sage Tower.” When he said “pure-blood”, his thin lips curved slightly, looking very sarcastic. Geralt snorted coldly, but his retort was again silenced by Karl’s glance.
Karl slowly pulled down his hood, brushing back his hair that fell to his eyebrows, revealing a sharp side in front of Melissa and Nelly for the first time. He looked calmly at Geralt: “But you forgot the Sage’s teachings. What truly proves a mage’s authenticity is only ability.”
He raised a fist to his lips, letting out two muffled coughs: “My condition is not good, which is to your advantage.”
Geralt’s eyebrows pressed down, clearly trying to suppress his anger.
Karl remained nonchalant, flipping a feather pen in his hand: “How about it? Want to fight to prove who the real imposter is?”
