The Exalted Mage - Chapter 21: Moving

The viscount offered a mild bow of the head. “A pleasure. I’ve heard good things.”

She returned it with appropriate grace. “Likewise, Viscount.”

Beside him, a girl, both small and soft-featured, peeked from behind her father’s coat. Wide eyed; she was full of caution and curiosity. Veronica met her gaze, offered a faint smile, and dipped her chin.

“Hello there.”

Claire blinked. Then, after a moment’s pause, she gave a polite curtsey—dainty, practiced—and promptly tucked herself back into her father’s shadow.

Leopold smiled. “She’s shy around new people. Takes after her mother in that regard.”

His attention flicked back to Veronica. His eyes moved slowly. Not with an arrogance of a man appraising, but the sharpness of a man who cataloged everything.

“Your attire is certainly striking,” he said with a note of amusement. “Though I don’t think my mere visit is deserving of such extravagance. You look as though you’re here to attend a royal wedding.”

Veronica shook her head lightly, lips curving with faint humor. “You’re generous with your words, Viscount. But no—it just so happens to be the most comfortable outfit I have at the moment. I ran into some trouble recently. Bandits. My previous set was… unsalvageable.”

“Bandits, huh?” Leopold’s tone remained casual, but his gaze flicked briefly toward Baron Welterman. A passing glance, harmless on the surface. The baron, however, didn’t react.

“Not surprising,” Leopold continued. “There are always rats in the corners. Even my own lands have a few that chew through the grain when no one’s looking.”

“Indeed,” Welterman added, smoothing his lapel. “We do what we can, of course. But if the world were so simple that the law could remove every danger, we’d all be living in paradise.”

Veronica made a polite sound of agreement, though she doubted either of them were particularly troubled by rodents of any kind—human or otherwise.

Still, Leopold wasn’t finished. “But really, that is your regular wear?” he asked, gesturing faintly to her ensemble. “It’s a bit much for a mining town, wouldn’t you say?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Claire struck first—her small fist thudding gently into her father’s thigh.

“Ow.” Leopold winced dramatically. “Betrayed by my own blood. Right to the core.”

He placed a hand over the spot, as if mortally wounded. “Of course, my wife is the most beautiful woman alive. I simply have a… wandering eye for exotic patterns. A businessman’s eye, I assure you.”

Veronica let out a quiet laugh. “You’re lucky she isn’t here to hear that.”

“I’m lucky she lets me breathe,” he replied dryly.

Then, more thoughtful, he added, “That style—is it dark elven? Or perhaps something Sylphian?”

Veronica arched a brow. “Dark elven, yes. A tailor here in town originally prepared it for trade with the dark elves, but the exchange never happened. She couldn’t find a buyer, so I took it off her hands. Would’ve been a shame to let it gather dust. Her words.”

His gaze lingered a beat longer than necessary. As did the baron’s. They weren’t admiring the stitching.

They were searching her face. More specifically, the curve of her ear.

With an inward sigh, Veronica brushed aside a few strands of hair, revealing the subtle taper of her ear—barely pointed, but enough to mark true.

“I do have some dark elven blood,” she said simply.

Leopold gave a slow nod. “Rare to see dark elves outside their groves. Even rarer to see one so comfortable here in human territory. You don’t look full-blooded, but still. They are… enigmatic. The kind of people you hear about more than you meet.”

“Yes. I know what you mean,” Veronica said. “My own parents weren’t connected with them too closely. I grew up mostly in human society. Even I don’t know much about the dark elves.”

That, of course, was a lie.

She had lived among them until the age of ten, learning the elven language as her first. She knew the scent of the everroot trees and the haunting tone of their wind harps that were strung between branches.

The world believed the elves to be caretakers of Yggdrasil—the world tree, the sacred boughs that reached both heaven and underworld. But they rarely mentioned the darker kind. The ones who lived beneath the roots instead of among the leaves.

Dark elves were misunderstood. Feared in some regions, while hated in others. Even the high elves rejected them, as if proximity to the underworld made them impure.

But what the world didn’t know was that the roots of the World Tree grew endlessly. And if left untamed, they would devour the world from below. The dark elves were not rejected because they were purposeless. They were hated because their purpose was necessary.

In this life—she had to save Nidhogg. Because when her God fell, the world tree would fall with it. She had to prevent this at all costs.

Leopold’s eyes lingered for a moment longer, but then he smiled again, this time with more warmth than curiosity. “Well, it suits you,” he said. “And it’s good to see Greystone attracting such interesting people. Maybe we’ve finally outgrown our reputation as a forgotten corner.”

Veronica inclined her head politely.

The conversation drifted, like leaves carried downstream, shifting toward lighter things—the quality of the food, the talent of the musicians, the clear skies above. Claire offered a few shy comments about the caramelized pears. Even Steward Hadrian chimed in with a quip about the flower arrangements.

“Well,” the viscount said, glancing toward the long dining table. “I believe we’ve drawn enough attention for now. Don’t want to be the reason anyone skips the smoked boar.”

Welterman chuckled and clapped him on the back. “Then let’s indulge. My chef nearly lost a finger trying to prepare that beast. The least we can do is make it worth the wound.”

With that, the group eased apart, and the tension in Veronica’s shoulders drifted with them. She gave Claire a small wave, which the girl returned—shyly, then with a smile—and then Veronica turned toward the growing clamor.

She drifted near the edge of the square, sipping slowly from a new glass of juice. Children darted between chairs and ankles. Miners clapped each other on the back, already drunk. Even Steward Hadrian was tapping his foot to the beat.

Finn had spent the better part of the afternoon behaving like a starved gremlin let loose in a bakery. At one point, she spotted him sprinting laps around a fruit stall, a half-eaten skewer dangling from his mouth while two other boys chased after him, their fingers sticky and teeth stained purple from too many grapes.

She kept half an eye on him. It wasn’t worry, exactly—more a quiet reflex she hadn’t shaken off. And when it became clear he was far too busy shoving pastries into his mouth to notice anything else, she let him be. He deserved a moment of reckless joy.

In hindsight, she should’ve known better.

Eventually, the baron and the viscount took their leave, slipping away with their retinue toward Welterman’s estate. With their departure, the festival didn’t come to an abrupt stop. Instead, the celebration drifted into a slower rhythm.

For a time, Veronica stood among the townsfolk, letting the mood settle over her.

The sound of conversation, the distant tapping of shoes on stone, and the creak of wooden benches filled the space around her. It was such a simple moment, yet strangely rare.

No burning skies, no screams in the dark, no blood painting the ground like spilled ink. Just people, enjoying life.

This was what she wanted to protect.

Her fingers curled lightly around the edge of the table beside her. Not from tension, but from resolve. If peace like this was going to last, it couldn’t be left to chance. Someone had to fight for it. Someone had to make sure it didn’t crumble beneath the weight of what was to come.

That someone had to be her.

Stopping the Fall before it began would be ideal. But if that wasn’t possible, then the world needed to be ready for it. Strong enough to endure. Even a Tier-10 mage had limits, and she knew them better than anyone. This wasn’t something she could handle alone.

She wasn’t a prodigy. She had never been. The only thing that set her apart had been the rare cursed blessing of twin mana cores, and even that had nearly killed her more than once. But she had made it work. And now, with what she knew, she might be able to help others do the same. She didn’t need to be the strongest anymore.

She just needed to be one of them.

Of course, keeping her title would be nice.

By now, the crowd had thinned. Some had gone home to rest, others returned to the mines or wandered off for a breath of quiet after the noise. There were still quite a few people in the town, along with guards that were resting, taking in all they can from the “all-you-can-eat buffet” along the massive table.

Veronica had spent much of the last hour speaking with Sena and Steward Hadrian, exchanging pleasantries and observations about the event. But with the celebration winding down, her mind was now clear.

Today would be the last day she’d take things slow. She’d enjoy enough of the peace and happiness that she’d gotten these past few days. From now on, the stronger she got, the more busy she’d be—being capable of much more.

Although she hadn’t an apprentice before—too focused on her own studies, along with Medusa’s curse hindering her—she didn’t have either problem now. Perhaps it would be time to pick one up. Perhaps a few to form a party with, before she could arrive and meet up with Maeve in Annesheim.

Unfortunately, no one far out here would probably be suitable. Finn was enthusiastic—but he didn’t have the drive to learn. He was only curious—only thinking that magic was “cool”. She’d need someone who would dedicate their lives to it.

Elise was out of the question. She seemed content with being a maid. There was no drive for magic that she could see. Veronica also just didn’t like how quiet or reserved she was. She seemed too robotic, like the machines that the innovation society had worked on. Perhaps her journey back to Annesheim would yield some better results.

Once these cultists were taken care of, she would need some kassal oil. It was the easiest substance to use to advance to Tier-3. Perhaps she could acquire some extra for Tier-4, if she was lucky.

She was about to leave when something in her periphery drew her attention. Just past a row of stacked crates, where the lamps had begun to flicker and shadows clung a little too tightly, a small figure moved through the gap. Quick. Quiet. A hood tugged low.

She squinted. Then frowned.

It was Finn.

She didn’t have to guess who it was; she recognized his gait, the slight lean in his steps, like a boy caught between playing and sneaking. Her body didn’t tense, but her focus narrowed. Her thoughts turned sharp.

Earlier, she had seen figures just like that vanishing into alleys. All hoods drawn, all faces hidden. She’d dismissed them then, forced to put on a smile and greet nobility, but that unease never left her. And now, with the day nearing its end, Finn was slipping away into the dark.

“What in the world is that kid doing...” she murmured, already shifting her stance.

Without drawing attention, she stepped away from the table and moved in the direction he’d gone, her pace steady, her eyes alert. She wasn’t about to let that reckless brat throw himself into danger—especially not tonight. Not when something was already stirring beneath the surface.