As the morning sunlight streamed into the study through the French windows, Alvis was brought in. This scholar- looking Gabella man looked much more haggard than Paul remembered; the dark circles under his eyes showed that he hadn't had a proper rest in recent days.
" Lord Glaeman!"
When Alvis saw Paul behind the desk, his voice trembled slightly. He walked quickly forward but then suddenly stopped.
Paul got up and walked around the desk: "I'm sorry you had to go through this."
He noticed the dark circles under Alvis's eyes and felt a little apologetic.
Despite the testimony of guards who were present at the time, Alvis was placed under house arrest. Investigators from the Intelligence Department repeatedly interrogated the old scholar, trying to extract any clues from him about the lord's disappearance.
But what could he possibly know?
Alvis shook his head and gave a wry smile: "Your subordinates were just doing their duty. After all, that day..." His voice trailed off, clearly recalling the nightmare brought on by the silver-haired female assassin.
Paul gestured for him to sit down, poured him a cup of tea, and pushed it towards him. The tea swirled gently in the cup, reflecting Alvis's tired yet relieved face.
Alvis pushed up his slipped glasses, the lenses reflecting the morning light from the window.
"Sir!" His voice held the characteristic scholarly curiosity, "Could you tell me what exactly happened that day? How did you and the ladies suddenly disappear?"
Paul picked up his teacup, the rising steam blurring his face.
"It's a protective magic," he whispered, "or rather, a passive arcane art. In times of crisis, it teleports the target to a special mental space."
"A mental space?" Alvis's fingers unconsciously rubbed the teacup. Although he had been exposed to magic in Gabella, hearing about such an experience firsthand still made his pupils shrink.
"This...this seems to be a realm that even the masters of the Arcane Society haven't touched. Could it be that you are also...?"
"Oh, no, no, no, I don't have any magic at all." Paul quickly waved his hand in denial, realizing he had misunderstood. "As for whose magic it is, it's not convenient to reveal that right now, I'm very sorry."
"Haha, it's only right to be careful." Alvis nodded understandingly.
"Time flows differently there," Paul said, setting down his teacup. "We've spent ten years there, maybe even longer, while only seven days have passed outside."
"Ten years?!" Alvis's teacup fell to the ground, but thankfully it didn't break.
His face was filled with shock. "This is unbelievable..." His voice trailed off, finally becoming a murmur.
As Alvis picked up the teacup and straightened up, his eyes gleamed with fanaticism.
"My lord, could you describe that space to me in detail? Is it the same as the world we live in?" Scholar's thirst for knowledge prompted Alvis to ask.
"Well... well, let's talk about it another time." Paul ruthlessly rejected his question.
"Another thing, I have ordered the lifting of all your restrictions. From today onwards, you are a specially appointed professor in the Social Science Department of Weiss Academy —if you wish."
Alvis paused for a moment, then nodded firmly. "I do, sir."
He recalled his conversation with Paul before his assassination attempt—to deconstruct the orcs' cultural heritage and eliminate the cohesion of orc society.
Thinking of this, Alvis gripped the teacup tightly, oblivious to the few drops of hot tea splashing onto the back of his hand. During this time, although his freedom had been restricted, he was allowed to read newspapers from outside sources.
Alvis knew that the orc Great Chieftain Abar was preparing for a second invasion of Oldo, which meant that the entire Northwest Bay was on high alert.
It was Antonio Griffin's compromises that fueled the orcs' ambitions, and thinking of this, Alvis, as a Gabella, felt obligated to make amends for some of the mistakes the emperor had made.
"That's great!"
Paul laughed, but quickly suppressed his laughter and put on a troubled expression. "Also, I want you to meet someone, and I hope you won't be angry."
"Why should I be angry?" Alvis was completely baffled.
Paul coughed lightly and turned to look at the screen in the corner of the study: "Come out, Hilda."
A slight rustling sound of fabric came from behind the screen. When the silver-haired figure slowly stepped out, Alvis jumped up from his chair as if electrocuted, and his teacup fell to the ground again.
"It's you!" Old Scholar's voice suddenly rose, his finger trembling uncontrollably as he pointed at the other person. His face instantly turned deathly pale, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead—this was Coleridge, the female assassin who had been chasing him ever since Gabella, forcing him to detour through Great Prairie, and who had been trapped in the orc tribe for a year.
Coleridge had many names, but Hilda was the one given to her by her parents and the one she considered her true name.
This name had always been hidden deep in the witch's heart, unknown even to her companions in the Arcane Society and to Her Majesty Antonio, whom she had once served—the witch had originally planned to tell him at some point in the future, but now everything had changed.
After spending a long time together in the other dimension and building a strong trust, the witch opened her heart and revealed her true name to Paul and the others.
Standing at the point where light and shadow met by the window, Hilda's face, seemingly frozen, betrayed no emotion; she remained as aloof as ever.
But only those who know her very well would notice that the witch's hand, hanging at her side, was unconsciously stroking the silver thread embroidery on her cuff—a small gesture she made to hide her nervousness.
Paul knew her extremely well; in fact, no one in the world knew Hilda better than he did now. He immediately sensed the embarrassment and unease in her heart.
But there was nothing he could do; the witch had almost killed the old scholar.
"Apologize!" Paul demanded sternly.
Hilda pursed her lips.
" Mr. Alvis," she began abruptly, her voice like clashing icicles, "about the previous offense…"
She choked up halfway through her sentence, her silver eyelashes drooping slightly, casting dappled shadows on her cheeks.
Hilda glanced to the side and felt Paul's hopeful and encouraging gaze.
"In short, I have done many dangerous things to you, and I hope to get your forgiveness!"
As if she were going all out, she blurted it out in one breath, and bowed slightly to Alvis, a blush rising on her snow-white face.
A terrible silence fell over the study.
Alvis's rapid breathing was clearly audible, and his gaze darted back and forth between Paul and Hilda, as if trying to confirm that this was not another nightmare.
"Father in heaven, who can tell me what has happened?"