Chapter 197: Unsettling
Arkai’s eyebrows quirked just a milliter, barely perceptible, when Cecilia spoke. The accent was subtle, woven into the vowels and the cadence like a thread of silver through dark fabric.
It was definitely from Oathran’s influence. The Dragon Lord’s manner of speech, absorbed and adapted, layered over her own voice until it beca sothing new entirely.
So even the way she moved wasn’t enough? He wondered how soone could transform into an entirely different persona with just hours of training?
He knew, of course, that this was not rely training. This was Cecilia. Her mind, her adaptability, her absolute refusal to fail at anything she set herself to. She had taken their suggestions, Eastiel’s chains, Oathran’s magic, his own vision of the veil, and woven them into a living, breathing presence.
Lady Sees was no longer a costu.
Beside him, Qinryc Lukas’s lips twitched.
The Pri Minister of Cassia, of course, knew exactly who she was. He had been playing along from the mont Arkai’s invitation had reached his estate, and he was enjoying himself imnsely.
The sharp glint in his eyes spoke of a man who appreciated good theater, and this—
This was the performance of a lifeti!
"Yes," Qinryc said. "Finally, my Lady. I’ve been dying to et you."
The reaction was imdiate.
Every head in the room turned. Every eye fixed on the Pri Minister. The question rippled through the assembled guests like a wave.
"Lord Lukas, do you know her?"
Qinryc laughed, that sa infectious, unrestrained laugh from earlier, but now laced with sothing delighted.
"Of course," he declared. "Who else supplied
with the miraculous healing potion, if not for her?"
Another gasp rippled through the hall.
This ti, it was louder. More obvious. Less restrained.
Because most of the people here knew about the miracle healing potion. They had heard the whispers, followed the rumors, tried, and failed, to acquire even a single vial from the mysterious supplier who had appeared from nowhere and begun selling the impossible.
Qinryc Lukas had been one of the first, the most prominent, the one with consistent access. And now here was the source, standing before them in black and gold.
This was the woman producing them?
And was the Dragon’s Physician on top of that?
Of course. Of course soone who could boast as the physician of gods would be able to make such miraculous dicine.
But for her to be Arkai Dawnoro’s chosen Luna as well?
The dots connected themselves. Arkai Dawnoro had dared to announce her as the one who saved Anton Vasiliev. That was not a casual claim, it was a vouch. A public, undeniable endorsent of her credibility. He was staking his reputation on her.
When had they t? Wasn’t it still very recent that he had almost died on that mountain?
"You are one of our best distributors," Cecilia said, her voice carrying that sa low, musical quality, the faint accent lending her words an exotic, regal weight. "Thanks to you, everything has been running smoothly."
The words were simple, but their implication was vast. Our distributors. Everything has been running smoothly. She was not rely a supplier, but an operator?
"There’s also another gentleman I want you to et," Arkai said, guiding her with a gentle hand at her elbow. They turned, and there was Chief Hettor.
The Jaguar Tribe leader stepped forward, his massive clawed hand rising to rest over his heart. He bowed.
"My lady." Hettor’s voice was a warm rumble, his golden eyes gleaming with sothing that might have been appreciation or might have been calculation. "Hettor and the Jaguar Tribe, at your service."
"Chief Hettor." Cecilia curtsied again, that sa fluid grace, her chains whispering. "You are most kind."
The beasts in the room were captivated.
It was a subtle thing at first. The way their nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, the way their heads tilted just slightly when she passed. They were scenting the air, as beasts did, reading the invisible language of pheromones and personal markers that humans could never perceive.
And what they found... was nothing.
Underneath the gentle fragrance she wore, desert spices and sothing like night-blooming flowers, there was no scent. No personal markers. No trace of species or lineage or individual identity. It was as if she had no scent at all, as if the air passed through her without carrying any ssage.
They didn’t know it was the thin layer of mana she had coated her skin and hair with, a barrier so fine it was invisible even if they could see mana with their bare eyes, neutralizing everything that might betray her.
To them, it was simply... strange. Fascinating. The kind of anomaly that made a predator’s ears prick forward with interest.
The humans noticed differently.
The Crown Prince of Iondora, handso, composed, his brown hair perfectly styled, narrowed his eyes as Cecilia passed. His gaze was not on her movents or her voice or her scentless mystery. It was on her skin.
The dark red lines that traced across every visible inch of her, her arms, her collarbone, the curve of her waist where the chains parted, were not re decoration. They were carved with intention and power.
Beneath his trained observation, he could sense it. The subtle magic woven into each line, an enchantnt so ancient and so refined that it felt less like a spell and more like a presence.
He had seen tattoos like these before.
In history books. Rare, crumbling texts that depicted the dragons of old, their scales marked with similar patterns. Recorded in the midst of their rare appearances. The Dragon’s Physician, they called her. Could it be...
Could it be that she herself was a dragon?
With this montum building, with Arkai’s opening statents attacking the Delanivis, implicit and explicit, Ruby felt the window closing. She felt anxious.
She had co here to apologize. To regain favor. To control the narrative before it spun completely out of her hands.
And now this woman had appeared. This variable. This person who had not existed in her previous life, who had no counterpart in the future she rembered, who was a blank space in her perfect knowledge.
Who? Who could she be?
It was unsettling. Deeply unsettling.
But she could not afford to show it. She could not afford to wait.
If she didn’t know this woman in her past life, then she would find clues now. She would probe, observe, connect this new information to the frawork she already possessed.
The apology was the perfect excuse. A way to step forward, claim attention, and gather data while appearing humble and contrite.
So, she stepped forward.
She curtsied, deep, graceful, the perfect gesture of a penitent seeking forgiveness.
"My Lord."
And as she had hoped, as she had known, the attention of the room shifted. Landed on her. Yes, after all, she was still Ruby Vaiva.
The whispers that had been circling the mysterious Lady Sees paused, redirected, focused on the familiar figure in their midst.
The true Saintess had stepped forward.
And the mont she did, Cecilia’s visible red lips curved into a warm, gentle smile.
.
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