While Vivi had spent years familiarizing herself with Meridian, she’d done most of her exploration with a map overlaid across her vision. So she hardly knew all the streets and districts of the city, never mind with the changes a century had brought.
She wanted to minimize the risks she took, so flying invisible through the air seemed unwise. Powerful mages—Institute archmages to name the known ones, saying nothing for hidden immortals or worse—resided in this city, and while she should be able to hide herself from even them, she chose caution. She would make it one full day without an unintended debacle.
That said, she would hardly swear off magic entirely. A [Farsight] high in the sky gave her a bird’s eye view of the city. She took in the sight of Meridian through a more familiar lens: with, ironically, a minimap of sorts.
The main artery of the city, the river Chalis, cut through the urban sprawl and divided Meridian into two halves. Along its shores, industry bustled: developed banks crowded with docks and warehouses. Boats flowed up and down the murky water, and to her interest, most used sails but some were of newer designs, with no obvious method of propulsion—clearly powered by that same ‘artificing’ the Convoy used.
Downriver and downwind resided the industrial district. Huge brick buildings released smoke and steam from their roofs, and not far a Convoy rail snaked through, delivering goods from and to Meridian in enormous quantities. In the north east near the dense center of the city reposed the High King’s Palace—white marble and blue roofs—joined by an opulent courtyard and a sprawling garden. A bit south and west was the Noble’s District: her goal for today.
Casting a spell to amplify her eyesight, she began searching through. She found the estate in short order. It was nearly the largest in the city and, to her relief, exactly where she’d left it.
A glance showed that the expansive grounds had been immaculately kept over the years, and nothing seemed out of place. She dismissed [Farsight] without examining it too closely. She wanted to experience her old home in person, not looking down at it with magic.
Maybe that was unwise, since she could do some scouting and draw conclusions, but a level two thousand mage was allowed to indulge in whimsy. She’d already skipped her leisurely trip across the continent. For Meridian, and her old home, she would experience things like a real person.
A nervous energy filled her as she crossed the city. It was time to find out what had happened to her home, personal stash, and most importantly, Winston. She honestly wasn’t sure what she would find. Any number of things could’ve happened in a century’s time.
She accelerated the trip with [Invisibility] and a movement spell, since those were only mithril rank abilities. Nothing to draw attention if detected, not in Meridian. [Fly] was only off the table because it was tier ten, a Titled spell, and a difficult one at that.
Soon, she arrived at the Noble’s District and slowed her pace.
Real estate in the capital city wasn’t cheap. Even in the Noble’s District, the buildings—while grand—were packed without much space between them. Only as she reached the wealthiest sections did the buildings start elbowing out some breathing room.
Vivisari’s manor, of course, had enough space to practically be considered a country estate. There hadn’t been many people as rich and powerful as her, and her home reflected that, claiming a large chunk of isolated land even in the middle of the Noble’s District.
She reached the ornate iron gate; it was already swung open. A long, paved path led to the huge building in the distance. A vast lawn of luscious green filled the grounds, trimmed hedges and vivid flower beds kept pristine. Tall, mature trees dotted the grass, bearing fruit of many colors.
The manor was enormous, constructed of pale white stone, four stories tall, and wide enough for twelve large rooms abreast—gigantic even by the standard of a mansion. The windows, stone, and roof were all pristine as well, not a blemish in sight.
She observed all of that passively. Her real interest was in something else. Because there was an oddity in the scene.
A lot of maids and butlers were bustling around.
This clearly wasn’t an abandoned or minimally unkept property. Someone lived here—many someones. But even then, there were a strangely high number of service staff members going about their duties.
…Not even ‘going about their duties’, on closer inspection. Sparring together. Drinking tea on the balcony. Conversing. She didn’t see any hint of a noble family, or an ongoing social event, that they should be serving to account for such a large staff. Even to upkeep grounds and a manor of this size, surely this was overkill.
Then again, she supposed she hardly had a frame of reference.
Confused, she walked through the open gate.
As she passed, magic brushed against her senses. She paused and examined the enchantments, vision burrowing into the metal set beneath the gate. Intriguingly, she recognized the enchantments as made by her own hand. All spells had a certain flavor to them—more painting than mathematical formula—and the personal touch here was her own.
They were the standard defensive arrays, so she put them out of mind. They had simply evaluated her as a threat. She was no invader, so she passed through uncontested.
She strolled down the paved path large enough to fit three carriages side by side and examined the grounds with fascination.
Unlike all other places she’d visited in Seven Cataclysms, her home hadn’t changed over the years. The building was identical, the layout of the grounds, the exact arrangement of hedges and flower beds—if admittedly the trees were larger, and some had surely been replaced over the years. So not fully identical. But faithfully maintained, as close as could be expected.
That alone gave her hope that some other noble lineage hadn’t appropriated her home. Surely they would have made changes if so. Had Winston managed the manor in her absence? Or arranged for it to happen? It would explain the enormous service staff…sort of. Again, not really. There were simply too many of the black-and-white uniforms about.
Barely a few seconds after walking in, heads began to turn. One maid immediately darted off for the main building, presumably to alert whoever was in charge. That was to be expected, and what Vivi wanted, so she didn’t stop the young woman. She doubted strangers strolled up to important noble houses often, much less Vivisari Vexaria’s.
She was being conspicuous, but she had no choice. She needed to get in contact with whoever was in charge. Winston, hopefully, but she didn’t get her hopes up.
Her confusion grew as she approached the manor. The number of maids and butlers really was unusually high, and she couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation. Especially with what they’d been doing: training and using the grounds as if they were—she didn’t know what. Like they owned the place?
Something itched in the back of her head, telling her she had failed to draw an obvious conclusion. But she was distracted. Her home, in the flesh. It was a little overwhelming.
Just as she arrived at the huge set of stairs leading up to the palatial manor, a woman strode out. Tall, thin, with gray hair up in a bun and features severe enough to make a nunnery matron look warm and kindly, she radiated an aura of cold command so thick Vivi felt it dozens of feet away.
“Halt at once and identify yourself,” the woman demanded.
The words carried across the distance, and Vivi obeyed by pure instinct. The woman’s tone promised her she would regret it if she didn’t, and yet somehow was neither aggressive nor hostile. The authority of a general; she gave orders and all who listened complied.
Vivi knew that if she hadn’t stopped, this woman would have attacked her on the spot.
She supposed she was intruding. Never mind that this was her own home. They obviously didn’t know or recognize her as Vivisari Vexaria. She still had her [Illusion] on.
The two of them took each other’s measure. The woman had gray eyes to match her gray hair, and an undeniable air of grace to mirror that aura of authority. Like every other maid and butler present on these grounds, she carried herself with the dignity of a woman who served royalty.
She was wearing a single gold bar on each of her lapels.
…It looked awfully similar to those two silver bars that the Glove of the Second Class had worn back on the Convoy.
The uniforms were strikingly similar too.
A conclusion started to form, but Vivi was busy considering the woman in front of her.
“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge,” she finally said. “The owner of the manor.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. Several long seconds passed before she replied.
“The Headmaster is indisposed, and will not be interrupted. If you have business with him, you will make arrangements through appropriate channels. Identify yourself, explain how you entered, and leave immediately. We will consider this matter settled—for now.” She was tense as she delivered her commands, eyes locked on Vivi with startling intensity.
‘How had she gotten inside?’ What did she mean by that?
She realized she was being silly. She hadn’t even thought about it: those defenses back at the gate repelled intruders. She should’ve counted as one without explicit permission in, even if she’d arrived without malicious intent.
Seeing how she didn’t have an invitation—and they clearly hadn’t come to the conclusion she was Vivisari Vexaria and thus had an automatic way in—they thought she had bypassed the wards somehow. Not an easy task, tricking the defenses the Sorceress herself had laid on her manor. That alone had made her an extremely credible threat in the woman’s eyes, hence the wariness.
Vivi’s attention flicked to a maid seated on a balcony nearby, a teacup in her hand, watching them with calm interest. Her blue eyes were analyzing and unconcerned. She wore two silver pieces of metal on her lapel, identical to those the White Glove on the Convoy had displayed.
Three other maids sat at the table with her, and they didn’t wear any identifiers of rank. Their aura of refinement was cruder too, now that she paid attention, like many of the younger maids and butlers on the grounds. Still elegant, but less so. They were young—sixteen at a guess.
Student age. Their slightly wide eyes signaled surprise, lacking the graceful, statue-like composure of the older women.
As in, not yet graduated.
Attending a class hosted by a teacher—who was, undoubtedly, a White Glove of the Second Class.
“Headmaster Winston?” Vivi breathed, finally putting the pieces together and feeling monumentally stupid for taking so long.
The woman didn’t pause at the words, which confirmed the suspicion. She did, however, ignore Vivi.
“I have warned you twice. There will not be a third.”
Her stance shifted, losing her elegant poise for a more stable positioning of her feet.
Vivi couldn’t believe it.
In her absence, Winston had repurposed Vivi’s manor into a training academy for the world’s most elite bodyguarding service. An organization of unparalleled service staff who could fight on equal footing with some of the best adventurers in the world. He had founded the White Gloves.
Vivi’s thoughts raced, but she was forced to focus on the immediate issue. The woman in front of her, clearly readying herself to attack.
The Glove of the First Class, a Titled-rank threat by default, likely over level one thousand. And since she would be acting in defense of the Academy and the students within, she would be given a truly enormous boost from her class.
Vivi could deescalate. There was little she couldn’t do, considering her arsenal of supreme magics. She could calm everyone down, reveal herself, and explain the situation.
But what kind of person teleported a bank teller into the wilderness and summoned a miniature sun as a means of proving her identity? When even she had known there were easier, less conspicuous methods of handling that problem?
What kind of person created her in-game character with blood trail tattoos running down her eyes, and hadn’t removed them even after she’d grown up?
Vivi had a fatal weakness, and it reared its head now. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last.
A super-elite, probably Titled-rank combat maid was about to attack her, and Vivi had never been so flustered in her life.
At Vivi’s continued lack of response, the maid raised an arm to her side, her palm open. A silvery cloud of mist coalesced into a long, ethereal outline. Materializing from nowhere appeared a bulky weapon that even a Viking should have struggled to wield in two hands: an ornate, polished battle-axe with silver haft and silver blade. It dropped into her hand, and its weight didn’t make her arm dip in the slightest. A mere feather in her grip.
With a snap, the maid pointed it her way. A gust of wind followed.
“You refuse?” she asked dangerously.
Vivi swooned. Or would have, if not for Vivisari’s body thankfully interfering.
She was going to give Winston whatever he wanted for this. A castle made out of starmetal. He was her new favorite person in the world.
“I didn’t come to fight,” Vivi said, voice bored and red eyes uninterested. “But I will provide one if you demand it.”
The maid, as promised, did not offer a third warning.