A Journey Unwanted-Chapter 455 - 444: Conflict in the castle

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Quadling Country]

[Glinda’s Castle]

"Ooh, I remember this one—yes, I do remember this piece quite vividly now that I’m looking at it again. It was a gift from Circe, can you believe that? She truly does have some rather odd taste, though I suppose that is part of her charm," Glinda’s cheery voice rang out, both light and melodic, as she moved through the halls of her castle with grace. As she passed, she lifted a delicate hand, gesturing toward a painting mounted along the wall as though presenting it to an audience instead of merely pointing it out.

The painting itself was strange. It depicted a vigorous, almost overly lush expanse of land, brimming with tall grass and scattered trees, all painted in rich, saturated tones that seemed just a little too alive. Within that space roamed animals that should not have shared the same environment—lions with heavy manes prowling near wolves with sharp eyes, and even pigs rooting idly through the same ground. It was a mess of ecosystems that somehow had not yet erupted into chaos. Everything about it felt mismatched, as though harmony had been forced where it did not belong.

Meanwhile, Alexandria walked a step behind Glinda, her posture straight as always, while the grumpy-looking Wolf followed just behind Snow. His heavy steps rang out through the hall, his presence almost tainting the refined atmosphere.

"An interesting piece," Snow muttered at Glinda’s side, her voice soft, though her gaze lingered on the painting for only a brief moment before drifting forward again. It was not admiration—more a quick acknowledgment.

"Mhm, it really is, isn’t it?" Glinda replied with an easy smile, continuing her gentle pace as though the conversation was something to savor. "The other members of the Quaesitorum are quite the eccentric bunch—even when compared to me, which is saying quite a lot, I think. I’ve received all sorts of peculiar gifts over the years, you know. Some of them were even Divine Artifacts, though I’ve never found myself particularly interested in hoarding such things for their own sake." She tilted her head slightly, her tone thoughtful and still light. "Though, I must admit, that very same tendency will work quite nicely in your guild’s favor. Including you, of course—the Mortifers of the Retorta Guild have always been a subject of immense interest to us, whether you realize it or not."

"I shall take that as a compliment," Snow decided after a moment, though her tone remained unchanged, giving away nothing of how she truly received the words. Instead, her thoughts turned inward, her gaze sharpening ever so slightly as she walked.

("Establishing a relationship through the Good Witch with the Quaesitorum is proceeding smoothly, at least for now. There have been no complications or resistance. That alone is fortunate.") Her hands folded neatly before her as she continued her analysis. ("All that remains is to retrieve the Ancestor so that the artifact can be properly created. Once that is done, the matter will be resolved, and I can finally clear myself of that embarrassment.")

The memory lingered longer than she would have liked.

Failing to retrieve the stolen artifact.

Ordinarily, such a failure would stain a Mortifer’s record in a way that could not be easily dismissed. It would linger, be whispered about, weighed by peers and superiors alike. But the involvement of a high-ranking Angel complicated matters—excused them, even, to an extent. And yet personal pride was not so easily appeased.

("And that girl as well...") Her lips pressed into a small frown. A fellow Nil—far weaker, yet somehow the one who had slipped through their grasp, the one who had taken what should never have been taken. ("That is not something I can simply overlook. Nor is it something I can allow to remain unresolved.")

"You seem to be in rather deep thought," Glinda suddenly noted, her golden eyes drifting toward Snow with an almost playful curiosity. There was no effort or strain in it, yet the weight of that gaze was heavy, as though it brushed against more than just the surface.

"I was merely considering the proceedings ahead," Snow answered smoothly, her voice betraying none of the sharper thoughts that had just passed through her mind.

"How diligent of you," Glinda replied, her tone warm, though there was a knowing curve to her smile. "But those pretty, distant eyes of yours tell me a slightly different story~ They always do, you know. It’s rather hard to hide things when they linger that clearly."

Snow resisted the urge to frown at that, keeping her expression composed even as she registered the implication. Glinda saw too much—far more than she let on—and lingering on that line of conversation would not be to her benefit. So instead, she shifted it.

"If you do not mind my asking—and changing the subject somewhat—may I pose a question?" The Mortifer asked, her voice polite.

"But of course, dear. You may ask whatever you like," Glinda replied with a gentle nod, her smile never fading.

"I do not know whether it is merely exaggeration or rumor," Snow began, her tone remaining the same, though there was the faintest hardening in her gaze, "but according to our contacts within the Dominion of Oz, there was a reported dragon sighting near Quadling Country." Her eyes narrowed just slightly, her lips turning down almost imperceptibly. "Would that information be accurate?"

Glinda tapped her chin lightly with one finger, her expression shifting into one of recollection as she slowed her pace just a fraction. "Ah yes, I do recall something along those lines now that you mention it."

Snow’s attention sharpened immediately, small, though it was there, her focus narrowing as she waited for the continuation.

"It was rather sudden," Glinda continued after a brief pause, her voice calm. "It appeared within the northern hills—no warning, there was not even a gradual approach from it. And just as quickly as it came, it disappeared again, as though it had never been there to begin with."

Snow exhaled lightly, though the sound carried more than the action suggested. Her eyes darkened just slightly, something settling beneath the surface.

"Was it Albion or Ddraig?" she asked, her gaze meeting Glinda’s without hesitation, searching for certainty where there likely was none. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

"Hard to say, I’m afraid," Glinda answered without flinching, her golden eyes steady. "Dragons are peculiar creatures. Their presence does not always behave in ways that can be easily perceived or understood. It could have been one of them or it could just as easily have been an entirely different dragon altogether."

Snow held her gaze for a moment longer before looking ahead again, her voice sharpening just enough to reveal a hint of emotion.

"Even so, it would not surprise me in the slightest if they were all nothing more than feral animals," she said, and this time, there was no mistaking the edge in her tone.

Alexandria’s gaze lingered on the Mortifer as they walked, her position remaining just a step beside Wolf, close enough to observe. Her posture did not falter, nor did her expression betray anything overt—but her attention was unwavering.

If not for Glinda’s presence just ahead of them, Alexandria knew, with a certainty she did not voice, that she would have been far more unnerved by those eyes. Those piercing, cold blue eyes that did not simply look, they pierced without ever needing to move.

There was something deeply unsettling about them. Not in an obvious way, not in a way that inspired immediate fear, but in something far more complex. They held contempt, buried, but present, and yet they did not express it. It was simply there.

This woman was dangerous.

That much was undeniable.

One was not appointed as a Mortifer without reason, without proof, or without a history that justified such a position. Mortifers were not simply strong—they were chosen, elevated above others for a purpose that demanded absurd power. Even through secondhand accounts alone, through reports and recollections, Alexandria had come to understand that much.

And those accounts had never been comforting.

A group of individuals like that—each one powerful and each one bound to serve a single figure. It was not simply strength that made them concerning.

It was what that strength was gathered for.

Snow, seated at the eighth rank out of ten, should—by all logic—have felt lesser in comparison to those above her. There should have been some visible distinction, some gap that separated her from those who stood higher.

But there was none.

Not that Alexandria could see.

Her presence did not waver, and it did not shrink. Even now, simply walking through the hall, Snow carried herself with a posture that left no room for error. No openings, no careless shifts of weight, and no wasted movement.

Alexandria could see it clearly.

If she attacked—if she even considered it—Snow would respond instantly.

But that was not what unsettled her the most.

No.

It was her eyes.

Those blank blue orbs that reflected nothing back, as though they were not meant to hold emotion at all. Paired with that soft tone, it created something that did not feel entirely human.

She moved like a person. She spoke like one.

But she felt like a doll.

A sentient doll, crafted with care, given purpose, and set to live without flaw or deviation.

("But her distaste for the dragons, that carried something. There was emotion there, even if it was buried...")

Alexandria’s emerald eyes narrowed just slightly as that realization settled, her thoughts—

("Oh—")

Her eyes widened, only just, as something clicked into place.

She turned her head toward Glinda, instinctively opening her mouth to speak, to voice the realization before it slipped away, but the words never came.

Because something else reached her first.

Footsteps.

Not soft, they were clanking, from heavy armor.

It carried through the hall with a sound that cut cleanly through the otherwise silent atmosphere, each step echoing to draw attention.

Alexandria’s focus snapped forward, her body reacting before her thoughts fully caught up, and then she saw it.

That vivid, unmistakable flash of red.