Chapter 326: The Secret Gathering
The young mage Cohen stood inside the duke’s mansion, listening to the murmurs of the spellcasters around him as they quietly discussed the mysterious new frontier in the southern lands. Occasionally, he chimed in with a few words, but his mind was elsewhere.
He knew very well that half the people here weren’t genuinely interested in the recruitment itself.
Behind them were fading minor noble families, newly risen aristocrats eager to climb higher, and wealthy merchants desperate to curry favor with the nobility. None of these people truly intended to become builders on that barren southern frontier. Their real goal was to use this opportunity to establish connections with the Cecil family. Though the Cecils had declined, the revival of the founding duke had breathed new hope into their fading house. Over the past six months, news trickled in about the southern frontier—far from perishing in that desolate land, the Cecil family was gradually regaining its footing. This stirred the ambitions of those with ulterior motives.
Almost everyone agreed on one fact: even if the founding duke was truly off to the borderlands to oversee development, the Cecil family’s return to the kingdom’s political stage was inevitable. Whether to uphold the royal lineage’s legitimacy or to stabilize the noble hierarchy, the king had to restore the Cecils as a pillar of the crown. Though the king might fear Gawain Cecil himself, he could not ignore the renewed prestige of the “Cecil” name, blessed once again by their ancestors.
Given this, the Cecil family, still stationed far at the border, naturally became a worthwhile investment.
But the name “Cecil” remained sensitive, and their investment value was still uncertain. Many great houses remained cautious, watching and weighing their options. So smaller, vassal families were sent forward, using the duke’s recruitment of extraordinary talents as a pretext to forge ties and lay groundwork for future investments.
Aside from these opportunists, the rest of the attendees had their own complicated motives. One thing was certain: very few were here purely to answer the duke’s call.
Without a family mandate, a professional gifted with extraordinary powers had no reason to go toil in a barren borderland. Even with generous pay, what could they gain from that empty land? For spellcasters, the top priority was advancement within the supernatural realm, followed by prospects in high society. Money came third.
As for leveraging this chance to cozy up to the Cecil family—spellcasters without noble lineage didn’t expect that. This was a world that valued bloodlines and family heritage. A lowly mage of common birth and modest means held little value to the duke.
Cohen knew this well. Though he had some personal ties to Santis and had come after receiving a private letter from him, he had no real intention of joining the duke’s recruitment. Like many other young, struggling mages, he was here for the networking opportunities. Those seeking to invest in the Cecils were minor players in the noble system, but for a mage like Cohen, with average family and talent, they were rare and valuable contacts. Nearly two-fifths of the people in the hall had come for the same reason.
There were only two kinds of people here: those hoping to connect with the Cecil family, and those like Cohen hoping to connect with the first group.
A young man with curly brown hair, a hooked nose, and dressed in fine silk approached. Cohen recognized him as a distant relative of the Strawn family. He smiled, stood, raised his glass in greeting, and tried to strike up a conversation.
They had little prior acquaintance, so the chat was brief. Still, Cohen believed he’d made a small impression. After the young Strawn left, Cohen relaxed his forced smile, exhaled softly, and set down his glass to leave his seat.
A servant in a red vest immediately stepped forward, asking if he needed assistance. These servants were royal hires, assigned to help manage the duke’s estate while he was away in the south. Cohen waved off the offer, saying he just felt a bit claustrophobic and wanted some fresh air.
He left the brightly lit parlor and stepped outside into the cold breeze. The sun was sinking, the sky gradually dimming.
Cohen sneezed, rubbed his nose, and turned to pour himself another glass of the rare Karna wine before heading home.
Just then, a young woman with slightly dark skin, wearing a long dress, approached. Her name was Jipri.
“Lucky Santis,” Cohen thought enviously. “To have such a beautiful lady by his side.”
He nodded politely to the apprentice mage before him. “Miss Jipri.”
He wanted to show respect to the duke’s envoy but maintain the dignity befitting a full-fledged spellcaster—after all, she was only an apprentice.
Jipri tapped her forehead lightly and returned a formal mage’s salute, smiling as she said, “Mr. Cohen Bonnet, right?”
“That’s me. May I ask what this is about?”
“You meet the criteria. Santis asked me to give you this.”
The young apprentice handed Cohen a folded letter and a seemingly ordinary brooch. Cohen frowned slightly as he took the letter, hesitating.
“But… I’m not prepared to—”
“This isn’t a registration form for the southern expedition,” Jipri smiled. “It’s an invitation to the next gathering. Please don’t miss it. Wearing the brooch is your proof of attendance.”
Cohen wanted to ask more, but Jipri only smiled mysteriously, shook her head, and turned away. Left with no choice, Cohen lowered his head and unfolded the letter, curiosity piqued.
It contained only one sentence: “Remain here after the first chime of the bell tonight.”
Beneath it was a small symbol—an eye intertwined with a lightning bolt.
“A secret mage meeting? What is Santis up to… using this duke’s errand as a cover for his own private gathering? Is he planning to reenter the capital’s mage circles?” Cohen muttered, frowning.
Still, he carefully folded the letter and put it away.
Whatever Santis’s intentions, such secret mage meetings were worth attending. Spellcasters gathering to exchange knowledge and improve their skills was always valuable. Hosting a proper gathering wasn’t cheap, and since someone was organizing it—plus the chance to enjoy fine wine and food in the duke’s mansion—Cohen was sure most wouldn’t miss it.
He glanced outside. The sun was nearly gone; the first bell chime was imminent.
Returning to the parlor, he saw many guests already rising to leave, though some remained seated. Scanning the room, he noticed a few people wearing the same brooch pinned to their clothes.
So he wasn’t the only one.
Relieved, Cohen pinned the brooch on himself.
After another ten minutes, a senior servant appeared, announcing the official gathering was over and all guests had been registered. Visitors were free to leave.
Several people stood and departed, but Cohen noticed some still seated—each wearing the brooch.
Servants in red vests and maids in black-and-white uniforms entered to clear plates and glasses. Cohen, a bit nervous, sat back down. A passing servant’s gaze lingered on the brooch on his chest before nodding respectfully and bringing him a cup of astringent herbal water to clear the mind.
Only then did Cohen fully relax.
A while later, new guests arrived, still carrying the chill of the night air. They immediately rubbed their hands and headed to the fireplace—clearly just arrived.
Were these the “responders” from earlier today, returning for the evening gathering?
Santis was really pulling out all the stops… no wonder he had noble funds behind him.
Cohen’s thoughts drifted, then he noticed something unusual.
Many familiar faces were here, which wasn’t strange given the limited number of mages in the city. But none were from noble houses or any mage factions.
Even a fallen figure like Santis should know at least one or two members of noble or faction families—especially from the same mage tower.
Had they been deliberately excluded? Or was this gathering truly special, with all noble and faction members barred?
Cohen’s senses sharpened.
He instinctively felt that tonight’s so-called “second gathering” was no ordinary affair.
As he pondered, the first bell tolled across the capital.
The clear, resonant chimes rang out from the city’s churches, calling the faithful to prayer and praise. Cohen noticed the servants quietly leaving the hall, replaced by soldiers clad in Cecil-standard armor guarding every exit. The sound of bolts sliding into place came from the main door.
Unease rippled through the guests, but soon the side door opened. Santis entered, dressed in a black mage’s robe, flanked by Jipri and Pierce.
Santis calmly scanned the room, feeling steadier than he expected.
Then he spoke:
“Friends, is anyone interested in the magical arts of Old Gondor and the knowledge of lost realms?”
In the southern lands, inside the castle of Count Hosman, the sharp-eyed noble stood in the banquet hall, dressed in gold and crimson finery. Holding a golden goblet brimming with Karna wine, he smiled as he surveyed the assembled guests.
Amid the pleasant sounds of a seven-stringed lyre and tambourine, the count raised his voice:
“Friends, is anyone interested in the ‘Magic Web’ technology from the Cecil domain?
“I bring good news—thanks to the efforts of several wise magical advisors and scholars of the Hosman family, I have unlocked its secrets!”
(End of chapter)