137: They say a woman's past is full of mystery.

I'm Eva Casper. A mage.

Twenty-four.

Let me tell you a little story from long ago.

I remember my parents were excellent mages—though my memory gets fuzzy when I think back to when I was very young.

Back when Camille was barely walking, and Marilyn was still crawling.

Both parents vanished at once.

Supposedly died in an accident.

We went through a bunch of twists and turns before being taken in by our parents' old mentor.

My parents apparently hated this man.

I have a vague feeling, from back then, that our mentor once muttered something about being a cruel man who’d been abandoned.

First thing he did was test our magical potential.

Used some secret, forbidden鉴定 spell—apparently it can measure a person’s innate magical strength.

I didn’t find out about that until much later, of course.

He said:

I have abundant latent magical power.

If you become my disciple, a mage, and take up my legacy, I’ll look after the three of you.

Even at my young age, I knew instinctively that there was no other path for me.

I couldn’t possibly support two younger sisters, not even if I tried.

I nodded slowly, hesitantly, and accepted.

Why I was taken in by my master and not by some distant relative—only later, when I moved into that old tower on the frontier, did I find out.

There were plenty of orphans like me there.

A hidden garden, cut off from the outside world, where children with magical talent were gathered.

My parents had come from here.

So we were orphans chosen for our talent, brought together in this place, and that’s why we had no relatives at all.

Details aside.

The Hermit’s Garden was a small community, cut off from the outside world—a village, and a nation in its own right.

So there were plenty of non-magicians with seals, people with trades, too.

While I spent my days buried in magic under my master, the one called "The Hermit," the wet nurse the village had prepared took care of my two younger sisters.

For our family of just three, I clung desperately to my studies, terrified of being abandoned by my master.

At sixteen, a little different from the norm, the Coming-of-Age Ceremony took place.

A Seal Officer I’d never seen before came to the village and chanted a spell, etching a mark onto my left hand.

How do I even describe the tension, the fear, at that moment?

All my life, I’d trained and trained, pushing myself to become a mage—what if I failed? What if no mark was carved?

Seconds. Or maybe a lifetime. Hard to say. But in the end, there it was—my left hand, marked with the sigil of a mage.

From this day forward, I’d begin real, hands-on training.

I’d been able to cast basic spells before, sure. But the difference? With the mark, magic flowed smoother, hit harder. No comparison.

I’d be pushing myself, matching wits and skill against older mages already bearing their own sigils.

My effort paid off. Years passed. I grew strong.

My two younger sisters, Camille and Marilyn, each earned their own marks—swordswoman and priestess.

They’d been written off long ago. Too weak in magic to be worth training. So they’d stayed in the village, working quietly, growing up without fanfare.

Camille was busy fighting monsters, swinging her sword, and Marilyn was helping out at the small church, so their respective crests were decided.

Now that I’m starting to be known as a promising prospect in the garden, not just me—but all my sisters—will be recognized throughout the village.

And when the three of them hit their teens, the way people looked at them changed.

The eye of a beast.

The looks from the men shifted, unmistakably.

That’s when I started feeling stares—some curious, some sharp with jealousy—right around the time I stepped up to face the trial deciding the next ‘Hermit.’

If I become a hermit, no one in this village will be able to lay a hand on me. Not on us.

I won’t let them touch my sisters.

The trial's challenge was mastering two great magics.

I keep pushing through training, spitting up blood.

One: "The Abyssal Nether Ice Prison."

This is a high-level, powerful offensive spell, known as Cocytus.

Back in the garden, they believed mastering this was what truly made someone a mage.

One: "Steel Thorn Rose Prison."

This is an original spell passed down… well, to the garden, really, to the hermits of old.

It's a defensive spell, but the steel thorn roses enclose the target, and those thorns inflict damage back on the attacker. Brutal, really.

Neither my father nor my mother could learn either of these spells, so they were given only a pittance and kicked out of the village.

I know the outside world only through books.

Oddly enough, the village has no trouble accessing knowledge about the outside world. In fact, they teach it to you like it's gospel.

...I can say this now, but probably the better a mage is, the more likely they are to be sent out into the outside world.

I remember my parents muttering once that they’d been abandoned by their master because they were failures. Though I can’t be sure—it was long ago, and memories from childhood are fuzzy.

They weren’t abandoned. I think they were just good enough, and once there was nothing more to teach, they were sent out. That’s my guess.

There are a few reasons, but apparently, when it comes time to pick the next hermit, the top student among those who’ve mastered the two essential arts is chosen as the new hermit. The rest are given a choice: stay and teach here, or leave the village.

I’m not bragging, but I was in the genius category.

I learned both great arts by a young age.

That’s a first in the village’s history.

But the one chosen as the next hermit was a thirty-something, fat-assed mage.

Nothing surprising. The front-runner got picked, just like everyone expected.

Not becoming the next hermit was a shock. But if I can get my two sisters out of this garden, fine by me!

No more getting stared at by beasts!

Sure, the outside world might be just as bad—or even worse—but inside this village, there’s nowhere left to run from men.

Outside, though? The world’s wide open.

So if I become a monster hunter, a profession of adventurers, I can move from town to town however I want. Unlike here, I’ll definitely be able to escape. That’s something.

So I make up my mind. I’m taking my sisters and leaving the village.

We came here to tell the hermit our decision.

The hermit stares down at us, silent.

I know the village’s secret arts. I thought there’d be some restrictions, but there wasn’t a single one.

No, just one thing.

...Eva. If you've so much as brushed against the secret of the world... come back... to the hermit's garden in the village.

I don’t get it.

Don’t really feel like going back to the village much.

But I’ve also got debts to repay from all the years they raised me.

I made up my mind—I’d come back if I ever found the world’s hidden secrets.

I gave a small nod, and then—my consciousness vanished.

……。

…………。

I woke up in a room at an inn I’d never seen before.

The moment I got that cryptic line, I suddenly felt sleepy—then I passed out. When I came to, I was staring at the ceiling of a strange inn.

...We can't go back even if we wanted to, can we?

No, that's not it.

Probably thinks he can find his way back on his own if he’s got the power to uncover that world’s hidden secrets.

What kind of secret is this, anyway…?

Didn’t say I had to actively seek it. More like… if I happened to stumble on it by chance.

The garden’s meaning only got fuzzier. Still, that hermit’s got some clear purpose he can’t tell a soul.

The world’s secret.

Don’t know what it is. But I swear, it feels like that’s the only reason the world even exists.

…

Anyway, off track. After that, we became adventurers. Less than a year later, we were a known name.

Been working in the Marquis’s territory lately. But lately, the way those men keep staring at me’s starting to get on my nerves.

Sigh. Is there really no man out there who’s stronger than me, doesn’t leer at women, and doesn’t waste money like a fool?

Twenty-four? Yeah, most would say that’s past the prime.

Not that it’s not still the right age for an adventurer. Not by much, though.

I’m not saying I’m totally uninterested in guys. But the ones who show up around me? They’re lower than flies. So far, I’ve never once thought I wanted to be with anyone.

That’s when I heard the rumor—just as adventurers started getting too familiar.

The Adventurer’s Heaven. Golden Dune.

A vast frontier, stretching across the northwest of the kingdom. To humans, it meant the same thing as death.

And yet, there’s a city right at the edge of that wasteland.

Way too much for a typical golden city legend.

At first, that’s what I thought.

So did the other adventurers.

But things changed in just a few months. That’s when this started showing up in the markets.

“Stamina Potion with the Golden Dune Alchemist Craft Mark!”

Suddenly, potions labeled like that—Healing Potions, Mana Potions—started lining up at the adventurers’ supply shops.

I didn’t get why the supplier was the Production Guild instead of the Trade Guild, but the fact that massive shipments were pouring in from the ends of the earth couldn’t be ignored.

And once the caravan guards started showing up at the taverns, rumors became near-certainty.

“Man, Golden Dune’s the best town ever! Stone buildings, ten-story inns everywhere! Pay your rent, and you can stay for months—no problem!”

That was impressive enough, but the guards’ stories kept going.

“Adventure Guild’s got the ear of the steward—no, the governor, Kyle-sama. We get special treatment. Got patrols and stuff handed our way. Though only the clean-living parties get picked, mind you.”

The local authority and the Adventure Guild? Always at odds.

Can't believe I'm trusted this much.

"Goldendown sells legendary stamina potions and healing potions at regular prices. That's why local adventurers are getting stronger by the day. You know what? There are so many D-rank adventurers now, it's ridiculous."

Unbelievable. Practically speaking, D-rank is the most trusted level in the Adventurer's Guild.

Going above C-rank? That's a sudden leap in difficulty.

There's a lot going on here, but it's complicated. I'll skip it.

"Plus, Kyle-sama truly cares about the townspeople. Despite being a big city, crime is shockingly low."

That's when I asked the important question.

"How many cases of sexual assault? Just give me a gut feeling."

You wouldn’t know that unless you were a guard, but anyone from around here knows the kind of place where a woman walking alone at night is guaranteed trouble.

“Huh? Never heard of it.”

“Wait, none at all?”

Even if you’re exaggerating, that’s not possible.

Maybe it’s just because the adventurer’s been here too short a time?

But the guy shrugged like he was stating the obvious.

“Yeah. Think about it. Try pulling something like that in that town? Even if you got away, the search from top-tier adventurers and soldiers would catch you for sure. You’d get a harsh sentence—prison, forced labor, fines, compensation. And even after you served time, you’d never be allowed back in the city again. …Shudder. Don’t even wanna imagine it.”

You say a city with zero crime’s impossible? Well, fresh recruits always get into trouble, and shoplifting, brawls—those never stop.

But I’ve never heard of any crime worse than a petty brawl.

Shoplifting gets caught quick, and fights get settled by the guild fast. Don’t know what bad治安 feels like.

Lies don’t come any smoother than this.

But I’m not the only one hearing this kind of talk. Same story comes from dozens of adventurers and merchants.

To prove it, the merchant caravans grew larger day by day, and even the horses pulling the wagons were replacing common steeds with fine ones.

Watching the adventurers' gear get better every day—couldn’t call it just idle talk anymore.

We sisters are determined.

To flee from those boys, setting out toward Goldendown.

◆

In the golden city, I’ll meet a man I can actually call ideal.

Raidock-sama…?

◆

And now, I’m in a clothing shop.

Panicking.

If it’s Raidock-sama, I’d understand.

But my two sisters wouldn’t let it go.

That dull alchemist—of all people—asked me out for dinner right in front of the whole party, like it was a date!

I did say he should treat me.

But I meant it as a challenge: feed the whole party with adventure-worthy meals, not just quantity.

But that guy—what the hell did he misunderstand? He gave me a response so utterly inappropriate for asking a girl out, I couldn’t even process it!

The next morning, Camille and Marilyn dragged me here to the clothing shop.

No other word for it—pure panic.

Last night didn’t clear up the misunderstanding.

Ah, someone—anyone—help me!

We’re so sorry for making you wait!

A bit longer than expected.