4: Chapter 4: Duke Latour's Mansion! The Magician Sylvia!

Thirty miles away, at the summit of Eagle's Beak Peak, Sylvia Latour stood on a protruding giant rock, the mountain wind lifting the hem of her deep blue cloak.

Long, slender eyelashes cast faint shadows on her lower eyelids.

Her slightly pursed lips were a very pale rose color.

She held a silver basin in her hands, the clear water within rippling to reflect the scene on the ramparts of White Cliff Castle.

The image froze at the very moment Rowan lowered his bow and turned to leave.

"My Lady?" the maid Elise called out softly.

The Water Mirror spell dissipated, and the image in the silver basin dissolved into ripples.

Sylvia was silent for a long time before speaking: "Did you see that, Elise?"

"See what? That Rowan is actually an Official Knight? That his archery is amazing?"

"I told you, that guy definitely isn't as he seems on the surface..."

Elise said halfway through, but caught a glimpse of her mistress's expression and swallowed the rest of her words.

"It's not just that." Sylvia shook her head, her voice very soft. "It's the look in his eyes when he turned around."

Calm. Indifferent.

It was a completely different person from the handsome, gentle, and smiling nobleman in her memory.

"My Lady," Elise stepped forward, her tone urgent, "surely you can rest easy now?"

"That Rowan has the ability to protect himself, and the territory won't fall into trouble immediately."

"We really must leave. The Duke's deadline is that we must return to the Imperial Capital by the end of the month, otherwise..."

"I know." Sylvia interrupted her.

She looked up toward the north.

On the horizon, clouds hung low.

That was the direction of the Imperial Capital.

Three years had passed since she came to the countryside.

Back then, the nineteen-year-old mage girl, filled with fantasies of freedom and true love, had eloped to the empire's border with a man she had known for less than a month.

She thought that by escaping her family, her betrothal, and those suffocating rules, she could find happiness.

She had indeed been happy.

Watching the sunset on the cliffs of the Northern Sea, listening to him tell stories of unknown veracity by the fireplace, and watching the cute expressions of the children after they fell asleep.

At that time, she truly believed.

But at the moment she advanced to a mid-tier mage and her spiritual star ring was reconstructed, she seemed to wake from a dream.

It felt as if she had been under the influence of some power all along.

She was struck with horror: did Rowan really love her?

Or did he only love her status as the daughter of the Duke of Latour?

Did he love her strength as a mage?

Did he love that she could bear children, defend the castle, and develop the territory?

"My Lady," Elise's voice pulled her back to reality, "the carriage is ready, just down the mountain."

"We should set off before dark; we can reach the county city by tomorrow morning, where there is a teleportation array arranged by the family."

Sylvia took a deep breath.

The mountain wind was mixed with the scent of pine needles.

She took one last look in the direction of White Cliff Castle.

In the afternoon sun, the castle was just a tiny white dot, like a pearl dropped on a blue-gray coastline.

So small.

Yet, it existed so stubbornly.

"Let's go."

She turned around.

Her deep blue cloak traced a resolute arc.

White Cliff Castle.

At dusk, Rowan walked out of the study.

The scent of toasted bread wafted through the castle, and servants walked quietly through the corridors.

Upon seeing him, they bowed in succession, their gazes holding something different.

Respect. Trust.

Perhaps even a little awe.

He arrived at the dining room.

Dinner was already set on the long table, and the seven children were held in high chairs by nannies, waving silver spoons.

The eldest, Mia, saw him, and her eyes lit up:

"Daddy!"

"Daddy! Daddy!" Aidan and Finn shouted after her.

The younger ones couldn't speak yet.

Rowan sat in the main seat.

Usually, two people sat there; now, it was half empty.

"Let's eat," he said.

There was very little sound during the meal.

Rowan finished his food quietly and then stood up.

"Master," a young nanny with a few freckles on her face spoke timidly:

"Miss Mia keeps asking... when the Lady will return."

All the children looked up at him.

Mia's emerald green eyes began to glisten.

Rowan walked to her side, crouched down, looked his daughter in the eyes, and chuckled:

"Perhaps soon..."

Rowan walked out of the dining room and arrived at the highest tower of the castle.

This had once been Sylvia's magic laboratory.

A few crates of magic materials were still piled in the corner, half-written scrolls were scattered on the workbench, and the air still held the faint scent of sulfur and evening primrose.

He walked to the window.

The Northern Sea turned a deep indigo in the twilight, the crests of the waves breaking into silver-white foam.

Rowan closed his eyes, and his consciousness sank into the panel.

[Myriad Furnace Breathing Technique lv2 (Official Knight) (2 / 10000)]

After the Official Knight's life seed condensed, he had practiced the Breathing Technique for a day, but the proficiency had only increased by 2 points.

By this calculation, he would need 5,000 days to advance to Great Knight, which was nearly 14 years.

[Silent Pilgrimage Archery lv3 (1 / 5000)]

[Winter Oath-Keeper Swordsmanship lv1 (1 / 500)]

He hadn't added points to Winter Oath-Keeper Swordsmanship yet.

He looked at the remaining free attribute points. 1632.

It was enough to raise the swordsmanship to lv2, but it wasn't necessary.

Sylvia had run off, his succubus skill Drain was temporarily useless, so he had to save his free attribute points.

The archery had reached lv3, great success.

Currently, what was more important was stabilizing the Breathing Technique and finding a way to impact the Great Knight realm.

Realm was the foundation.

As a Great Knight, the life seed germinated, and battle qi could be released up to a hundred meters, capable of rivaling a thousand.

Only then could he truly establish a firm foothold on this northern land.

Rowan opened his eyes; night had completely fallen.

Stars rose from the horizon, sparse and scattered, as if someone had casually sprinkled a handful of silver sand.

He suddenly remembered a sentence Sylvia had said.

It was a summer night, and they were sitting side by side in front of this window, watching the moon rise over the sea.

She said: "Rowan, did you know? The stars are actually very far from us; the light we see now was emitted by them hundreds of years ago."

"Of course I know. Then what about us seeing each other right now?" he had asked with a smile at the time.

Sylvia turned her head, and the moonlight rippled into a gentle silver in her eyes.

"It is this very moment," she said, "the light of this moment, you and me in this moment."

Thinking back on those sweet words now, it felt like looking through a layer of frosted glass.

Blurred. Distorted.

Yet inexplicably clear.

Rowan shook his head, shaking off these useless thoughts.

He still had seven children to raise.

The territory needed to be developed.

System proficiency needed to be grinded.

Where was the time for sentimental melancholy?

In any case, his initial goal had been achieved.

He had kept this territory and obtained the system's "Many Children, Many Blessings" milestone reward.

Before turning back to the bedroom.

Rowan glanced in the direction of the Imperial Capital.

Thousands of miles away, he couldn't see it.

But that woman should have arrived by now.

On the second floor of the castle, faint snoring came from the nursery.

Meanwhile, in the Imperial Capital.

The Latour Ducal Mansion.

Sylvia took off her hood and stood in the center of the hall she hadn't seen for three years.

The crystal chandelier poured down brilliant light, the marble floor was polished to a mirror finish, and the air was filled with the incense she was familiar with.

Cedar, amber, and a hint of the musty smell of old books.

Everything was the same as it had been three years ago.

Yet it also seemed that nothing was the same.

"You're back."

A low voice came from the stairs.

Sylvia looked up.

Her father stood by the railing on the second floor, wearing a deep purple robe, holding a glass of red wine in his hand.

After three years of absence, there were more white hairs at his temples, but his eyes were still as sharp as an eagle's.

"Father." She curtsied slightly.

"Where are the children?"

"They stayed at White Cliff Castle."

The Duke was silent for a moment, then walked down the stairs.

The sound of his boot heels clicking on the marble was exceptionally clear in the empty hall.

He stood before Sylvia, scrutinizing his daughter.

"Mid-tier?" The Duke's voice betrayed no emotion.

Sylvia pursed her lips: "Yes."

"And your magic power?"

"Mid-fourth ring."

The Duke nodded, turned, and walked toward the study: "Follow me."

Sylvia followed.

When passing through the corridor, portraits of past patriarchs hung on the walls on both sides.

The Latour Family was famous for its magical talent, with a grand mage born in almost every generation.

In her generation, among her father's four children, she had the highest affinity for magic.

She had advanced to the third ring at eighteen and was held in high hopes.

Then... she had eloped with a man.

The study door closed behind them.

The Duke sat in the armchair in front of the fireplace and gestured for her to sit as well.

"That man," he began, without naming names:

"This morning, he shot and killed the Skull-Crusher Jonathan with three arrows; the opponent was an Official Knight."

Sylvia looked up sharply.

Had her father been keeping an eye on White Cliff Castle all along?

"You're surprised?" The Duke swirled his wine glass. "I am surprised as well."

"I sent people to investigate for three years, and only found that his father was a border knight, a small country baron, his mother died young, and he himself was frail and had never received formal knight training."

"But today, he displayed the strength of an Official Knight, as well as a profound set of archery skills."

"What are you trying to say, Father?"

"I am saying," the Duke put down his wine glass, leaned forward, his gaze burning like a torch:

"The man you chose is either a genius or a liar."

"Or perhaps both."

Sylvia's fingers tightened.

"Now, tell me, Sylvia." The Duke's voice lowered. "In these three years, what kind of Rowan Flynn did you actually see?"

The firewood in the fireplace crackled.

The firelight danced on Sylvia's face, flickering between light and dark.

After a long time, she said softly:

"I... don't know..."

The Duke stared at his daughter for a long time, then suddenly smiled.

That smile carried exhaustion, but also a trace of relief.

"Then give him time," he said, "and give our grandsons and granddaughters time."

"As for you—" He stood up, walked behind the desk, and took out a gold-stamped invitation:

"The Magic Association's Autumn Council is next week. Your mentor has reserved a spot for you."

"With your mid-fourth ring strength, plus the Latour surname, it is enough for you to restart your life in the Magic Tower."

Sylvia took the invitation.

The paper was heavy, with a hexagram emblem printed on the edge.

"Thank you, Father."

"No need to thank me." The Duke turned his back, looking out the window at the night view of the Imperial Capital.

"The path is one you chose yourself. Whether three years ago, or now."

"I only hope you remember one thing, Sylvia."

"What is it?"

"The women of the Latour Family," he turned his head back, his eyes reflecting the lights of thousands of homes, "never stop their steps for anyone. Not for a husband, not for children."

"If you want to fly, fly high enough."

"High enough that one day, you can truly see clearly whether some people are worth you looking back for."

Sylvia gripped the invitation tightly.

Her nails embedded into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped red marks.

"I will," she said.

The wind of the Northern Sea blew over White Cliff, bringing news of the tides from afar.

In the castle tower.

Rowan spread out the territory map and drew mark after mark on the border line.