Chapter 20: Gwen's Crisis

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The sun shone brightly in the sky, birds chirped cheerfully, flitting about and leaving droppings as they went.
In the cold winter, food was scarce. The mountain tits from the Gelandis Mountains flocked in large numbers to Red Hazel Town, their chattering waking Gwen from her sleep.
She had planned to return to the manor early this morning to resume work, but the noisy birds roused her nonetheless, and she frowned deeply.
Opening the window, she pointed at the bare branches where a few tits seemed to be conspiring. Angrily, she imitated the eagle’s call to scare them away: "Caw—caw—."
Unfortunately, her imitation was far from convincing. Her youthful voice was clear but somewhat thin, lacking any menace or threat.
The tits glanced at her blankly, then ignored her, continuing their scheming to wait for the sun to rise higher so people would come out to scatter seeds, which they planned to peck at—one of their many cunning plots.
“Grandpa made you some soup with pumpkin—it’s really sweet,” Old Dingdang called out with a smile upon hearing his granddaughter’s voice.
Gwen’s father had died in a mining accident, and soon after, her mother mysteriously drowned in the river. Old Dingdang had raised her alone, always cherishing her dearly.
Upon hearing that Gwen had been beaten nearly to death by Lord Ordus, he was filled with rage, itching to pick up a hammer and fight.
If it weren’t for knowing that Lord Ordus had left Red Hazel and wouldn’t return until spring at the earliest, Old Dingdang wouldn’t have felt safe letting Gwen return to the manor.
Having drunk the soup and feeling full, Gwen hopped along toward the manor.
Yet, the closer she got, the slower her steps became, her demeanor growing timid and weak.
The psychological scars remained; healing potions could mend her physical wounds, but they couldn’t erase the fear etched into her soul.
“Lord isn’t here—Lord isn’t here—” Gwen muttered to herself repeatedly, rallying her courage until her legs stopped trembling.
Still, she remained cautious because the dread inspired by the Ordus family extended beyond the lord himself.
What she feared most was exactly what came.
Before she reached the manor, Gwen encountered a tall, burly middle-aged man with a full beard but a bald head.
In the cold air, steam rose from his shining scalp under the sun. He was robust and unafraid of winter’s chill, refusing even to wear a hat.
“Second Lord,” Gwen greeted timidly. She dared not ignore this man named Bobur.

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Bobur’s eyes lit up the moment he saw Gwen.
Unlike his cousin, Bobur preferred slender, delicate young women, especially those still in their adolescence.
“I heard you got beaten? You’re not even fully recovered and you’re wandering outside? Come with me, Lord will examine your condition,” Bobur said as he reached out to grab Gwen.
Startled, Gwen sprang nimbly aside and shrank back fearfully.
Amid her fright, she noticed her body was much more agile, while this towering second lord moved slowly and clumsily.
She wasn’t sure if it was the magic potion’s effect.
“Don’t be ungrateful. Do you really think I have spare time for this?” Bobur panted.
Just as Gwen dodged, her light figure, slim waist, and the fluttering hem of her clothes—her rosy, fair skin glowing even in winter—made a heat surge inside him.
This winter, Lord Bobur needed a young girl to quell the fire raging within him!
Suddenly, an impulse overtook him—or perhaps a long-suppressed desire demanded release.
He decided to spoil this little girl today.
“Hey, don’t run. I have something to ask you,” Bobur looked around cautiously, wary of drawing attention. “Did you bring that magician here?”
Bobur usually lived in the finest house on the street but remained attentive to matters at the manor.
Especially concerning his voluptuous sister-in-law—though he preferred slender girls, she was an exception.
Bobur had liked her in his youth, but she married the family’s more influential heir, Lord Ordus.
A woman once loved in youth never loses her special allure, no matter how much he matured or changed; she remained uniquely captivating.
“Yes, yesterday… Mr. Johan… and the lady came to see me,” Gwen said, summoning courage.
At the mention of the magician, her eyes sparkled with admiration. The powerful and noble magician, if he ever confronted Bobur, would surely give him a severe beating—so she need not fear him!
“Few magicians ever come here,” Bobur’s expression turned serious, masking his earlier eagerness.

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In fact, he had already inquired about this magician.
As someone poised to inherit the Ordus family leadership, how could he not keep an eye on sudden events in town?
“I heard he used to live at the camp by the mountain,” Bobur continued. “But since he’s settled at the manor now, we must take good care of him. Does he still have some luggage left at the camp?”
Naturally, the magician was to receive distinguished hospitality and care. Gwen nodded thoughtfully, recalling, “When Mr. Johan and I left the camp, he only mentioned one box. It seems some things were left behind.”
Like the bowl for the meat soup she drank—thinking of it now, she felt warm all over, as if warmed by Grandpa’s pumpkin soup.
In her hurry, Gwen remembered this to show she hadn’t forgotten Grandpa’s tender care and nurturing.
“Go bring back everything the magician left at the camp so nothing gets lost,” Bobur said casually, not even looking at her, his gaze drifting toward the young maids near the manor.
Gwen examined Lord Bobur carefully, sensing nothing amiss. As rulers of Red Hazel Town, the Ordus family should indeed pay such close attention to Mr. Johan.
“All right, I’ll go at once.”
The weather was fine today. Though the melting snow made the roads difficult, Gwen felt inexhaustible strength, her steps light as she walked toward the magician’s camp at the foot of the Gelandis Mountains.
After Gwen disappeared from sight, Bobur casually scolded some lazy maids before circling around and quietly following her.
…
…
“I’m going back to the camp for a while—partly to check on the unknown beast herd Old Dingdang mentioned, and partly to retrieve some things,” Johan stretched and spoke to Lady Ordus, who lay limp in his arms.
To meet a talent of such caliber naturally called for burning the midnight oil; a young man encountering a beautiful woman—who could say who was hungrier?
Lady Ordus closed her eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering softly. She knew that if she lifted her eyelids, the moisture around her eyes would spill forth like tears.