Old Sage, Old Sage—sure enough, the older she gets, the sharper she is.

Lyselle was not pleased.

But no matter how annoyed she got, she had no way to deal with the Old Sage.

For her, the Old Sage was even harder to handle than Shall.

She couldn’t beat either of them. With Shall, even if she couldn’t win, she could run, and curse while running. With the Old Sage, she couldn’t win, couldn’t escape, and as for cursing…

Lyselle felt she might not even out-talk the Old Sage.

Because the Old Sage knew her inside out.

She was Lyselle’s teacher.

After discovering she had the talent to become a Sorceress, Lyselle tried to find a suitable teacher. Magic wasn’t something you cracked by shutting yourself in a room. Most advanced spells were monopolized by mages holed up in their towers. What circulated among common folk were all low-level, mediocre tricks.

If Lyselle wanted to enter a tower and become a great mage’s apprentice, she had to offer something those masters would actually want.

Rare reagents. Uncommon spell prototypes. A stunning slave girl. Or a suitable lab rat.

All she had to offer was herself.

If she volunteered to warm a master’s bed, maybe some archmage would take her in. But she refused to get bent over for anyone, especially tower lords.

They wore wide, heavy black robes. Mystery cranked to max. Faces rarely seen. Yet, judging by the doujins and smut she’d read in her past life, that whole “ascetic” thing was just a front.

They were mages—no fear of breaking the toys—so the play got twisted. If she really offered herself, she might get played like an instrument, like Tom Cat at a concert.

So she gave up on joining any tower—and right after that, she met the Old Sage.

Back then, the Old Sage had violated taboos and been expelled by an archmage. She was gravely wounded, near death, collapsed by the roadside.

Lyselle saved her. In thanks, the Old Sage poured everything she knew into Lyselle.

Lyselle was fourteen at the time. The Old Sage was nearly fifty. They addressed each other as master and apprentice.

The Old Sage had given her entire life to magic. Sadly, her talent was dull, a disaster for any mage. Yet in a ditch where her life was about to end, Lyselle brought her a dawn of hope—

Ideas from another world inspired her, letting a slow-witted nobody finally glimpse the world’s truth.

She gathered a band of like-minded youths and began a reform of magic.

They formed their own organization—the predecessor of the White Tower Alliance—and used flame to remake the world. From then on, magic ceased to be a treasure hoarded by greedy archmages in their towers. It became a tool anyone was qualified to use.

Countless dark, oppressive mage towers were toppled, replaced by a single soaring White Tower that looked like it could pierce the sky.

Now, it has become the largest and highest-ranked academy on the Pan Continent. Every year, countless mages and apprentices from every nation and race come to study, trying to climb the White Tower—the symbol of spellcraft’s peak.

The Old Sage’s office sits at the very top.

She retired due to age, but remains the nominal Lord of the White Tower.

When she led the reform, Lyselle followed and helped a lot. After things settled, Lyselle got sick of the workload and ran off to live in seclusion.

She still visited regularly, but every time she did, the Old Sage would nag her into a dizzy fog.

Seems everyone who’s aged does that. The Old Sage was no exception. Each visit, she’d ask if Lyselle had someone she liked, and when she planned to marry.

This time was no different.

Once she guessed the “I have a friend” in Lyselle’s mouth was actually Lyselle herself, the Old Sage smiled and asked:

“So who is he? Who could sign a pact with our smart, adorable DawnDusk Witch and make her this distressed… Mind sharing his name?”

Seeing she was exposed, Lyselle gave up on pretending and snapped through clenched teeth:

“A lucky bastard—that’s all you need to know! I’m not telling you no matter what!”

Because it was mortifying.

The ritual she’d built with so much effort got wrecked. She didn’t get compensation. She almost threw herself in on top of it.

How could she say that out loud?

Just thinking about it made her blush!

But the more intense her reaction, the more curious the Old Sage became.

“A lucky bastard? Wait. Weren’t you hiding in the Forest Sea? It’s been ages since I heard about you… Who could it be? What sort of person would enter the Forest Sea, reach you, and even sign a pact with you?”

The Old Sage narrowed her eyes and thought slowly.

Lyselle’s scalp prickled.

She couldn’t let the Old Sage keep guessing. Like she said, not many wander into the Forest Sea for fun, cross it unharmed, and actually make contact with her. Elimination alone would narrow suspects fast.

Among those, even fewer fit the right age.

“Stop, stop!” She cut the Old Sage off. “Don’t overthink it! It’s clean between me and him. I don’t like him one bit. This whole mess was an accident!”

The Old Sage actually stopped guessing and asked, puzzled:

“An accident?”

“Yeah, an accident,” Lyselle sighed. “Who knew that pact was half-finished? It worked fine for hiring familiars before.”

“In short, I used that half-finished Master Servant Pact to sign with him, and we got an accident. He’s a master, I’m a master. Neither of us can override the other. But this stalemate won’t last forever. What if he someday issues some… pervy command, and I don’t have time to veto it?”

“If I end up being…”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

In front of Shall, she could spit filthy lines without blinking—she could even ask if he wanted to screw her and list methods for him.

In front of the Old Sage, she was much more reserved. She left it unsaid and let her eyes do the work.

The Old Sage understood.

She paled, then said urgently:

“Oh dear, that’s bad. You’re right—what if he forces you to do something?”

Lyselle was delighted to hear that. Yes, yes, worry about me. The Old Sage still cares.

But halfway into her joy, she heard the Old Sage continue:

“Alright, I have an idea—take me back with you. I’ll meet him myself and help dissolve the pact.”

Lyselle’s delight flipped to alarm.

No, no, no—how did it become the Old Sage going back to tackle Shall?

What if she meets Shall, sees his talent and good looks, and he’s a renowned Champion to boot—gets thrilled and decides to matchmake them on the spot?

Lyselle was sure the Old Sage could pull something like that.

She racked her brain for a way to dissuade her, then caught the mischief in the Old Sage’s smile.

Clearly, the Old Sage wasn’t truly offering help. The dagger under the map had shown itself.

Lyselle went from alarmed to livid:

“Oh, so you’re just teasing me? Keep it up and I’ll stop visiting!”

The Old Sage soothed her right away:

“Alright, alright, I was teasing. But if the two methods I mentioned earlier don’t work, I probably do have to go back with you.”

“?”

Lyselle’s eyes turned into 0.o.

“Seriously?” she muttered. “It’s just a Master Servant Pact. How hard can it be?”

She still didn’t want the Old Sage going back with her to meet Shall. It was embarrassing, and she feared the matchmaking.

So she said:

“Forget it. I don’t buy it. A mere Master Servant Pact won’t stump me.”

She glanced at the Old Sage, a little helpless, and added:

“And you—why keep pushing me to date and marry? I’m fine on my own, aren’t I?”

Strangely, the Old Sage didn’t argue this time. She just smiled, deep and unreadable. Lyselle couldn’t figure it out.

Since the Old Sage didn’t plan to help, Lyselle decided to study it herself. Plus, she remembered Shall might mess with her coffin while she was away. If he found it empty, that would be bad.

So Lyselle said her goodbyes:

“I’m heading out. There are things to handle in the Forest Sea. I need to get back fast.”

The Old Sage didn’t seem surprised. She just smiled and hummed an “mm.”

With that, Lyselle turned, drew her Magic Wand, and prepared to leave.

Then something came to mind. She turned back, looking at the Old Sage from the corner of her eye:

“You’re retired now. Stop worrying about the White Tower so much. It doesn’t need you anymore, right?”

The Old Sage nodded slowly.

“Alright.”

“And stop pushing me to date and marry. I’ve said it so many times. I’m fine alone. I don’t need anyone to look after me. You’re the one who needs care.”

The Old Sage nodded again.

“I know.”

She thought Lyselle was finally leaving. She leaned back in the armchair, closed her eyes, and drifted toward a nap.

Then she heard the Sorceress’s voice, a little awkward:

“One last thing… When I said I wouldn’t visit anymore, I was mad. Don’t take it seriously. Once I fix the pact, I’ll come see you. Okay?”

The Lord of the White Tower’s lips curled. This time, she didn’t tease and set the Sorceress off. She obeyed like a well-behaved child.

“Okay.”

Her tone was warm. Her voice was soft.

To be continued.