Episode 46 

Whether her deduction was clever intuition or blind luck, Curtis  couldn’t say. But she carried herself not with sharp confidence, but with wide-eyed earnestness. There was no guile in her.

“Yes,” he said at last. “I am a mage.”

“I knew it!”

She clenched her fist in triumph like a child catching a falling star.

“You’re heading for the frontier, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then—why not take on this request with me?”

“With you?”
He raised a brow.

“Yes! I’m the one who posted it!”

She pointed proudly to the flamboyant Church-issued parchment on the board. Her eyes, already bright, seemed to sparkle with actual light—not metaphor, but literal glow.

Curtis  leaned closer and read the notice again.

“Cleanse the aberrations. Spread the light. Banish the darkness…”

It still sounded more like religious poetry than an actual mission request.

“Since you’re the issuer… may I ask something?”

“Of course!”

“The request is… vague. Very. There’s a lot of flowery language, but no clear details. What’s the time frame? The pay? The danger level?”

“Ah,” she said brightly. “Those things change case by case.”

“Come again?”

“Church work can’t be measured by secular standards!” she declared proudly.

Curtis  stared at her, dumbfounded.
He almost blurted, “What in the hells are you talking about?”
But he bit his tongue.

You’re recruiting mercenaries, he wanted to say. Of course it needs to follow secular terms. Who joins a job without knowing if they’ll be paid or die?

Just as he was trying to word a more tactful reply, a voice called out from nearby.

“Sister Lilia.”

The girl—Lilia—turned to the speaker, a woman approaching in a matching white robe. She was older by perhaps five or six years, more mature in posture, and more restrained in expression.

“Sister Jenny!”

Lilia greeted her warmly, waving with childlike joy. Jenny, however, wore the look of someone already bracing for trouble.

“Finished your errands?”

“I did! But it looks like you found yourself a new task in the meantime?”

Jenny’s sharp gaze flicked between Curtis  and the board. That was all she needed to piece it together.

“Let me guess. Sister Lilia is once again trying to recruit an unsuspecting mage for her pet mission?”

“I wasn’t forcing him!”

“We’ve agreed that repeatedly suggesting something after it’s been declined counts as forcing, remember?”

Jenny cut off Lilia’s defense with a calm, pointed tone, before turning to Curtis  and offering a polite nod.

“My apologies, sir. You can ignore everything you’ve just heard.”

“Is this… a joke request then?” Curtis  asked, frowning.

“It’s not a joke, Brother!”

Lilia’s voice rang clear—full of innocence, urgency, and stubborn belief.
She turned back toward Curtis  with pleading eyes, but before she could say more, her companion stepped in.

Jenny sighed like one who had done this many times before.

“No, it isn’t a prank. And it wasn’t posted with ill will. But let’s be honest here—it’s hardly a standard commission. Not when compared to any of the other professional listings.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with my request—!”

“Hush.”

Jenny’s calm tone cut cleaner than steel. She didn’t raise her voice, but it silenced Lilia all the same. Then, turning back to Curtis , she gave him a polite, practiced smile—the kind worn by someone accustomed to apologizing for others.

“If you found yourself curious… I simply urge you: ask for details. Look carefully. And think twice. That’s all.”

With another courteous bow, she gently took Lilia by the wrist and began guiding her away.

“If you change your mind, contact me!” Lilia called back.

“Wake up,” Jenny muttered over her shoulder.

The two white-robed priestesses vanished into the crowd, their last words echoing like a curtain closing on an odd play—half comedy, half sermon.

Curtis , bemused, let out a breath of laughter. Then, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all, he made his way to the reception desk. It was time to get back to business.

He hadn’t come here to banter with overzealous priestesses. He came for work.

“I’d like to see your commission listings.”

The clerk, a lean young man with a crisp tunic and professional manner, looked up and gave a cordial nod.

“Certainly, sir. Are you… a mage, perhaps?”

He’d clearly seen Curtis  speaking with Lilia earlier and was now attempting to confirm the suspicion. Curtis  gave a slight nod and retrieved a small silver plate from within his coat, placing it on the counter with a soft clink.

The moment the clerk caught the gleam of the insignia, his eyes widened.

Silver rank.

In Abaca, silver-tier mercenaries were rare. Most who came through the city—whether for glory, desperation, or escape—were bronze or rust-tier at best. The frontier devoured many of them before they could rise higher. And mages among silver ranks were rarer still—strange beasts of myth and legend.

The clerk straightened immediately, voice turning respectful.

“Of course, sir. One moment. Here are the most favorable commissions—highest pay, best support. Also, please take this: a general map of the Eastern frontier. If any requests mention unknown regions, this will help with orientation.”

“Much appreciated,” Curtis  said coolly.

He took the stack of parchment and laid the map out beside them, scanning slowly. The requests were better formatted here than on the public board—neatly penned, official, legible.

But as he read them one by one, a pattern emerged.

Nothing stood out.

Almost all were defensive missions—protect settlers, hold outposts, guard supply lines. A few offered small-scale clearing operations in nearby frontier zones.

“Routine work. Repetitive. Predictable.”

The missions blurred together like ink in rain. He could swap names and still not tell them apart. Even the map offered little in the way of mystery. No cursed valley. No “beware” markings. Just scattered settlements and standard operation zones.

Curtis  leaned back and exhaled through his nose.

“Maybe Doris Trading Company can provide better leads…”

And yet, as he sifted through paper after paper, Lilia’s absurd little request kept floating back to him.

It was improperly formatted. The language was poetic fluff. But it stood out. It lingered.

On impulse, he turned back to the clerk.

“That girl I was speaking with earlier—do you know her?”

“You mean Priestess Lilia? Of course. She’s probably the most talked-about cleric in all of Abaca.”

“She’s really a priest? I assumed she was a deacon. She barely looks twenty.”

“You’re close. She’s eighteen.”

That gave Curtis  pause.
He had thought she looked young, but not… that young.

“And she’s already ordained?”

“Yes. Directly, in fact. Skipped the deacon rank entirely. Became a priest the moment she reached the age of majority.”

“That’s… extremely rare.”

“She’s something of a prodigy. People say she might reach bishophood before she even turns twenty. She’s already mastered five miracles.”