The Vastness of Magical Destiny

Afternoon sunshine spilled into the garden, leaving speckled shadows upon the verdant shrubs, and white pebbles twisted throughout the lawn in a day’s worth of winding zigzags. A stroll along these garden paths should have been a rare pleasure at such a time. The emerald lawn stretched before the eyes like a meticulously embroidered tapestry, and the few small ponds were like teardrops upon it. Swans glided leisurely in the ponds, while several tall trees stood by their edges, their reflections in the water adding a touch of coolness. The shimmering waves danced in ripples, creating a pastoral landscape intoxicating to the eye.

Delicate white rattan chairs were arranged casually around glass round tables, embellished with beautiful flower arrangements artfully placed in crystal vases, adding a sense of vitality and life. In the distance, a few noblewomen were chatting and laughing softly, their white lace umbrellas and somewhat bloated bell skirts making them appear nearly indistinguishable from one another. Perhaps the only difference was that the young girls’ hairstyles seemed a bit simpler, while the styles of the ladies’ hair were much more intricate.

Hoffman could not rouse his spirits, overcome with a feeling of dejection. Even now, as the small aristocrat’s daughter had fallen into his trap, ready for the taking, Hoffman found no interest in it. Watching the small aristocrat’s daughter show off in front of her companions, Hoffman felt an inexplicable irritation. He wondered how long these days would continue. Was he doomed to live a life of submission, tossed about by the whims of others?

Damn the Church of Light. After the battle at Busen Plain, it seemed they had lost their nerve, silent for so long without any word. Onia, that coward, had gone to Marco and had not been heard from since. Was the Church of Light truly going to abandon Nicosia? Nonetheless, these were hardly the most pressing matters for Hoffman now. What weighed on him most heavily was the great loss among the mages. The Court Mages were all but a name now, more than half were wounded or incapacitated, and the few that remained were hollow shells, no longer of any real use. Sometimes Hoffman hated his own foolishness and shortsightedness. Why had he fallen for the idiocy of Philip? If the Court Mage Corps had stayed out of the fray, he might be in a much better position now.

Now that the Court Mage Corps was barely mentioned in terms of combat strength, and the formation of new infantry divisions was a struggle, the financial strain made it seem a fool’s dream to restore the kingdom to its former glory with three complete infantry divisions. To even form one full division was an achievement at this point—that was Hoffman’s bottom line. But even such a low threshold as this was proving remarkably hard to meet. Low morale, a lack of resources, financial difficulties, and the fickle nature of the Great Aristocracy by his side, who were now drifting apart in spirit and loyalty. How could he possibly achieve his wishes under these circumstances? Without a couple of pieces of good news soon, he feared he might genuinely struggle to carry on.

And the Fire Shadow Knights were far from recovered, the knights’ loyalty was unquestionable, but battle-hardened knights weren’t forged in a day or two. The beastmen had dealt a fatal blow to the kingdom, and now Jazair had even fallen into the hands of the beastmen. The kingdom was no longer what it was, and Hoffman couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh from within the depths of his heart.

Sometimes he wanted to drown his sorrows in alcohol and women’s embrace, to forget all these vexing matters. Other times, he was determined to pick himself up and not let the Romanov family decline during his time. The complex and constantly changing situation left him restless; good news could lift him high, while bad news could plunge him into despair. Even Hoffman noticed he seemed to have become as vulnerable as a melancholy and easily distressed woman.

Renta, that bitch, he should have known she wouldn’t be so simple. If only he hadn’t been deceived by her skilled act, believing she would do her utmost for him. At such a crucial moment, this bitch on the surface seemed to have abandoned him for Komer, but in fact, she was just securing herself a way out, at the same time seeking a new protector for the Anson family. At that thought, Hoffman couldn’t help but snort coldly through his nose.

There was no doubt Komer had seen through Renta’s intentions, otherwise, he wouldn’t be quietly accepting the olive branch Hoffman had cast aside. This little aristocrat, compared to the raw naiveté when they had first met in Cyprus, seemed a world apart now, adept at controlling and manipulating circumstances within his grasp. While allying with Katya to suppress Hoffman on the one hand, he flirted with him on the other, and at the same time was poaching Hoffman’s corner by accepting Renta’s move toward him. Such adept tactics seemed only matched by those old slick political players who had long navigated the treacherous waters of politics.

Times change, and this was not as before. The small rural aristocrat of the past had become a prominent force capable of dictating the fate of the Kingdom of Nicosia. How could such a transformation not bring Hoffman a bitter sense of poignancy?