My sincere apologies, I thought I I've already published the chapter
And yet Leonard's reason for doubt is far from what Vivian thought.
The air in the dining hall shifted the moment Isla Aldwyne entered.
Leonard had felt the disturbance before he even saw her. It was subtle at first, like a whisper at the edge of his senses, a presence that did not belong. But the moment she crossed the threshold, it hit him like a wave.
Magic.
Raw, unprocessed, ancient magic.
His fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass, his grip tightening as he inhaled sharply. The scent was overpowering, thick with power that should not exist in an ordinary noblewoman. It clung to her skin, and wove through the air like threads of unseen energy, curling around the corners of the room, invading every inch of space.
Leonard's jaw tightened. Impossible.
His gaze snapped toward her.
Isla's usual pristine elegance was noticeably absent. Her golden curls were slightly disheveled, her pale complexion even paler than normal, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes. She looked exhausted, as if she had been awake all night.
But that wasn't what disturbed him.
It was the magic.
He had sensed something last night.
A ripple in the fabric of mana, an unfamiliar power igniting in the darkness. It had flared so suddenly—wild and unrefined—before vanishing just as quickly.
At the time, he had assumed it had been a minor fluctuation, some rogue mage experimenting recklessly in the city.
But now, with Isla standing here, drenched in the lingering scent of that very same magic__
Leonard's fingers twitched.
This was not normal.
It was a secret ability of his, one no one knew about even his loyal assistant Alaric did not know about—Leonard could register and identify mana like a scent. Every mage, every magic-user, had a distinct signature, one that remained embedded in his mind the moment he encountered it. He could recognize the source of magic even if he could not see it.
And ancient magic—the kind that transcended ordinary human abilities—was limited to only a handful of individuals in the entire empire.
The Saintess, who wielded divine power borrowed from the Gods.
Her brother, the Avatar of Ignis, whose flames could burn even fate itself.
The Royal Family, blessed by Polemos, with the one with the strongest bloodline, is capable of summoning war incarnate.
The Head of the Magic Tower—himself, the one blessed by Magos, God of Magic.
The Pope and the next-in-line, Priest Alexander, both wielders of holy miracles.
The Head of the Light Knight Order, protectors of the empire's divine justice.
And yet, Isla Aldwyne—a mere Baron's daughter—was carrying the scent of magic that felt stronger than any of them although he is not sure if it's stronger than that of Ignis's avatar and saintess since they are yet to be awoken or known yet.
Although the signature feels the same as her bro's but her brother's own seems to be the lower version than the one on her
Leonard's expression did not change, but beneath the surface, his mind worked at a relentless pace.
This isn't ordinary magic. This is something else. Something dangerous.
And then, something even stranger hit him.
Beneath the thick scent of magic, he detected another faint trace—a scent he was all too familiar with.
Healing potions.
And not just any healing potion—one that had been used only minutes ago.
Leonard could distinguish alchemical concoctions with ease. Potions had their own magical essence, and freshly consumed ones left behind a residue in the air.
She used a healing potion this morning.
Why?
She had not been injured last night. As far as he recalled, Isla had not been in any situation that required healing.
So why would she need one so urgently that she took it before even stepping into the dining hall?
Or could it be she was not the one with the magic but rather someone else hit her with the magic? But that seems weird because that means that person has to do it for a very long time for it to be this strong
His eyes trailed over her form. She was standing stiffly, as if hiding some kind of discomfort.
Was she injured? No—he would have noticed any external wounds. But there was something off about her posture, the way she moved just a little too carefully.
A slow realization settled in his mind.
She had not simply lost sleep.
She had exhausted herself.
She was using magic last night.
And not just any magic—something powerful enough to drain her to this extent.
Leonard kept his expression blank, lifting his teacup to his lips as if uninterested. But his mind was already working, weaving theories, piecing together fragments of an unspoken truth.
The Aldwyne family had always been strange, they have always been saved magically whenever they are in a difficult situations.
He had noticed inconsistencies before—the unusual influence Isla had over men, the mystical allure she seemed to possess. Men did not simply fall in love with her; they worshipped her, as if drawn by a force beyond their control.
Even Vivian, the most breathtaking woman in the empire, did not have that effect.
And now, this.
A woman who should have no connection to ancient magic was drenched in it.
It's almost like…
Leonard's mind flickered to an old, forbidden record.
A name long buried in the annals of history.
Nyxara.
The Goddess of Seduction.
The one who nearly destroyed the world centuries ago, the one responsible for igniting the Holy War that claimed the life of Pyro, the Goddess of Fire.
Nyxara, whose beauty and power ensnared the hearts of kings and warlords even gods, whose influence bent even the strongest men to her will.
But she was sealed away.
Her essence is locked within the celestial plane, unable to interfere with the mortal world.
Wasn't she?
Leonard narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze locked onto Isla.
If it wasn't Nyxara, then who?
Which god—or what unknown power—had touched the Aldwyne family?
And more importantly—
Was it a threat to the empire?
Because if it was—
He would be the first to cut it down.
He set his wine glass down, exhaling softly.
For now, he would watch.
He would play along with whatever game Isla was playing.
But one thing was certain.
The Aldwyne family is hiding something.
And Isla Aldwyne—this woman standing before him, wrapped in mystery, soaked in power she should not have—
Would be his next puzzle to solve.