Even if the old woman’s words were just speculation, they were still remarkably logical.

If she said it was clothing like what mages wear, then it was probably a robe in the form of a cloak. That would’ve been easy enough for any commoner to recognize.

Not all mages wore robes, and not everyone wearing a robe was a mage. But historically, renowned and traditional mage factions often wore robes in place of uniforms when they needed to identify themselves. The design had originated from the garments worn by the great mage Luma, so it was widely recognizable.

If someone dressed like that showed up just as a mage research group had been in the area, it’s only natural people would assume he was a mage.

The assumption that he was someone who had survived a monster-related incident but wanted to avoid responsibility and thus tried to conceal his identity also made sense. Even if not a mage, there were always people who fled rather than take responsibility after a disaster. Yuder had seen more than enough of those to grow weary of the pattern.

But still...

Was the man who raised Yuder the kind of person who would run from something he should’ve taken responsibility for?

Yuder didn’t think so. His grandfather hadn’t taught him some grand moral doctrine, but Yuder had still learned through observing him. The man didn’t speak empty words. If he promised to help someone in the village—even with something small—he never went back on it.

Could someone who had once turned their back on a serious responsibility then go on to raise a child who couldn’t even walk, and devote their life to it? Yuder had never tried it himself, but raising a child not of your blood alone for more than ten years didn’t seem like a light burden.

If someone who kept every little promise to others had abandoned just one duty, maybe it wasn’t out of cowardice—but due to something else entirely.

Maybe I just don’t want to think poorly of him. Maybe that’s all this is.

While Yuder remained silent, Kishiar, who had been quietly listening all this time, suddenly spoke.

"By any chance, when you first met him, did he have a gemstone pin or brooch on him?"

"Hmm? A gemstone pin?"

"When mages go out to investigate or conduct research, they often wear pin badges to indicate their affiliation. Robes can be worn by non-mages working with them, but those badges are given only to actual mages. They're typically worn on the chest, and even if not made with jewels, they're usually gold—easy to sell—so you'd probably remember if you saw one."

Ah...!

Yuder snapped his head toward Kishiar.

That’s right. Mages almost always identify each other using those pins.

Priests wore holy pendants. Knights had insignias on their armor, uniforms, or weapons. But mages had no uniforms, and their robes could be bought anywhere. Unless someone belonged to the Court Mage Division, their affiliation was often unclear.

So most major mage groups developed their own pin badges. The pearl badge of the Pearl Tower was the most well-known. Since mages were notoriously individualistic and dressed however they pleased, the badge was a practical way to identify them.

If not for Kishiar, Yuder might have missed this key point. He gave a slight nod of gratitude—Thank you for catching that—and Kishiar returned a barely noticeable, soft smile, careful not to let the old woman see.

"A gemstone or gold pin badge...? Hmm. I don’t think {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} I saw anything like that..."

She tilted her head and tried to recall, then suddenly clapped her hands.

"Wait. That man left some things behind when he left our house!"

"Really? Are you sure?"

According to her, on the day Yuder’s grandfather had moved from the room above her shop to the house they lived in now, he’d discarded the clothes and bag he’d originally been wearing.

"He put them in the burn bin, as if he meant to throw them out. I found them after he left."

In mountain villages, trash was often burned or buried. If the old woman hadn’t cleaned the room and taken out the garbage right away, she might never have found it.

"It was dirty, but I thought—just in case—he might come back to ask for it, so I stored it in the attic. Then I just... forgot. But hearing what you said just now brought it all back."

Unbelievable. This time, Yuder was truly stunned.

"Then..."

"I never sorted through what was inside. But if we look, it should still be there."

She insisted on going to find it herself, even when Yuder offered to help.

"You won’t be able to find it without me. It’s just a robe and a bag—nothing complicated. I may be old, but my memory’s fine. It won’t take long."

They followed her to the attic storeroom above the shop. Yuder had lived in the village for years, but it was his first time entering this part of the house.

"Let’s see... not this one, not that... Oh! Here it is. It’s still here after all." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

She proved her memory was as sharp as she claimed. Before Yuder could even bring over a stool, she had already pulled something out of the clutter and held it out with a smile.

"It’s dusty, but not worse than when I first put it away. That’s a relief."

Yuder stared at the bundle in his hands. The fabric was so old he couldn’t even tell what color it had originally been. A mass of cloth that was once a robe, a small cloth bag—something about them felt oddly heavy.

"Madam, you are truly remarkable. Please accept my deepest respect and gratitude for your wise judgment and courage. You’ve helped us immensely today."

Kishiar bowed his head solemnly, gently lifted her hand, and kissed the back of it. Completely unaware she had just received a royal kiss, the old woman waved him off, laughing heartily.

"Are all Capital folk this flowery? You’re making me itchy just listening to you!"

"But you liked it, didn’t you? Right?"

Kishiar smiled playfully and batted his eyes. Even though he was using a magical disguise to alter his appearance, his overflowing confidence and sly charm made people react to him as if he were in his original form.

"Yuder’s really made a remarkable friend. Truly impressive."

Still chuckling in amazement, the old woman leaned in and whispered to Yuder as he turned to leave.

"Will you bring him along again next time?"

Yuder glanced at Kishiar’s back as he carried the bag of sweet potatoes the woman had given them, then nodded slowly.

"Yes."

The woman smiled and patted his back.

"Good. Then stay longer next time. I’ll have more delicious things ready for you."

The moment she spoke, Yuder suddenly remembered the voice of his grandfather—something he thought he’d forgotten long ago. He looked at her hand for a while, then gave a small smile.

"...Please stay well until then, ma’am."

"That stiff Capital accent of yours—can’t you ever drop it?"

Yuder exited the shop to the sound of her teasing, and Kishiar’s eyes lit up when he saw him.

"She was really a wonderful person. Thanks to her, we got sweet potatoes and possibly a clue to an old mystery. Let’s take a look, shall we?"

"Yes."

The moment they arrived home, Yuder used the wind to gently blow away the ash and dust clinging to the cloth bundle. He placed it on the table, which doubled as his desk, and slowly unfolded it. The form of the robe and bag finally became clear.

A thick, hooded robe, heavily stained and torn. A bag meant to be worn around the waist. A cloth like a table cover, its purpose unclear.

Just like I felt earlier... it’s all so worn and dirty, I can’t even guess what color these things were originally.

Ash had poured out earlier when the wind hit it—probably because it had been stored in the burn bin at one point. The smell of mold was overpowering.

"There are a lot of tears in the robe. But these aren’t just from age. These are old tears—probably made when the garment was still in use."

Kishiar circled the table, inspecting the robe with sharp eyes. He touched the chest area, where a large vertical tear had ripped open the fabric, revealing a blackened hole beneath his fingers.

Yuder, who had seen more than his share of garments torn by injury, agreed it wasn’t the kind of wear caused by time.

"Yes. I think so too. The biggest tear being in the chest... doesn’t feel like a good sign."

"If you took a hit strong enough to tear fabric like this at the chest... most people would die."