And so, Berseus and the mage finally managed to sit down for a proper conversation.
Though it was a rather bizarre sight, with one of them gripping a blue-tinged axe while the other struggled desperately to somehow keep her dangling head upright.
In the end, the mage gave up trying to balance it and completely tore her head from her body, cradling it against her chest.
“My name is Sovie. Sovie of the Black Forest. But Lord Dacianus always called me by the nickname ‘the Wise Owl.’”
She introduced herself as “Dacianus’s final disciple.”
It was exactly the sort of claim one would ordinarily dismiss as empty boasting, but this was a genuine mage who could continue moving perfectly well even after having her neck severed.
Berseus stared for a moment at Sovie’s shattered cervical vertebrae and torn muscles, and at the cross-section of her neck from which not even a drop of blood flowed, before asking,
“Then you’re actually someone from long ago. You don’t look particularly old on the outside, so what era are you from?”
“Well. The Black Forest is such a remote place that even while growing up there, I was ignorant of history and current affairs. And after I properly entered the mysteries, I stopped keeping track of my age altogether.”
“…….”
“But even after I withdrew underground for my research, it seems the Empire changed rulers…