Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

The coachman spoke earnestly, unwilling to continue the discussion.

Since they couldn't arrest him and force a confession, it seemed impossible to extricate anything else from him.

"I was just curious, you don't have to be nervous, and if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine." Winters placated the somewhat flustered coachman, pressing no further.

The coachman nodded his head gratefully in acknowledgment.

Kosha walked out from the main entrance. She had changed out of her comfortable home clothing and into a dark green dress decorated with embroidery and lace, topped with a light purple silk shawl and a lavishly adorned hat.

"That's quite an elaborate outfit just to visit a tailor's shop," Winters remarked in surprise as he approached Kosha, "Aren't you hot? Auntie, you're not also wearing a corset, are you?"

"Silly boy, the tailor's shop is a woman's battlefield!" Kosha scolded her nephew with a glance, happily taking Winters' arm and stepping onto the carriage.

She gave the driver their destination with demure politeness, "Mr. Bato, please take us to the Mewa residence."

The carriage glided smoothly over the cobblestone streets, the wheels clacking rhythmically through the gaps in the stones, and the horseshoes rhythmically striking the pavement. The carriage's compartment was suspended on leather straps from the frame, so the ride was not bumpy.

Kosha lifted the curtain, enjoying the street scene, seemingly in high spirits.

But Winters was preoccupied with serious thoughts, his mind occupied by the coachman who appeared to have joined some secret society, and the brotherhood he mentioned.

Kosha gently tapped Winters' hand with her folding fan, "What's on your mind that has you so distracted?"

"It's nothing," Winters responded with a smile, regaining his composure. It clearly wasn't appropriate to share his concerns with his aunt in the carriage; that was a conversation for his uncle. He diverted the topic, "By the way, where's Ella? Isn't she at home?"

Mention of Elizabeth always gave Kosha a headache; she touched her forehead helplessly, saying, "She's gone to Lady Angusoraf's studio. Sigh... Your sister really worries me. She's already sixteen but still acts like a wild girl, without a trace of ladylike demeanor."

"Isn't learning painting a good thing?" Winters admired those skilled in painting; although he was not religious, he always lingered in front of the beautiful frescoes in churches.

Kosha's mood dimmed a bit, "She's not there to learn painting, she's just looking for an excuse to frolic with her little friends. When your mother and I were her age, we had to check your grandfather's accounts every day, unlike her frivolous behavior now. She can't sew, can't manage accounts, she doesn't have any ability to run a household."

Winters felt his aunt was underrating his sister too much; Elizabeth was one of the few people he acknowledged as smarter than himself, and he had to defend her, "If you teach her about accounts, I'm sure she could learn very well. I'm quite convinced of her mental arithmetic abilities."

"I've taught her, of course, I've taught her," Kosha's tone grew heavier, "but your sister lacks any persistence. She starts complaining within two days of learning the accounts. No matter what it is, she loses interest as soon as she learns the basics. How can she get married like this? What good family would take her? Isn't it just a matter of time before she gets deceived?"

Kosha fell silent for a moment, then suddenly looked at Winters with hope-filled eyes, grasping his right hand, "Let's not talk about your sister, let's talk about you."

Kosha's demeanor turned very formal, puzzling Winters, who sat up straight to listen seriously.

She spoke very earnestly, "I've told you this once six years ago when you went to The Federated Provinces, and now that you're back, I need to repeat it. After your maternal grandfather passed away, his property was divided into two parts, each as a dowry for your mother and me. My share was taken to the Serviati family, and your mother's share was kept by me as your guardian because you were not of age. Next year, when you come of age, I will hand over your mother's dowry to you, relieving myself of this concern."

Winters had thought his aunt was going to discuss something significant, yet it turned out to be about the inheritance again. Winters was a posthumous child, his father had died in battle with the rank of sub-lieutenant twenty years before, and his mother had also passed away early.

Although Kosha had always strictly forbidden anyone from discussing the details of her sister's death with her nephew, merely attributing it to illness, Winters, who was always keen, managed to infer the real answer through indirect inquiries: his mother, Kosha's sister, had died from complications shortly after childbirth.

However, he wasn't too troubled by this; to him, his aunt was his mother, and his uncle treated him like his own son.