Witch's Daughter And The Devil's Son Chapter 718: Finally Unveiled Her Face

Chapter 718: Finally Unveiled Her Face

Cian peered into her familiar eyes, a flicker of recognition dancing on the edges of his memory. Were these deep brown orbs a figment of his imagination, or had he truly encountered them before? The uncertainty lingered, casting a shadow over his thoughts.

Had the figure before him been a man, Cian might have instinctively pulled away the dark cloth veiling the face, but etiquette dictated otherwise with a woman. Despite his curiosity, he maintained a respectful distance, unwilling to breach her privacy without consent. It wouldn't be morally right to unveil her face without permission, especially considering she wasn't his adversary.

"There were spies tailing our movements," she revealed, her voice breaking the silence. "It seems they were dispatched by your faction."

"And your awareness allowed your group to evade us on several occasions," Cian deduced.

"Why are you tracking us?" she inquired, her tone probing. "What's your objective?"

"The same as yours," he responded evenly. "To eradicate the presence of dangerous herbs from this continent."

"Undertaking such a n.o.ble cause implies you're no ordinary individual," she remarked astutely.

"I could say the same about you," Cian countered, noting a subtle s.h.i.+ft in her demeanor, suggesting a hidden smile beneath the concealing fabric.

"Thank you for your a.s.sistance today, Young Lord," she acknowledged, bestowing upon him a t.i.tle of respect, hinting at his prominence. "However, from this point forward, our paths diverge."

"Agreed," Cian consented, realizing the necessity of maintaining secrecy. He couldn't afford to reveal his true ident.i.ty as the prince of another kingdom, clandestinely conducting a covert mission within foreign kingdom. "But before you depart, I have a favor to ask."

"Proceed," she encouraged, awaiting his request.

"I require some of those herbs you seized today, specifically the black nightshade. The rest can be disposed of as usual," Cian requested, his tone firm yet respectful.

The doubt crept into her eyes the moment Cian made this demand. "And what do you need it for?"

"There's a young physician who needs it to treat her grandfather," Cian explained earnestly. "She requires this herb to concoct a specific medicine."

"How can I trust that's the true reason?" she probed further, her gaze unwavering.

"To earn your trust that I oppose the use of these herbs, I'm willing to let you accompany me on the eradication of those plantations that are difficult to find," Cian proposed.

Her eyes seemed to brighten with the offer, but she quickly composed herself before speaking, "Do you think when I can dare find these smugglers and destroy their plans, I am not aware of those plantations and I can not destroy them on my own?"

Cian's lips curved into a light, playful smirk. "If you were aware, given your boldness and courage, you would have eradicated those plantations long ago instead of targeting small groups of smugglers and exhausting yourself repeatedly. You strike me as someone who prefers elemintaing an adversary at once."

In response, she silently scrutinized him, as if trying to discern his true intentions. This young man possessed a knack for understanding people even in brief encounters, and he was clever enough to negotiate without losing his advantage. Now she remembered his fighting skills - he was exceptional with a sword, impressing her despite her own proficiency.

Finding someone worthy of praise was rare for her.

"You're not from Othinia," she commented astutely.

"You're correct," he admitted. "You can easily guess it from my appearance that I am not Othinian," he added, noting the racial disparities between Othinians and Abethans. "But I doubt you can guess my exact origins."

"Because you were clever enough to use the Othinian swordsmans.h.i.+p instead of that from your own kingdom," she observed. "How did you come to learn this style, considering it's strictly reserved for Othinian high n.o.bles and royals?"

"Are you suggesting you're from one of the high n.o.ble or royal families?" Cian arched a brow.

"I might be. You're free to draw your own conclusions," she replied casually, wary of revealing too much to this astute man who could easily uncover her ident.i.ty if she wasn't cautious. "But how did you learn it?" she redirected the question.

Both of them appeared like they were present there for a casual chat rather than dealing with the dangerous matters.

"There is someone who is skilled like you in Othinian swordsmans.h.i.+p. She taught it to me when I was a child and later I practiced it on my own as I found it really interesting," Cian explained.

"A woman taught you?" she inquired, her curiosity evident because there were handful of women who could truly master it.

He nodded in confirmation.

"She taught you well. Must be remarkable woman."

"Certainly," he agreed, a sense of pride and respect s.h.i.+ning in his eyes as he spoke of the woman who had taught him - his mother, Queen Niobe. Her unwavering determination had always been to ensure he excelled in all endeavors.

Returning to the initial topic, Cian reiterated, "I need that herb."

"That may not be possible," she responded firmly. "We're eliminating it to safeguard this continent from chaos. No one will have access to it. I won't bend the rules for anyone, even if it means some may suffer from health issues."

Cian antic.i.p.ated such a response from her. She was a woman of unwavering determination, a true leader committed to following the rules.

"You didn't outright deny it, which means there's a possibility," he countered.

"I was simply being polite towards the person who saved our lives," she replied without hesitation.

Realizing that pus.h.i.+ng further would only lead to conflict between their factions, Cian decided to step back. She wasn't entirely wrong, and if their roles were reversed, he would likely do the same, unwilling to trust a stranger with access to such a dangerous herb.

"Alright, maybe I could acquire it on my own," Cian conceded. "We'll take our leave. I trust your group can handle these remaining pests," he added, gesturing toward the few smugglers who survived.

She simply nodded, and Cian signaled to Eliot that they were ready to depart. His men turned to leave, relinquis.h.i.+ng custody of the captives to the other group.

Offering her a light nod, Cian turned to depart, harboring the thought that their paths would cross again, and then he would surely uncover the truth about her. But just as he took a step away, chaos erupted.

"You wretch… you killed our leader… Ughh…"

Thud!

Everything happened in a blur. Cian's sword had swiftly pierced the body of one of the captive smugglers who lunged to attack the masked woman. His reflexes were so sharp that the man barely had a chance to touch her before losing his life.

"Are you alright?" Cian turned to the stunned woman, who clearly hadn't expected this turn of events.

But then, Cian was even more stunned than the woman in front of him was.

The dark cloth covering her face had been pulled away by the smuggler, leaving her face exposed before him. Cian felt as though time stood still, rendering him immobile.

She glanced back at Cian who once more saved her life, but as her gaze met his shocked one, she realized the cloth covering her face had slipped, hanging to the side of her face. Hastily, she retrieved it and covered herself, but it was too late.

'The woman from that day, the one with the windmill... it's her,' Cian thought, incredulous. She had seemed like a carefree young girl then wandering in the field, but now she stood before him as a fearless warrior.

In a flash of moment, memories from that day flashed in front of his eyes. That beautiful woman who capture his attention just at a single glance, the one who ran to capture the kite and even ended up colliding with him, hurting his wrist, the one who had been disturbing his sleep the every single night, urging him to find her at all costs.

'Who is this woman?'

Cian couldn't help but ponder her true ident.i.ty, the question echoing in his mind.