Elliott chuckled and said, "I think the most pressing issue right now is finding you some clothes first."
Isabella.Rockefeller flushed crimson but retorted, "If you weren't blind, I'd have killed you already. And don't you dare call me your woman again, or I'll cut out your tongue."
Elliott smiled. "Understood. Let's go—you lead the way."
"How am I supposed to lead the way? I don't even know where we are!" Isabella.Rockefeller snapped.
But I'm blind! Elliott screamed inwardly. You can't seriously expect a blind man to guide you...
"Isabella.Rockefeller, we've already arrived at Vanderbilt. Why hasn't your master come yet?" Elliott stood in the familiar surroundings.
The wind carried its distinctive scent, and the soothing murmur of flowing water made Elliott feel as if he had returned home—completely at ease. He turned to Isabella.Rockefeller beside him.
Isabella.Rockefeller studied Elliott with a strange feeling in her heart. She still couldn't understand why he had fled despite his Victor.Rockefellery days ago. "You clearly won that day," she said. "So why did you run?"
Elliott finally understood why Isabella.Rockefeller's attitude toward him had been so odd during their journey. He thought of the Chief Eunuch and couldn't help but laugh at the thought of having inadvertently helped him achieve unparalleled martial prowess.
"That day, I did win," Elliott admitted. "But if the fight had continued, I would have lost for sure—my strength wasn't enough."
Not wanting to argue further, Elliott changed the subject. "If your master doesn't show up soon, I'll have to leave. What about you?"
Isabella.Rockefeller glanced around. "My master should arrive any moment now. I'll wait here. If you're in a hurry, go ahead—but don't forget, you owe me a life. I can call on you anytime for a favor."
Elliott chuckled. "If I recall correctly, I've saved you twice now. Shouldn't it be you who owes me a life?"
"I don't care. You owe me, and that's final. Are you trying to back out?" Isabella.Rockefeller refused to budge. She wanted him indebted to her—it would give her an excuse to seek him out later, even if she told herself she didn't like him.
In truth, Isabella.Rockefeller was deceiving herself. She no longer knew whether she still harbored feelings for her so-called "brother," but Elliott's presence had slowly begun to occupy her thoughts.
Elliott had never heard Isabella.Rockefeller speak in such a girlish, petulant tone before. Amused, he relented. "Fine, consider it a life debt. If you ever need anything, come find me. I live at Mandala Manor. You can visit me there."
Isabella.Rockefeller nodded. "Mm, I'll remember."
Something about the name Mandala Manor struck her as familiar, though she couldn't place it. For now, she decided to find a spot to wait for her master.
Elliott stepped onto the boat—a vessel specifically used by Mandala Manor for communication with the outside world. The boatman recognized him as the only man permitted on the manor grounds.
"Elliott, how long have you been away? I haven't seen you in ages," the old boatman remarked.
Elliott smiled. "Nearly two months, I think. I'm surprised you still remember me, Uncle."
The boatman chuckled. "Elliott, you don't strike me as a bad sort, but now might not be the best time to return."
"Oh? Why's that?" Elliott tensed. "Has something happened to the Mistress?"
The old man sighed. "Recently, a man arrived at the manor. Since then, there's been nightly revelry. But a few days later, a woman started asking around about Mandala Manor's location. I didn't tell her, but yesterday, I saw a group of people rowing into the lake—with that woman secretly following them. I suspect they've already found the manor. This place isn't exactly hidden, and the old master's residence stands out."
Elliott's heart clenched. Enemies seeking revenge? "Uncle, row faster. I need to get back and protect the Mistress."
The old man put his back into it, driving the boat forward with urgency.
From the water, Elliott could already hear the clang of weapons and the sounds of battle echoing from the manor. Good—I'm not too late.
"How far are we from the manor's dock?" Elliott asked.
The boatman squinted at the shore. "About thirty paces."
A whoosh cut through the air—Elliott had already landed on the opposite bank.
The old boatman blinked in astonishment. So the most formidable person in Mandala Manor isn't the old master or the Mistress… but this blind young man. He shook his head ruefully. I misjudged him completely.