Moncarlo, in a secluded alley far from the main road.
After the conflict had ended, the shattered stone-paved alley was lined with city guards and knights from the pilgrimage escort, now standing on alert. Blood-stained ground still held both corpses and injured survivors. In their midst, the white-robed Sister Vania was tending to the most seriously wounded—regardless of whether they were city guards or gang members.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream rang out from inside the tavern beside the alley. The sound caught Vania’s attention mid-healing. With a strange look, she turned toward the tavern and saw Laurent stepping out, expression cold and composed.
“Mr. Laurent? What happened in there? Was there a critically injured person needing aid?”
Seeing Laurent emerge grimly from the tavern, Vania asked curiously. But Laurent shook his head.
“No, nothing important. The one inside is a Chalice. That kind of injury won’t kill him. No need to bother.”
Then, glancing at the people Vania had healed, he added.
“Thank you for taking the time to help with treatment, Sister Vania. This really should have been Moncarlo’s own problem, and yet we’ve made you work on our behalf.”
“It’s nothing,” Vania replied with her usual serene tone.
Hearing this with a touch of admiration, Laurent paused briefly, then chuckled lightly.
“I can see now just how sincere Sister Vania’s compassion is. Still, I’ll say this: you only needed to treat the city guards. There’s no need to waste your spirituality on gang scum.”
Vania remained smiling as she rose and answered.
“Yes… there are those among them who are indeed beyond redemption and do not deserve compassion. But their death, if it must come, should follow the judgment of Moncarlo’s law—open and just. To end Moncarlo’s cycle of violence and disorder, we need not just the Holy Mother’s mercy, but the Holy Father’s spirit of justice. Only by strengthening Moncarlo’s legal framework can we guide this city into order. Rather than more extrajudicial executions, we should promote righteous judgment. That is why I treat everyone here—without exception.”
Her reasoning was sound and principled. Laurent, who had overseen Moncarlo’s governance for decades and was deeply familiar with its flaws, found himself momentarily moved, and his view of Vania rose a little higher.
“Before you arrived, Sister Vania, people used to say you were nothing more than a showpiece of the Church. But even then, I thought—no mere ornament could withstand the storm of Addus unshattered. Now that I’ve met you in person, I’m even more certain.”
Laurent praised her directly. Vania responded humbly.
“I’m simply doing what I must.”
Just then, behind Laurent, a supposedly dead gang member on the ground twitched. While everyone’s attention was elsewhere, he slowly lifted his blood-smeared head, dazedly looking forward. His hand crept underneath his body—yet Vania noticed it all.
“Behind you—look out!”
She shouted to warn Laurent. He immediately spun around and saw the man rising shakily, a revolver now leveled straight at him.
“Die, you city dog!”
Bang!
The gang member pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullet shot toward Laurent, but he managed to dodge just in time—though it grazed his arm. Eyes narrowing, Laurent retaliated: a water arrow condensed mid-air and launched straight into the attacker’s skull, blowing a hole even wider than a thumb clean through his head. Blood and brain matter spilled out as the man collapsed.
“Tenth Young Lord, are you alright?!”
Several guards rushed over. Clutching his wounded arm, Laurent answered calmly.
“I’m fine. Just didn’t expect one of them was still alive… Hmph. Wasted his luck.”
He glanced at the corpse in silence, then turned back to Vania and said:
“Thank you, Sister Vania. If not for your warning, that shot might’ve ruined my image.”
“It’s alright… but you’re still slightly injured, Mr. Laurent. Please, allow me to treat it.”
She gestured toward his arm. Laurent didn’t hesitate to accept.
“I’ll trouble you, then, Sister Vania.”
Vania stepped forward, carefully pulling back the fabric around his wound. Placing her hand over the injured spot, she released a gentle spiritual glow. Laurent immediately felt soothing warmth flood through his arm. The wound, already not too severe, healed quickly and cleanly. As Vania focused, Laurent quietly observed her.
When the treatment was done, she lifted her hand. Laurent rubbed the skin, then flexed his arm a few times. Everything felt perfect.
“I’ve been treated by quite a few Healing Prayer Priests before. The less devout ones often leave itchy spots after healing. But your touch… there’s no discomfort at all. The rumors about your devotion aren’t exaggerations, it seems.”
“For a nun, devotion to the Lord is the most basic requirement.”
She smiled gently. Laurent looked up at the dimming sky and added.
“Alright, it’s getting late. We’ve been delayed long enough. Now that all those captives have been rescued, let’s move on to Sovereign Sea Fortress.”
“Understood.”
And so, after a few unexpected twists, Laurent continued leading Vania toward the political heart of Moncarlo. If anything had changed after this encounter, it was that—aside from some members being wounded—several of them were now being quietly observed by a distant will.
At that same moment, across the city in a luxury hotel suite, Dorothy sat on a balcony, watching the pirate fortress on the horizon. Her spiritual senses were locked on the moving procession below.
During Vania’s healing, Dorothy had, of course, taken the opportunity to plant Marionette Marks—flesh-etched marks—into the bodies of those she treated, both guards and gangsters. Most crucially, she orchestrated a deliberate light injury on Laurent Gibbs, Edward’s tenth son, so that Vania would heal him personally. The healing embedded a mark inside his flesh. Now, Laurent was the key to unlocking Edward’s secrets.
“Next… is just a matter of waiting.”
As the sun dipped beneath the skyline, Dorothy murmured to herself. Then, after a pause, she pulled out her Literary Sea Logbook, flipped to a blank page, and began to write.
…
Time passed. The sun set, and the moon rose.
After dusk, the black night fully enveloped Moncarlo’s skies. As lights flickered to life across the city—denser than even the stars—Moncarlo entered a nighttime splendor even more vibrant than its daytime glory.
To the north of Moncarlo’s city center, in the grand pirate fortress known as the Sovereign Sea Fortress, a banquet was underway. Inside a lavishly decorated grand dining hall, beneath glittering chandeliers and atop gleaming marble floors, a long dining table overflowing with delicacies stretched through the room.
Sister Vania, dressed in white, sat at one end of the table, quietly partaking in light fare. Across the table sat her knight-captain and several key figures from Moncarlo.
“Oh… I really didn’t expect the famed Savior of Addus, Vania, to be so young and beautiful. The newspapers didn’t do you justice at all. Your naturally radiant face makes even me a little envious…”
Seated nearby was a voluptuous woman dressed flamboyantly, with heavy makeup and a ponytail. She smiled flirtatiously at Vania while cutting her food with a fork. Vania replied softly.
“A good appearance is not one of the Lord’s most important blessings. Compared to outward form, a kind and truthful heart is the greater gift. So please, there’s no need to envy me, Miss Perine.”
“Huh? Beauty’s not important? If you didn’t have that face, I bet half your fame would vanish. Be honest now—did that pretty face help you convince the Addus Revolutionary Army? I swear, ever since you announced your visit, the brothels here have been—”
Just as Perine was about to go on, Laurent frowned from across the table, set down his wine glass, and cut her off.
“Enough, Perine. Mind your manners.”
“O-okay, Tenth Brother…”
Perine fell silent, clearly unhappy, and went back to her meal. At that moment, another voice spoke from the other end of the table.
“Ugh… Hey, nun from the Church. What are you doing here? Don’t tell me the Church’s plan is to poke into our affairs now that the old man’s health is failing?”
The speaker was a large, bearded man wearing a pirate’s headscarf. He gnawed at a steak with his hands as he spoke, his tone laced with hostility.
“Please don’t misunderstand, Mr. Buna. I came to Moncarlo simply to let the light of the holy relic offer a small positive influence on a city often misunderstood in foreign news. There’s no hidden agenda.”
“No hidden agenda? Then why’d you go meddling in our gang matters?”
“That was me,” Laurent said firmly.
“It had nothing to do with Sister Vania.”
“Tenth Brother… Don’t go defending her like that. You know plenty of folks here aren’t fond of the Church. You’re going to lose support and hand an advantage to the Twelfth Brother…”
“Enough. Eat properly. Use cutlery. Show some decorum.”
“...Hmph.”
With nothing more to say, Buna begrudgingly returned to his plate. The rest of the banquet proceeded in an increasingly awkward silence.
Eventually, the dinner came to a close. The other Moncarlo representatives excused themselves early. Laurent approached Vania afterward, apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Sister Vania. Some of my family members have rather… problematic manners, influenced by our traditions. Please don’t take it to heart.”
“It’s alright, Mr. Laurent. I can sense that Moncarlo has a deep-rooted aversion to the Church’s presence. I understand this stems from past mistakes committed by the Church. I don’t take offense.”
Vania was right. Moncarlo had been founded during the pirate era, and most of those pirates were refugees persecuted by the Church during the war. So anti-Church sentiment was both cultural and inherited.
“If you can be so understanding, that’s all the better,” Laurent said.
“It’s late now. Please return and rest. I must go report today’s events to my father.”
“Understood.”
Laurent then escorted Vania and her guards out of the Sovereign Sea Fortress, before making his way into its depths to meet with the reclusive Edward. After delivering his report, Laurent exited the fortress’s inner sanctum and left altogether.
He returned to his estate—an extravagant mansion practically adjacent to the fortress and still enveloped in Edward’s spiritual mist.
By the time Laurent arrived, night had deepened. Without delay, he entered his study and reviewed documents for two hours. Finally, deep into the night, he changed into sleepwear, washed up, and went to bed.
But the moment he fell fully asleep, his eyes suddenly opened.
Sitting up mechanically in bed, his gaze vacant, Laurent stood and dressed himself in full formal wear. He put on his shoes, opened the door, and walked out.
Avoiding servants and guards as much as possible, he slipped through his own estate unnoticed. Those who did see him were too intimidated by his usual authority to question anything. Just like that, Laurent—unimpeded—left his home and passed beyond the boundary of Edward’s spiritual mist.
Outside, at a street corner, a carriage waited. Laurent climbed in under the dim glow of a streetlamp.
Inside the carriage sat two figures.
One was the sharp-eyed, hook-nosed Detective Ed, who greeted Laurent’s arrival with calm composure.
The other was a brightly dressed, alcohol-scented woman who stared at Laurent in disbelief.
“Is this really Moncarlo’s Tenth Young Lord? One of Edward’s most favored sons? You seriously got him here… on his own? What did you do —was it dream-walking?”
Still in shock, the woman turned to Ed. As he lit a small censer beside the carriage window, Ed replied calmly.
“There are mystical methods for controlling a living person beyond just dream-walking… The mystical world is far wider than you imagine.”
“Alright. Now that Young Master Laurent is seated, we just need to deepen his sleep a little more… I trust your real body is ready for Dream Entry and Thought Theft—Miss Nightmare… or should I say, Fox?”
As the incense began to waft through the cabin, Ed turned toward the woman. She gulped, then answered.
“O-okay… I’m ready. Let’s begin.”