Inside the vast hall of the Sovereign Sea Fortress, the aged pirate Edward sat solemnly at the head of a long table, silently staring at the letter in his hand. He said nothing.
As he read the contents of the page, a fierce fire seemed to burn in the depths of Edward’s eyes—but it did not erupt unchecked. He forcefully suppressed it. His breath was heavy, and a formless pressure radiated from him, making the atmosphere in the hall suffocating. In this oppressive silence, Laurent swallowed nervously and cautiously asked in a low voice.
“Father… who sent that letter? What does it say?”
Hearing his son’s question, Edward paused briefly. Then he clenched the letter into a crumpled ball, exhaled deeply, and replied.
“It’s nothing… not something you need to concern yourself with.”
“I understand…”
Laurent respectfully bowed, indicating that he would not press further about the letter’s contents. Edward, still holding the crumpled page, paused in thought before speaking again.
“I’ll be leaving for a short trip. It may take several days. You’ll handle Moncarlo’s affairs in my stead.”
“Ah… Father, are you traveling far? Then I’ll go prepare immediately.”
“No need to prepare anything. I’ll be going alone. A discreet trip. No need for too many people to know. Just gather your more troublesome brothers—I’ll give them instructions.”
“You’ll go alone…? Alright, I understand.”
With that, Laurent respectfully left the hall. For a moment, the vast chamber held only Edward, still seated, gazing silently into space.
…
Eastern Coast of Ivengard.
During the daytime, a gentle sea breeze swept across the sapphire-blue ocean. Beneath the clear sky, flocks of seagulls called out as they soared overhead. Amidst the waves, a large white passenger ship puffed thick smoke as it steadily advanced. On its front deck, a crowd of passengers leaned against the railings, gazing toward the distant coastline. The faint silhouette of the city on the horizon hinted that their destination was near.
At the edge of the deck, Dorothy, dressed in a light, simple sundress, sat in a fixed white seat. She was reading a newspaper picked up at the last port, catching up on recent events. Her attention was currently fixed on a particular column that wasn’t especially prominent.
…
“The Church’s newly appointed Relic Emissary, Sister Vania Chafferon, has recently completed her first relic exhibition tour in Moncarlo—with unexpectedly outstanding results.
Long known as the City of Pirates and the City of Gamblers, Moncarlo has often been labeled a degenerate city lacking faith. Its citizens and visitors were thought to pay little mind to the teachings of the Lord, viewing the Church as irrelevant amid the flow of desire. Faith, in such a place, was seen as little more than surface-level.
Because of this, few held high expectations for Sister Vania’s first relic tour. Many media commentators believed she should have chosen a city with a stronger foundation of belief to ensure a positive start. No one thought a religious event in Moncarlo would attract much attention, and an underwhelming debut could have dampened the confidence of this young and promising sister.
Yet the reality defied all predictions. Sister Vania’s relic exhibition in Moncarlo achieved resounding success. In just a short time, tens of thousands of local residents and tourists visited the exhibition. The city’s already-cramped church became overcrowded for extended periods, with the surrounding streets clogged by the sheer volume of people. For a religious event, this scale of turnout was virtually unprecedented in Moncarlo’s history—the last time the city saw a religious gathering of this magnitude was over a century ago, during the conversion ceremony of Moncarlo’s founder, the Pirate Lord Edward.
Following the event, Moncarlo’s authorities even announced plans—under Sister Vania’s recommendation—to construct a new cathedral in the city to commemorate the occasion. While it’s not unusual for churches to be built in honor of significant events in the Church’s thousand-year history, most are dedicated to martyrs of holy wars or built during periods of post-war reflection. A peacetime relic tour resulting in the construction of a new cathedral is unprecedented—especially in a city like Moncarlo, long viewed as ‘faithless.’ Sister Vania’s influence in just a few days has been profound.
Many now believe that Sister Vania has rekindled the long-extinguished flame of faith within Moncarlo, awakening its lost souls to the Lord’s Radiance—just as she did in the Indigenous Isles of the Conquest Sea and in Addus.
However, not all responses have been positive. Within the Church, a few conservative voices criticize the results as superficial. Some claim that Moncarlo’s interest wasn’t in the relics themselves, but in the sister personally—and that their fascination wasn’t born of piety, but of base desire. They argue that the tour was not a revival of faith but an act of desecration. These critics suggest that the Church’s ongoing promotion of Sister Vania is having detrimental effects. Clergy, they insist, should not be flaunting themselves in public like dancers.
These detractors argue that a nun should remain within the church, praying in reverence, not traveling frequently or appearing in newspapers. They claim Sister Vania’s beauty provokes more lustful thoughts than reverence, and that she should wear a veil at all public appearances. Still, few take such voices seriously—after all, if it weren’t for genuine inspiration, the Moncarlo authorities wouldn’t be spending lavishly to build a new cathedral. For the Church as a whole, events like this are welcomed, as they symbolize the expansion of its influence in a new age.”
…
“Hah… never expected that. Edward actually promised Vania he’d build another cathedral in Moncarlo? He’s really pulling out all the stops to please her… But thinking about it, it makes sense. Vania and her group were the Church’s official representatives on-site during the ‘Moncarlo 29th Incident.’ How they report this to their superiors is critical to Edward. So of course he’s doing everything he can to leave a good impression and convince Vania to keep things vague in her report.”
Dorothy thought to herself as she gazed down at the paper. Edward’s eagerness to curry favor had taken her slightly by surprise, but in truth, it also benefited Vania—it would surely raise her standing within the Church. In their eyes, she probably looked like a rising star blessed with great fortune.
“Miss Dorothy, we can already see Adria Port ahead! We’re almost there!”
At that moment, a familiar voice called out beside her. Nephthys, dressed in a loose blouse and sheer skirt, wearing a sunhat and sunglasses, was watching the city skyline approach. Her tone was cheerful. Dorothy turned her head toward the view and spoke softly.
“Adria… It’s been a few months. I’ve returned again.”
After successfully escaping Moncarlo, Dorothy had commandeered a small ocean-going yacht using her corpse marionettes and sailed to the nearest island town. Since she couldn’t indefinitely operate the ship without entering full sleep, she needed to transfer ships somewhere and let her true body rest properly.
After nearly a full day of sailing, relying on precise navigation and the sea charts memorized in her mind, she reached an inhabited island called Bjor Island. There she rested for nearly an entire day before arranging for the marionettes to sail the Moncarlo-acquired ship offshore and sink it at the edge of their range—to erase evidence.
Afterward, she and Nephthys bought ferry tickets and began a multi-leg journey to the mainland. Now, several days later, they had arrived in the large coastal city of Adria, a place they’d once stayed before.
“Didn’t think I’d see this place again… So, Miss Dorothy, your goal now is to find the White Craftsmen’s Guild branch in a big city, right? There are plenty of such cities along the Conquest Sea coast. Why Adria?”
Standing beside her, Nephthys looked away from the horizon and asked. Dorothy gave a direct and simple answer.
“No particular reason. If I had to give one… it’s far enough from Moncarlo, and I had a good impression of the place. Anyway, every large city has a White Craftsmen’s Guild branch, so why not pick one that’s pleasant to stay in for a few days?”
In this era of rapid industrial expansion, nearly every major city on the mainland had developed its own industrial zone. With little environmental awareness, these zones brought pollution of all kinds. Dorothy had visited many such cities and found most to be poor places to live.
Adria, however, was different. Geological constraints prevented large-scale industrialization, and its municipal government had been one of the first to recognize the value of tourism. As a result, intentionally or not, it had developed into a prosperous city focused on trade and leisure, with minimal heavy industry and far better environmental conditions.
During her last stay in Adria, Dorothy had found it fairly pleasant—aside from the streets occasionally flooding during high tide. So when planning where to visit a White Craftsmen’s Guild branch, she had chosen this city in advance back when she was still in Moncarlo.
Now standing on the ship’s deck, watching the port grow closer, Dorothy took out her ticket and checked it. The date of arrival was marked July 10th—today. It had been 11 days since the Moncarlo incident.
“July 10… right on time. Five days until the appointment. I wonder if he’ll show up?”
She stared at the ticket, quietly thinking to herself, already anticipating the meeting to come.
…
After arriving in Adria, Dorothy and Nephthys checked into a hotel. Over the next five days, they relaxed and recovered—especially Dorothy, who had finally been able to decompress after everything that had happened in Moncarlo.
Once the calendar turned to July 15th, Dorothy returned to business.
On a sunny morning, Dorothy sat in a riverside café in Adria, sipping tea while controlling a corpse marionette remotely. Her marionette—a well-dressed young man—entered a tucked-away woodcarving shop in a quiet alley. Before the clerk could speak, the marionette addressed him.
“Hello. I’d like to commission a carved Saint’s Pillar, about one meter tall, made from oak. Is that possible?”
The clerk paused in surprise, then smiled.
“Of course. But sir, your request is rather specific. I’ll need to bring you to the master craftsman to discuss the details. Please follow me.”
The clerk stepped away from the counter and entered a small wooden door on the side wall. Dorothy, through her marionette, glanced briefly at the many intricate woodworks displayed before following him.
This was the Adria branch of the White Craftsmen’s Guild. Thanks to her connections through Beverly, Dorothy had found the place with ease.
Her marionette followed the clerk through the door into a dim, narrow corridor. Once he heard the guest’s footsteps behind him, the clerk asked in a low voice.
“Are you here for discrete trade services?”
“No. I’m not buying anything today. I need to use your Telegram Room 4, real-time line. I’m waiting on a transmission.”
Dorothy replied through the marionette. The clerk responded immediately.
“Real-time telegram communication? Heh… You’re well informed. That service only started recently. Hardly anyone’s used it yet.”
Chuckling, he led the marionette through several turns until they arrived at a private, well-furnished room with a carpeted floor, a comfortable sofa, and a telegram machine on a coffee table. The machine’s wires snaked through small holes in the wall, connecting outside.
Dorothy had the marionette sit on the sofa. The clerk, before leaving, asked if she needed a translation service—Dorothy declined through the marionette.
Alone in the room, she had the marionette adjust the machine and wait. After a few dozen minutes, the telegram machine buzzed to life, emitting rhythmic beeps and spitting out a long strip of paper. Reading the dots and dashes, Dorothy immediately understood—they were confirmation signals.
Her marionette sent a return signal, verifying receipt. Then meaningful content began to arrive.
“This is Bloodwave. At a craftsman’s guild branch. I’ve sent the telegram at the appointed time, as you asked… thief.”
After translating the message, Dorothy couldn’t help but smile. She then tapped a reply through the machine.
“Greetings, Lord Bloodwave. I’m the thief who stole your fifty gold bricks. Are you ready to reclaim a portion of them now?”
“Cut the crap. What do you want?”
The return message was curt and impatient. Dorothy replied directly.
“What I want is intel on the Abyssal Church. Since they have leverage over you, and they’re trying so hard to draw you back in, clearly they have plans for you. I’m sure you’ve guessed—the Abyssal Church, perhaps the entire Afterbirth Cult, is preparing something big.
“If they contact you again, and try to coerce you into action, tell me what they ask of you. I’ll return a portion of the gold bricks in exchange, based on the value of the information.
“Of course, I know you urgently need that gold. So if you provide enough classified intel about the Abyssal Church—or even the Afterbirth Cult as a whole—I’ll return five gold bricks up front. Consider it a goodwill payment. What do you say?”
Dorothy sent the message, encrypting several key parts. The method of decryption had already been outlined in the letter she’d sent Edward.