Northern Falano, Flottes.
Night had fallen. In the southern outskirts of Flottes, the grand and ornate Temple of the Goddess of Beauty was still brightly illuminated. Evening banquets and balls were underway throughout the palace. Though times had changed, the temple remained the finest place in Flottes for the upper class and dignitaries to socialize and indulge.
Within the palace, gentlemen and ladies gathered in salons for quiet conversation or danced in ballrooms. The atmosphere was peaceful and refined.
Compared to the lively scenes inside the temple, the Chapel of Her Grace across Lake Blossomwater, located at the temple’s edge, was much quieter. Only a few people were inside the modest chapel, praying. Among them was an elderly man.
He was a white-haired gentleman with thick glasses and a cotton beret, leaning on a cane. He sat at the back row of pews in the chapel, seemingly in prayer—but his gaze was more focused on the stained glass windows, observing every detail with great attention.
As the old gentleman concentrated on a window depicting a woman being burned at the stake, a figure silently approached from elsewhere. Before he noticed, a melodious voice rang out beside him.
“Oh… isn’t this Mr. Martin? Are you looking for clues here?”
Startled, the old man—referred to as Martin—turned to the source of the voice. What he saw was a beautiful and familiar figure. After glancing at her twice, a look of wariness instantly appeared on his face.
“You’re… Briouze, aren’t you? You’re here looking for clues as well?”
Staring at Adèle, who wore a masquerade mask, Martin spoke cautiously. Adèle, on the other hand, responded with a relaxed tone.
“What else would I be doing? Praying? Didn’t we all come here for the same reason?”
Sitting not far from Martin, Adèle continued nonchalantly. Martin, still wary, answered with the same guarded tone.
“In a way… we’re competitors, Miss Briouze. Do you think I’d share my findings with you so easily?”
“Competitors, huh? No, no… Competition only matters if the treasure is actually found. Then sure, people might fight over how to divide it. But right now? Everyone’s been searching all day, and we’ve made next to no real progress. Not a single trace of those so-called lotus marks. If this keeps up, we’ll have nothing by the time the banquet ends tomorrow. All our efforts would’ve been for nothing.”
As Adèle spoke, Martin fell into a moment of silence. Seeing this, she continued.
“So rather than ending up with nothing, wouldn’t it be better for everyone to share what they’ve found? Maybe with everyone’s input, we’ll spot something that’s been overlooked.”
Adèle spoke softly, as if her words carried a certain magic that gently nudged Martin into trusting her. After a brief moment of consideration, he replied.
“Hmm… You make a good point. What matters most is finding the treasure first—dividing it comes later…”
As he spoke, Martin turned his gaze toward the stained glass again. After scanning the intricate patterns, he slowly spoke.
“I came here to examine these stained-glass windows, hoping to find a hidden lotus motif. Unfortunately, I didn’t find any. But—I did make another discovery.”
“Oh? What did you find?”
“See these stained-glass panels? I deal in antiques—I can often tell the age of an item. Most of the mosaics in this chapel are from the same period—at least two hundred years old. But that particular panel—the one showing the witch being burned—is clearly newer. It was added later. I don’t know if the original was damaged or replaced for some other reason.”
Martin pointed to a window on one side of the chapel, which depicted a witch being burned alive. Adèle turned her gaze to it and asked with interest.
“A bewitching witch? I think that’s part of Duke Bourbon’s story, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. The legend goes that during the War of Succession, Bourbon was nearly led astray by a witch. He almost turned to darkness and betrayed his Lord. But with the guidance of the archbishop, he came to his senses—and then burned the witch in a fury, vowing to sever ties with his former self.
“It’s a well-known tale… Mosaic versions of it appear in many churches across Falano. So it’s not strange to see it here. But the fact that this one was clearly replaced makes me wonder if there’s something hidden in or behind it. I’ve been analyzing it for a while, but still haven’t found anything concrete…”
Martin sighed slightly. Adèle nodded, then asked.
“Seems like you’re quite knowledgeable about Bourbon history, Mr. Martin.”
“Naturally. I’m descended from the Bourbons myself, and I deal in antiques. Knowing these things is just part of the job.”
Martin replied coolly. Then Adèle shifted the topic slightly.
“So… this so-called treasure of the Splendor King Charles—have you ever heard of it before? Do you think there’s a chance this whole story was fabricated? That someone made it up to gather us all here?”
With a slightly amused look, Adèle gazed at Martin and asked. After pausing for a moment and thinking it over, Martin finally replied.
“You seem to suspect that Mr. F is a fraud? Heh… while his behavior is indeed suspicious, the story he told about the Splendor King Charles’ treasure isn’t baseless. There are plenty of legends in Falano about Charles, and stories of his treasure are especially abundant. Many of them mention the treasure being buried within the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty, and some even reference the idea of ‘three stages.’
“From what I can tell, that Mr. F has definitely studied Charles extensively. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have chosen to gather us here at the temple precisely during these two days.”
Martin spoke seriously. Hearing his words, Adèle raised an eyebrow and asked.
“These two days… is there some special significance to this timing?”
“Of course. You may not know, but the New Year’s banquet currently being held in the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty is actually part of a longstanding tradition—one that dates back to the reign of King Charles. Shortly after the palace was completed, Charles began holding an annual grand banquet in late January. The purpose was to summon noble lords from across the country—those who had spent the New Year on their estates—to come to Flottes and pay homage to him. It was a way to reinforce his rule. This banquet became known as the Audience Banquet.
“The Audience Banquet is, barring special circumstances, the most important annual gathering held at the temple. It lasts two days, and the second day is the highlight. That’s when nearly all the lords from across Falano would arrive at the palace to pay their respects to Charles. And Charles would personally perform in the Opera Hall during dusk, hosting an opulent feast for them. It’s said that after each of these events, the lords would return home even more loyal to their king.”
While glancing around at their surroundings, Martin explained this in earnest. After hearing it, Adèle nodded silently, then spoke again.
“So in other words, the current regime is continuing a tradition established by King Charles?”
“That’s right. Because the Audience Banquet has such strong symbolic significance, the modern Falano government decided to preserve the tradition as a form of refined continuity. That’s what this current banquet is. Although the scale is no longer as grand as in Charles’s time, some high-ranking figures still attend.”
Martin responded, and Adèle asked with curiosity.
“High-ranking figures? You mean the current government officials? I didn’t notice anyone particularly famous or powerful at today’s gathering.”
“Heh… that’s just because it’s not time yet. Wait until tomorrow—especially tomorrow afternoon—and you’ll see some major figures show up. That coincides with the traditional climax of the Audience Banquet: King Charles’s performance time. In short, these two days mark one of the most important ceremonial moments of the year at the temple. If there really is some mechanism here that only activates during specific times, it would likely be during these two days. That’s why I say Mr. F understands the meaning behind all this—he’s definitely not just some common conman.”
Waving his hand, Martin finished his explanation. Adèle nodded thoughtfully in response.
“Oh… so that’s the deeper context. Thank you for the insight, Mr. Martin. Still… I can’t help but remain suspicious of Mr. F. I’d like to investigate him more closely.”
“You still don’t trust him? Heh… suit yourself. But how exactly do you plan to investigate him?”
Martin chuckled as he asked. Adèle replied.
“Nothing drastic. I just want to take a look at the letter Mr. F sent you. I studied handwriting analysis in the past—if I have enough samples, I might be able to uncover something from the way he writes.”
Adèle proposed. Martin thought it over briefly, then nodded.
“Hmm… If it’ll help you, then go ahead.”
Saying that, he pulled an envelope from his coat and handed it to Adèle. Adèle smiled as she received it, opening it while saying: “Thanks~”
At that very moment, in another corner of the modest chapel, a pair of eyes was silently observing Adèle and Martin, watching their every move closely.
…
Nighttime. The Opera Hall, Temple of the Goddess of Beauty.
On the grand circular stage, several dancers performed gracefully to soft music. At the edge of one of the tiered audience stands surrounding the stage stood a slightly plump man in an ordinary suit. Leaning against the railing, he sipped red wine while enjoying the performance below, occasionally chatting with another man beside him.
Suddenly, from the opposite side of the stands, a young man dressed as a waiter approached briskly. Once at the plump man's side, he bowed respectfully and said:
“Mr. Fernand…”
The man addressed as Fernand paused for a moment upon hearing the waiter’s voice. Then, turning to the man he had been conversing with, he spoke:
“Pardon me, I need to step away for a moment. Let’s continue our conversation later.”
“Alright.”
After receiving a reply, Fernand followed the young man dressed as a waiter out to a quiet corner of the hallway outside the venue. There, the waiter respectfully reported to Fernand.
“Mr. Fernand, Adèle Briouze is acting suspiciously. She has started interacting more frequently with the other ‘treasure seekers,’ asking about their progress and expressing distrust toward you.”
“Oh… distrust toward Mr. F, is it? So is she trying to rally others to drive me out of the search—or persuade them to leave the Temple altogether?”
Fernand asked thoughtfully, and the waiter shook his head in response.
“Neither. Although Adèle has voiced her suspicion of you to others, she hasn’t directly incited them against you. She’s simply asked them to assist her in investigating you—such as asking to see the letters you sent them to analyze your handwriting…”
“Heh… handwriting analysis, is it…”
Fernand chuckled and shook his head, then instructed:
“Keep monitoring them closely. As long as they don’t leave the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty, I don’t care what they do. Keep a special eye on Adèle. If her behavior becomes even more irregular, report immediately.”
“Understood.”
After offering a respectful bow, the waiter turned and quietly returned to his original post at the railing, resuming his viewing of the performance below. At that moment, the man who had been speaking with Fernand earlier returned to his side.
“So, what was that all about, Mr. Fernand?” he asked curiously.
Fernand casually waved a hand and replied.
“Nothing major. Just one of our key surveillance targets showing some unusual behavior. Nothing serious.”
“I see. Well, back to our conversation then. Mr. Fernand, which organization are you actually with? Is your family really one of the Falano royalists—devoted to protecting the remnants of the Bourbon line?”
The man asked directly, and Fernand replied without hesitation.
“Of course not. My family has nothing to do with the royalists. I belong to an organization called the Guardians of Radiance. We’ve got no connection to the Royalist Party.”
“Guardians of Radiance? What kind of organization is that?” the man asked, intrigued.
Fernand went on to explain.
“On the surface, it’s just a local civic society in Flottes with some secrecy involved. But in truth, I’ve long since been recruited by a major figure within the government—acting as his black-gloved agent to handle dirty work. He gives me money and extraordinary favors, and I, along with my men, serve him loyally.”
“A high-ranking government official… who exactly?”
“I don’t know. I only know he holds great power, with eyes and ears everywhere. He can clear any official path for us. No matter what crimes we commit, even if we end up in the Anti-Mystic Guard’s prison, he can get us out. He’s generous. Working under him is easy money.”
“And… what’s your current assignment?” the man asked seriously.
Fernand took a sip of red wine and replied leisurely.
“The task is simple. Using the materials they gave me, I was to contact a bunch of Bourbon remnants and gather them here in Flottes. Using the pretense of a treasure hunt, I brought them to the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty for these two days. Then I just need to monitor them until dusk tomorrow.”
“Monitor them until dusk tomorrow? That’s it? Nothing else?”
“Yes, that’s it. I’ll get further instructions after that. Until then, my job is just to keep an eye on them... Oh, and they specifically told me that among them, a woman named Adèle—an actress—is to be specially watched. I’m also to stay away from her personally unless absolutely necessary.”
Fernand continued. Hearing this, the gaunt, hook-nosed man beside him rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“So the truth behind all this… will only be revealed at dusk tomorrow?” murmured Ed as he looked down at the ornate tiled floor of the round stage below.
“If your task is just to lure Adèle and the others to the temple and monitor them until then… then that so-called riddle about King Charles and the three stages—it’s fake, right?”
Ed asked Fernand, who shook his head again.
“No, no… that riddle is real. You see, among those Bourbon remnants are quite a few who are well-versed in history and the mystic. Many have studied King Charles and the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty. If I gave them a completely fabricated riddle, they’d see through it in an instant. That wouldn’t fool anyone.
“So, the riddle was given to me by that high-ranking official. It really is something King Charles left behind. I just slightly redacted it—cut out a few parts related to cognitive poison—and polished it a bit before sharing it.”