A waning moon hung in the sky, and dark clouds began to gather.
Beneath the nighttime veil of Tivian, a lone carriage rumbled quietly along a street. Inside the carriage, Dorothy sat composed and steady, reflecting on the intel they had just analyzed, carefully deducing the Eight-Spired Nest’s intent.
“Judging from the Nest’s actions at Sophocles’ residence, they currently seem to be trying to steer Misha’s ‘Vigilance Faction’ toward targeting Charles IV. Regardless of what Charles IV is actually planning—since the Nest is deliberately trying to set him up, we must not follow the script they’ve prepared for us.
“But if the Nest truly wants to direct others’ hostility toward Charles IV, there are forces even more effective than the Vigilance Faction—like… Artcheli’s Court of Secrets. The Court of Secrets is currently active in Tivian. If I were the Nest and wanted to set up Charles IV, I’d never miss the chance to use them. I’d absolutely find a way to redirect the entire Church’s hostility toward the king…”
Dorothy thought this over while swaying slightly with the motion of the carriage, her inner assessment growing firmer. Then, another thought struck her.
“If the Nest really is channeling hostility toward Charles IV, then Misha’s faction is just a side dish—Artcheli’s Court of Secrets would be their real target. No… I’d better contact Artcheli and warn her about what just happened. I must make sure she doesn’t get misled into falling for their bait…”
Having made up her mind, Dorothy retrieved her magic box, opened it, and pulled out her Literary Sea Logbook. Flipping to Artcheli’s contact page, she picked up her pen and began to write.
She began with a brief greeting, then waited patiently for a response. But as time passed with no reply, her brow gradually furrowed.
“No response for this long...? If I recall correctly, Artcheli, like Beverly, added a sensing enchantment to her communication page. She should have known I sent her a message. If she hasn’t replied… could it be she’s currently busy? On a mission perhaps?
“If she’s on an active mission right now—and if that mission just happens to be something the Nest is trying to manipulate—then that’s dangerous…”
Her expression hardened. Dorothy promptly exited the carriage after securing it in place. Changing into black clothing, she rose into the air, soaring swiftly under the cover of night toward a certain destination.
Her destination: the Serenity Bureau's Tivian Headquarters—Gale Fortress.
Before parting ways with Artcheli, Dorothy had suggested that if she were to investigate Tivian, the royal family or Serenity Bureau would be good places to start. So if Artcheli was indeed currently busy with a case, it was highly likely she was there.
After flying for some distance, Dorothy reached the outskirts of Tivian and descended onto a mountaintop overlooking Gale Fortress. There, in the darkness, she spotted a tower at the edge of the fortress—sliced in half by some powerful force.
“There was a battle here… So she really did come…”
Seeing the damaged fortress, Dorothy’s thoughts sharpened. She then sent one of her bird corpse marionettes carrying micro-marionettes to infiltrate Gale Fortress by air. Once inside, it became immediately clear that the place was in chaos.
Numerous figures dressed in black robes and veils—clearly Church’s Court of Secrets agents—were scattered throughout the fortress, attempting to seize control of key checkpoints. The agents were trying to take over from the Serenity Bureau’s Hunters, placing many of them under surveillance. However, since no clear orders had been issued from above, many Hunters and guards were refusing to cooperate, resulting in heated arguments breaking out all over the fortress.
While the Court of Secrets technically outranked the Serenity Bureau, the two were not part of the same chain of command. It was unsurprising that their sudden incursion was being met with fierce resistance. Small-scale skirmishes had erupted in multiple areas. Many Hunters, alarmed by the previous clash in Harold’s office and the collapsed tower, were demanding to see their prince-director, only to be blocked by the agents.
“What happened here…?”
Dorothy narrowed her eyes and guided her micro-marionette deeper into Gale Fortress.
While the fortress’s mystical defenses were not weak, its current state of disarray made infiltration much easier. With most systems unmanned due to the commotion, Dorothy was able to slip inside with minimal spiritual expenditure.
Inside, her marionette quickly found a valuable target—Harold’s office—where several high-ranking Court of Secrets agents were gathered.
The most prominent among them was a tall figure in an elaborate version of the standard uniform, still masked. He paced restlessly across the floor while another agent entered and reported to him.
“Rearguard Cleric… the Hunters outside are getting increasingly agitated. Some have organized and are demanding to see their Prince-Director. Their tone is firm. While our people have blocked them for now, they may try to break through at any moment.”
The agent, referring to him as “Rearguard Cleric,” received a swift response.
“Stall them… Keep stalling. At least until Lady Artcheli returns.”
“Yes, sir!” the agent replied, retreating to deliver the orders. Another agent took the opportunity to quietly approach the Rearguard Cleric and whisper.
“Sir… when will Lady Artcheli return? It’s been quite some time since she pursued the prince dragged into the inner realm by those strange phantom tendrils… With her strength, this should not have taken so long. Something feels off. Should we report this to Holy Mount?”
“Not yet… It’s not time. We’ll give it a bit longer. If Lady Artcheli still doesn’t return, then we’ll consider reporting it.”
Inside Harold’s office, the agents exchanged brief but urgent words. Dorothy, listening through her marionette, finally grasped the situation.
“Artcheli directly confronted Harold. In the end, Harold fled—and Artcheli gave chase… and hasn’t returned. Sounds like… she chased him into the inner realm and still hasn’t come back?”
Dorothy reviewed the situation in her mind and immediately continued her internal analysis.
“This is bad… Artcheli hasn’t returned, and now her subordinates are starting to talk about reporting the situation to Holy Mount! If she doesn’t show up soon, this matter is definitely going to be escalated all the way to the Cardinals!”
Dorothy thought gravely.
It was standard protocol to report a superior’s prolonged disappearance, but under current circumstances, it would be disastrous.
The head of a nation’s secret police—a prince of the royal family—confirmed to be thoroughly corrupted, and a saint going missing during the pursuit? Once that reached Holy Mount, wouldn’t the Cardinals come down and raze Tivian to the ground? In that situation, Charles IV had zero chance of saving himself.
“As expected, Misha’s situation was just a side skirmish—Artcheli’s side is the real battlefield. This setup is clearly designed to direct Holy Mount’s wrath to Tivian in the most explosive way. If that succeeds, there’s no way Charles IV can hold out…”
“Even if we don’t know what Charles IV is truly planning, or what the Nest is trying to prevent… the fact that they’re putting in this much effort to destroy him means it’s definitely worth disrupting their scheme.”
With that conclusion, Dorothy resolved to prevent the Court of Secrets agents from reporting to Holy Mount.
But how?
Force wasn’t an option—she couldn’t incapacitate them all. The Court of Secrets didn’t just consist of these few agents in Tivian. The local Church stationed at Hymn Cathedral would also report to Holy Mount if they failed to contact the agents or Artcheli for too long. So violence was out of the question.
Psych profiling wasn’t viable either. For Dorothy to control someone, she needed either a large volume of text from them or extended interaction. That was doable for ordinary people—but these agents were Church operatives. Their documents were top-secret and well protected, and they didn’t chat casually. While Dorothy could potentially profile the team, it would take far too long—and these agents were already growing restless. They might report before she even finished.
Which left the best option: find Artcheli. Either retrieve her, or at least get word to her and have her personally stop her subordinates.
“Based on what those agents said, Artcheli chased Harold after he was dragged into an inner realm by some kind of phantom tendrils… Then she dream-shifted and followed… Phantom tendrils… Inner realm… Judging from that, Harold was probably pulled into the Dreamscape.”
“To cross the boundary and save someone from the Dreamscape—that’s something only the Blackdream Hunting Pack could do. And that aligns with what Mirror Moon hinted at earlier. Looks like the Blackdream Hunting Pack really is working closely with the Eight-Spired Nest now—even sending core members into action…”
“Artcheli has been in the Dreamscape for this long without returning. She might be locked in a protracted battle… or she’s trapped. With her strength, it’s unlikely she’s dead… but I’ll need a special method to reach her.”
Standing atop the distant hill, Dorothy turned this over in her mind, then silently drew out her magic box, pulling out the Literary Sea Logbook once more. She flipped to Artcheli’s contact page.
“If the intel is correct, Artcheli entered the Dreamscape by transforming her real body into a dream-form, not through sleep and mimicry. That means she brought her personal belongings with her—including the logbook page. The only reason she can’t reply must be boundary interference.”
“The Dreamscape is a Shadow inner realm with some elements of Revelation. So Shadow- and Revelation-based relics shouldn’t be overly suppressed—even after dream-transformation, they should still work. If I can break through the realm barrier, I should be able to transmit the message.”
That was her conclusion. Dorothy knew she couldn’t convince a devout saint like Artcheli to pray to Aka, her heterodox god, to establish a direct link. So her only option was to use the Literary Sea Logbook to reach her.
Fortunately, she had a way to pierce the boundary.
“Divine Revelation…”
Dorothy gently caressed the cover of the Literary Sea Logbook and whispered. A faint, nearly imperceptible violet gleam flickered in her eyes—and the book lifted into the air, hovering before her. The page edges shimmered faintly with violet light, gradually restoring to their original form.
Dorothy had used her divinity derived from Heaven’s Arbiter—the divine authority of Revelation—to enchant the logbook with divine power.
Indeed, divine enchantments could apply not only to abilities, but to mystical items as well. Since the Literary Sea Logbook was a Revelation artifact, Dorothy could infuse it with divine power to enhance its power.
Once enchanted, its communication function was vastly strengthened—capable of piercing realm boundaries. It also gained additional functions, but for now, Dorothy only needed this one.
With the enhancement complete, she began to write on Artcheli’s page.
“Where are you right now?”
But not long after writing it, Dorothy’s brow furrowed.
After empowering the logbook, she could sense the status of its transmission. The message had indeed broken through the boundary into the Dreamscape—but once inside, it was being obstructed by a second layer of interference!
This was interference—a powerful disruption that was corrupting the message’s order, even though it was infused with divine power!
“Interference? Something capable of distorting a message empowered by divine power? Just where on earth is Artcheli…?”
Dorothy frowned. Only god-tier interference could tamper with a Revelation-enchanted signal.
And in the Dreamscape, there was only one divine source capable of suppressing the authority of Heaven’s Arbiter.
The Butterfly/Moth.
Or more precisely—the “Sacred Cocoon” that was currently incubating the Butterfly.
Though still in a half-awake, half-slumbering state, the Moth/Butterfly instinctively released a powerful dream-fog. Not even the Blackdream Hunting Pack could pass through it easily—those who entered uninvited would be lost forever.
That fog was formed from the divinity of a slumbering minor god, likely demi-god to true god level. Dorothy’s own divinity was derived from a major deity, but since she herself was only at the Crimson rank, her authority was weakened—and couldn’t pierce the fog’s interference.
“So how the hell did Artcheli end up in a place like that…?”
Dorothy muttered grimly as she assessed the situation.
…
Elsewhere, in the Dreamscape, the Forest.
In the endless expanse of pale white fog, amidst faintly visible colossal ghostly trees, Artcheli, clad in a travel-ready cloak and uniform, was walking across the dazzling forest floor. As she walked, she observed her surroundings, clearly trying to find a path out of this labyrinthine woodland.
Since entering the Dreamscape, Artcheli had been trapped in this foggy forest for quite some time. During that period, she had attempted all sorts of methods to escape her current predicament—none of which succeeded. The labyrinth remained deeply confounding. She had lost all sense of direction. Whether she moved east, west, up, down, or even tried crossing realms, she could find no exit. Every method of “movement” only ever brought her back to the same fog and same forest.
“This is... a divine maze, isn’t it…?
“Ugh… my head feels a bit dizzy… is it from wandering around here too long?”
Holding her forehead, Artcheli sighed lightly. She sat down beside a towering tree shrouded in fog to take a brief rest. Just then, she suddenly sensed something unusual.
Focusing, Artcheli reached into her cloak and pulled out a small notebook. Upon inspecting it, a flicker of surprise crossed her face.
“This is… that communication artifact that woman gave me? It's reacting? She’s trying to contact me? They actually managed to get a signal through to me inside this fogged Dreamscape?”
Artcheli thought, puzzled. She had previously tried many ways to contact the outside world, but all had failed due to the interference of this fog. It didn’t just disorient physical orientation—it could scramble information itself.
Intrigued by whatever method that so-called "Rose Cross Order" woman was using, Artcheli opened the notebook. She saw new writing emerging on the page—but as she tried to read it, she frowned.
Instead of proper, legible writing, the page was covered in a chaotic mess of indecipherable symbols. As the Church’s Cardinal of Secrets, Artcheli was fluent in multiple languages and highly proficient in symbology, yet she couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was seeing. It resembled the random scribbles of a baby—utterly meaningless.
“What is this? A language I don’t know? No… this doesn’t look like a language at all… these shapes and lines follow no pattern—they seem randomly cobbled together…”
“This doesn’t look like anything that scholar-type would intentionally send me. It feels more like a message that’s been corrupted. Is this also the doing of this fog…?”
She was exactly right. The jumbled marks she saw were the result of Dorothy’s original message being disrupted by the divine fog of the "Butterfly/Moth."
The divine nature of the "Butterfly/Moth" lay in illusion and confusion, and the fog here was a manifestation of that power. In this fog, all directions blur, all travel leads astray, all targets become vague—reality and illusion lose distinction, and everything falls into disarray.
That applied not just to people and objects, but also to forces and even information. Any message transmitted through the fog would have its structure and meaning unraveled. Since written language relies on ordered symbols, once the fog destroyed that order, the message degraded into unreadable gibberish.
Ordinarily, messages wouldn’t even reach their target. But thanks to Dorothy’s use of Revelation-based divinity, the signal had managed to reach Artcheli’s notebook—but the contents had been thoroughly scrambled.
“I can’t understand a word of this. What in the world is she trying to say…?”
After a few moments of futile analysis, Artcheli took out her dream-formed pen and wrote a reply asking what Dorothy’s original message had meant.
Since Dorothy had already established a divine connection via Literary Sea Logbook, Artcheli’s reply quickly appeared on Dorothy’s side in the real world—but it, too, had been scrambled by the fog.
“What the heck is this? More gibberish? Artcheli sent me a whole string of nonsense—why?”
Back in the waking world, atop the hill beneath the night sky, Dorothy stroked her chin and studied the garbled reply. After some thought, she deduced that the interference from the Dreamscape was disrupting the signal.
“So… this is the divine fog’s doing? Impressive… it can even distort divine message transmission. Looks like it’s scrambling the message’s order. This must be one of the manifestations of the god in the cocoon…”
Analyzing the symbols on the page, Dorothy soon picked up her pen again and tried sending another message. But the response she received was the same: indecipherable gibberish.
She tried several more times, but the results were identical.
With direct communication proving impossible, Dorothy paused for a moment in thought—then changed tactics. Instead of writing full sentences, she began tapping her pen on the page in a rhythmic pattern.
One tap. Pause. Two taps. Pause...
She broke her message into a simple rhythm—effectively using morse-like code.
Back in the fog-filled Dreamscape, Artcheli’s notebook still showed garbled symbols—but now, they were appearing in short, rhythmic bursts. It didn’t take her long to catch on.
“This girl…”
She smiled slightly and murmured, then picked up her own pen and replied in the same rhythm—her own tapping patterns appearing in Dorothy’s logbook.
Dorothy nodded quietly, understanding the reply.
“I’m currently trapped in the Dreamscape. While pursuing the Blackdream Hunting Pack leader Gu Mian, I encountered an accident and was caught in this divinely-created fog. I can’t get out right now.”
That was the message Dorothy decoded from Artcheli’s rhythmic response.
Thanks to her Revelation-enhanced divine transmission, Dorothy’s messages retained accurate targeting and real-time delivery—even if the content was scrambled. So the two began communicating in real-time using code tapping, effectively switching from letters to rhythm-based dialogue.
As the Church’s Cardinal of Secrets, Artcheli was obviously fluent in the universal codes used by all nations. And Dorothy, of course, had long since memorized such practical tools. So their exchange went smoothly.
“Thank goodness the divine protection ensured real-time signal targeting... Otherwise I wouldn’t have known what to do…”
Dorothy sighed in relief as she decoded Artcheli’s message, then sent a new one.
“The reason I contacted you was to warn you that the Eight-Spired Nest and Blackdream Hunting Pack may have prepared a trap targeting you and your subordinates. Unfortunately, you’re already caught in one. But there’s still another trap meant for your agents. If we don’t stop it, they’ll fall into it too. Right now, the top priority is to handle your subordinates.”
Soon, she received Artcheli’s reply.
“Explain. What is this trap?”
Dorothy tapped back.
“It concerns the King of Pritt, Charles IV. Let me explain everything I’ve encountered up to this point—then you’ll understand…”
After Dorothy sent that reply, she immediately continued tapping rhythmically at high frequency on the page, transmitting her message to Artcheli. Very soon, Artcheli understood what had happened earlier at Sophocles’ residence and grasped Dorothy’s intent.
“I think I understand what you mean… You’re saying Charles IV isn’t actually working with the Eight-Spired Nest, and the Nest—along with the Blackdream Hunting Pack—is trying to divert our hatred toward him?”
Artcheli’s message appeared on Dorothy’s page, to which Dorothy quickly replied.
“Yes. Based on the current situation, we mustn’t let the Eight-Spired Nest lead us by the nose. Your subordinates, having received no word from you, are preparing to report to Holy Mount. If your fellow Cardinals come rushing into Tivian and arrest Charles IV, wouldn’t that play right into the Nest’s hands? So—do you have any way to stop them from reporting? If you do, tell me.”
Dorothy sent her message. After a long pause, Artcheli finally responded.
“Charles IV is still my top suspect. And now you want me to halt reinforcements from Holy Mount just because of a hunch? To stop other Cardinals from rescuing me?”
“Yes. Because some of your colleagues are—let’s say—unhinged. If they show up here, who knows what disaster they’ll cause? I don’t think they’ll be more reasonable than you are.
“Sure, I know you’re relying on them to rescue you—but I think their arrival would only make things worse. So just hold out for now, at least until the Expo ends. I’ll also try to help get you out sooner.
“As for Charles IV, I still can’t prove definitively that he isn’t aligned with the Nest—but this isn’t the time to hold a trial. I can only trust my instincts. And I hope, this once, you’ll trust me too… Cardinal Lady.”
After a moment of silence, Artcheli finally replied.
“What you’re asking of me—I have no way of verifying any of it. Why should I trust you with something this serious, Miss Mayschoss? Haven’t we only met once?”
Dorothy thought for a moment, then continued writing.
“Because right now, I’m the only one who can still contact you. Because your Saintess, my Queen, and for the sake of the night sky and moonlight… trust my judgment, Lady Artcheli.”
Dorothy finished her message and quietly waited. Before long, a new rhythm of taps began to appear on the page—Artcheli’s reply.
“My Holy Steel Vessel, the Twilight Devout Shadow, is currently docked at Akshur Naval Port, not far from Tivian. Aboard it are mechanical attendants that obey only my direct commands. I will perform an emergency ritual to contact the ship—without needing sacred seals or pacts—and grant you the highest-level authorization password so you can act in my name.
“This vessel is the Court of Secrets’ mobile command center. It has communication devices linked to various intelligence agencies. I’ll teach you how to use Court of Secrets cipher codes and protocols to bypass identity verification and impersonate me. You’ll instruct my subordinates that I am undertaking a long-term mission in the Dreamscape, that I am safe and able to manage on my own, and that they are not to report to Holy Mount for now.
“You’ll temporarily take command of Tivian’s Court of Secrets in my stead. It’s the only way to keep my subordinates in line. But know this carries immense risk for me. Don’t even think about slipping in anything extra—I have ways to keep watch on you…
“This is the highest level of trust I can offer—take it or leave it.”
Reading this, Dorothy let out a small breath of relief, then wrote simply.
“Thank you.”
…
East Tivian, nightfall.
In a shadowy alley, a lithe figure sprinted through the winding, narrow paths. Leaping over low rooftops and darting across the night-darkened cityscape, it was clear she was trying to escape pursuit.
Finally, the shadowy figure vaulted several buildings in succession and arrived at a quiet, overlooked corner at the city’s edge. She stopped in the shadows of a wall, gasping for breath, one hand braced against the bricks.
Under the faint moonlight that filtered into the alley, the runner’s form was revealed—a sweat-soaked, agile woman: Misha Devonshire, former Royal Knight of Pritt and captain of the Serenity Bureau.
While Dorothy had gone to investigate the Bureau, Misha had begun acting independently, aiming to personally meet King Charles IV to find out what he was planning. If possible, she wanted to question him face-to-face.
Not long ago, she had approached the Crystal Palace, the site of the World Expo in eastern Tivian. During the final stages of its construction, Charles IV had effectively taken up residence there—cutting himself off from the royal palace and the kingdom’s politics to personally oversee its completion.
Misha had tried to sneak in quietly, but was spotted by the king’s guards. She attempted to talk her way through, but they launched an attack without a word.
These guards were far stronger than Misha had anticipated—so much so that she couldn’t fend them off for more than two exchanges before being completely overwhelmed. Just as she was on the brink of being struck down, the guards slashed through her clothes, revealing a personal item. The moment they saw it, they froze, as if receiving some unseen command.
Not knowing why they stopped, Misha used the opportunity to flee and abandon her mission to meet Charles IV—rushing all the way to this hiding spot.
“Haa… haa… Those guards… were strong. Too strong. And weird… Their power wasn’t even the Despenser royal storm arts… Where did the king find protectors like that? Does the Despenser line… have some hidden inheritance?”
Panting heavily, Misha muttered as she leaned against the wall. Once her breath finally returned, she stood upright, reaching inside her clothing to retrieve a small item.
It was a silver shield-emblem amulet, with ancient Prittish script carved on the back.
This relic had come from the Devonshire family mausoleum, obtained during an operation she and Dorothy had undertaken the previous year. The original owner of the emblem was her ancestor—Ampere Devonshire, a famed general who had once fought for both the Black Venerator King Geoffrey and later switched allegiance to the rightful successor Baldric during the Wind King’s Rebellion. He was the founding hero of the Devonshire family.
The amulet had been found in Ampere’s tomb. Dorothy had once used the inscriptions on it to find the Mirror Moon Temple in Glamorne and, after retrieving crucial information, returned the emblem to Misha as his descendant. It was this same amulet that had made the king’s mysterious guards halt their attack, giving Misha the chance to escape.
“Haa… haa… Ampere… what’s your connection to the secrets of today’s Pritt…?”
Misha murmured, still slightly breathless, as she looked at the amulet. After a moment of contemplation, she tucked it carefully back into her clothing.
“Maybe… this is a thread that will lead to more truths…”
Her expression growing resolute again, Misha stepped forward—her silhouette disappearing into the shadows of the night.
…
Under the waning moon, on a wide plain outside eastern Tivian
Beneath the night moon, a vast and extraordinary structure stood in the center of a broad square. Amid flowerbeds, fountains, and stone pillars, towering steel beams interwove in dense, intricate patterns, stretching upward into the sky, forming a massive skeletal frame. Upon this frame, countless panes of crystalline glass were being installed, covering the open spaces one by one. These panels arched and linked together to form a transparent, shimmering outer shell—curved domes, sharp spires, and grand halls. From afar, the entire structure resembled an enormously magnified crystal ornament—astonishing in both its exquisite detail and magnificent scale.
This was the Crystal Palace, the main venue of the upcoming World Expo hosted by the Kingdom of Pritt. Presided over by King Charles IV, it had taken three years to complete. Now, under the cover of night, it stood silently—awaiting its grand debut.
Beneath the crystal dome, atop a flowery tower nestled under the circular ceiling, stood a tall, lean figure. He appeared to be a man in his forties or fifties, with neatly combed hair streaked with gray, a short beard on his solemn face, and deep lines of fatigue around his eyes. He wore a plain but high-quality Pritt military uniform, white gloves behind his back, and bore no visible rank insignia.
This man was none other than the nominal supreme ruler of Pritt: King Charles IV.
“Your Majesty, as per your orders, that observer has been released...”
A woman in a black hooded robe—face veiled—stood beside the king, giving her report. Charles IV responded softly.
“Devonshire... I don’t know which side she currently serves, but for the sake of her ancestor... let her go this once.
“After all, Ampere’s contribution to the kingdom... is undeniable.”
Charles IV spoke quietly. Just then, the woman—likely a retainer—continued her report.
“In addition, we’ve received word that a Saint from Holy Mount—the Court of Secrets Cardinal—has directly taken action against the Serenity Bureau. With the Bureau in its current state, Prince Harold’s ultimate fate... likely won’t be a good one.”
Hearing this, Charles IV paused briefly. After a soft sigh, he said slowly.
“That… was inevitable. May the Lord’s blessing allow him to survive this ordeal…”
The attendant hesitated briefly, then asked again.
“Your Majesty, the Court of Secrets will undoubtedly expand their investigation to include other members of the royal family. Many will likely be affected. Should we really do nothing?”
Charles IV shook his head gently.
“Do something...? Even if I could, I must not.
“If I interfere—if I step into the kingdom’s affairs again—if I become entangled once more with those people and their tangled schemes, there will be no clean way out.
“The Lady of Pain’s thorn has already pierced this kingdom, injecting her venom. Under the Goddess of Schemes’ shadow, no one can tell friend from foe. Only those who walk alone may preserve themselves.
“Otherwise, I will become the next mad king.”
As he spoke, Charles IV slowly raised his head, gazing up through the vast crystal dome. Beyond the elaborate steel frame and transparent glass, he stared at the waning moon in the night sky.
…
Time passed swiftly. Night faded and day began. As the moon sank from the sky, the first light of dawn crept over Tivian. The city shed its nocturnal veil and embraced the day.
On a hill far outside Tivian, atop the belfry of a countryside church, a lone figure stood before the ringing of the morning bell.
It was a woman, tall and clad in a dark red robe inscribed with countless intricate patterns. Her body was adorned with many bloodied spike pendants. Though her features were dignified, she was gaunt with pronounced cheekbones, pale skin, and blackened lips. Her hair was cut to a short stubble.
Her face, head, and neck were all pierced with long, thick, black iron nails—dozens of them embedded deep into vital points, including her throat and temples. The sight was grotesque, evoking deep discomfort. Yet, she moved effortlessly, as if completely unaffected. On her forehead was tattooed a spider with eight sharp legs, and below it, her cold eyes gazed upon the distant city bathed in morning light.
“Up until now… Holy Mount remains completely still… Even the local Church hasn’t reacted. Isn’t that… a little off, Moth Seeker?”
Her voice was sharp and raspy. Inside the belfry behind her, a blurry, half-illusory figure dangled beneath the roof—Gu Mian—speaking in a distorted voice.
“The Cardinal of Secrets is already trapped in the maze domain. She cannot escape. She cannot communicate with the outside.”
“And yet, you think this is a normal reaction from the Church after one of their Saints goes missing?” the woman continued, now visibly skeptical.
“If Holy Mount really lost a Saint, would they still be this quiet?”
Gu Mian answered coldly.
“I told you—the Cardinal of Secret is trapped. Unless you meet her again in the real world, do not question me… Woundface… Gaskina.”
There was an edge of frost in his voice. The woman—Gaskina—snorted and replied.
“Hmph. Fine. Until the Cardinal reappears, let’s say you’ve succeeded. Perhaps she had some hidden trick, and Charles IV got lucky…
“But it’s only temporary. Tomorrow is the final moment. After tomorrow, he won’t be able to hide any longer.”
She paused, then added with a cruel edge.
“It will also mark the beginning of the end for that damned Moon Witch's era.”
…
Rooted in Pritt’s past, shadows from long ago had quietly crept into Tivian’s present. Though danger loomed beneath the surface, the grand title of the World Expo continued to draw tourists from across Pritt and beyond.
At sea, luxury liners filled with passengers sailed toward the port of Tivian. At the bow, a chestnut-haired girl named Saria stood beside her black cat, gazing excitedly toward the distant coastline.
Inland, trains thundered through the countryside along metal rails. Inside a private first-class compartment, a girl named Anna, dressed in simple travelwear and a small cap, read quietly while occasionally gazing out the window at the scenery.