Year 1160, Past.
Early morning sunlight spilt across the horizon.
Edward sat in his nightgown on the terrace railing, gazing lazily at the distant sunrise and at the bustling figures working in the villa courtyard below.
Though the grounds looked as immaculate as ever—trimmed trees, perfectly pruned flowerbeds, polished marble paths—the servants and slaves somehow always found more chores to busy themselves with.
It seemed that in the four or five days of his absence, everything had continued running smoothly without him. In fact, it hardly felt like the villa even needed its master.
That was normal enough. In daily life, Edward usually only spoke to Dubois, his butler, and Endili, the cook. Many of the newer servants and slaves had likely never even exchanged a word with him.
He took out a piece of extraordinary material he'd obtained aboard the Abraham Laurel and placed it gently on the table beside a sheet of parchment. Picking up his quill, he wrote:
"Location of the descendants of Abraham."
After silently reciting it seven times, Edward closed his eyes and leaned back, sinking into a state of dream divination.
A moment later, his vision filled with endless darkness.
Nothing but black.
He opened his eyes again with a sigh. "A sealed artifact must be masking their presence."
Not unexpected.
If the descendants of the Abraham family lacked even that much vigilance, they'd have been wiped out long ago.
Still—what a pity.
He was just thinking that when he caught sight of Dubois, smartly dressed in his tailored suit, walking briskly across the courtyard with an unusually cheerful expression, apparently in high spirits.
When the butler reached the gate, he happened to glance back toward the terrace—only to see Edward waving at him with a faint smile.
Dubois froze for half a second, then immediately turned on his heel and hurried back inside.
A minute later, his polite voice came from the other side of the door, "Sir, you're back already?"
"Come to the study," Edward said.
Changing into a grey overcoat, he flashed into the study, waved his hand to open the door—and barely a second later, Dubois entered, still smiling warmly.
"Welcome home, sir."
"Uh," Edward muttered from behind his desk, arms folded. "Would've been nice if that line came from a beautiful, generous lady instead."
Dubois, perfectly unbothered, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. Flipping through it with a businesslike air, he said, "Ah, that's perfect timing, sir. While I was out acting as a Telepathist these past few days, I took the liberty of gathering some information for you—about attractive, well-mannered, and reputable single ladies here in Trier."
He placed the open notebook before Edward. "Please have a look. Perhaps one will catch your eye."
"…"
Edward stared at him for a few seconds. "You're…remarkably considerate, Dubois."
"This is merely my duty, Mr. Sparrow." Dubois placed a hand to his chest and bowed slightly. "In fact, ever since rumours began circulating that you and Roselle share a 'close relationship,' interest in you has skyrocketed. You're now regarded as Trier's newest rising nobleman—and naturally, many are curious about your personal life."
He gave a faint, knowing smile. "But since you've remained single and have never been seen interacting intimately with any woman, certain…inappropriate rumours have begun to spread."
Edward's expression darkened. "Those rumours didn't come from you, did they?!"
You're the one with an ambiguous relationship with Roselle! Dirty-minded people really do see dirt everywhere!
Dubois coughed into his fist. "Ahem. Of course not. Now, the first on the list—Miss Alice, eldest daughter of the Hughes family, age twenty-two. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Height: one hundred sixty-seven centimeters. Weight: fifty-one kilograms. Measurements—uh…refined and graceful appearance, fond of piano and reading, rarely attends social gatherings."
Edward took the notebook, skimming the details aloud. "Tifa, sole heir of the Albay family. Twenty-three years old, black hair, green eyes. Height: one sixty-eight, weight: fifty-three, measurements—"
He flipped a few more pages, then gave Dubois a huge thumbs-up. "Impressive, Dubois! You even managed to collect their measurements! If you add photographs, you could open a matchmaking agency. Wait…you didn't include any of your old flames in here, did you?"
Dubois straightened instantly. "Of course not, sir! These profiles weren't gathered by me personally. I used some of Roselle's connections to acquire them."
Edward blinked. "Huh? You're saying these came from Roselle himself?"
"No, no," Dubois clarified quickly, waving his hand. "Yesterday, the royal palace issued an order requiring all major noble houses to submit such information."
"The palace?" Edward frowned. "The king?"
Dubois nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty himself. Yesterday morning, His Majesty suddenly reversed his prior stance—announcing his intention to marry."
"…What?"
Edward raised an eyebrow, completely baffled.
Out of nowhere, the king wants to get married?
Edward truly couldn't make sense of it.
Just yesterday—the very next day after the "Intis" commission ended—Trier had experienced a series of catastrophic incidents.
And yet, instead of calming the populace or restoring order, the King's first priority was...finding himself a wife?
That was more than a little strange.
"Wait," Edward frowned. "The King wasn't married before this?"
Dubois nodded. "Correct, sir. His Majesty has never taken a consort, nor even been seen with a lady companion. No matter how his ministers pressed him, he always refused—claiming the affairs of the state left him no time. Eventually, when relations between the King and his ministers soured, they stopped urging him altogether."
Edward tapped his fingers on the table, thoughtful. "You've heard about the extraordinary incidents in Trier the other day, haven't you?"
"Somewhat, yes. But according to the newspapers, it was just an accidental gas explosion," Dubois replied cautiously.
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think it's strange, when you place these two events side by side?"
Lowering his voice unconsciously, Dubois said, "I heard that two nights ago, there was some…commotion inside the royal palace. But no one knows exactly what happened."
Could this have something to do with Intis?
Come to think of it, it had already been two full days, and "Intis" still hadn't sent any news. That was highly irregular.
Damn, if only I'd pressed harder during our last private chat—figured out exactly how to request private contact from the leader…that damned Russian priest.
Wait.
Even the Russian Priest's reaction seemed off. By now, they already knew at least two members—Hunter and Coward—had died in that incident. Add "Intis" suddenly going silent, and yet the Russian Priest hadn't said a single word to the rest of them about what happened?
Was it because he'd gotten his hands on a Sequence 1 Beyonder characteristic and Groselle's Travels, and was too busy to care about anything else?
"Dubois, try to dig around and see what else you can find," Edward said finally.
"Of course, sir."
Then something occurred to him. "By the way, why were you so well-dressed this early in the morning?"
Dubois smiled, a bit sheepish. "Ah…I'm meeting Shirley. We're attending a gathering at Intis University."
What the—Edward felt a twitch behind his eye. You shameless old lecher…blushing like a schoolboy, really?
"Shirley? That pianist from the restaurant last time?"
Dubois shook his head. "No, her classmate."
"…"
Edward's hands curled into fists under the table. Damn scumbag! Disgusting!
"You…at least try to restrain yourself a little," he grumbled. "Men who play with women's hearts always pay for it in the end. I don't want to hear you end up like Makoto Itou someday."
"Makoto...Itou?" Dubois blinked. "Who's that?"
"A handsome, indecisive, two-timing scumbag," Edward explained with righteous fury. "He kept stringing along multiple girls at once until one of them stabbed him to death! Justice well served! Now get out of here!"
"…" Dubois could only stare blankly before bowing and making his exit.
After he left, Edward went downstairs and asked Endili to prepare breakfast.
"Endili, has Bernadette been by these past few days?"
While pouring him a glass of sweet iced tea, she replied, "No, Mr. Sparrow."
"Not even once?"
"Not once."
Hmm?
He frowned. He'd told her before leaving that he'd be gone for three days. It made sense she hadn't come during that time—but even on the fourth day, she hadn't appeared.
And more suspiciously, she hadn't prayed to him once either.
That…didn't fit Bernadette's personality at all.
After a moment's thought, Edward pulled out a gold coin and flipped it. "Bernadette is in danger."
It landed numbers up—a negative.
He flipped again.
"Going to Bernadette right now is dangerous."
This time, it came up heads.
His brow furrowed. He had a suspicion of what that might mean, but couldn't bring himself to ignore it. Rising from the table, he said, "I'm full. I'll go wash up."
"Yes, Mr. Sparrow."
Once in the bathroom, Edward deftly performed the ritual for self-summoning. Moments later, his surroundings shimmered, and he donned his Invisibility Cloak, activating his Concealment ability as he flew toward the Roselle family's estate.
The moment he crossed into the Roselle property's range, his spirituality thrummed violently, warning of danger.
Edward hesitated, then transformed into Zaratul's appearance and stepped into the courtyard.
He was just about to head straight for Bernadette's room when he suddenly felt a piercing gaze from the side. Turning, he saw an old man wearing the ceremonial robes of a Bishop of the Church of the God of Steam and Machinery, sitting leisurely on a garden swing—gently swaying back and forth while staring right at him.
That's…a high-ranking bishop?
Uh…a centenarian bishop swinging on a garden swing? That's not just unusual—that's downright bizarre!
"Don't move~"
A familiar voice drifted over—Bernadette's.
She was wearing a beret, perched on a tall stool with a sketchbook in her lap, carefully painting the bishop.
Ah. That…made sense now.
Edward exhaled in relief. His earlier suspicions were confirmed—Bernadette hadn't come home not because she didn't want to, but because someone wouldn't let her.
He'd suspected the church, but he hadn't expected it to be the Archbishop himself.
Still, it wasn't hard to understand. Roselle was now the beloved treasure of the Church of Steam and Machinery. With him away, of course they'd station someone powerful to watch over his family.
That also explained another question that had been nagging him: during the recent extraordinary events, why had none of the church's high-sequence powerhouses shown up?
Clearly, they'd been informed ahead of time—and had deliberately held back, allowing events to unfold as they wished.
But why?
Who had the influence to make even the church stand aside—"Intis"? Or someone else entirely?
It seemed "Intis's" commission was far more complex than he'd imagined.
Edward gave a faint wave and a polite smile toward the Archbishop, then ended his projection, returning to the Sefirah Castle.
The old bishop, meanwhile, withdrew his gaze and resumed swinging happily, like an old child humouring Bernadette's art session.
"Hehe, here you go!"
Bernadette hopped down and ran over, handing him the finished watercolour painting. It depicted a bearded old man in a bright pink shirt and skirt, laughing gleefully as he swung back and forth on the swing.
"Ahahahaha!"
The Archbishop threw his head back in laughter. "Thank you, Miss Bernadette. I'll be sure to treasure this masterpiece."
"Ah?"
The little girl blinked, slightly disappointed. This annoying old man…wasn't even angry?
He'd been here for four whole days now—refusing to leave, blocking anyone from entering or leaving, and even forbidding her from going out! How hateful!
Still, Bernadette knew who he was—someone of exceptionally high rank in the church. Even her father treated him with the utmost respect. So, naturally, she didn't dare throw a tantrum.
Puffing her cheeks, she turned to glance longingly toward Emerald Street.
Sigh…I wonder if Mr. Sparrow is back yet.
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.