"It seems Goddess Seraphina has answered my prayers," Archminister Lucien Halewright said with a sincere bow when Lumielle removed her mask.
Unlike the Master of Coin, the cleric offered no resistance. In fact, he was visibly relieved—ecstatic even—to see the princess alive and well. With hands clasped, he profusely apologized for not taking a more proactive role in aiding her and Prince Reneal during the kingdom's crisis.
But as a pacifist, he explained, his duties had always been rooted in healing the wounded and preaching the sacred word of Seraphina, trusting that faith alone might cleanse the hearts of the corrupted.
Lumielle, of course, was very warm and understanding of the man's conservative and diplomatic stance and reassured him that she didn't expect anything less of a religious leader and servant of the divine.
She was relieved the Mhaledictus had shown restraint in their efforts to punish him for his defiance. Still, Lumielle knew better than to take that as a reflection of their character. Whoever was behind it all was still a villain, through and through.
Lucien, though eager to assist, couldn't identify the mastermind directly. However, he did point out something of note: the Zepharion Church had appeared and risen to prominence around the same time the Mhaledictus emerged.
Though it was his duty to oversee all religious institutions within the kingdom, he had deliberately chosen not to interfere with them. That decision, he suspected, might be the reason the Mhaledictus had been more tolerant in their approach to converting him.
***
Décor radiating a sense of order and control adorned the room. Inside the brightly lit study of his estate, High Justiciar Hadrian Vexford jolted upright from his chair, the stillness of night shattered by the sudden creak of the door swinging open. A sharp gasp escaped him as four masked figures stepped inside.
He stumbled back against the edge of his desk, his striking steel-blue eyes wide with alarm. "Please—!" he cried, raising his hands instinctively. "If you're from the Absolution Guild, then take my life, but spare my wife and son. I beg you."
One of the burly figures stepped forward and calmly removed his mask. Leopold's silver-gray hair caught the light from the manalamp overhead. "Calm yourself, Vexford," he said firmly. "You're not in danger."
Hadrian blinked. "Leopold…?" He uttered. "What is the meaning of this? What are you doing here?"
"We're not here to harm anyone," Leopold reiterated softly, though his voice was still grave. "We just want information—specifically, anything you know about the mastermind working with the Mhaledictus."
Hadrian stiffened. His breath hitched, and he stared off as if reliving a memory he wished he hadn't kept. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. Then his eyes shifted to the window, then the corners of the room, his paranoia rising as he thought of spies or magic circles that could be spying on him.
He hugged his arms tightly across his chest, his once-imposing figure shriveled under the weight of fear. "Please," he whispered. "Please, don't make me do this. I don't want to be involved. I can't. I just want to live… I want my wife and child to live. Just let me be."
For a moment, the room held its breath.
Then, without a word, the woman in the wolf mask stepped forward. She reached up and slowly removed it.
Hadrian reeled. His knees buckled slightly and he caught himself on the desk behind him. "…Your Highness?"
Lumielle looked at him with quiet intensity, her voice calm but unmistakably heavy with disappointment. "I expected more from you, Lord Vexford. This… this isn't the man I remember. Not the High Justiciar who made nobles tread carefully when his name was even whispered."
Hadrian's lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came.
She took a step closer. "You were my father's most trusted advisor after the previous Grand Chancellor passed. You knew the man he was. You knew the kingdom he wanted, and it wasn't this."
Her words lingered in the still air like cold iron. There were no threats or raised voices. Just the truth—and it was far heavier.
Hadrian didn't respond. He couldn't. His head hung low, eyes fixed on the floor as his grip on his own arms tightened.
There was nothing left to say. One by one, Daisuke, Lyndoria, Leopold, and Lumielle turned and left the room, the door shutting gently behind them.
Hadrian was left alone.
He remained standing there, surrounded by luxurious furnishings and hollow silence, the weight of his choices pressing down like a thousand stones.
***
Up until now, Lord Vaerythos and Grand Chancellor Cassius—despite being among the most suspicious—had been left alone due to the heavy security surrounding them. Their estates were also protected by powerful wards that prevented Midnight from infiltrating or gathering intelligence.
Daisuke and the others had hoped to uncover enough confessions and evidence from other sources to avoid having to confront either of them directly.
But the leads had run dry, and with each passing day, the silence grew more troubling. The trail was still frustratingly cold, and the prospect of stirring those particular hornets' nests was becoming harder to ignore.
All that remained was cornering Zerbst the moment he dared to host another one of his lavish gatherings and wringing his esteemed guests for every ounce of information they had.
But the man was being cautious.
Still, time had a way of dulling fear.
With no new reports of missing nobles, rumors began to circulate—whispers that the dark guild had purged the court of its corruption and vanished. As those rumors gained traction, Zerbst's paranoia started to ease.
He quietly began sending out invitations again, hungry to rebuild his network and drown the lingering taste of fear in wine, conversation, and women.
It's only a matter of time now, Daisuke thought as he stood outside the tent, eyes fixed on Fay, who remained faithfully at Silvestia's side.
Per her wishes, he'd kept his distance—only exchanging a few words with her over the past five months. He had countless questions, but deep down, he understood. Until Silvestia opened her eyes, Fay likely didn't have the room in her heart to trust or confide in anyone else.
And honestly, he couldn't blame her.
As he turned and walked away, his thoughts drifted. What would his heart have looked like if the System hadn't saved Zephyr back then? How long could he have held on to compassion—or even the will to keep going—if he were truly alone?
***
"Phew."
Fay let out a long breath, brushing her damp bangs back from her forehead as she sat upright. She reached for the pail of water beside her, carefully placing it along with the soaked washcloth on the low table nearby.
Silvestia lay motionless on the bed, tendrils of hair resting against her pale cheeks. Clean, warm, and dressed in a fresh gown, she looked like a porcelain doll waiting to be wound back to life.
Fay's crimson eyes softened. It's been over five months now… she thought, brushing a finger lightly across the girl's temple. Five months since she fell into a coma. Thankfully, she's still able to swallow… so as long as I can keep her fed and hydrated, she should be okay. After everything they've done for me, this is the least I can—
Her jaw clenched before she could finish the thought. Images of exploding vials of potions. The snarls of the homunculus. Lefahne and Zurrel's impaled forms. Her fingers trembled.
No. Don't go there.
She quickly turned her head toward the small pup curled at the foot of the bed. "Rai… can you watch Silvie for a bit? I'm just going to get some fresh air, okay?"
The pup yawned, then stretched out his tiny limbs and gave a quiet bark of approval. Fay gave a small smile in return before walking away. She pushed open the tent flap, and sunlight poured over her like a warm blanket. Reflexively, she raised a hand to her eyes and squinted.
"Ugh. It's so bright…"
The air was cool, but not cold—just enough for the breeze to feel crisp against her cheeks. The scent of wildflowers and damp soil tickled her nose. Spring had finally run its course, and summer now hovered just days away.
The backyard of the orphanage was vibrant, lush with green grass, bushes bearing fruit, and the once barren trees were now in full bloom.
Children's laughter rang out like windchimes as they darted across the field with winged monsters made of sticks. A group of elven girls sat under a tree, weaving tiaras from flower stems and brushing the straw hair of handmade dolls.
Fay approached them slowly, attempting a wholehearted smile. "Those look pretty. Is there one for me too?"
A few of them looked up. Their pointed ears twitched slightly.
"Fay," one of the older girls murmured, a small daisy in her hair. Her expression turned uncertain, as if unsure how cheerful she was supposed to be. "Is… is Silvie still asleep?"
Fay's smile faltered. "She is," she said softly, lowering herself to sit beside them. "She hasn't… woken up yet."
An unspoken sadness passed between the children like a shadow. They didn't cry, but their hands stilled. One girl hugged her knees.
"It's not your fault," said a quiet voice to Fay's left.
Fay blinked, turning. A little elf girl no older than eight stared at her with unusual clarity in her big eyes.
"Misfortune likes to follow people like us," she said. "Demihumans. People who are different. But that's not our fault. It's the fault of the people who give in to doing bad things."
Fay stopped breathing, and her eyes widened slightly. Aside from Haxks, no one else had seen through her disguise. But elves were known to be especially sensitive with aura, just like dryads… like Lefahne.
She glanced at the other children. They nodded slowly, their faces somber but understanding.
"You're not like the bad ones," said another girl, adjusting her straw doll's little skirt. "Your mana doesn't feel heavy."
"Elves are really good at feeling that stuff," added a third with a neat smile. "You can't really hide it from us."
Fay chuckled softly, a bit awkwardly, but there was warmth behind it. "I see… you're a sharp bunch."
"They were sharp too," said the girl with the daisy, gesturing toward the field.
Fay followed her finger. Near the largest tree, Brek and Garrett were barking commands and sparring with wooden weapons. A few other Sprites were copying their movements, each soaked with sweat but determined.
"Haxks and Miss Tiphanna chose to help us," the girl continued. "They didn't have to. They just… did. Even though it was dangerous. That's choosing good, right?"
"Even if it's hard," another said, "you gotta try. Brek said getting strong is how you fight back when bad things try to control your life."
"But it's still hard," added one of the smaller girls, fidgeting with her hands. "There's still scary stuff. Taxes, slavers, mean grown-ups. It's really hard to stay good when everything around you feels bad."
"Tiphanna said the same thing once," someone else whispered. "She said we had to make good choices even if no one noticed them… especially then."
Fay looked down at her lap, fingers curling slightly. Warmth welled up in her chest. It wasn't quite joy. Not yet. But something like hope.
He said the same thing too… she thought, watching as Brek gloated upon knocking Garrett to the ground. Haxks. He said strength is necessary to secure happiness. Did the others adopt his ideology?
She smiled faintly and looked up at the girls. "Thank you," she said quietly.
The elves looked at one another, a little confused.
"For what?" the daisy girl asked.
"For reminding me."
The children smiled—small, hopeful smiles—and went back to their dolls, their tiaras, their quiet little world of dreams. And Fay… she let herself breathe a little deeper.