"Welcome, welcome, both of you, to my humble estate! I wonder, is there anything an old man like me can do for you?"
The moment Jeanne and Irene stepped through the heavy doors of the castle, they were greeted by the sight of a spirited, white-haired elderly man waiting expectantly for their arrival. The warm, enthusiastic smile on his face looked exceedingly welcoming.
The master of the estate was an elderly Liberi, though the vast majority of the servants standing silently in the hall were Aegir. Perhaps he shared some special connection with the Aegir folk—which likely explained why he chose to remain out here rather than flee into the safety of the mobile cities.
After all, a Liberi surrounded entirely by Aegir would face intense hostility from local citizens if he stepped foot into an Iberian mobile city, and he would undoubtedly be placed under the strict, unrelenting surveillance of the Inquisition.
The old man stood before the pair, nervously wringing his hands together as his eyes remained glued to Irene. His anxiety was palpable, terrified of what this judge might do next.
"We are simply here to investigate the recent incidents occurring in the surrounding area," Irene replied seriously, carefully keeping her expression neutral so as not to betray any suspicion that he might be involved. To an outsider, she looked like nothing more than a green investigator asking routine questions.
"Ah, so that is what brings you here!" The old man stopped wringing his hands, letting out a breath before explaining earnestly. "I have indeed taken in a group of villagers who fled for their lives, but I can only afford to keep them here for a few short days. My estate simply does not possess enough food to feed so many mouths for long. Being able to offer them even a little assistance has been no easy task for us!"
Irene listened and gave a slow, understanding nod, seemingly agreeing with his plight.
"In that case... would it be possible for us to meet with those villagers? There are a few matters I would like to ask them directly. I apologize for causing you any trouble!"
Irene spoke with exceptional politeness, causing the old nobleman to blink in brief surprise. He clearly had not anticipated that a member of the fearsome Inquisition would speak to him with such gentle courtesy.
Beside her, Jeanne remained completely silent, carefully observing their surroundings. She carried herself like an ordinary young woman whose younger sister had been rescued by the judge, quietly listening to the ongoing exchange.
As Jeanne's eyes swept across the interior, she noted that the overall decor could only be described as plain—and frankly, a bit incongruous with the grand castle structure itself. It gave off the unmistakable impression of a fallen noble house forced to sell off its prized heirlooms, leaving behind nothing but an empty, echoing shell of a fortress.
Yet, the number of Aegir servants standing about the hall was surprisingly large. If this were truly a destitute family on the brink of ruin, how could they possibly afford to maintain such a massive staff? Even if Aegir servants commanded far lower wages due to local prejudice, the sheer cost of keeping them fed was no small burden.
Furthermore, whenever Jeanne shifted her gaze toward them, the servants subtly averted their eyes, as though deeply uncomfortable under the weight of an outsider's gaze. Their quiet, motionless posture seemed less like natural obedience and more like a stiff, practiced habit of etiquette.
Jeanne kept her observations to herself, shifting her attention down to Fafnir in her arms. The little girl was growing so bored that her tail flicked lazily against Jeanne's leg, her eyelids drooping as if she were about to drift off to sleep.
"Fafnir, what's wrong?" The moment Jeanne focused her attention on her, the child reacted instantly, raising her head with an expectant look.
"Take a careful sniff," Jeanne whispered softly, bringing her lips close to the child's ear as though sharing a fond secret between sisters. "Do you smell anything strange or off about this place?"
To the servants standing nearby, it appeared to be nothing more than a caring elder sister soothing a tired child; no one paid them any mind, assuming the small girl was entirely harmless.
Hearing Jeanne's words, Fafnir immediately perked up. She took a few deep, deliberate sniffs of the ambient air—and in an instant, her face twisted into an expression of intense disgust, her brows furrowing as if someone had just stolen her most precious gold.
"It smells terrible in here! It feels like there's a huge crowd of slimy, sticky gross things everywhere! I hate this place!" Fafnir waved her small arms about, trying her best to describe the sheer scale of the unpleasantness to Jeanne. She clearly did not want to stay in this place a moment longer; every corner was filled with things she loathed!
Jeanne's eye twitched slightly at Fafnir's reaction. Raising her head, she swept another glance across the gloomy, shadowy interior of the castle. Her mind raced, wondering what horrific acts were being hidden behind these walls.
Now that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that something was horribly wrong with this place, the estate no longer looked merely run-down or neglected to her eyes. Instead, every corridor and shadow felt utterly infested with sinister secrets—a testament to how much one's perspective can transform reality.
"That shouldn't be a problem, but..." On the other side of the room, the conversation between Irene and the old master was coming to a close, though the old man suddenly put on a deeply conflicted expression as he looked at her.
"Is something wrong?" Irene asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. The man had been remarkably easy to talk to just a moment ago; why had he suddenly become so hesitant? She sensed that things were about to take a turn.
"It's nothing major, really... It's just that those villagers harbor a great deal of... prejudice against the Inquisition. You can understand that, can't you, lady judge? Certain people simply hold those deep feelings, and it's not something we can easily control..."
The old man put on a look of profound difficulty, perfectly playing the part of a host who desperately wanted to be a good Samaritan without offending the Inquisition, yet found himself caught helplessly in the middle.
Given the reality in Iberia, his claim was entirely believable. If those villagers didn't harbor a deep-seated fear and rejection of the Inquisition, they would never have chosen to wander the perilous wilderness rather than seek safety in the mobile cities.
Irene gave a slow nod of understanding before asking, "Then how do you suggest we proceed?"
Seeing how accommodating this young novice judge was, the old master grew notably bolder. The lingering hesitation vanished from his face, replaced by a much more relaxed demeanor.
"Perhaps... you could allow your friend here to go in and speak with them instead? As long as she isn't wearing the robes of a judge, it will be very easy for her to blend in and talk to them."
The old man turned his gaze toward Jeanne and Fafnir. In the eyes of the crowd, a young woman traveling with a small child was the very picture of someone who posed zero threat—especially if she unbuckled that sword at her waist.
"This..." Irene put on a thoroughly conflicted expression, playing along as though she were genuinely terrified for Jeanne's safety. "Can you truly guarantee that those villagers won't harm her? She is merely a friend I met on the road; she doesn't possess the kind of strength I have..."
It was a blatant lie, spoken without batting an eye. Irene knew better than anyone just how terrifying Jeanne's combat capabilities were—in truth, even the small child in her arms could likely tear through normal men with ease. Simply put, Irene was actually the weakest person in their group!
"Please, rest assured! No one would dare cause trouble under my roof!" The old man immediately declared, slapping his chest to promise her safety. "If anything unexpected were to happen to her, I will personally see to it that those fools pay the ultimate price!"
Appearing thoroughly persuaded by his impassioned promise, Irene pulled Jeanne aside to whisper in hushed tones, occasionally casting cautious glances back at the group of hosts behind them.
The old master and his servants smiled and nodded warmly, their expressions radiating absolute friendliness. Yet beneath those pleasant faces, something about those smiles felt chillingly, indescribably wrong—no matter how one looked at them.
"I'll head inside with them and see what they're up to," Jeanne whispered quietly to Irene. "Keep your guard up out here. I suspect—no, I am certain these people are up to something foul."
After dropping those final words, Jeanne stepped forward, allowing the group of servants to lead her toward the dark, sprawling hall where the villagers were being kept.