By the time Margarita dried her hair and pushed open Constance’s door, stars already filled the night sky.
A single oil lamp burned in the room. Constance sat in a chair, twirling a quill in her hand. Irene and the other two had already arrived; they seemed to have just finished reporting to Constance and were now resting on the edge of the bed.
Patrick was unusually quiet, to the point that Margarita almost didn't notice him.
Joshua and Lovell arrived shortly after her. Lovell was carrying two rolled-up paintings. When she saw Margarita sitting at the table, she first sized her up from head to toe to confirm she was unhurt. Then, she stuffed the paintings into Margarita’s arms and looked around for a place to sit.
Joshua simply leaned against the doorframe, his gaze fixed on Margarita.
“Stop staring. She’s fine, she’s not going anywhere.” Lovell laughed and poked him in the waist as she walked past. “Aren't you tired after leading those people around in circles twice?”
“Enough,” Constance said, setting down her quill. “Report first.”
Margarita was currently examining the two paintings Lovell had given her. Her gaze flickered back and forth between a landscape painting and her own topographical map, so focused she didn't even hear Constance’s command.
“Consultant,” Constance said, looking at her. “Special Consultant!”
“Ah? I’m here!” Margarita jumped. “What happened?”
“Report first.”
Everyone’s eyes fell on her at once.
Margarita cleared her throat and recounted the day’s events at the tavern—the spotters at the front and back doors, Constance being discovered, the fake Grey inside the tavern, Constance punching him into the air, and the Patrol Knights surrounding the building.
Lovell pursed her lips when she heard about the “fake Grey.”
“That fake Grey was just a paid actor,” Margarita said as she sat down next to Lovell and took her hand. “He didn't know anything. The real problem is those two spotters at the front door. To be personally notified by a noble, they must have a significant background.”
“They never came back after they left,” Constance nodded. “Within ten minutes of that Diestwald family member recognizing me, those two withdrew.”
“So the Diestwalds really are in league with the Sacrosanct Circle,” Margarita said, gently kneading Lovell’s hand. “And their reaction speed is very fast. This connection is clear now.”
Sigh, her hand feels really nice... let me squeeze it a bit more.
As she kept kneading, she realized Lovell was looking at her with a confused expression. She immediately coughed. “So... what was the situation on your end today?”
Lovell gave a brief summary of their experience. Joshua added details about the abnormality at the jewelry stall, how at least five spotters followed them all the way to their hideout, and then how they shook them off by taking a detour to the harbor to draw the maps.
“But there’s one problem,” Lovell said. “Those spotters were only watching me the whole time. It was like Joshua didn't even exist to them, even though he was standing right next to me.”
Margarita’s hand stopped.
“They didn't recognize Joshua at all?”
“Yeah.” Lovell nodded. “A guy in gray robes was less than three steps away from Joshua and didn't even spare him a glance. They only recognized me.”
Margarita leaned back in her chair, her mind racing. The Sacrosanct Circle having a portrait of Lovell made sense because of Grey and the Diestwald family’s past. But Joshua... their actions at the quarry anchor in Himlabacken, the battle at the dry well outside the East Gate, and even earlier in Percy Village—if the Sacrosanct Circle knew the Star-Spun Stone was with her, then Joshua, as the person closest to her, couldn't possibly be missing from their records.
So, they didn't know.
Finally, some good news!
But then, what did those two from the Sacrosanct Circle in Himlabacken mean by calling Joshua the ‘Protagonist’...?
Whatever, there’s no point in thinking about that now. Those two from the Sacrosanct Circle are no better than idiots now, and I don't have a single clue.
“Irene,” Margarita said. “What about your side?”
Irene briefly reported the detection records. Patrick, having rested, occasionally Chimed in only to be glared back into silence by Erica. The conclusion was clear: there was a spatial anchor in the woods outside the city, with over ten demons gathered around it, and their behavior was abnormal.
“Low-tier demons have no organization,” Margarita said. “I saw them in Percy Village. If no one is directing them, they’ll even start fighting each other.”
“...” Joshua touched the pendant at his chest.
“So we suspect there’s an intelligent low-tier, or even a mid-tier demon commanding them,” Irene said. “If the Diestwalds are connected to the Sacrosanct Circle and are also in contact with demons...”
“Then they aren't just the remnants of a cult,” Constance said, opening her eyes with a cold tone. “They are traitors to humanity.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
“Meeting adjourned,” Constance said. “Tomorrow... free time. The Sacrosanct Circle shouldn't make any moves for a short while. We won't act until we’ve confirmed the specific situation at the anchor.”
The group left one by one. Margarita was at the end of the line, but as she reached the door, Constance’s voice came from behind her.
“Special Consultant, stay back for a moment.”
The three-person team also about to leave paused at the same time. Lovell looked back at Margarita, who signaled that she was fine. Lovell hesitated for a second before following Joshua out.
Constance remained in her chair, arms crossed.
“You were distracted just now,” she said. “When you saw that landscape painting of the warehouse.”
“...President, do you believe me?”
“Speak first.”
Margarita looked up, the lamplight flickering in her eyes.
“If I said that this warehouse would disappear a year from now, would you believe me?”
“...A year from now.”
“I had many dreams while I was in Percy Village,” Margarita’s voice was as soft as a dream itself. “Some of those dreams came true later. I dreamed of the harbor district in Arlan, but the warehouse this artist drew doesn't match the location in my dream. So, either the artist made a mistake...”
“Or something happens within this year that causes the warehouse to disappear,” Constance said as she began to write a letter. “And this warehouse happens to be Diestwald property.”
“How do you know it's their property?”
“The title deed number.” Constance folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and pressed a wax seal onto it. “I’ll send a message to the Northern Frontier in a bit. If we confirm it's there, we can't force our way in without a search warrant.”
“...You’re really willing to believe me?”
“Your ‘intuition’ has been right so far.” Constance stood up and headed for the door with the envelope. “So I’ll believe you this time too.”
...
When Margarita returned to the room, Lovell had just finished bathing and was sitting cross-legged on the bed drying her hair. Margarita closed the door, took off her coat to hang it up, and sat on the edge of the bed in silence for a moment.
“Little Mari.” Lovell’s voice came from beneath the towel. “What did the President want to talk to you about?”
“The warehouse.”
“What warehouse?”
Margarita turned her head to look at her. Lovell removed the towel, her red hair still dripping with water, her amber eyes looking straight at her.
“That drawing we got back today has a warehouse on it that doesn't match the location on the topographical map I drew before,” Margarita said. “I suspect... your master is being held there.”
“So my master is okay, right?”
“...Lovell, do you believe in my intuition?”
Lovell looked at Margarita and dazed for a long time before finally nodding.
Margarita gently touched Lovell’s hair. “Your master will definitely be fine.”
Lovell let out a laugh and fished the necklace from under her pillow. The forget-me-not pendant shimmered with a pale blue enamel light under the lamp, and the pale pink diamond chip at the center of the flower looked like a tiny star.
“For you.” She stuffed the necklace into Margarita’s hand.
Margarita looked down at the pendant in her palm, startled.
“You stole this today?”
“What do you mean 'stole'? He didn't want it!” Lovell said indignantly. “He said himself he wasn't selling it.”
“That’s basically stealing.”
“Mind your own business.” Lovell tossed the towel toward the foot of the bed and lay down, wrapping herself tightly in the blanket. “Regardless of whether it's intuition or not, I believe you.”
Margarita put the necklace around her neck, the cool enamel slowly warming against her skin. The sea breeze from outside the window blew through the room, and the lighthouse in the distant harbor flashed intermittently in the night.
She blew out the oil lamp, lay down, and gently patted Lovell’s blanket.
“Goodnight.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
Rate on N.U.
