Are there mosquitoes flying by my ear? With so many people around, how could that be? Lynch hadn't fully processed it yet as he looked around in confusion.
The corridor was packed with people—hotel security, waiters, foreign dignitaries with their retinues, and church guards. Everyone was going about their business, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Did you notice something?” The rumors of Lynch's sharp mystery intuition had already spread throughout Rhine City, so Archbishop Trinlais didn't dare dismiss any reaction from him.
“It's nothing. Just feels like I forgot something.” Lynch felt as if the sound of buzzing mosquitoes was vaguely familiar, like someone had mentioned it to him recently, but the memory was hazy, and he couldn't recall it off the top of his head. It probably wasn't anything important.
Yet that nagging itch in his mind was maddening enough to drive him crazy. Lynch stopped in his tracks, pressing his palm to his temple with a tight frown. But the more flustered he got, the harder it was to remember.
Sensing something was amiss, the archbishop gestured to those behind him. His entourage halted immediately. Several knights fanned out to both sides, guarding the turns in the corridor and discreetly securing the area.
However, in the next moment, Lynch felt an impact from behind. Someone had bumped into his back. The soft, rounded sensation against his skin and a familiar perfume he'd smelled once before immediately made him realize who the culprit—or rather, the chest-culprit—was.
Lynch's train of thought was instantly shattered. His knee-jerk thought was: Damn, that's foul play. Charging with two giant balls like that is definitely against the rules.
“Oh my, young gentleman of Lande, don't just stop out of nowhere like that! I didn't even have time to pull back. Oh, I get it—you stopped on purpose just so I'd bump into you, didn't you?”
Like hell I'd believe that. You sly woman.
But before Lynch could offer a perfunctory response, a warm body pressed against his side. Ms. Serina, Pope of the Joyful Maiden, leaned in close and murmured playfully into his ear, “What is troubling you, young gentleman? You look truly enchanting when you're lost in thought.”
A fragrant scent wafted into his nostrils while her sultry voice lingered in his ears. As someone who had been a seasoned archmage in his past life, Lynch wondered if he was about to lose his composure. Holy crap, even if the customs in Friedman are liberal, they shouldn't be this open-minded, right? Or are the followers of the Joyful Maiden even more... Huh? Wait a minute?
Lynch snapped his head around, meeting a pair of expressive, deep-blue eyes. Long eyelashes fluttered softly as her curious gaze fixed on his face.
“Friedman?”
“Hmm?” The female Pope bit her lower lip softly, humming an inquisitive hum through her nose. She looked adorable and expectant, completely unaware that Lynch's gaze, locked on her, was actually completely blank—he was lost in deep thought.
Right, Friedman! That's the key point. What was the issue with Friedman? And what is hovering around me? It's annoying.
Absentmindedly, Lynch gave a casual shove to clear his personal space and continued his train of thought. But he soon noticed that the noisy environment had suddenly gone dead silent. Coming back to his senses, he realized everyone was staring at him with looks of absolute awe.
Why are you looking at me? I didn't do anything.
Lynch turned back, only to see Ms. Serina, the Pope of Mica, the Joyful Maiden. She had been pushed back against the wall, her ruby lips slightly parted as she stared at him in utter shock.
He really hadn't done much—aside from ignoring the flirty advances of a lady who was easily a 9 out of 10, and nearly shoving over one of the twelve most venerated figures beneath the gods. It really wasn't a big deal; it just made Lynch faintly feel the searing heat of a burning stake. Is it too late to explain now? Asking for a friend, urgent.
“Hmph, men.” Fortunately, Ms. Serina had no interest in burning anyone alive. Seeing Lynch come back to his senses with a thoroughly awkward expression, she gathered her hair, gave him a seductive glare, and finally pushed off the wall. “Your physical reaction was so honest when you hugged me this morning, but as soon as there's a crowd, your attitude flips completely. Hypocrites like you deserve to never know joy again.”
Right! Friedman, a sudden shift in attitude... I remember now! Prince Louis mentioned hearing the sound of buzzing insect wings around King Carlos VII of Friedman.
He was frequently in contact with the Shadow Alliance, his attitude toward everything had changed completely as if he were a different person, and most importantly, the sound of fluttering insect wings often hovered near him. Is that what I just heard? So, someone from the Shadow Alliance is nearby?
Did my walking around in circles earlier successfully draw their attention? Are they coming for me? No, the methods used on the King of Friedman and high-ranking officials of Lande must be extremely subtle and secretive, not some cheap tricks found anywhere on the street. It's unlikely they could deploy someone like that within half an hour, and the odds of such a person just happening to pass by are far too low. Therefore, whatever is making that sound was probably here before I arrived. Their target shouldn't be me—at least, it wasn't originally.
Then who could it be? In an instant, various possibilities flashed through Lynch's mind.
Looking at it from the Shadow Alliance's perspective, their preparations for the plague were complete. Though there was still the loose end of the Torch of Light, that should revolve around Lynch as a target; it made no sense for them to randomly shift focus here. Thus, the most likely explanation was that the buzzing sound had nothing to do with the plague, but was rather for their next objective.
War, Famine, and Death. The Shadow Alliance's recent moves all pointed toward an intent to provoke a war. Could the appearance of this buzzing sound here tentatively be assumed to serve that same purpose—inciting war?
The people gathered here were representatives from various countries. An incident here would certainly cause international waves, but none of them were official diplomatic envoys or figures of paramount importance. They couldn't represent the state as a whole, so targeting them was far from enough to trigger a war. No, wait. There IS an important person here.
A flash of inspiration hit Lynch, connecting all the dots in a single instant. Why would Carlos VII send a royal family member to visit Lande at a time like this? And specifically the young prince who was most likely to become the Crown Prince? Did Carlos VII really not know about his son's and mother's suspicions and secret plotting? If he did know, why send him out anyway, even letting him travel north to Norin with Princess Sophia?
Perhaps that kid was the target all along.
Having sorted through everything in the blink of an eye, Lynch didn't even have time to apologize or explain. He grabbed Archbishop Trinlais, and... not daring to touch Ms. Serina, merely leaned in close to her and asked in a low voice, “Where is Prince Louis?”
“Hmm?”
“I suspect someone intends to harm him—to use his death to provoke an all-out war between Lande and Friedman.”
The female Pope dropped her teasing demeanor, exchanging a look with Trinlais. Her delicate brows furrowed slightly as she shook her head. “Unlikely. An all-out war isn't just a localized conflict; it doesn't break out that easily. Even if Louis were to die here, it wouldn't be enough.”
“And what if the attacker appears to be an important figure from Lande?”
The expressions of both the female Pope and the archbishop instantly changed.
“You.” Ms. Serina immediately pointed to a guard knight of the Church of Joy. He was one of the two security chiefs for the Friedman delegation, a church knight of the Joyful Maiden who was responsible for the Papal Seat's safety tonight. “Where is His Highness the prince?”
“Your Holiness, His Highness is in his room. He has already retired for the night.”
“Which bedroom is he in tonight? I suspect someone is going to assassinate His Highness. Take us there at once.”
“Your Holiness, please rest assured. Four knights and twelve royal guards are stationed around His Highness's room, guarding him day and night.” Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the knight puffed out his chest, his voice overflowing with confidence. “I guarantee on my honor and life that they are the most professional and loyal warriors. They will never let any suspicious person come within half a step of His Highness's door—”
“Ahhh—” A hotel maid's shrill scream echoed from the stairwell, cutting the knight off mid-sentence.
Rate on N.U.
