“Had you, you perverted brat, rushed to the Baron’s residence the moment the incident occurred, instead of giving my sister’s blood to someone else, perhaps you might still have met the Baron.”
Govet-Ghervil drew a dividing line on the floor with her foot, periodically glancing up to cast a condemning look at the person before her.
Dr. Callan felt a surge of displeasure at Govet-Ghervil’s intense defensiveness.
Especially after being caught sniffing the clothes.
There was nothing to defend.
What was done, was done.
She admitted to a flicker of curiosity, compounded by the agitation in her blood.
Honestly, she wasn’t particularly regretful, and given the chance, she would gladly try again.
Her ‘perverted’ actions naturally incurred a punishment: she was forbidden from approaching within three meters of the bed.
“What exactly happened to the Baron?”
Despite her displeasure, Dr. Callan still hoped to glean useful information from the plump furball.
The gruesome sight remained vivid in her mind: the Baron’s face was covered in claw marks, his expression contorted into a monstrous grimace, his limbs twisted at impossible angles, and large clumps of his hair had been torn out, leaving him a wreck even in his sleep.
“The price of seeking power.”
Having demarcated the area, Govet-Ghervil leapt onto the bed and meticulously pulled the covers over Konehl-Ghervil, ensuring everything from her neck downwards was completely concealed.
Once satisfied that she was entirely covered, it flopped onto her chest, emitting a mournful whimper.
“My poor sister, unaware she’s been targeted by a pervert, and she’s still so young…”
“I won’t cross any lines, and besides, she’s an adult now, capable of deciding what kind of life she wants!”
As the morning sun streamed into the room, Dr. Callan paced three meters from the bed, so enraged that she poured herself a cup of hot tea and gulped it down before it could cool.
This infuriating behavior was truly an amplified version of the one lying on the bed.
“Don’t you want to know why Baron Cambaton was in such a wretched state?”
Govet-Ghervil’s expression swiftly shifted.
It was best not to let their relationship become too strained.
Konehl-Ghervil had already reprimanded it once.
Dr. Callan watched it intently, remaining silent, fearing it might play another trick.
“He drank the Nightmare Revelation.”
Govet-Ghervil jumped off the bed, opened the travel case by the wall, and pulled out potion ingredients along with a half-empty bottle of the remaining potion for display.
These items had originally been at the manor, and Dr. Callan had brought them all here.
Ishmele-Esli, meanwhile, remained there under the care of the Sanctuary personnel.
“Are you suggesting the Baron is now plagued by nightmares and unable to awaken?”
“The price of seeking power,” Govet-Ghervil reiterated her initial response.
“It’s not necessarily a nightmare caused by the Nightmare Revelation itself.”
“But I can confirm that the time he drank the potion roughly coincided with Konehl-Ghervil being drawn into the Real Dream (TL Note: Refers to a shared, lucid dream space that transcends normal dreaming).”
“The Real Dream…” Dr. Callan silently committed this information to memory.
“He sought power, yet at the same time, he harbored a profound fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“I don’t know; you will need to investigate that yourselves. I must conserve my strength to watch over her in the dream realm.”
Govet-Ghervil gently stroked Konehl-Ghervil’s forehead with its large tail,
“Here’s a small clue: a Blood Rose (TL Note: A magical plant often used in potions and rituals) cultivated with the blood of an adult Greenland Lizard, with the addition of a blessed person’s blood, happens to be the antidote to the curse.”
“Your commission is complete; you may now render payment.”
The Blood Rose possessed the ability to suppress or transmute the effects of certain potions.
A Blood Rose cultivated with the blood of an evil creature served as an antidote to that very evil blood.
This was something she had never anticipated, nor ever attempted.
The entire case might need to be re-evaluated from the ground up.
Truly, she was worthy of being a nun from the abbey.
“Thank you for the lead.”
“I would prefer to see actual deeds rather than mere words.”
“I will, but I require some time to verify the truth of your statements.”
With a significant lead in the case, Dr. Callan’s mood considerably improved, prompting her to fetch a generous amount of food for the room, including liquid meals, nutrient solutions, and exquisite pastries.
Seeing her sincerity, Govet-Ghervil found it difficult to press the matter further.
“The blood of an ordinary adult Greenland Lizard possesses a curse effect far too weak to instantly melt a person. The blood stolen from you was likely not used to harm anyone, but you should still be cautious.”
“Not even with a sufficient quantity?”
“You perverted brat, do you even understand what a curse is? Simply increasing the dosage won’t alter its fundamental effect.”
Dr. Callan now simply wished to sew shut that mouth, which incessantly uttered ‘pervert’.
Did it behave this way with everyone else?
She decided not to dwell on such trivialities, knowing she would have ample time to figure it out once she returned to her Lily of the Valley Street residence.
Returning to the case.
The ability of adult Greenland Lizard blood to melt a person was documented in the Order’s early internal experimental records, though it typically took a full day.
Due to its scarcity and preciousness, no further experiments had been conducted.
This, in turn, allowed them to discard another lead.
Now, there were two new investigative objectives.
First, the entity or force that instilled such fear in the Baron, compelling him to recklessly pursue power.
Second, the origin of the special Greenland Lizard blood.
With her thoughts clarified, Dr. Callan gazed at Govet-Ghervil, who lay with closed eyes on the young woman’s chest, feeling another pang of envy.
With a decisive thud, the door closed as she exited the room.
****
Emulating the attire of most caravan members, Konehl-Ghervil wrapped three layers of headscarf to shield herself from the scorching sun, effectively concealing her conspicuous hair.
This way, she would not attract undue attention from the others in the caravan.
The two missing individuals were guards, whose disappearance occurred during a sandstorm.
The caravan had halted, securing their goods and camels, and after an hour, when the sandstorm subsided, a headcount revealed two people missing.
Despite searching numerous nearby areas, no trace of them was found.
It was a story so simple it felt fabricated.
Under Konehl-Ghervil’s persistent questioning, Sali quietly divulged the details to her.
The two had actually been tasked with calming the frightened camels at the rear of the caravan, and the one who assigned them was the guard captain, Theodore-Dubois.
The silent, taciturn man who carried a saber at his hip.
A camel laden with goods had also vanished along with them.
Ostensibly, they were lost, but many more suspected they had absconded with the goods.
It was understandable that Dowo-Hawk, the caravan leader, was reluctant to elaborate.
Should an investigation uncover anything unfavorable, it would disrupt the harmony within the team.
Ultimately, using the pretext that the two had fled with the goods, he refused to pay the missing individuals their outstanding commission and compensation.
Konehl-Ghervil suspected this was Dowo-Hawk’s true intention.
Regarding the impromptu change in route, the caravan members were divided into two factions.
The merchants primarily supported it, while the guards primarily opposed it.
As the guards were always at the forefront when danger arose, the risks they bore would multiply.
Unexpectedly, Theodore-Dubois, as the guard captain, offered no opinion.
The disagreement finally concluded when Dowo-Hawk pledged to increase the guards’ commission by twenty percent.
After two hours of travel, the temperature had noticeably risen.
Ishmele-Esli discreetly slipped Konehl-Ghervil two ice cubes to help her cool down.
They were walking in the middle of the caravan, not riding camels.
As the leading guard stopped, the caravan halted its advance.
A few minutes later, Dowo-Hawk jogged over to Konehl-Ghervil, a sheepish look on his face.
“There’s a wind-eroded depression about a hundred meters ahead,” he explained. “We can take a short break there.”
“Do you need any help, Mr. Dowo-Hawk?” Konehl-Ghervil asked directly.
“Just a small favor. I’d like to try digging for some salt crystals, if you wouldn’t mind…”
Dowo-Hawk’s gaze flickered between the young woman and the knight.
[His objective is likely high-concentration salt crystals; these crystals are typically home to Salt Crystal Beetles, which are generally harmless.] Govet-Ghervil’s warning echoed in Konehl-Ghervil’s mind.
Along the way, Konehl-Ghervil had recounted the events of the previous night, and Govet-Ghervil had expressed regret at not being present, claiming she wouldn’t have fled so miserably if she had been there.
Konehl-Ghervil hardly believed its nonsense; its advice, offered only in her mind, was rarely useful in unforeseen situations.
“Do you have a suitable pickaxe?”
“It’s already prepared!”
Upon receiving her agreement, Dowo-Hawk beamed with joy.
“Are you going?”
Ishmele-Esli’s look seemed to suggest there was no point in Konehl-Ghervil going.
“Of course.”
‘How could I miss out on an opportunity to earn money?’
Meeting Dowo-Hawk’s fluctuating expression, Konehl-Ghervil remarked casually, “Perhaps we’ll stumble upon an unexpected treasure, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Dowo-Hawk?”