The power of dreams, in its most common application, allows one to foresee the future and revisit the past, whether it be their own or another’s.
Upon reaching the rank of Bishop and assuming the associated duties, one becomes responsible for discerning the precise arrival of the Long Night within their designated region through dreams, thereby enabling preventative measures.
The practice of aiding the entire city’s populace into slumber with the chime of bells fundamentally harnesses the power of the Holy Bell.
Legend holds that the power of dreams originates from the Goddess, with the specific blessings bestowed varying greatly among individuals, differing in type; some even manifest dream abilities in ways that seem entirely unrelated to dreams themselves.
Govet-Ghervil’s ability to dream of events unfolding in reality was, in itself, a rather advanced blessing.
Receiving blessings within dreams currently stands as the predominant method for acquiring divine power, a rare opportunity afforded to only a select few possessing innate dream talent.
The prospect of acquiring such power through alternative means implies that even those without inherent talent could gain entry into the Dream Society, perhaps even ascending swiftly to the esteemed position of a diocesan bishop.
Judging by the reactions of those present, Ghervil’s research premise had proven remarkably effective.
Ramsey, remaining in his seat, drew out his pipe and contemplatively placed it between his lips.
Esli, as ever, shifted her gaze between the various individuals, essentially caught in a silent stare-down, seemingly oblivious to the true significance of this research.
Father Asriel’s expression was grim; had he not known the true identity of the composed young woman before him, he would have condemned her for sacrilege.
Such research, at its core, amounted to a theft of power from the Goddess and her faithful.
“You had best not be jesting with your own life.”
The Baron returned, his tall frame filling the doorway, his keen, intimidating gaze fixed intently upon the young woman.
Meeting his eyes calmly, a faint smile playing on her lips, Ghervil betrayed no fear.
‘Believe it or not, as you wish.’
‘Of course, you are also free to leave now.’
She doubted a man who had cultivated the Blood Rose for so long would relinquish such an opportunity.
Even if The Order forbade the dissemination of this method, mastering it in secret would elevate his standing significantly.
“Is this truly so impressive?” Esli asked, oblivious to the tense atmosphere.
Catching the Baron’s questioning glance, Ramsey quickly offered with a congenial smile,
“I neglected to inform you, old friend, but this is a new member of the Knights, Ishmele-Esli.”
In truth, it wasn’t forgetfulness; upon their arrival, the ‘Blood Rose expert’ had stolen the spotlight, leaving little attention for the oddly dressed, unassuming woman.
“A squire,” Father Asriel clarified, his addition serving as an acknowledgment of her status.
“To send a squire to protect Ms. Rowan… I now have reason to believe in this research,” the Baron remarked, shifting his gaze to Esli.
“Not to protect! I am here for a trial!” Esli insisted, not forgetting her fabricated mission.
“There’s no need to explain, Knight. From the moment you entered, you were subtly, yet instinctively, wary of everyone but Ms. Rowan. Such a detail does not escape my notice.”
“You…”
Having been seen through so easily, Esli opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but realizing the futility of such a question, she changed her words mid-sentence.
“Your observational skills are commendable, Baron.”
Having no inclination to contend with the squire, and noting the priest beside him offered no comment, the Baron’s expression gradually softened as he strode back to his original seat.
“What is it you wish to gain from me?”
He directed his gaze toward the young woman.
“Tell me what transpired on the day your daughter vanished.”
Ghervil gently raised her hand, opening her notebook, poised to record.
‘The desired effect has been achieved; it is time to discuss serious matters.’
“Have they not already told you?” the Baron asked with a hint of impatience.
“Accounts relayed secondhand are often prone to inaccuracies. I prefer to hear it directly from you.”
“To be frank, she is my friend.”
After a few seconds of silence, a flicker of disdain entered the Baron’s eyes as he regarded the young woman.
“Truth be told, I still find it difficult to believe that someone no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight could achieve such research results.”
“Nevertheless, the facts are undeniable. Speak your terms. You may also present a demand, and I am prepared to purchase your research for thirty to fifty thousand Soldeau. In my estimation, the value of your work far exceeds any request you might make.”
Truly, a man of standing, his words were generous and direct; the sum he offered immediately dwarfed the royal treasury’s usual contributions by severalfold.
“I have no need for money.”
Speaking against her true inclinations, Ghervil retrieved a small vial containing a potion from her satchel and placed it on the table.
“Then what is it you desire?”
In the Baron’s estimation, a young scholar approaching him could only have two motives: leveraging her status as his daughter’s friend to curry favor and acquire greater resources, or simply for financial gain.
Should fame be her aspiration, the Royal Academy offered a perfectly suitable platform.
“I wish for you to answer my questions truthfully, without reservation or concealment. If you can do so, this vial of potion shall be your gratuity. I trust that a man of your caliber will find it simple enough to discern its components.”
‘The potion was none other than Nightmare Revelation.’
‘This particular vial had been concocted from Govet-Ghervil’s blood, thus Ghervil harbored no concerns about the Baron analyzing its components and tracing it back to her.’
‘A blessing need not stem from a pleasant dream; a nightmare could also bestow one.’
‘Nightmare Revelation indeed offered a chance to acquire dream power, but it necessitated a specific catalyst.’
‘It effectively lowered the threshold of innate talent required.’
‘Such a catalyst might elude an ordinary person their entire life.’
“What are its effects, and how is it to be used?”
The Baron scrutinized the young woman, his outwardly calm gaze expertly concealing his eagerness for what promised to be a profitable exchange.
“It is called Nightmare Revelation, and its purpose is simple: it plunges one into an inescapable nightmare, where, by a slim chance, an ordinary person might seize an opportunity.”
‘If she consumed it, it would invigorate her; however, for others, it would merely induce a terrible nightmare, with the acquisition of power being an exceedingly rare occurrence.’
‘These were Govet-Ghervil’s exact words.’
“My daughter would be truly fortunate to have a friend such as you.”
With the Holy Sanctuary’s implicit endorsement, the Baron harbored no concerns about the potion’s efficacy being fraudulent.
Were the Holy Sanctuary to employ a charlatan to deceive the Baron of Flowers, the ensuing scandal would be immense, even if the charlatan did possess some proficiency in Blood Rose research.
“It was a Monday, August twentieth, at six o’clock in the evening.”
The Baron rubbed his temples, delving into his memories of the events.
“Since it was a family dinner held at a fixed time, I recall the hour with perfect clarity.”
With a soft scratch, Ghervil began to write.
Ghervil transcribed notes silently in Finter, filling her notebook.
“Though we called it a dinner, it was truly just Penelope and I. Neither the butler, the servants, nor any other family members were present.”
“And your eldest son?”
“Dandelion had been dispatched on a business negotiation; he was not at home that day.”
‘He must have been sent away intentionally.’
The young woman nodded faintly, signaling him to proceed.
“The dinner lasted two hours, during which some unpleasantness arose… We quarreled, as was often the case; I had grown accustomed to it…”
“Around eight o’clock, the dinner concluded on a discordant note. That very evening, my daughter neither remained at the manor nor returned to the Holy Sanctuary.”
As he spoke these words, the Baron’s hands clenched into fists, his eyes reddening.
“It was as if she had simply evaporated, vanishing without a trace upon leaving the manor. I should have sent someone to escort her home… Perhaps summoning her back was a mistake from the start…”
After several tens of seconds, the Baron’s agitation subsided. Ghervil capped her pen, deciding not to record the subsequent details.
“I wish to understand the protracted reasons behind your arguments.”