During the midday break, Father Asriel, adhering to the standards for esteemed guests, arranged individual rooms for the three of them.
Bishop Gomor, occupied throughout the day, had entrusted their care to the priest.
The midday rest was, in truth, unnecessary, but Ghervil seized the opportunity to speak with Govet privately, thus accepting the arrangement.
“So you’re saying it’s impossible to locate Mrs. Rose through dreams?”
Standing by the window, Ghervil gazed out at the estate’s scenery, where a small chapel in the distance was flanked by a courtyard overflowing with ornamental flowers.
“You must, at the very least, provide me with her appearance or some other specific details.”
Govet, having not eaten her fill at lunch, now stood on the table, devouring pastries one after another.
“The Osmanthus Cakes (TL Note: A traditional Chinese pastry flavored with osmanthus flowers.) they’ve made are truly delicious.”
“Are they as good as mine?”
“Well… you know my answer to that…”
Ghervil merely offered a smile, remaining silent.
Indeed, unlike their previous encounter on the train, the man who attacked them was definitively known to have been apprehended by the police, making him traceable simply by searching the local precinct within a dream.
Mrs. Rose, however, left not a single trace, and to search blindly across such a vast city would entail immense effort and prove incredibly challenging.
‘My dream abilities…’
They had always been passively triggered, revealing fragmented glimpses of the past and the histories of a select few; the only time she had actively utilized them was through a potion left by the Abbess.
Although the effects had been nothing short of miraculous, capable of weaving dreams into reality, the cost was substantial, and the next time might not be as simple as a month-long slumber or the loss of taste.
She suspected the Abbess’s potion deserved most of the credit.
It was, in a way, good news that without the potion, her abilities remained dormant.
‘Could there truly be no other use for them…’
“Is there any way for me to enhance my control over dream power, to become as proficient as you?” she asked, settling at the table and popping an Osmanthus Cake into her mouth.
“You would do well to abandon such notions,” Govet replied, generously pushing the plate closer for Ghervil to reach, “Your body, or more precisely, your affliction, cannot sustain the strain of learning to wield such power.”
The smile vanished from Ghervil’s face.
Leaving aside cases as severe as the plague, even a slightly dangerous investigation would render her incapable of self-preservation.
Everyone assumed that nuns admitted to Solis Abbey, receiving the Goddess’s blessing, possessed extraordinary powers; her current ordinary demeanor was attributed to amnesia.
In truth, the last nun of Solis Abbey was merely a figurehead, possessing only an empty title.
“Is there truly no way at all?”
She pulled the plate of Osmanthus Cakes towards her, shielding it with her forearm.
Given Govet’s short legs, reclaiming the plate would be a formidable task, so she could only watch with wide, longing eyes before hanging her head in defeat.
“I cannot simply stand by and watch my sister’s condition worsen.”
‘Here it comes, the emotional plea. No, not emotional; a familial plea.’
Ghervil remained unmoved, picking up another Osmanthus Cake and savoring it slowly.
“To say you ‘cannot’ implies there *is* a way.”
Silence. Govet lowered her head, offering no reply.
Another Osmanthus Cake disappeared, leaving barely any on the plate.
“Leave some for me; working on an empty stomach is utterly exhausting.”
Her plump body attempted to scramble over Ghervil’s arm, only to be gently but firmly stopped by the other hand.
“I recall you once spoke of some kind of bloodline power, and how you wanted to use it to make me call you ‘sister’ and fawn over you daily.”
“I don’t remember any such thing… Besides, shouldn’t you naturally call me ‘sister’ anyway…?”
Govet meekly retreated, her large tail ceasing its wagging, betraying her guilt.
“Of course, it’s only proper. So, my dearest sister, will you tell me the method?”
The girl’s beautiful, dark golden eyes, brimming with benevolence, slowly drew closer, startling Govet with this sudden shift in attitude.
“I must say, you’ve earned some of my respect; it seems you’re not entirely bad sometimes.”
“You should be delighted to have a sister like me; how can you accuse me of being bad?”
“Yes, yes, yes. If you weren’t about to finish all the Osmanthus Cakes, I might actually believe you.”
The whiskers at her mouth drooped in a helpless manner.
“Watch my eyes closely; I’ll only demonstrate once.”
Standing upright on the table, Govet’s eyes slowly took on a reddish hue, fixing an unwavering stare upon Ghervil before returning to normal after approximately five seconds.
“That’s all?” Ghervil asked, momentarily stunned.
“It won’t have an effect on you, so it was merely a brief demonstration.”
With a powerful leap from her short legs, Govet sprang to the plate, snatching the last few Osmanthus Cakes and stuffing them into her mouth.
“By focusing power through your eyes, you can induce a deep psychological suggestion,” she explained, her words muffled by the pastries. “The affected person or animal will briefly obey your simple and reasonable commands.”
“However, if the command is too complex or difficult, the suggestion will fail. You can try this in your normal state.”
Her ‘normal state’ referred to the crimson-eyed condition she exhibited when not under the potion’s influence.
The potion she consumed before boarding the train on Friday morning would only wear off by Monday morning, which was tomorrow.
This ability was quite extraordinary, holding immense utility in critical moments.
‘Merely gazing into someone’s eyes… it sounded simple, yet the actual execution might prove quite challenging.’
“Are there any precautions I should be aware of?”
“Never use it on someone who also commands dream abilities, unless you are significantly more powerful than them, and certainly never for ill deeds,” Govet advised, a genuine concern in her voice. “Try to avoid using it whenever possible; I fear your body might not withstand the strain.”
Govet displayed the worry of an older sister, though her cheeks, still bulging with pastries, somewhat undermined her sincerity.
“I will be careful.”
It wasn’t merely a verbal promise; Ghervil genuinely feared the day she might fall into an eternal slumber.
****
Around two o’clock, two companions knocked upon their door and entered.
“Have you decided on our itinerary?”
Ramsey knew she wished to avoid anyone from the Hospital Department, though he couldn’t fathom why, given her seemingly good relationship with that particular doctor.
Having spent a considerable sum to purchase a house nearby and become her neighbor, it appeared, based on the information he had gathered and her experiences in Mistfall City, that the doctor intended to protect her.
With such a powerful ally, the investigation of their case would undoubtedly be much simpler.
“Perhaps we could begin by investigating the missing priest.”
Ghervil stated, her gaze fixed on the man.
She did indeed intend to meet with the doctors—otherwise, she wouldn’t have forged a new identity—but she preferred not to do so this soon.
It would be far better if the doctors took notice of her through her dealings with the Baron.
That way, it wouldn’t appear too deliberate.
“We still can’t bypass the Hospital Department, Ghervil,” Ramsey argued, taking a seat. “They currently possess the most intelligence, and their lack of major action stems from awaiting the arrival of their Chief.”
“Are you concealing something from me?”
Ghervil pressed him, her brows furrowed.
A priest, a doctor, and a deacon—they all belonged to The Order, but the eldest son of the Cambaton family seemed entirely unrelated, didn’t he?
Why would such a person receive such focused attention?
“Nonsense, my friend; I’ve already told you everything I know.”
Ramsey spread his hands, adopting the air of someone unjustly accused.
“As for the details of the case, what the Baron said aligns closely with my own findings. The other two matters are being managed by the Hospital Department, and I can hardly force my way into affairs unrelated to the plague.”
“Why would the Sacred Hall specifically ask *you* to investigate Mrs. Rose’s case?”
She remained unconvinced by the shrewd man’s explanation.
“It’s not necessarily just me; they might have enlisted others as well. Or perhaps the Sacred Hall simply lacks confidence in the doctors’ capabilities… Consider this: one of the first people to vanish was a doctor.”
“So if something happens to you, the Epidemic Prevention Bureau would have legitimate grounds to intervene?”
“You’re overthinking it. The Epidemic Prevention Bureau focuses solely on plague-related incidents. While their subordinate department, the police, can handle matters, they’re largely ineffective when doctors are involved.”
Truth be told, Ghervil couldn’t comprehend why the functional boundaries between these two departments were so rigidly defined.
Surely, involving more capable detectives would lead to greater efficiency in investigations.
Upon reflection, she considered that she might have misinterpreted Ramsey’s meaning: the Epidemic Prevention Bureau wasn’t unwilling, but rather excluded by the Hospital Department.
‘Was that what he truly meant?’
Very well, if that truly was the case, there was little she could do.
Casting a glance at Esli, who was attempting to circle the table and avoid Govet’s piercing gaze, Ghervil decided to send her back, intending to resume the investigation only after the Nightmare Revelation Potion (TL Note: A magical elixir that enhances dream-related abilities, often with significant side effects.) had worn off tomorrow.
A soft rap echoed from the door.
Esli, quick as a flash, darted to open it.
A woman in a white coat, still holding her hand in the knocking position, stood at the threshold. She visibly flinched, clearly not expecting the door to open so swiftly.
“…Pardon me, but is Ms. Rowan here? I was hoping she could assist me.”