Not having taken her medicine that morning was the gravest mistake Konehl-Ghervil had made; her crimson pupils were far too distinctive, easily recognizable to anyone.
Wearing sunglasses would have seemed utterly out of place for a scholar, and if she were asked to remove them, or if her pupils beneath them were inadvertently glimpsed, all would be lost.
In contrast, dark golden pupils were much more common, and pairing them with gold-rimmed glasses that suited her scholarly demeanor would hardly raise suspicion.
“Do not simply stand there, my time is precious.”
After a brief moment of stunned silence, a voice emanated from within.
Konehl-Ghervil’s gaze drifted towards the sound, and she observed the woman poring over a stack of documents on the desk, her attention clearly not on Konehl-Ghervil, which allowed her a slight sigh of relief.
With a touch of apprehension, Konehl-Ghervil clutched her bag, settling into the chair opposite, her hands clasped neatly on her lap, unsure of how to begin.
Had she been in her usual ‘foolish’ state, brought on by the medicine, she would never have felt such an acute nervousness.
While other details might escape memory, Lottus-Callan undoubtedly recalled her crimson pupils; after Konehl-Ghervil awoke from the plague incident, Lottus-Callan had repeatedly pleaded with her to forgo the medicine and maintain her natural state.
During that period, it seemed Lottus-Callan could barely tear her gaze away from Konehl-Ghervil’s eyes.
“By the looks of you, I’d say you’ve surmised my identity. Why not share your thoughts, madam?” the woman stated, her eyes still fixed on the documents.
“I… I had not anticipated being granted an audience with a Chief.”
Konehl-Ghervil deliberately lowered her voice, striving for a deeper tone to mask her natural timbre,
Yet, despite her efforts, a slight flaw in her disguise was inadvertently revealed.
After all, she had never received formal training in such deception.
As expected, the woman’s movements ceased; she slowly lifted her head, her brow furrowed slightly as she scrutinized Konehl-Ghervil.
“Ash-Rowan?”
“Yes…”
Responding cautiously, Konehl-Ghervil stole a glance at the documents, noting that they contained personal information about Ash-Rowan, with the first page displaying a black-and-white photograph from her student days.
As she mentally compared the image to her own appearance, Konehl-Ghervil couldn’t help but admire the manor nun’s masterful makeup artistry; the facial details and contours were almost perfectly replicated, save for a slightly more mature hairstyle that shed the last vestiges of youthful innocence.
“What is wrong with your eyes?”
“Excessive strain… I need to avoid ultraviolet light.”
Her gaze, hidden behind the sunglasses, dared not meet Lottus-Callan’s.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have a lovely voice?”
“What?”
For a moment, she suspected her cover was blown, compelling her to lift her eyes.
She found the woman’s expression perfectly normal, imbued with an inherent cool solemnity that suggested no hint of jest.
“Your voice is indeed pleasant, much like that of a friend of mine.”
“Thank… thank you…”
“There’s no need to be so tense. A Chief is merely human, not some monstrous being. I am younger than you, so consider me a classmate from your student days, or perhaps a current colleague.”
“Lottus-Callan, that is my name.”
“Understood, Lottus-Callan… Your Excellency.”
“Please dispense with ‘Your Excellency’; it sounds rather peculiar.”
“…Then, Miss Lottus-Callan?”
“Still a bit odd, I suppose. Never mind, let’s leave it at that.”
With a dismissive wave, Lottus-Callan gathered the documents and then directed her gaze to Govet, perched on Konehl-Ghervil’s shoulder.
“Did you purchase this chinchilla?”
“It was an unexpected find during a highland expedition. After it pilfered some roasted meat I had prepared, it simply wouldn’t leave my side, clinging to me relentlessly, so I had no choice but to bring it back.”
Konehl-Ghervil was remarkably adept at fabricating stories.
As a destitute student, she certainly couldn’t afford such a creature, and the details of her identity had to be meticulously maintained.
[Govet was utterly speechless. Her cooking was abominable, yet she had the audacity to claim it was delicious.]
[Had it not been coerced, why would it ever have left Mistfall City to come here?]
“It’s quite beautiful. I once saw one in the capital, but it pales significantly in comparison to this one.”
Lottus-Callan meticulously observed the fluffy creature.
“Does it have a name?”
As the conversation flowed, the tension in the air gradually dissipated.
“Govet.”
“Might I be permitted to stroke this little one?”
“It’s unlikely to allow anyone but me to approach it.”
No sooner had Konehl-Ghervil spoken than the fluffy creature immediately committed an act of betrayal, leaping onto the table and wagging its tail at Lottus-Callan.
Konehl-Ghervil was instantly dumbfounded.
‘The audacity of this creature, showing such a different face!’
Just as Lottus-Callan reached out to pick it up, it darted to the floor, scurrying around the room like an oversized rat.
It plunged behind a counter laden with decorative items, a cacophony of rustling and clattering ensuing, only to emerge moments later clutching a scone, which it promptly deposited on the counter and began devouring with gusto.
Both women stared, utterly transfixed, neither thinking to intervene.
‘What a nuisance this creature is proving to be.’
With a darkened expression, Konehl-Ghervil rose, intending to catch it.
“My apologies, Miss Lottus-Callan. It’s usually not like this; it must have eaten something amiss today.”
“It’s quite alright. Those pastries are meant for guests anyway. Let it enjoy them,” Lottus-Callan interjected, stopping her.
“I appreciate your generosity.”
“There’s no need for hasty thanks. While we certainly have a request of you, you must first demonstrate your worth and prove your innocence to us.”
A hint of her former solemnity returned to Lottus-Callan’s demeanor.
‘Prove my innocence?’
Just as Konehl-Ghervil was about to inquire further, Lottus-Callan continued:
“Have there been any findings regarding that petal?”
Adjusting her sunglasses, Konehl-Ghervil betrayed no dissatisfaction with this abrupt shift in tone.
In her memory, Lottus-Callan’s attitude towards others was often far worse, barely deigning to utter a few words.
The mere fact that Lottus-Callan was patiently conversing with her was a considerable show of respect.
“Unless I am mistaken, then you must have been given the wrong item. The former is impossible, and the latter… I doubt it. Therefore, what you have is merely a common Blood Rose petal cultivated with ox blood.”
“And what if I were to insist that you are, in fact, mistaken?”
The woman’s questioning tone carried an underlying threat.
“Then, regrettably, our collaboration must end here. However, I shall continue to investigate my friend’s disappearance on my own.”
A heavy silence fell between them as their gazes locked.
Neither was willing to yield.
From the counter, where it had been gorging itself, Govet silently retrieved a piece of pastry, hopped back onto the girl’s shoulder, and began eating while bristling its fur in a show of support.
Ultimately, it was Lottus-Callan who first broke the quietude.
“You possess considerable courage, Ms. Rowan.”
“I have encountered many scholars, and most, once they learn my identity, find themselves unable to maintain their usual arrogance; a certain apprehension invariably creeps in.
They invariably view those from the Hospital Department as nothing more than executioners.”
“Indeed, I share that apprehension.”
“I perceived as much. Yet, you have not bent to my will, and for that, you have passed the first test in my estimation.”
“I fail to comprehend why individuals such as yourselves are so fond of these so-called ‘tests’ and circuitous methods.”
Konehl-Ghervil allowed a flicker of indignation to show, or rather, the principled spirit of a scholar.
“If this is indeed a mutual collaboration, then sincerity should be paramount.”
Slightly taken aback, Lottus-Callan had not expected such a retort from Konehl-Ghervil and found it rather amusing.
“Having lived your life shielded in a greenhouse, you wouldn’t understand.
Some matters cannot be judged by appearances alone; they are far more perilous than you could imagine.
Take this current case, for instance: a moment’s carelessness, and one day your corpse could be left to fester and rot in a ditch, undiscovered by anyone.”
Despite the sharp exchange, Konehl-Ghervil maintained an outwardly dismissive air, yet inwardly, she felt a wave of relief.
Her objective was largely accomplished; she had successfully cultivated the image of an inexperienced, impetuous scholar in Lottus-Callan’s mind.
Provided she made no further blunders, her true identity would likely remain concealed.
“This is no mere scaremongering; I guarantee it as a Chief. Knowing all this, do you still intend to collaborate with us?” Lottus-Callan pressed on.
“My answer is unequivocal: I will pursue the investigation alone if necessary, but a reliable partner would certainly be preferable.”
“Very well.”
A series of sharp claps echoed.
Abruptly, the room plunged into darkness.
“One final question, which will determine the capacity in which you depart from this place.”
From across the room, a deep, oppressive voice resonated,
“Who, precisely, developed the potion named ‘Nightmare Revelation’ that you provided to Baron Gomor?”