Ten minutes elapsed, and as the familiar chimes resonated, all those waiting in line stirred, returning to the harsh embrace of reality.
Yet, the dream had not concluded for everyone; some were already growing restless with anticipation.
“You can make your question as intricate as you wish,” Dr. Callan instructed, her voice low. “After all, you’re the last one. If he dares to give you a perfunctory answer, only to tell me upon waking, I’ll personally ensure he faces consequences. The Order has contributed the least to this entire affair.”
With her admonition delivered to Konehl-Ghervil, Dr. Callan departed the dreamscape, her subordinates trailing behind her.
Valo-Ramsey had already left a step earlier, intent on assessing the investigative progress of his agents in the waking world; he had brought a considerable number of Epidemic Prevention Bureau operatives with him upon arrival.
Ishmele-Esli, having wandered off to explore, had yet to return.
There was no need to seek her out, however, as everyone would awaken once the dream concluded.
Casting a significant glance at the pavilion, Konehl-Ghervil surmised that Dr. Callan harbored ulterior motives, intending to cause some trouble for the Bishop while ostensibly inquiring about the case.
All current evidence pointed to Father Aylmer as the true mastermind.
“Next,” an aged voice echoed from within the pavilion.
Having leveraged her connections to secure a back door, Konehl-Ghervil could only steel herself and advance.
As she stepped within the pavilion’s perimeter, the light around her gradually dimmed.
With each stride, this transformation intensified.
The sky itself was rapidly darkening.
The stone stool and table before her lay conspicuously empty.
Konehl-Ghervil, refusing to behave like a wide-eyed provincial newly arrived in the city, avoided curious glances and walked directly to the stone stool, settling herself upon it.
A more dramatic shift then occurred.
The cloudless expanse above became studded with stars, and night descended.
It was a truly novel experience, this environmental transformation seemingly orchestrated by her proximity to the stone table.
She found herself somewhat agreeing with Dr. Callan’s assessment: this particular Bishop seemed to enjoy squandering his formidable power on peculiar displays.
The ethereal glow from two white candle lamps carved out a small, intimate space, roughly encompassing the confines of the pavilion.
Across the stone table, a figure materialized simultaneously, their body hunched, clad in a full black robe, and wearing an ancient mask adorned with faded floral patterns.
Perhaps the figure wasn’t truly hunched, but rather, Bishop Gomor was simply a man of short stature.
The mask featured a single eye, revealing only the right obsidian prosthetic eye beneath it.
“What is it you wish to inquire about, traveler from afar?”
As the candlelight flickered, Konehl-Ghervil’s wandering thoughts were abruptly pulled back.
‘Indeed… what *should* I ask?’
‘Should I directly address the case, or inquire about my personal affairs?’
Had she not discerned Dr. Callan’s true intentions, she would have already decided to ask where she might find the missing pages of her notebook.
‘And would I truly receive an answer?’
A profound skepticism gnawed at her.
‘If it were truly so miraculous, they could simply send someone to ask directly about the whereabouts of missing persons, couldn’t they?’
“May I only pose a single question?”
“Has the esteemed guest settled upon this as their question?”
“…”
‘Does *that* count as a question?’
Very well, the answer had already been provided.
“Allow me a moment to consider…”
Since there was no one waiting behind her, a slight delay surely wouldn’t matter.
‘Govet-Ghervil?’
‘Sister?’
She called out twice in her mind, but received no reply.
Her mind had been notably quieter ever since she entered the central void island.
‘Why betray me at such a crucial juncture?’
After a brief period of contemplation, a question that served two purposes finally came to her.
“How much of the money in my Royal Bank account will I actually receive upon my return to Mistfall City?”
She hadn’t inquired about the exact timing of the funds’ availability, as merely receiving the money implied her account would be unfrozen.
Crucially, an account could be unfrozen anywhere a Royal Bank branch existed.
She anticipated a significant expense in Florence City—the cost of acquiring a Blood Rose—and what if she decided to extend her stay and explore the city as a tourist?
Thus, she had directly inquired about the amount she would receive upon her return to Mistfall City.
The condition for unfreezing her account was the completion of an official commission; the hospital department, for now, counted as official.
Afterward, she would simply shamelessly ask Dr. Callan to issue a certificate of completion.
By then, given the bond of friendship they shared, Dr. Callan surely wouldn’t refuse such a minor favor.
In essence, this single question would not only reveal the amount of money she stood to gain but also indicate whether the case itself could be resolved.
Once more, Konehl-Ghervil found herself admiring her own ingenuity.
“I do not know.”
‘?’
It was an utterly unexpected response.
While undeniably honest, it left her with an unsettling sensation of being thoroughly misled.
“Heheheh…”
Before she could formulate a reply, a shrill, eerie cackle suddenly emanated from beneath the mask.
“I know a far more crucial answer.”
“You, the foolish Cambaton family, the overreaching Epidemic Prevention Bureau, and those accursed Ravens.”
“You shall perish.”
“All who stand in my way shall meet their absolute demise…”
The voice, spectral and chilling, swirled around them.
A profound sense of dread began to creep up her spine.
A wave of dizziness washed over her.
Whoosh—
The candles were extinguished.
A ferocious gale, laden with sand and searing heat, tore through the pavilion, ripping away her hat, wig, and even her mask.
Through her blurred vision, the robed figure — no longer masked, for the mask was nowhere to be seen — revealed a putrefied face, its original features utterly indistinguishable.
Its skin melted and sagged, its head shriveled.
Its bones appeared corroded, as if by potent acid.
The entire form slumped, slowly dissolving into a bloody sludge.
Her face stung from the abrasive sandstorm, and she instinctively squeezed her eyes shut, shielding her face with her right hand as she cautiously attempted to back away from the gruesome pile.
The wind, however, was too powerful; she was swept up and tumbled several times.
Her mouth was filled with sand, and she could only spit it out while curling into a ball, protecting her head.
One hand flailed wildly, grasping at anything within reach.
Yet, there was nothing to grasp.
The scenery had shifted, and now there was nothing but sand, stretching endlessly.
Sand, of course, offered no purchase.
A minute later, after what felt like dozens of tumbles, her body finally came to a halt, granting her a moment to catch her breath.
From within a small dune, a snow-white hand clawed its way through the sand, emerging into the open.
“Hoo—”
With a surge of strength, Konehl-Ghervil pushed herself up, half her body emerging from the golden sands.
Konehl-Ghervil gulped in fresh air, shook the clinging sand from her body, and, freeing her other hand, rubbed her aching head as she surveyed her surroundings.
The sight that greeted her made her heart clench.
Merely a few centimeters behind her lay a dense cluster of spiky cacti.
Another few centimeters of rolling, and she would have found herself impaled in that thorny mass.
After digging her lower body out from the sand, she found herself utterly spent, and collapsed onto the spot to rest.
As she checked her physical state, her gaze swept across the surroundings, where the scorching sun caused heat haze to shimmer above the endless dunes.
An unbroken vista of desert stretched to the horizon.
‘Where in the world did Govet-Ghervil go…’
Grumbing about her unreliable sister, Konehl-Ghervil laboriously snapped off a cactus thorn and held it poised above her fingertip, hesitating whether to pierce her skin.
The conventional method for awakening from a dream was to induce a certain level of pain, though with practice, one could achieve it through conscious suggestion alone.
The lingering aches from her recent tumble still resonated through her body.
Without much further hesitation, she tossed the thorn aside.
This was clearly no ordinary dream; she even questioned if she had truly awakened at all.
****
Outside the resting area in the waking world.
Agents from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau reported to Valo-Ramsey that they had found no trace of gangsters or any other suspicious individuals.
This diverged from their expectations; the mastermind behind the events had not attempted a second assassination.
Yet, he swiftly sensed that something was amiss.
Five minutes had elapsed since the dream should have concluded, yet not a single stir emanated from within.
After instructing his subordinates to remain vigilant, he immediately entered the resting area.
The scene before him confirmed his growing suspicions.
The young woman sleeping in the rattan chair remained unconscious, and, moreover, the knight beside her also appeared to be profoundly asleep.
Dr. Callan stood between them, assessing the young woman’s condition, her hand reaching toward her eyes. Noticing the newcomer, she spoke:
“Ms. Rowan’s constitution is rather delicate, and her initial foray into the dreamscape seems to have caused some discomfort. She may awaken a little later.”
“How fares the situation on your end?”
“It would have been far better had you allowed the Epidemic Prevention Bureau to intervene sooner, Miss Callan,” Valo-Ramsey responded, his expression etched with exasperation.
Knowing the young woman’s true identity, he understood it was impossible for her to experience discomfort simply from entering a dream.
“What do you mean…?”
Her hands still moving, Dr. Callan looked up at him with a puzzled expression.
Valo-Ramsey offered no verbal reply, instead gesturing for her to continue her examination.
Removing her sunglasses, Dr. Callan now had a legitimate reason to scrutinize the pupils. Examining a person’s light reflex was essential to determine if they were merely asleep or truly unconscious.
Being closer this time, she could observe more thoroughly, without the need for excessive caution, and the sleeping face grew increasingly familiar.
The traces of makeup were clearly visible.
‘How could this be…’
‘Wasn’t she illiterate?’
Shock rippled through her.
She glanced up, and the expression on the man’s face affirmed her unspoken thoughts.
Her brows furrowed deeply as she dimly grasped the implications of the situation.
She first chose to part the hair at the roots, revealing hairpins and a hair tie used for securing it.
Upon removing the wig, the truth became unmistakably clear.
Snow-white hair cascaded, covering half of the young woman’s face.
Still unwilling to believe, she gently lifted an eyelid.
Her breathing hitched as the sight of crimson pupils caused her entire being to freeze.