Callan’s mind went blank, followed immediately by a surge of anger.
Her wrath was not directed at others, but at herself.
She couldn’t believe she had failed to see through such a simple disguise.
She had believed she understood her unique friend well enough, the last nun of Solis Abbey.
Konehl-Ghervil’s voice, personality, appearance, and even her daily habits were etched into Callan’s memory, known to her like the back of her hand.
Such a basic error should have been impossible for her to make.
“When did she arrive in Florence City?”
Her voice remained unnervingly calm.
She knew that anger served no purpose now, and she certainly wouldn’t display it.
“The afternoon of August 25th.”
“I want to know why she came here.”
“You’ll find your answers in her satchel.”
Valo-Ramsey gestured towards the satchel.
After summoning an agent and giving a few instructions, he moved to Ishmele-Esli’s side to examine her, reaching the same conclusion.
Taking up the satchel, Callan rummaged through it, pulling out a notebook, an envelope, a fountain pen, and a dozen silver coins.
Her spirits lifted when she discovered two gold coins and a small glass vial of medicine tucked away in a separate compartment.
Opening the vial, she lightly sniffed its contents.
The scent unmistakably confirmed it was the genuine ‘Nightmare Revelation’.
It could alter eye color and alleviate symptoms.
A point of oversight suddenly struck her: she hadn’t verified the authenticity of the medicine.
She should have asked ‘Ms. Rowan’ at the time for more samples.
Yet, Konehl-Ghervil would undoubtedly have found a way to falsify them, never complying honestly.
Dismissing further deliberation, she unscrewed the cap and poured a mouthful of the potion into the girl’s mouth.
After ensuring Ishmele-Esli had swallowed it, Callan gently patted her face, calling her name.
Aside from a change in eye color, there was no other response.
This ruled out a narcolepsy attack, after all, a knight lay unconscious nearby.
Narcolepsy couldn’t possibly be contagious.
Valo-Ramsey had silently observed her actions throughout.
Noticing her faint look of disappointment, he offered a reminder.
“The letter.”
“Incidentally, her presence here might be at the behest of the Royal Family.”
Frowning, she tore open the letter and scanned its contents.
Her gaze lingered on the final paragraph.
The letter stipulated that their last meeting was to be today.
Given that the incident occurred precisely today, it was impossible not to suspect a premeditated plot.
Furthermore, with the Royal Family involved, matters would undoubtedly become exceedingly complicated.
The Mistfall City plague incident had many peculiar aspects, and she had also sensed a hidden power at play.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t investigated thoroughly, but either her authority didn’t extend to matters involving Solis Abbey, or there were simply no leads.
This was largely why she had written to Konehl-Ghervil, urging her not to wander off.
“Do you believe their current inability to awaken is connected to the forces behind last night’s assassination?”
“At least, the evidence I’ve uncovered suggests as much.”
“Have you ever considered how they knew I would bring her into the dream? Very few people are aware of that fact.”
“Perhaps one person knew and possessed sufficient capability, but I don’t believe it was him.”
Valo-Ramsey pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time.
“I’ve already dispatched men; regardless, we require his assistance now.”
Callan offered no rebuttal.
Her mind replayed the details of the dream.
Upon entering a dream, one’s first awareness was typically of the dream’s owner; it was also possible to encounter others within the dream, whose masks often served as symbols of their identity.
If they had merely seen the girls, half an hour would have been ample time to set up their traps.
On second thought, it seemed unlikely.
Solving cases within dreams required the use of dream abilities.
Excluding the vanished Aylmer, there were currently two individuals within The Order proficient in dream manipulation, yet only one of them could have known immediately.
“I, too, would prefer to believe it wasn’t him.”
Lowering her head slightly, she closed her eyes in thought.
She quickly dismissed the notion.
If a bishop of a major city diocese were implicated, the repercussions would be catastrophic.
Turning her thoughts back to the slumber itself, another detail emerged.
Without knowing the true dream abilities of the Solis Abbey nun, what made them believe they could contend with her in a dream?
Perhaps they intended to target Ms. Rowan, not Konehl-Ghervil?
In that case, one more person remained suspect.
“Where is the Baron now?”
“Still at the manor; my men are already on their way.”
Valo-Ramsey had anticipated this.
Casting a profound glance at the slumbering girl, Callan resolved to remain by her side.
The agents could only assess the situation; a Baron required her personal attention, but not at this moment.
****
Ten minutes later, Bishop Gomor arrived.
He appeared frail, his one visible eye lacking much vitality, supported by Father Asriel.
“My apologies, Crimson Lotus, for failing to detect the anomaly within the dream.
Rose Manor undoubtedly bears full responsibility for what has befallen Sister Konehl-Ghervil.”
Gomor regarded her with his single eye, his prosthetic eye remaining tightly shut.
His voice was weak and devoid of strength.
“I haven’t come to assign blame.
What transpired in those final minutes?”
Callan’s voice held a note of urgency.
“Allow me to explain.”
Father Asriel stepped forward.
“This particular session didn’t last the full thirty minutes; the Bishop’s health hasn’t been good recently, so what you witnessed at the end…”
“What?” she asked, her brow furrowed.
Understanding dawned on her swiftly.
She knew that the old man had been using dream powers to search for clues about his missing, possibly traitorous, clergy.
She simply hadn’t realized he was so weakened that he couldn’t even maintain a routine activity he’d performed for years.
“To be precise, it was twenty-nine minutes and thirty-one seconds,” Valo-Ramsey declared, producing a report whose origins were unknown to Callan.
Few would pay close attention to a discrepancy of mere tens of seconds.
Without the current predicament, it wouldn’t even be considered unusual.
“I suspect what you saw might have been Aylmer.”
Asriel’s face held a look of disdain.
“I must concede that his abilities surpass mine.”
He glanced at the Bishop beside him, then hesitated, as if holding back further words.
All the locals present were well aware that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, he was destined to be Florence City’s next Bishop.
Bishop Gomor had always groomed Aylmer as his successor.
“Do you have a solution?”
Callan turned to the priest who possessed dream powers.
“I would require a drop of blood as a medium; then I can attempt to enter Sister Konehl-Ghervil’s dream to ascertain her current state.”
Asriel produced a small test tube and offered it.
Callan moved with swift precision.
With a surgical blade, she made a tiny incision on the girl’s fingertip.
A single drop of blood welled up and was collected.
After adding some other ingredients and elixirs, the test tube was half-filled.
Downing the concoction in one gulp, his right hand clutching the crucifix at his chest, Asriel stood motionless, his eyes closed.
This method of entering another’s dream bore a resemblance to the investigative techniques employed by the Epidemic Prevention Bureau.
During the wait, no one uttered a sound, nor did anyone notice a creeping drowsiness slowly enveloping them.
Callan was the first to succumb.
She slumped beside Konehl-Ghervil, her hand clasping the girl’s soft one, her head drooping, her consciousness hovering at the precipice between dream and reality.
Valo-Ramsey remained standing, still holding his documents, struggling to keep his eyelids from fully closing.
“Wake Asriel, quickly!” A trembling, aged voice cried out.
“He’s lost control!”
The two startled awake, seeing the Bishop’s prosthetic eye wide open, as he stared in disbelief at the man clutching the crucifix with closed eyes.
Having experienced similar situations before, they both understood what needed to be done.
Yet, the wave of exhaustion quickly surged again, their movements faltered.
Not a single one of them managed to put their thoughts into action.
Bishop Gomor’s prosthetic eye, too, began to sag, threatening to close.
The crucifix in Asriel’s hand shattered.
Asriel’s eyes sprang open; they were bloodshot, and a few drops of bloody tears trickled from their corners, as if he were enduring immense agony.
*Thud!* He lasted only a few seconds before collapsing unconscious to the floor.
Unnoticed by anyone, nestled among the flowers in the corner, the red hue in Govet-Ghervil’s eyes slowly receded.
“You should count yourselves fortunate that I was here,” she murmured.
“The Ghervil bloodline is not one just anyone can meddle with.”