Rose Manor stood on the central open ground of the residential district.
Outside a beautifully constructed standalone building, a group of figures in black trench coats stood guard, among whom were several doctors clad in black robes.
As the local church’s largest annual benefactor, Baron Cambaton had faced no opposition when constructing his manor here.
Ever since the Baron’s aberrant transformation after ingesting the potion, agents from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau had been maintaining a rotating vigil, while doctors from the hospital department monitored his condition.
The entire manor had been sealed off in advance, with visitors and most members of The Order evacuated, and the remaining personnel concentrated within its walls.
“How is Konehl-Ghervil’s condition?”
Upon meeting, Valo-Ramsey handed Dr. Callan a stack of documents detailing the findings of the gang’s investigation and the surveillance reports on the Baron’s residence.
Their inquiries had uncovered recent private transactions between the Baron and the gang, involving money and goods worth over three thousand Trin Gold Coins, enough to purchase several lives.
“As expected, the results gleaned from her experiences in the Dream Realm confirm it: the true Baron Cambaton is dead; what remains is an imposter cloaked in human skin.”
After a cursory glance, Dr. Callan passed the documents to her subordinate standing behind her; at this juncture, whether the Baron had colluded with a gang to hire assassins was utterly irrelevant.
“I wish to know how you are in contact with Sister Konehl-Ghervil, Crimson Lotus,” Bishop Gomor stated, leaning heavily on his staff, his expression grave.
“Sealing off the entire manor is no trivial matter; many of its patrons are influential figures in the Royal Capital, and I am obligated to provide them with an explanation.”
Less than two days after the flower exhibition concluded, the manor’s inexplicable lockdown had caused numerous business deals to be suspended or even terminated, resulting in significant financial losses.
“Better than them losing their lives here, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dr. Callan retrieved a vial from her pocket and tossed it to Father Asriel, who caught it deftly.
“She personally concocted this; you should be able to discern its purpose.”
The Father and the Bishop exchanged a knowing look, and with a nod of permission, Father Asriel twisted open the cap, releasing a pungent odor that prompted many present to pinch their nostrils.
Only the two high-ranking officials of the Holy Hall remained unperturbed; the Father, incredulous, held the potion to the sunlight for examination, while the Bishop widened his right eye, his obsidian orb fixed intently on the vial.
Merely inhaling its scent, they could feel a profound resonance with the dream energy within their bodies, indicating an exceptionally high purity.
“Perhaps a potion capable of bestowing blessings truly exists…”
After his initial shock, the Bishop shook his head, gesturing for Father Asriel to return the potion.
“This is a power beyond our purview.”
“It’s not that exaggerated; its effects are temporary, lasting only fifteen minutes.”
“Even so, it could be called a miracle…” the Father murmured, his eyes narrowed in wonder.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised, considering Sister Konehl-Ghervil hails from the Abbey.”
The elderly man, leaning on his staff, turned and departed, intending to negotiate compensation and placate the influential figures, leaving the Father to assist with the impending tasks.
With the external obstacles addressed, Dr. Callan turned her gaze to Valo-Ramsey.
“Withdraw your men; I will lead the team in from here.”
The man in the deerstalker hat remained unperturbed, a faint smile lingering at the corner of his lips as he puffed on his pipe.
“We are all individuals who have experienced that dream, Miss Callan.”
After a few seconds of mutual gaze, Dr. Callan recalled the man’s composure during the dream: his steadfastness in the face of any danger, his decisive nature, and his flawless judgment in critical moments. He was, without a doubt, a competent leader.
Crucially, neither of them had succumbed to sleep from an unknown force until the dream had entirely concluded.
This suggested that the cemetery ritual had either failed to activate or had been interrupted.
“It’s not entirely certain yet, but I won’t question her judgment. Bring your most capable agents; the rest of your people can wait outside.”
Two minutes later, a provisional seven-person team was assembled: three doctors, three agents, and the Father, whose dream-attuned abilities were now essential, entered the residence.
The three-story building was sumptuously decorated, with a crimson carpet gracing the staircase and priceless artworks adorning the walls.
The interior was dimly lit, as all the windows in the residence were obscured by heavy blackout curtains.
Combined with excellent soundproofing, entering felt like stepping into an indefinable, oppressive gloom.
The Baron’s room was on the third floor.
Dr. Callan and Valo-Ramsey led the way, with the others following closely behind.
“Was there anything unusual during this morning’s examination of the Baron?”
As they advanced slowly, Dr. Callan inquired of Dr. Schmidt, who walked behind her.
“We bandaged and reset his limbs, applying the finest medicines. If I had to point to an anomaly… his injuries showed no signs of healing,” the blue-haired doctor replied after a few moments of contemplation.
Aside from scheduled examinations, neither doctors nor agents were permitted entry into the residence.
The reason he hadn’t been transferred to a hospital was twofold: the house possessed comprehensive medical equipment, and it was Dandelion’s explicit request.
Their official explanation to him was that the Baron had suffered severe injuries from a fall down the stairs, rendering him comatose.
The agents conducted their surveillance discreetly, and the doctors performed their examinations under the guise of casual visits.
“We’ll know once we go inside.”
Stopping before a door, Dr. Callan cautioned the group.
She twisted the doorknob, a surgical knife clutched between the fingers of her other hand.
Beyond the opened door lay a spacious bedroom, a stark contrast in its aesthetic.
Despite its vintage decor, an array of medical instruments was arranged beside a grand walnut and velvet bed.
Everything appeared normal; the Baron lay motionless on the bed.
The agents and doctors remained vigilant, unwilling to relax even slightly without a superior’s command.
The Father approached within a meter of the bed, holding a crucifix in one hand as he began to pray.
“If my memory serves, this building was constructed two years ago,” Valo-Ramsey remarked, moving to the side of the bed, shifting medical equipment aside to examine the area.
“He donated a substantial sum not long after his return from the expedition.”
Father Asriel offered a terse reply, clearly disinclined to discuss the matter further.
“If he truly were a monster in human skin, your people would surely have discovered it by now… perhaps Sister Konehl-Ghervil is mistaken.”
“Returned from an expedition two years ago…”
A subtle unease stirred within Dr. Callan. She turned to Valo-Ramsey and said:
“A few people need to leave. If we don’t emerge within an hour, report to the Royal Capital and request backup.”
After a quick selection, one doctor and one agent departed.
Once only five remained in the room, Father Asriel proposed in a grave tone:
“I can examine the dream.”
“You’re aware the Baron became like this after consuming the Nightmare Revelation, which carries the risk of confronting nightmares directly,” Dr. Callan stated, slowly moving to stand beside Father Asriel.
“If I couldn’t handle a mere nightmare, I wouldn’t be in this position.”
“Wait, Asriel.”
Valo-Ramsey, having finished inspecting the floor with his flashlight, straightened up, intending to intervene, but it was already too late; Father Asriel stood tall and closed his eyes.
The others, resigned, fell silent, holding their breath in patient anticipation.
The primary reason for bringing the Father was to guard against dream-related traps, for with Sister Konehl-Ghervil’s precedent, such precautions were certainly warranted.
Three minutes later, the Father opened his eyes, his expression calm.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“I attempted to guide him, but the Baron isn’t dreaming; he’s merely sleeping soundly…”
“Ah—”
Before he could finish, Father Asriel let out a guttural cry, his hands clamping around his own throat. Dr. Schmidt lunged forward, only to be stopped by Dr. Callan’s outstretched arm, while Valo-Ramsey, maintaining his composure, raised his gun and aimed at the Baron.
In less than three seconds, the Father’s eyes turned bloodshot, and copious amounts of blood gushed from his ears, nose, and mouth.
The blood dripped from his arms and robes onto the floor, spreading outwards as if alive, forming grotesque symbols.