The awakening of the mythical creature spelled doom for everyone, not just the town, but Florence City itself.
It was akin to a train dilemma on a circular track, where the only choice was the order of demise.
Konehl-Ghervil pondered a way to halt the train.
Rummaging through every thought in her mind, she stumbled upon a grim truth: she didn’t even know where to find the mechanical wrench that controlled the tracks.
Compared to when she first arrived in this world, she had gained a certain understanding of the mist, the plague, and dreams.
She felt she could rival an experienced agent from the Epidemic Prevention Bureau; to have learned so much in just two months was no small feat.
Yet, mythical creatures transcended the scope of these three phenomena.
Not to mention the ancient divine language and ancient secrets Govet-Ghervil had mentioned.
On any other day, she would have pestered Govet-Ghervil incessantly until an answer was given or a clear refusal.
Now, she lacked both the time and the energy.
“What if, and I mean *if*, the town’s timeline never progresses to its final stage? Would that prevent the mythical creature from awakening?”
“To even entertain such a hypothesis suggests you’ve either resigned yourself to remaining eternally unconscious within this dream, or you plan to.”
Govet-Ghervil ruthlessly exposed her thoughts.
“I must admit, the youngsters from the Hospital Department are right about some things.”
“Even if you manage to slowly find a way to wake me, it wouldn’t be too late.
I’ve grown accustomed to this long slumber…”
“Such a hypothesis is impossible!”
Govet-Ghervil interrupted with grave seriousness.
“The seals outside won’t hold much longer.
Either the dream or reality will inevitably break the balance.
Even if you manage to stabilize the dream, reality won’t find a solution quickly.”
“Consider those around you—your friends and family.
You are different now; there’s far more for you to consider.”
Its tone softened, becoming gentle once more.
Konehl-Ghervil fell silent.
In truth, her feelings toward familial affection were profoundly distant.
She questioned whether her parents’ unilateral devotion truly qualified as kinship.
During the severest stages of her illness, she had even forgotten her own parents.
She hadn’t shed a single tear even upon hearing of their deaths.
Her interactions with Govet-Ghervil were much the same.
For this sister, who had suddenly appeared claiming a blood connection, she wished to foster a normal sisterly bond, addressing her as ‘older sister,’ indulging in childish whims, and offering excessive reliance and trust.
She was incapable of it, having never experienced such a relationship.
She could only maintain an attitude that was neither distant nor overly intimate.
“If your body were elsewhere, my power should be enough to keep you alive within the dream.”
Realizing she had perhaps said too much, Govet-Ghervil attempted to change the subject with a suggestion.
“That option has already been ruled out.”
“I know, unless there’s a better way.”
A better way…
Pushing her anxieties aside, Konehl-Ghervil was suddenly struck by an idea bold enough to be called audacious.
“I want to know if the rule that states death in the true dream means eternal loss within it applies to mythical creatures.”
“A rule… that’s how you interpret it.
Indeed, it could be considered a rule…”
“Just tell me if it’s possible.”
She couldn’t quite grasp Govet-Ghervil’s composure at this moment.
Was it because she was accustomed to grand spectacles, or did she simply not care about the lives of others?
“Since it is a rule, no creature can violate it unless they achieve the level of a god or are the rule itself.
This mythical creature’s level is clearly not that high.”
At last, a sliver of hope emerged.
Yet, the very next instant this thought bloomed, Govet-Ghervil doused her with a bucket of cold water.
“This is an almost impossible feat.
Have you forgotten who the master of the dream is?
Penelope-Rose-Cambaton and Heinz-Blumberg, merely possessing a fraction of the dream’s authority, could resurrect the dead and control corrupted entities.
A mythical creature wielding most of that authority could achieve far more, not less.”
“If it wished, it could initiate the awakening ritual right now…”
Her voice trailed off, Govet-Ghervil seemingly lost in thought.
“That’s it!”
Konehl-Ghervil was quick to seize upon the crucial point.
“We need to understand why it’s been delaying killing everyone in the dream.”
****
*Whoosh—*
A fierce wind howled, causing the windows to buzz loudly.
The inn’s windows, small and sturdy, were secured with iron frames, specifically designed to withstand wind and sandstorms.
The intensity of the sound made it clear just how powerful the wind outside truly was.
“Tell the Baron’s eldest daughter and that doctor the truth about the town.”
Govet-Ghervil said slowly.
“Time is running out.”
****
Inside a conference room on the third floor of Rose Manor’s cathedral, which offered a view of the distant pulsating mass outside.
Several influential figures from Florence City had gathered there.
Local nobility, represented by the Baron’s brother, Nick-Cambaton; Bishop Diliwo-Gomor of the diocese; Valo-Ramsey, representing both the Epidemic Prevention Bureau and the police; the meeting’s organizer, Lottus-Callan, Chief of the Hospital Department; and, seated at the periphery, a lady wearing a tall hat and a black veil concealing her face.
According to information provided by the cathedral, Lottus-Callan learned that the lady was a senior scholar from the Dream Society, named Bryn-Worth.
“Forgive my bluntness, but your claim that my brother is the vessel for the corrupted heart is an outright fabrication, Chief.”
After reviewing the documents, Nick-Cambaton, with his goatee, was the first to speak.
His voice was not loud, yet it possessed a piercing quality.
The other nobles beside him nodded in agreement.
They were on good terms with the Baron’s family and, to some extent, dependent on them.
With the Baron dead, his eldest son was somewhat ineffectual.
For a time, perhaps even from now on, he would be the true power within the family.
As for the Baron’s second son, who had gone to the Royal Capital to seek his fortune, he had been out of contact with the family for so long that it was uncertain if he was even alive.
“The documents clearly state that the Baron died two years ago.
The ‘Baron’ you believe in has always been that disgusting pulsating mass outside.”
Lottus-Callan did not deign to look at him directly, instead poring over the illustrated notes in her hands.
“Nonsense! Utter nonsense! What corrupted entity could possibly hide beneath the Goddess’s gaze for two whole years?”
Nick-Cambaton nearly sprang to his feet.
But, noting the prevailing atmosphere in the room, he settled back down.
“I have no obligation to make you believe, or to put it more bluntly: you, and those beside you, have no right to be seated here.
In other words, no one here will give a moment’s thought to your opinions, views, or any other notions you may have.”
Had the Baron himself been present, Lottus-Callan might have shown him a modicum of respect.
But for his brother, she couldn’t even be bothered to utter his name.
These individuals were summoned merely for notification and warning, to prevent them from stirring up trouble should the city plunge into crisis.
“You!”
Under the bewildered gazes of the surrounding nobles, Nick-Cambaton slammed his hand on the table and rose to his feet.
“Don’t imagine we fear you simply because you’re the Chief.
I shall report your words and deeds today to His Majesty, every single one of them!”
“By all means.
And now, you may leave.”
Knowing that remaining any longer would only invite further unpleasantness, Nick-Cambaton, seething with indignation, led his entourage away.
Silence descended upon the conference room.
Lottus-Callan passed around the pieced-together, illustrated notes to the remaining attendees.
It took a full fifteen minutes for everyone to review them.
“There are some points in the documents I don’t understand, Miss Crimson Lotus.”
Bryn-Worth inquired.
“Please, speak freely, Madam.”
“Father Aylmer revealed to you the method by which the corrupted entity transformed into a mythical creature before his sacrifice.
However, it appears you already knew the enemy you faced was a mythical creature even before investigating the Baron.
I wish to know the basis of your judgment.”
“It was not my judgment.
The information came from Konehl-Ghervil, the last nun of Solis Abbey.”
“Konehl-Ghervil…”
Bryn-Worth murmured the surname again.
“Where is Sister Konehl-Ghervil now?
Might I have an audience with her?”
“Her current condition is peculiar; I fear a meeting is not possible.”
Lottus-Callan gently shook her head.
“Peculiar condition?”
“Due to my oversight, Sister Konehl-Ghervil fell into the enemy’s trap.”
Bishop Gomor replied.
The sacrifice of two prominent clergy members from the cathedral had plunged him into self-reproach, and his weak voice faintly carried a hint of resentment.
“Our understanding of this mythical creature is too limited.
This is no longer a situation that can be swayed by a single faction’s power.”
Valo-Ramsey stepped forward to mediate.
“Until reinforcements arrive, we must simply do what is required of us.”
If this year’s mist had dissipated at its usual time, the knight order stationed in the city would not have departed prematurely.
Lottus-Callan let out a soft sigh, her gaze hardening with resolve.
“The Royal Capital has been informed, and we’ve received their reply: the nearest Third Knight Order will arrive within two days.”
“Before then, we must ensure that accursed heart does not emerge from its chrysalis.”