Even after the persuasion, Penelope did not rush to depart; instead, a thorough search of Alamany’s home yielded several crucial clues.
It was Esli who unearthed them, tucked away in a surprisingly conspicuous spot.
They lay casually discarded in the dry waste bin: several pieces of folded, tattered parchment, densely inscribed with text.
[The Blood Rose is, without doubt, a truly miraculous botanical specimen, its applications so vast as to defy imagination. It even possesses the capacity to merge with the plague itself.]
[I remain perplexed as to why the Blood Rose is so readily acquired. Beyond its extended maturation cycle and modest yield, its cultivation presents virtually no discernible difference from that of common roses. Indeed, one might even argue it is less a plant and more a divine endowment, a veritable miracle.]
It was immediately apparent that these entries were not penned from Alamany’s perspective.
Given her stature, Konehl-Ghervil stood centrally, perusing the various parchment sheets.
The two individuals flanking her, having also grasped the implication, held their tongues, eager for her to continue.
[A momentous discovery has corroborated my hypothesis: I have scoured every accessible ancient text, yet this flower’s emergence dates back no more than a century, as if conjured from thin air. The first individual to inadvertently cultivate a Blood Rose was a humble, unremarkable milkman, so ordinary that his name has been lost to history. This is merely what the extant historical records indicate.]
[In a forgotten corner of the Royal Library’s third floor, a volume titled ‘Observations – Divine Realm’ chronicles the genesis of the first genuine Blood Rose, born from the fusion of a goddess’s blood and a single seed. Upon encountering this ‘apocryphal’ account, I was utterly astonished; it perfectly aligned with my burgeoning theories.]
[Driven by curiosity, I skimmed the book’s other contents. ‘Childish, hollow, as if penned by a mere child’—such was my assessment. These fantastical passages, however, rekindled my doubts about the Blood Rose’s true origin. Regrettably, when I attempted to formalize the borrowing of this volume, I discovered my rank was insufficient, requiring me to attain the standing of a diocesan bishop.]
[Should I truly desire to borrow this book, my only recourse is to await Bishop Gomor’s retirement or to petition a bishop directly. My allotted time in the library is finite, and I cannot afford to squander it here, for other documents demand my attention.]
By this point, the identity of the journal’s owner became clear.
It was Father Kern-Aylmer.
But why, then, had his personal notes surfaced in this place?
“Father Aylmer’s mastery of the dream realm is, in truth, comparable to that of Bishop Gomor.”
Penelope suggested that these were notes transmitted through the power of the dream realm.
“They were likely left behind when he ensnared the mythical creature within a dream,” Govet-Ghervil then offered her own insight.
“To my knowledge, the final petal of the very first Blood Rose rests within the possession of the royal family.”
“Such a thing truly exists?” Konehl-Ghervil inquired, her voice tinged with surprise.
“Its color is white, assuming, of course, that the royal family has not yet expended the petal.”
“What purpose does it serve?”
“That much remains unclear; I have never truly witnessed it myself. Let us continue reading.”
Perceiving Govet-Ghervil’s reluctance to elaborate, Konehl-Ghervil refrained from further inquiry, resuming her perusal of the parchments.
[Once nourished with a particular type of blood, the fundamental efficacy of the Blood Rose undergoes a profound transformation, transcending the mere confines of ‘medicine.’]
[For too long, we erroneously believed the blood of the Green Lizard (TL Note: A type of magical creature, not a common reptile.) was the key. It was only during an accidental mishap, when my own blood mingled with the cultivated roses, that we witnessed a true miracle, forcing us to confront our misconception.]
[This ‘special blood’ refers to the vitae of those among us who have received divine blessings, its potency increasing with the depth of one’s dream mastery. I confess I am not the pioneer of this method; rather, I merely chanced upon its correct application, realizing its efficacy specifically in breaking curses.]
[Thus, it all becomes clear. A divine miracle bestowed by the goddess, it is only natural that it should resonate with the very essence of dream power.]
‘Was this, then, the very process by which the curse’s antidote was discovered?’
A wave of astonishment washed over her.
Such a confluence of coincidences felt almost preordained, as if an unseen hand guided events from the shadows.
She placed the final parchment atop the others.
The subsequent entries, however, proved rather disappointing.
They were disorganized, difficult to reconcile with what came before, and riddled with contradictions.
Even attempts to reorder them failed to bring clarity.
[I have exhausted every conceivable method, yet I remain ensnared by the curse.]
[My consciousness has plunged into chaos, enveloped by an impenetrable darkness.]
[Gradually, I am losing myself… I am no longer who I was…]
[It is only by virtue of the Blood Rose, supplied to us before the Baron’s arrival, that I now grasp this fleeting opportunity.]
[If only a white Blood Rose could be cultivated, perhaps every dilemma would unravel itself…]
Upon finishing, the threads of understanding that had almost cohered now twisted into an impenetrable tangle.
Konehl-Ghervil found herself assailed by a multitude of questions.
For instance, why would the author claim there was no escape from the curse, despite having ostensibly discovered its antidote?
And why would the Baron assist in preparing the Blood Rose? The true Baron was dead, was he not? An impostor would hardly perform such a benevolent act. Could these events have transpired two years prior?
The final sentence, however, was utterly impractical. To echo Govet-Ghervil’s likely assessment, one would either have to cultivate it in a daydream or resort to raiding the royal family’s coffers.
“I must go to the mayor’s residence to find Dr. Blumberg,” Penelope declared. “We cannot allow the memories he painstakingly recovered from Mr. Alamany to be lost again.”
More than the cryptic notes, Penelope’s concern lay with the doctor’s well-being.
Standing at the doorway, she gazed up at the sky with a worried expression, the dark clouds still lingering ominously overhead.
“Let Esli accompany you,” Konehl-Ghervil suggested. “Though she may seem… unconventional, she proves remarkably dependable in crucial moments.”
Konehl-Ghervil was acutely aware that, more often than not, she was a liability. If the mayor truly was an outsider, her presence would only exacerbate the danger.
“So, in your heart, I am truly reliable?”
Esli’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Konehl-Ghervil.
Her reaction was markedly unusual, as though she had only registered the latter half of the statement.
“No, Lady Konehl-Ghervil, you are safest by Sir Esli’s side,” Penelope countered. “Therefore, I shall proceed alone.”
“I concur with Penelope’s decision,” Esli stated bluntly. “My primary mission is to safeguard you, not others.”
Her words were, as ever, disarmingly direct.
Konehl-Ghervil cast a helpless glance at the knight.
‘This presents quite a predicament,’ she mused.
Indeed, she also had to consider the possibility that the trap was specifically orchestrated for her.
From the very outset, she had arrived here only after stumbling into a trap.
‘What possession of mine could possibly instill such apprehension in our adversary, preventing them from a direct assault?’
‘It seems there is nothing, truly.’
‘If one were to consider an unforeseen element… Esli, having been drawn into the dream by the curse, certainly qualifies. Could it be that she is the true object of their apprehension?’
Lost in thought, Konehl-Ghervil barely registered Penelope’s swift departure. By the time she hastened to the doorway and peered into the alley, Penelope had vanished, leaving no trace, not even a lingering footprint in the dust.
“Where did she go? Did you see her?”
“She simply… vanished,” Esli replied, rubbing the back of her head with one hand as she pointed towards a section of the wall. “Right about there, I think.”
“She utilized the power of a dream authority,” Govet-Ghervil supplied, her tone calm.
Govet-Ghervil’s clarification brought a sudden realization to Konehl-Ghervil.
This, she surmised, must be Penelope’s confidence in venturing forth alone; she commanded a portion of the dream authority.
“Dream authority…”
“Is it conceivable that the mythical creature has been delaying its awakening ritual due to a fragmented authority?”
“If it possesses sufficient cunning, such a possibility exists, even a strong probability,” Govet-Ghervil responded. “With its physical form sealed in reality, I, too, would opt for a method that ensures both a high chance of success and absolute security.”
‘So, it targeted Dr. Blumberg to reclaim its complete authority…’
Konehl-Ghervil’s pupils abruptly constricted, and she dashed into the muddy ground, running as she called out to Esli, who was hurrying after her:
“We must stop her! This is a trap specifically laid for Lady Penelope!”