In the real world, a white-haired woman lay wrapped in a blanket, her pale skin exposed on her back.
She held Konehl-Ghervil in her arms.
Having only just reverted to her human form, Govet-Ghervil had no time to seek proper attire, instead hastily drawing the blanket around her to conceal her vital areas.
Forehead pressed against forehead.
She tirelessly attempted to enter the dream, her efforts repetitive and increasingly desperate.
Consumed by an overwhelming anxiety, she neglected to ascertain the root causes of her repeated failures.
Time offered no quarter, and even a single wasted second could precipitate the direst of outcomes.
Mere minutes elapsed, yet the girl cradled in her embrace still breathed, her body retaining its warmth.
A fleeting sense of relief allowed her to compel herself into a state of calm reflection.
Typically, the inability to enter a dream stemmed from one of two conditions: either being actively repelled from it, or possessing insufficient inherent ability.
Since the mythological creature was in the midst of a ritual, it wouldn’t actively repel her.
‘My own ability…’
Indeed, the number of beings whose mastery of dreams eclipsed her own, even in her restored form, could be counted on a single hand.
This led to but one inescapable conclusion: Konehl-Ghervil was not within a dream.
‘Where could she have gone in such a short time?’
Even as the weight in her arms subtly diminished, her realization dawned too late to tighten her grasp.
Her arms closed around empty air, just as a dazzling, blinding light permeated the entire chamber.
Her pupils dilated, her expression turning grim and vacant as the realization of Konehl-Ghervil’s destination struck her.
“The Divine Realm of Recalled Dreams.”
****
The individual cultivating the roses was a woman whose visage remained perpetually obscured.
Indeed, not merely her face, but every other distinguishing physical characteristic remained frustratingly obscure.
It was solely by the elegant, sweeping gown she wore that one could deduce her femininity.
Konehl-Ghervil’s mind drifted to the pixelated imagery of her past life, a constantly shifting kaleidoscope of colors. If forced to describe the woman below, she would liken her to a being whose upper half was perpetually shrouded in a shifting mosaic.
A peculiar sense of kinship stirred within her as she observed the woman, though staring for too long quickly brought on a disorienting dizziness.
Her form gently descended, settling upon a stretch of steps as the familiar pull of gravity reasserted itself.
Her immediate action was to examine her own body; the gaping, bloody wound on her chest had vanished without a trace, and her garments were miraculously pristine.
It was as if she had never been injured.
‘What is this place…’
‘Another dream?’
A boundless expanse of roses stretched in every direction, and from the panoramic view she’d glimpsed from above, she surmised her current position to be somewhere near the garden’s heart.
This seemed to be the only plausible explanation; such an immense garden could not exist in reality.
Considering she had been on the verge of death in her previous dream, only to find her wounds instantly healed here, she tentatively concluded this must be a new dream, and its proprietor none other than the ethereal woman she had observed from above.
With a measure of acceptance for her current, bewildering reality, she turned her attention to scrutinizing the characteristics of this new dreamscape.
Her past dream experiences had been dichotomous: either she was a passive witness to distant memories, utterly powerless to intervene, or she assumed a role within the dream, granted the ability to converse with its inhabitants.
Reaching up, she drew a strand of hair from her chest—it was pristine white. She then pinched her cheek with considerable force, verifying the distinct, painful sensation.
‘A new, real dream?’
‘Uncertain. I should observe further.’
She plucked a petal from a crimson rose that had nearly brushed her face, observing it, inhaling its scent, and finally tasting it. A delicate sweetness, a hint of tartness, and a soft, fibrous texture confirmed it was a perfectly ordinary rose.
‘I remember white roses…’
Assured that no eyes observed her, she allowed her impolite curiosity free rein, shuffling across the steps to a spot where a white rose serendipitously blossomed.
Her fingers paused at the edge of a petal.
Something felt amiss.
She lightly licked her lips, savoring the aftertaste.
‘Wait! I tasted it myself!’
‘My sense of taste has returned!’
Click—
Click—
The distinct sound of high heels approached from directly behind her.
Her momentary elation abruptly shattered, replaced by a surge of alarm, for her actions were, beyond doubt, those of a thief.
Being caught by the owner would certainly not end well.
With an endless expanse of roses surrounding her and nowhere to conceal herself, she harbored no desire to be transformed into a bristling pincushion.
As the footsteps drew inexorably closer, she opted for decisive action over futile hesitation, rising, turning, and bowing her head deeply in a gesture of contrite admission.
“I’m terribly sorry… Madam, I didn’t intend to steal your roses to eat them. How can I explain… I don’t know why I’m even here…”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the long gown stop beside her, motionless.
“Was it your doing?”
The woman’s voice was beautiful, gentle and captivating.
‘Why ‘your’ plural, and not ‘you’ singular?’
With a puzzled frown, she slowly raised her gaze, observing the woman who now faced a nearby swing chair where several white doves idly swayed.
Coo… coo…
Coo…
At the implied accusation, the white doves merely exchanged bewildered glances before fluttering away, leaving a scattering of feathers to descend through the tranquil air.
Stooping to tenderly stroke a single rose, the woman then shook her head, resuming her silent promenade.
‘Is she blind or deaf…’
Konehl-Ghervil dismissed her impolite conjectures.
Even when she had apologized loudly, the doves on the swing chair hadn’t reacted.
The outcome was clear.
The creatures of this world could neither see nor hear her.
Her eyes fell upon the adjacent patch of roses, where the petals she had surreptitiously consumed had already regenerated, vibrant and whole.
‘What wondrous power…’
Realizing she was ‘invisible’, Konehl-Ghervil grew bolder.
She trotted after the woman, curious to see where she was headed.
The staircase meandered, broken by stretches of path, and after several turns, they paused in a vibrant expanse dominated by crimson roses.
The woman raised her hand over a rose, extending her index finger, its back facing upwards.
‘What is she doing?’
To scrutinize the action more closely, Konehl-Ghervil edged within half a meter, crouching slightly to align her gaze with the woman’s outstretched finger.
A single, pristine drop of blood coalesced at the very tip of her finger, swelling into a perfect sphere before detaching and descending.
The rose, having imbibed the droplet of blood, began to transmute from its very heart, an immaculate white radiating outwards.
Roses within a twenty-meter radius underwent the same startling metamorphosis.
Witnessing this scene, her mind reeled.
She remembered the notes left by Father Aylmer.
The first Blood Rose was said to have originated from the Goddess’s blood combined with a single seed.
Govet-Ghervil had mentioned it was white.
With movements almost stiff, she lifted her gaze to the mosaic-like woman.
‘This person…’
‘Could she be the Goddess herself…’
She had just witnessed the Goddess creating a white Blood Rose.
This revelation diverged wildly from established lore; it wasn’t merely the primordial Blood Rose, but *any* Blood Rose nurtured by the Goddess’s blood, that blossomed white!
Having finished with that section, the Goddess departed.
Konehl-Ghervil remained transfixed, her eyes drawn to the newly formed white roses, a burgeoning curiosity consuming her.
‘What purpose could cultivating so many serve?’
Then she recalled the final sentence in the notes: ‘If one could cultivate a single white Blood Rose, perhaps all problems would be resolved…’
Father Aylmer’s theft from the hospital’s stores had been an attempt to cultivate white Blood Roses, an endeavor destined for futility, for the Goddess’s blood was beyond mortal acquisition.
‘It doesn’t necessarily have to be blood…’
In a daze, she reached out for the nearest white rose petal.
The instant her touch met the petal, an agonizing, searing pain blossomed in her chest.
The very pain of being pierced by an ice spear.
Her body gave way, and the same excruciating pain assailed her twice, her consciousness seemingly flung back to the town, to the precipice of death.
The two dreamscapes merged and overlaid, blood blurring half of her vision as she desperately clung to the rose petal, her grip unyielding.
“This is not where you belong,” a serene, gentle female voice murmured as a soft touch brushed her cheek.
Her fingers were easily pried open, and the petal was returned to its rightful place.
On the other side, the knight knelt before her, apologizing repeatedly in a muffled voice:
“I’m so sorry…”
“Truly, I am so sorry, Konehl-Ghervil…”
“I don’t know how this happened.”
“I never intended to harm you…”
“For just an instant, I lost control of my body…”
A faint sense of comfort washed over her; at first, when she was attacked, she had thought the Baron’s warning about the people from The Order was correct.
Esli had not attacked her willingly; she had been used.
Knowing this was enough.
All confusion and bewilderment vanished.
Enduring the intense pain, she mustered all her strength, managing to lift a finger slightly and open her mouth, which felt as if her dwindling life force was further draining away.
“Blood…”
The tranquil rose garden utterly dissipated at that moment.
A fierce wind raged, and she saw all the blood from her chest gather beneath a single rose, its topmost bloom turning white.
Noticing that the girl was not yet dead, Esli froze for a moment, then scrambled backward on her knees to make space, leaning down to listen for her voice.
She dared not move any part of Konehl-Ghervil’s body.
This was no time for error.
“Tell me what to do!”
Her face quickly became stained crimson with residual blood.
“How can I save you!”
“…White… rose…”
Konehl-Ghervil uttered in fragmented gasps.
Her gaze focused, following Konehl-Ghervil’s finger, Esli saw the white rose standing resilient in the wind, less than a meter to her right.
She effortlessly plucked the entire flower, then looked back at the girl, realizing she could no longer respond.
In this critical moment, Esli could only rely on common sense to assume this item was meant for consumption.
There was no known external application for a Blood Rose.
She crushed the petals into a ball, gently opened Konehl-Ghervil’s mouth, but as she brought it to her lips, her head suddenly buzzed.
“Ah—”
A tearing pain made her cry out.
She realized the thought of giving Konehl-Ghervil the white rose had not originated from within her.
“No…”
“No…”
“Someone wants you to eat this flower!”
“Don’t do it!”
Her body gradually lost control.
Esli furiously slammed her head against the dirt.
Her left hand uncontrollably tried to force the petals into the girl’s mouth.
“Stop it!”
Her eyes bloodshot, she fiercely bit off her middle and index fingers.
The remaining fingers continued to push the rose forward.
“Why… this shouldn’t be happening!”
With a final, desperate resolve, she bit off her remaining fingers and swallowed the white rose along with them.
“Ah!”
The pain in her head receded, replaced by a new agony in her body.
An extreme cold spread from within her, and the blood flowing from her wounds froze into ice.
Propping herself up with the ice spear, Esli stiffly walked step by step towards the dark heart not far away.
Innumerable tentacles surged towards her.
In her final moments of being devoured, she looked back at the girl.
“I’m sorry, Konehl-Ghervil, I won’t be able to repay you myself…”
As if having ingested some potent venom, the heart dramatically collapsed, crushing the date palm grove, its corruption and melting spreading from the source.
The human faces and tentacles beneath the scales thrashed in a dying struggle, twisting their bodies to detach from the main mass. It was futile; like the curse they themselves had sown, they would be infected no matter where they fled.
Several sharp-eyed human-faced tentacles spotted the dying girl lying among the roses, intent on dragging her down with them or feasting one last time before death.
They slithered desperately like snakes.
Just as they reached the girl, they were smashed to pulp by an ice axe hurled from within the massive, decaying heart.
The heart, along with everyone it had consumed, melted into a pool of blood.
Witnessing everything, Konehl-Ghervil couldn’t even speak; clear tears streamed from her eyes, her vision blurred, and her consciousness dissipated along with the dream.
In the real world, the mythological creature known as Thrale-Erg-Gunoorse’s heart met a fate similar to its dream counterpart.
The most elite knights of the entire Third Knight Order had gathered there, leaving it no chance to retaliate.
Punching through the creature’s core, Commander Lamar wore a bewildered expression.
“Did another Chief come? This thing… it wouldn’t have lasted long even without my intervention.”
“No, it wasn’t someone from the Hospital Department. I am the only Chief in this city,” Dr. Callan said, shaking her head slowly as she approached from behind.
Not only was the emergence two hours earlier than anticipated, but the creature also lacked the terror it had exuded when they faced it on the third floor. Even a simple curse from it had nearly claimed her life before.
Now…
Her brow furrowed.
‘Could it be!’
“It seems the Knight Order’s mission is not yet complete. There is a being capable of easily destroying mythological creatures, and we must ascertain their stance towards this city, and indeed, towards humanity.”
Lamar walked to her side.
“Crimson Lotus, your abilities surpass mine when dealing with these hidden pests. Let us search together.”
He had come prepared to die, yet the battle had ended before he even warmed up, leaving him with pent-up frustration. If he found the true culprit behind the heart’s destruction, he would, by all means, fight a satisfying battle first before demanding answers.
“Bastard! Who are you calling a pest!”
Cursing, Dr. Callan shoved past a reporting knight and hastily left the manor, bypassing the cordon.
“What did I do wrong???”
Lamar was utterly perplexed.
“Women’s tempers are truly unpredictable…”
Having been inexplicably scolded, he was certainly displeased. Ignoring his subordinate’s report, he fixed his gaze on the man in the distance, who was directing agents in clearing the battlefield and puffing on a pipe.
“Mr. Valo-Ramsey, do you have any leads on the person who killed the mythological creature?”
Valo-Ramsey, a Fourth-Grade Epidemic Prevention Bureau agent, though not high in rank, was well-known in their circles. He didn’t need to ask; he could identify the person based on the characteristics.
“If Commander Lamar wishes to trouble her, I fear you will be disappointed.”
Valo-Ramsey spread his hands, a helpless look on his face.
“Her backer is likely someone you cannot afford to offend.”
“Even if her backer were Her Majesty the Queen, if she has done harm to the city, I will personally drag her before Her Majesty to confess her crimes!” The silver-haired man declared righteously, making a fist-bumping gesture.
“But I wish to inform you that her backer is the Goddess.”
“???”
‘Her backer is the Goddess?’
Lamar suspected the agent was mocking him. Just as he was about to call it absurd, something suddenly occurred to him.
Rumor had it that one of the conditions for joining Solis Abbey was receiving the Goddess’s approval, and coincidentally, that nun was in Florence City…
“Hahaha—”
He suddenly burst into laughter.
“You’re right to scold me; I deserved it.”
Watching the doctor leave, Lamar outwardly accepted his mistake, but inwardly, he rejoiced that he hadn’t acted on his initial impulse.
Driving furiously to the Medical Department office building at the sanatorium, Dr. Callan rushed into a bedroom and pushed open the door.
The scene that met her eyes was not significantly different from her memory.
The girl lay motionless on the bed.
‘The mythological creature is dead, so why isn’t she awake?’
Her hopes were dashed.
She heard a muffled sob from beneath the blanket; it was Govet-Ghervil weeping.
She felt as if struck by lightning.
Her steps faltered slightly as she walked incredulously to the bedside and pulled back the blanket.
The weeping intensified. Govet-Ghervil was sprawled on the girl’s chest, her large tail covering her eyes, crying inconsolably.
A tear fell, and her gaze slowly moved upwards, seeing a face that had regained its color.
She heard the contents of the furball’s tearful lament.
“Waaah—”
“My poor sister, I thought I’d lost you forever…”
“How did you end up in that dreadful place?”
“You truly terrified me…”
“Waaah—”
“…”
The additional tears flowing were a mix of anger and joyful relief.
“Look at you, a grown adult.”
She cast a disapproving glance at the furball, wiped away her tears, and drew open the curtains, pushing open the window.
The lingering glow of the sunset cast a golden hue over the rose garden outside the building.
Birds perched on the treetops.
She covered the furball, who had cried herself to sleep from overwhelming grief, with the blanket.
Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to the girl’s forehead.
…
“In the end, I relied on you once more.”
“How shall I ever repay you when you awaken?”
Leaves drifted down, and the gentle breeze carried a touch of coolness.
She smoothed her hair, letting the breeze caress her cheek.
“Let me check the time…”
…
“Autumn, it must be near, right?”
——————
End of Volume.