A World Distorted, A Truth Revealed

The scope of the mist was not limited to the forest; it also permeated the streets, though here it was much thinner than in the woods, floating high above the city and barely affecting visibility.

Only the sunlight filtering through the mist appeared hazy, much like the city’s very name.

The streets were not deserted, yet the prevalence of coarse linen and wool garments worn by most people suggested that the inhabitants of this thoroughfare were far from affluent.

Her own form-fitting gown, adorned with delicate lace made of finely processed wool, stood out remarkably.

Taking a carriage had indeed been the right decision.

But who could have imagined that someone so splendidly dressed would be unable to afford even a single carriage fare?

Mi Xia had already devised a plan: she would sweet-talk the coachman into bringing her back to the monastery later, where she could then claim reimbursement from the Abbess.

While most vehicles encountered were carriages, she occasionally spotted an old black car with two prominent taillights.

As she attempted to silently read the car’s license plate, a peculiar phenomenon occurred.

The ordinarily sequential numbers became twisted, chaotic, and utterly indecipherable.

Rubbing her eyes, she glanced behind the car, towards a craftsman’s workshop filled with an assortment of wooden and iron tools.

The words painted on the wooden sign above the door appeared like childish scribbles.

Moreover, she discovered that any visual information, such as a symbol on a signpost, would likewise transform into this distorted, jumbled, and unreadable mess.

What in the blazes was happening?

Such an issue had certainly not arisen when she had read the almanac on the monastery wall.

She recalled the pale red potion, with its peculiar scent and pupil-altering properties, surmising that this strange affliction might be a consequence of consuming it.

Her mood plummeted precipitously.

If the price of avoiding being labeled a ‘Mist Sickness patient’ was to possess the literacy of a newborn infant, she would far rather be discovered and dragged off for treatment; perhaps they could even cure her of having become a girl.

“Please don’t let the somewhat unkempt appearance of this street deceive you,” the coachman explained with a smile from the front, “for it is, in fact, a rather well-known prosperous thoroughfare in this vicinity.

Many noble ladies, much like yourself, dispatch their people here to procure perfumes and furnishings.

For instance, ‘Oak Heart,’ the establishment you were just observing so intently, is a renowned national chain of craftsmen; even knights rely on them for infrastructure maintenance.”

Mi Xia did not want her look of dismay at the chaotic scribbles to be mistaken for disdain for the street itself.

Mi Xia merely grimaced, unsure how to respond.

‘Oak Heart,’ she realized, was the name of that indescribable monstrosity.

“And then there’s ‘Knight’s Hearth’ bakery up ahead; their pastries are absolutely exquisite…”

Seeing that the man intended to continue his incessant chatter, Mi Xia hastily interjected,

“I meant no disrespect,” she quickly clarified, “I am simply new to this place, and it brought certain memories to mind.

And you are mistaken; I am not a noble.”

She spoke no falsehoods; it was natural for anyone entering an unfamiliar environment to reflect on more familiar surroundings, and even amidst these boisterous streets, which she rather disliked, she couldn’t help but draw comparisons.

“Oh! My apologies, please forgive my poor judgment.”

The coachman fell silent then, setting aside his enthusiasm to focus on driving the carriage.

Canary Street stretched for a considerable length.

Beyond this bustling thoroughfare, after navigating two crossroads, a left turn followed by a right, and passing a church, they finally neared its end.

There, on an open plot of land separated by a row of residential buildings, stood a four-story structure boasting an ornate porch and a towering spire.

“We’ve arrived,” the coachman announced. “This is 12 Canary Street, the Second Precinct of the Mist City Police Department.”

Taking the suitcase from her hands and setting it on the ground, he bowed slightly with a smile.

“The full journey down Canary Street amounts to three Denarii and six Groats, but considering this is your first ride, I’ll deduct one-seventh of the fee, making it three Denarii.”

The coachman’s gaze was so earnest that Mi Xia found herself in a quandary, utterly bewildered even by the currency units.

The Abbess had given her no other instructions; it was supposed to be a simple, swift delivery of a box.

“Um…” Mi Xia began hesitantly.

“My name is Bert Scard,” the coachman interjected, his voice kind. “Just call me Scard.

Please, speak your mind; I am listening.”

Perceiving her predicament, he displayed remarkable patience.

“It’s like this, Mister Scard… I might need you to take me back later, and I’ll settle the full fare with you then.

It won’t take much longer.”

“Of course,” he replied, a reassuring smile on his face. “I trust a beautiful young lady like yourself would never lie, and besides, no one would choose to break the law right here.”

Indeed, with the police station directly before them and a church not far off, his words held weight.

Mi Xia felt a blush of shame; she had observed during the journey that carriage fares were typically paid upfront.

That the coachman would agree to such an arrangement now was likely a benefit derived from her current appearance and physical form.

“Shall I help you carry it inside?” the coachman offered, gesturing towards the box.

“No, thank you! I can manage it myself.”

Hastily dragging the box, Mi Xia strode purposefully towards the police station entrance, unwilling to engage in further conversation.

She suddenly felt that responding emotionally to external stimuli might not always be a blessing; perhaps her former state of numbness had its merits.

Pushing open the slightly ajar door, she entered a reasonably spacious lobby.

A female officer, perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight, dressed in a dark grey uniform with her brown hair tied back, sat at a desk, her expression serious and intent as she perused some documents.

The officer was so engrossed that she only noticed Mi Xia, who had dragged the suitcase across the carpet to stand before her, with a startled gasp.

Quickly, she flipped the dossier in her hands face down, concealing its contents.

Glancing up, she was surprised to see a young woman.

She had never encountered such an elegant and beautiful girl, though it was possible the dress enhanced her aura.

The girl’s harmless, endearing appearance immediately put her at ease.

“Hello, I’m Officer Anthea Clove, on duty this morning.

How may I assist you?”

Mi Xia did not reply.

Instead, her mind replayed the fragments of content she had glimpsed in the dossier.

Though the officer had flipped it swiftly, it had been a moment too late.

She had clearly seen photographs of several charred, blackened corpses, taken from various angles, and fragments of clothing still clinging to the bodies…

“Hello?” Anthea prompted, a hand waving gently before Mi Xia’s face.

“Oh, right…” Mi Xia mumbled, ignoring the waving hand.

She reached for the suitcase but, halfway through lifting it, found her strength utterly depleted.

With a thud, she let it fall to the floor, then nudged it with her foot; the cumbersome item had caused her no small amount of trouble.

“The Abbess of Solis Monastery asked me to deliver this to you.”

Curiosity about the photographs and the dossier’s contents notwithstanding, Mi Xia had not forgotten her primary task; someone was waiting outside.

“Solis Monastery…” Anthea murmured, a frown creasing her brow as she rose from her desk.

Noticing the suitcase leaning against the desk leg, she knelt and opened it.

The contents made her pause, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

After rummaging for a few seconds, as if suddenly recalling something dreadful, she looked up, her eyes wide with alarm.

The young woman, however, had already reached the doorway.

“Wait a moment!” Anthea called out.

“I’m sorry, I seem to have amnesia; I don’t know anything at all!” Mi Xia shouted back.

Her cry did not halt the girl, who, with an almost polite gesture, closed the door behind her.

Mi Xia cared not what the box contained.

From Anthea’s astonished tone, she surmised it was likely an item connected to a homicide.

Such a discovery would undoubtedly entail hours of questioning, and moreover, she truly knew nothing.

“Hey, miss, over here!”

The carriage had stopped by the roadside a short distance away, and the coachman was waving to her.

“Mister Scard, thank you for waiting here!”

“Are we heading back to where I first picked you up?” the coachman asked, turning from his seat as she was about to board.

Mi Xia smiled, stepping onto the carriage with one foot and steadying herself with both hands on the doorframe as she replied,

“Not this time.

If it’s possible, I’d like you to take me directly to Solis Monastery.”

“Wait… perhaps you could repeat the location…”

The reins slipped from the coachman’s hands, and an expression of astonishment spread across his face, growing wider and more exaggerated on his gaunt cheeks.

“Solis Monastery,” Mi Xia confirmed, her foot still poised above the carriage step. “Is there a problem?”

She felt a surge of confusion.

‘How could this man be laughing and chatting one moment, only to look as though he’d seen a ghost the next?’

“May I be so bold as to ask, what business do you have there?”

“If all goes as planned,” Mi Xia replied, “I will be receiving the Abbess’s permission to reside there long-term.”

“Goddess preserve us!” the coachman exclaimed, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his brow, his voice trembling slightly.

“Three days ago, a great fire consumed everything there…”