"But!"
She suddenly grew serious. "You must tell me what your relationship with that man is! Did you send him? Did you send him to drive a wedge between my Papa and Mama…?"
"Of course not." Edward replied, "His name is Dubois. In fact, he's been your father's good friend for more than ten years. They only fell out because of some misunderstandings. The reason your mother went to see him last time was actually to help reconcile him with your father."
Bernadette's face lit up instantly. "Really?"
"If you don't believe me, you can ask your father and mother directly. I already told you not to let your imagination run wild all day. Children should be carefree and happy. You'll have more than enough worries once you grow up."
—Just like Lilith.
"Ehh~~"
Bernadette shrank her neck a little. "The way you're looking at me…it's so strange."
"Ahem, I just thought of my daughter."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "You have a daughter? Where is she? How old is she? Can you introduce me to her?"
Edward shook his head. "She…got separated from me. Everything I'm doing now is for the sake of finding her."
"Ah—" She patted him sympathetically. "You'll definitely find her!"
She hesitated, then added, "Why don't you tell Father, and let him help you?"
"Thank you. I'll consider it."
"Mhm, mhm."
Bernadette nodded earnestly, but then something else came to mind. "Oh right, Mr. Sparrow, when will you take me to look for the Little Mermaid again? I fell asleep halfway last time."
"In a couple of days."
"Alright then."
At that moment, she rubbed her eyes and gave a long yawn—clearly exhausted.
"Go back to sleep. Look at you, your eyes are already closing."
She pouted, propping her chin on her hands. "I'm a child who just went through a murder and an attempted murder. How could I possibly just fall asleep like nothing happened?"
"Sigh. Normally, Daddy would tell me a story to put me to bed, but tonight he definitely won't have the time. And Mama's stories are no fun at all."
Bernadette wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, I'm definitely going to be up all night."
Edward couldn't help laughing. "That night, you fell asleep on a pirate bed, with the whole sea tossing you around in giant waves. You won't be losing any sleep now."
"I really will!" Her eyes darted slyly toward Edward. "Mr. Sparrow…why don't you tell me a story?"
"Me? Come on, I'm the one who's injured here. And you want me to tell you a bedtime story? Do you even have a conscience?"
"…"
"Oh." She pressed her lips together, disappointment written across her face.
"…Fine, fine."
Edward sighed and shook his head. "What kind of story do you want to hear?"
Bernadette's eyes sparkled. "Anything!"
She scrambled over to the sofa and lay down, resting her cheek on one hand while staring at him. "Quick, quick, quick!"
"Since it's for bedtime…I'll tell you the story of Sleeping Beauty."
"Yay~"
"Once upon a time, there was a kingdom. After the queen gave birth to a lovely daughter, she invited friends from all walks of life—both humans and fairies—to a grand feast. But she did not invite the evil witch…"
Edward slowed his tone deliberately, weaving the tale from memory, word by word. For a moment, it felt as if he were back in the future—telling a fairy tale not to a little girl, but to the Queen Mystic.
Bernadette lay curled on the sofa, her big eyes growing heavier, her breathing steadying. Before the story was even halfway through, she had fallen sound asleep.
Edward shook his head, leaving the story unfinished. He turned toward the window, gazing at the crimson moon in the night sky.
The evening deepened. With the last guest finally taking his leave, the Gustav family's banquet at last came to a close.
Roselle stepped out of his study and went straight to the bishop of Trier Cathedral.
"Let's go, Your Excellency."
"What happened earlier…"
"Already taken care of. Don't worry."
The bishop smiled. "If you ever encounter difficulties, remember you can always seek help from the Church. Don't forget—you are our 'Son of Steam.'"
"Of course. Please, this way."
———
An hour later, after escorting the bishop back to the cathedral, Roselle boarded his luxurious family carriage for the journey home.
He leaned back against the seat, holding in his hand a hundred-Felkin bill—the very note he had stolen from the donation box he'd helped carry into the cathedral.
That donation box was of his own making. Before the banquet began, he had carefully smeared glue along the inside of the slot. As the very first "donor," he had pressed the hundred-férkin note against the glued spot so it wouldn't drop into the bottom of the box. That way, when he later "helped" move it, he could inconspicuously reclaim it inside the cathedral.
"This way, the task that that so-called 'Evil God' gave me…is completed."
Hopefully, the next time they met, he would be able to hear from that "Evil God" the piece of information he most desired.
When the carriage rolled into his estate, a withered voice came from the opposite seat: "There was nothing unusual along the way. It seems that witch had no other companions."
"More likely, she was frightened away by you, Lord Zaratul."
"Heh, then I suppose the blame lies with me."
Zaratul's silhouette slowly took shape in the carriage.
"The Secret Order said you had vanished, busy with something unknown. What brings you to me so suddenly?"
"Heh, I happened to return for a while. Then I heard you were looking for me, so I came."
Zaratul gave a dry smile and extended his withered hand. "The object you wanted divined—where is it?"
"Uh…back at home. When Adolf failed in his divination, the puppet turned into nothing more than an ordinary stick. Later, I had others try, but they couldn't divine anything from it."
"Let me try again. Perhaps you don't realise—among all Paths, the Miracle Invoker is…the one most suited to creating miracles."
Roselle frowned, then asked, "Lord Zaratul, what exactly is a 'miracle'? Last time you skipped over the question, as if you were afraid I might know the answer."
Zaratul chuckled. "And what do you think?"
"What do I think?"
Roselle said evenly, "The only miracles in my heart are wonders of civilisation! For example—the Aurmir Palace of the Feysac Empire, once the dwelling place of the Giant King Aurmir."
"As expected, everyone has a different understanding of miracles. To me…" His tone paused.
"What is a miracle? A miracle is to be resurrected from the dead!"
"…"
Roselle froze, his mind racing: Resurrected from the dead?
On Earth, I "died," and in this world I was reborn.
Doesn't that count as a resurrection?
Could that too be called a miracle?
"No…I prefer to call it 'hacking the game.'"
Zaratul burst into laughter. "You always spit out the strangest words. But perhaps that is precisely why you could become the 'Son of Steam.'"
Just as they entered the villa, Matilda approached and whispered, "Dubois is leaving."
Roselle snorted, "Let him go then. What, does he expect me to see him off?"
"Mr. Sparrow is leaving as well."
"Oh, I nearly forgot."
He suddenly remembered, frowning. "His injury was no small matter. Why is he in such a hurry to leave?"
At that moment, Dubois came forward, supporting the pale-faced Edward. Perhaps he had taken too large a step, for a sharp jolt of pain twitched across his features. Still, when he saw the couple, he forced a smile.
"Mr. Gustav, Madam, everyone else has gone. We shall take our leave as well."
Matilda said gently, "Mr. Sparrow, you really should stay with us a few more days to recover. We have a family doctor who can take excellent care of you."
That's exactly what I'm afraid of…Once the bandages come off tomorrow, the lack of any real wound will give everything away. Normally, with either 'False Reality' or 'Transfiguration,' I could handle it easily. But with Zaratul here in the villa, better not to risk it.
"No need, no need. Just some flesh wounds. I wouldn't want to trouble you."
Roselle replied, "Trouble? Not at all. You saved Bernadette—we haven't even properly thanked you yet."
"Just receiving the invitation to tonight's banquet was the greatest thanks I could hope for."
After a few more courteous exchanges, the couple did not insist further. Together they walked their guests to the door, where Dubois was instructing the coachman to drive as smoothly as possible, so as not to aggravate Mr. Sparrow's wounds.
Roselle glanced sidelong at Dubois, stroking his moustache with a smirk. "Well now, Dubois, you're just going to flee without saying anything to me?"
Dubois arched an eyebrow. "Say what?"
The corner of his lips lifted. "Oh, that wine I gave you tonight? It wasn't some aphrodisiac at all. Just an ordinary red."
"???"
Roselle's smile froze. He almost lunged forward, but Matilda quickly grabbed his arm. "You son of a—"
"Isn't your body perfectly fine? Whether or not it boosts your virility, what difference does it make?"
"…Who said I cared? I just don't like being lied to!"
Roselle tugged at his collar, snorted coldly, then said with malicious glee, "By the way, I heard you used to fool around with courtesans a few years back, picked up some nasty diseases. Does your new employer know that?"
Dubois's face darkened. "Better worry about yourself."
"What do I have to worry about? Everyone knows I, Roselle, am clean as a whistle."
"You see this?"
Dubois raised a middle finger.
At that moment, Edward spoke up, as if remembering something. "Right, Mr. Gustav. Next time I host a banquet, you must come."
"Of course!"
Roselle agreed readily. "Hey! A haunted house that no one dares live in, with Dubois here serving me—just thinking about it sounds fun. Don't you agree, Dubois?"
"Uhm…That villa on Rose Street was something I mistakenly rented when I first came to Trier. I'll be moving to Emerald Street soon, so if I host a banquet, it'll likely be there instead."
"What a pity." Roselle shrugged.
"Oh, Klein, don't keep calling me 'Mr. Gustav.' Sounds far too distant. Just call me Roselle. I'll count you as a friend from now on."
Tch…that feels wrong somehow. Should've avoided using Klein's name.
Edward gave a slight bow. "Then good night, Roselle."
With Dubois supporting him, he climbed laboriously into the carriage. The driver cracked the reins, and the horses pulled the vehicle slowly away into the darkness.
Once the carriage had vanished from sight, Roselle's smile faded. He turned his head toward one side—where no one else could see—and asked Zaratul, "This Klein Sparrow…is there something wrong with him?"
———
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