'Should I adjust the pace a bit? It wouldn't be fun if it all happened at once.'
With the mindset of playing a role, I hid my body under the blanket. Doing this, I could hide my expression and face, making it possible for Godric to imagine my expressions instead.
Of me, the one whose rationality was dulled and judgment clouded.
"No need to…"
"Alright, alright. So you're throwing a little tantrum now, huh?"
The bed shifts slightly to one side. Godric sat on the edge of the bed. The annoying, bothersome guy must have been eager to confirm with his own eyes that he had finally made me kneel before him.
That was what I had been aiming for.
"Leave me alone…"
Pretending to ignore him, I turned my back. But the persistent bastard leaned toward me, gently pulling the blanket down like unwrapping a gift and softly whispering in my ear.
"Really?"
His loosely tied hair slipped from his shoulder, brushing against my cheek.
And in this moment…
I held my breath, focusing intently.
'The smell of winter… no, is it water?'
The subtle, different scent I had picked up from Godric when he returned from his outing—slightly damp, the bottom edge of his tousled cloak, his long blonde hair a bit more disheveled, as if he had been out in the wind.
These were all clues that could be linked to his time outside.
And crucially—the trace of ash on his sleeve and a small drop of blood.
'If it was a stain from inside the capital, it wouldn't stay like that.'
I hadn't spent the past few days idly like some annoying servant. To escape, one must first understand the structure of their prison, right?
So, I had been observing Kargasthol, the stage, and I found one consistency.
Broken cups are glued back together, spilled tea is refilled, and stains on this fire are thoroughly cleaned.
'It's as if they are trying to reset the stage props to their original state.'
I conducted several experiments to verify my suspicions.
I pretended to rebel, smashing the plaster statues decorated in the bedroom, and even threw the slightly cracked oil jar out the window.
I broke a lot of things.
Each time, Godric would look at me like I was a troublemaker and scold me, saying, "It's useless," which was annoying, but through these experiments, I was able to confirm my theory.
The jar that had been cracked from the start still showed its crack after being restored. It wasn't replaced with a new one; it just returned to its original state.
There was also a natural stain on the bedroom's fireplace, which I had scrubbed with my sleeve. But not long after, the same stain reappeared on the fireplace, while my sleeve was spotless, without a speck of dust.
Props on the stage are reset to their original condition for use.
'It's similar to what happens every time the writers reset the scenario.'
The buildings that make up the backdrop of Kargasthol repeatedly collapse and are rebuilt. Then, they collapse again not long after, but they are always rebuilt, tirelessly.
'Could it be that the stage can't fix itself because it's damaged? It's continuously being rebuilt to maintain the original state, even though it keeps collapsing.'
In other words, the strange laws of physics in the capital, Kargasthol, don't occur randomly.
Therefore, the stain on Godric's clothes couldn't have originated here.
If the stain had come from within the stage of Kargasthol, it would have been reset to its original state.
'He must have been to the stage.'
There is a way to escape.
Now, the only thing left is to figure out how. How could Godric travel back and forth between the capital and the stage in such a short time?
"What should I do to help you sleep better?"
The voice from beside my pillow scattered my thoughts. Godric, as if soothing a child, gently patted the blanket and smiled.
"There's so much whining."
He seemed more pleased than annoyed by it, this guy.
What started as a playful pat soon found a rhythm.
The rhythmic patting gradually eased my tension without me even realizing it. My whole body felt heavy as if it weighed a thousand pounds.
'…I'm sleepy.'
Just a moment ago, my heart was pounding loudly, right next to my ear. But with the rhythm of his hand, my pulse gradually slowed down, as if it was trying to sync with the steady beat.
'So tired.'
Instinctively, I tried to force my eyes open to resist the thoughts that arose, but a large hand covered my eyes, blocking the light.
"Shh."
In the darkness, everything becomes blurred. I couldn't tell where I was or who I was with. Instinctively, I leaned into that voice and closed my eyes.
"It's okay, you can sleep. You've been restless for over three days now, you must be exhausted. Rest, and sleep peacefully."
In the darkness, someone's low voice began a slow, wordless humming. A simple, repetitive melody that seemed like it could go on forever.
It felt familiar.
"Leo…"
"Huh."
And before I could even notice my consciousness fading, my brain shut down, like a switch being flipped.
***
Vittorio tightly clutched the sword.
It had been a while since Isaac had disappeared…
"It's been half a day, and we still haven't found him. Perhaps he's not in the camp at all."
"Should we continue the search?"
Hearing the knights' report, Duke Marchez frowned, looking troubled. Then he muttered softly.
"There is a place I suspect, but… it's not like we can search the king's quarters."
At that, Vittorio thought of the king.
The man on the palanquin, with a faint smile on his lips, golden hair glinting.
Vittorio slipped away quietly while the duke and the knights were busy. His small frame and quick movements made it easy to sneak through the camp unnoticed.
The child, heading towards the old castle ruins, hid among the bundles of hay.
Pretending to help with the knights' tasks, he fed the horses, and no one paid any attention to him. Vittorio, brushing down the horse's coat, carefully watched the area around the quarters.
The king's attendants and ministers all had blank expressions and wore clothes adorned with gold or decorations. They moved in a strangely sluggish manner, almost as if they were sleepwalking.
Vittorio remembered something Isaac had said once. The king's attendants, those around him, were all corrupted, and especially the simple ones.
'Can I do this?'
Vittorio, hiding and watching for a long time in uncertainty, absentmindedly fiddled with the end of his hair. It was the hair he had tied this morning, done by Isaac.
'I can do it.'
Making up his mind, Vittorio grabbed a bucket that had been carelessly lying around in the stable and left.
Walking as if his destination was clear, he sneakily gathered some dirty cloths and bandages from the makeshift tent for the injured and put them into the bucket before heading to the laundry area.
The area around the large pot used to boil bandages for the injured was always busy, with people running around, and it was always chaotic.
Vittorio approached, pretending to be a servant there to do laundry, and casually scanned the drying lines.
A pair of faded light brown trousers.
A yellow top in the laundry basket.
And a belt adorned with decorative tassels.
Without hesitation, Vittorio took the clothes and quickly left.
He had chosen clothes as similar as possible to those worn by the king's attendants, but they didn't quite fit. He had to fold the cuffs of the pants twice and secure them with a belt to keep them from falling, and he had to fold the sleeves to adjust the length.
Vittorio took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
'Just for a moment…'
He would only take a quick look.
A short while later, the opportunity came.
The attendants rushed out, hauling a cart filled with various supplies. In the midst of the sudden chaos, the king had ordered the cart to be filled with herbs, holy water, food, and other provisions.
A few of the royal guards stood nearby, maintaining order among the attendants, but many of them had rushed out in such a hurry, grabbing only what they could carry, causing a commotion.
Vittorio hid and waited for the right moment, then grabbed an empty box and approached the cart, quickly blending in with the crowd. His heart pounded loudly in his chest, so much so that it felt like everyone around him could hear it.
The child squeezed his eyes shut and remembered the advice.
[If you have to lie, then you must deceive even yourself. Do you understand?]
At this moment, Vittorio was an attendant.
A lowly servant tasked with unloading the supplies.
Having deceived himself, Vittorio followed the cart procession, staying toward the middle of the group.
The royal guard standing watch scanned the group with a sharp gaze before silently opening the gate. For a moment, Vittorio's breath caught, and his hand grew clammy with sweat.
A short while later, Vittorio was able to slip inside.
'Got it!'
The child quickly adjusted his pace. He had no intention of acting recklessly. There was only one thing he needed to confirm, just one.
The palanquin.
The oddly familiar feeling he had sensed from it.
The area where the horses were tied was quiet. Most of the manpower had been sent to help unload the supplies, which left the area unusually empty. Vittorio hurried past the horses. The cart and the palanquin were there as well.
'There might be some trace left behind.'
While scanning the area around the palanquin, Vittorio noticed something on the ground. It had been hidden by scattered straw, which is why he hadn't noticed it at first.
Vittorio picked up the dropped object.
It was a small folded piece of paper.
'A map…'
A map of the Vernis Mountains, with familiar handwriting written on it.
It was the map that Leonardo had used to teach the rescue operation and the one where Raul had placed the stones he called "companions," leaving behind the water stains from when they had played with it.
It was Isaac's.
'The king took it.'
Vittorio's realization was quick. But it was equally quick for him to understand that there was nothing he could do about it.
Soon, Vittorio made a decision.
It was a conclusion he could arrive at, because an option he would never have imagined before was now open to him.
He would ask for help.
'I need to find Leonardo…'
It was about informing someone who could help Isaac.
***