After the bride demons and Velmire were eliminated from the church, William stood in the deserted garden. The cold night air lingered. The scent of blood and a dark mist hung in the air. In the distance, hurried footsteps echoed from outside the church. Elizabeth and Louis appeared, their faces solemn yet calm.
Several Sentinel soldiers followed behind and quickly surrounded and subdued Lady Caroline Roselle when she tried to escape. Her resistance was futile; her luxurious clothing and status no longer protected her.
A naturally beautiful woman with a pale face limped along beside Elizabeth. Although her steps were slow, there was a determination William had never seen in a nun before. Her white robes were soiled with dirt and dust, yet her eyes still held a familiar light:
Sister Margaret.
That woman...
"Sister Margaret...?" he murmured softly.
The woman turned her head. Her vision was blurry, but when she saw the raven-haired teenager with a ponytail standing in the middle of the garden, she staggered.
"Liam, is that you?" Her voice was hoarse and nearly drowned out by her suppressed sobs.
William took a step forward and grabbed her wrist before she could fall. His grip was gentle.
Sister Margaret stared at him, then turned to Lady Caroline, who was being held back by two soldiers. Her expression changed to a mix of bitterness, disappointment, and something almost like hatred.
"Margaret...you," Lady Caroline growled. "You lowly woman! I should have killed you then. From the start! Then your foul mouth wouldn't have spread."
Sister Margaret was undeterred. Supported by William, she walked slowly toward the noblewoman. Then she said, her tone calm:
"All because you couldn't accept the truth, Caroline. Lord Reinhard chose Lady Anastasia, not you. That's why you killed him and cursed Anastasia with a disease of black magic. You killed them because of your ego."
"Shut up!" Lady Caroline shouted, struggling to free herself. "I was the one betrothed to him! I was supposed to be his wife, not that foolish youngest Anastasia! Not that foolish youngest, Anastasia! She's a disgrace, mingling with commoners and tarnishing our family name!"
William hung on her every word, and the pieces of the story began to come together in his mind, one by one.
Sister Margaret was no ordinary nun. She was Lady Anastasia's closest friend, bound not by blood but by a love and affection deeper than kinship. Despite her lower caste, Margaret was the only one who had always been by Anastasia's side. Through thick and thin.
And now, William knew.
Velmire's heart core, which he had destroyed, held the soul imprints and memories of Anastasia Roselle and Reinhard Ashford. Their souls were trapped and slowly being destroyed by Caroline's hatred unleashed through Velmire, the demoness Caroline had summoned.
Lady Anastasia...
William could remember her face now. The face of a young woman with gracefully flowing blonde hair and a warm smile, even for a stranger. She was a woman who quietly donated to the orphanage, expecting no reward.
She wasn't just a victim. Her light was intentionally snuffed out by those who should have been her family.
The memory came like a slowly creeping fog—cold yet comforting. William stood stiffly in the middle of the garden. The dim moonlight faded from his eyes and was replaced by another scene.
It was no longer the cold, blood-scented night.
Now, he saw daylight—warm and pure—falling on the convent courtyard four years ago.
Lady Anastasia sat at a small wooden table in the convent cafeteria, facing Sister Margaret. The subtle aroma of tea wafted between them. She smiled gracefully, but her eyes held anxiety.
"I'm not sure about this wedding, Margaret," she said softly. "I'm afraid Caroline will hate me even more."
Margaret smiled faintly, trying to erase the shadow of anxiety.
"There is no one better than you, Tasia. Lord Reinhard made the right decision to marry you. Your sister, Caroline, is the type of woman who is never satisfied with just one nobleman. You know, she's broken Lord Reinhard's heart more than once with her antics."
Anastasia paused for a moment, looking down as she stroked the rim of the cup with her fingers. Through the eyes of memory, William could sense her sincere and fragile hesitation.
Images and shadows flashed by.
The wedding day. Candlelight filled the church, but only a handful of guests were present—close relatives whose gazes revealed sincerity rather than royal courtesy. Anastasia and Reinhard stood at the altar, gazing at each other as if the outside world didn't exist. There was no deceit in their eyes, only a promise that would bind them for eternity.
Then, the memory shifted to the backyard of the church, which was still under construction. Children from the orphanage ran around the newlyweds, surrounding them happily. With his arm around his wife's waist, Reinhard gazed at the half-finished structure with clear, hopeful eyes.
"I want this church finished," he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. "Anyone, whether noble or commoner, is welcome to enter. There is no difference before God."
He sighed, his eyes fixed on the unfinished brick wall. "If this construction isn't completed on time, even before I..."
His sentence died in midair.
Anastasia frowned, her voice laced with worry. "Rei, where are you going? Don't scare me."
Reinhard just stared at her for a long moment. "Tasia, promise me you'll continue supporting the construction of this church. Until it's finished."
There was something in the man's gaze that pierced William. William sensed an unspoken fear. Anastasia didn't ask any more questions. She simply nodded, though her chest felt heavy.
The fog of memories began to darken.
That night, there was the sound of screaming. The smell of blood permeated the air. Reinhard Ashford was found in his room, his body torn as if by a wild animal. For Anastasia, the world collapsed in an instant.
***
The black fog around William subsided, revealing Lady Anastasia's final night.
William stood in the doorway of the Sancantum Misericordiae church—or, rather, its version residing in that soul's memory. The stone walls were complete, and the stained glass reflected the gently quivering candlelight. But amidst the beauty, he could sense a bitter, cold presence that did not belong to the night.
Lady Anastasia entered slowly, wearing a simple dress and a wide-brimmed hat. She stopped in the front row of chairs where Sister Margaret was waiting. From a distance, William could see that Anastasia's face was unnaturally pale, as if the blood were slowly leaving her.
Sister Margaret tilted her head and looked at her worriedly.
"Your face is getting paler, Tasia. What has really happened to you? If it's because of your husband's death, it shouldn't have come to this."
Lady Anastasia didn't answer immediately. She lowered her head for a long time, her fingers squeezing the brim of her hat. Her breathing was deep, as if she were gathering her last courage.
"I don't have much time left, Margaret. In fact, I might catch up with Rei tonight." His gaze was gentle, but beneath it was bitterness. "You must have already noticed. Therefore, I needn't explain further."
Margaret swallowed and dropped her gaze to the floor. "Someone who is obsessed, jealous, and holds a grudge eventually summoned something from the darkness. I can't face it alone. We need the Sentinels of the Royal Order."
Anastasia nodded slowly. "Right. Before there are any more victims, we must be enough. Margaret, please take care of the commoners and the weak. I've tried to contact the Sentinels. I hope they arrive in time."
William saw the unfulfilled promise seared into Sister Margaret's heart. Memories shifted rapidly, revealing the remnants of the tragedy he had witnessed: the bodies of the bride and groom and the blood that stained the altar. It was the murder of a lower-class bride and groom, an insult to Lady Anastasia.
The image shifted, returning to the present.
In the church garden, in the early morning light, Lady Caroline was being dragged away by two Sentinel soldiers. Her gaze was wild, and her lips curled into a cracked, vengeful laugh.
Standing beside William, Elizabeth looked at Caroline sadly.
"Everyone has their own problems," she said quietly, "but that doesn't give you the right to sacrifice innocent people."