After hearing Nero's take and deductions, plus that odd gut feeling from their earlier encounter, Ritsuka called for some outside help.
So, Da Vinci and Sherlock, tuning in from centuries away, joined the discussion.
"Based on everyone's read on the lord, I'd say Miss Nero's judgment is spot-on," the great detective said, puffing on his pipe. "If that's the case, meeting his daughter isn't our top priority anymore.
"If the Demon God Pillar wants to use Beatrice, it'll have to target the lord first. That's when we can catch it red-handed."
Ritsuka nodded. "So from now on, we'll need someone stationed at the lord's manor whenever we move out. What about that 'bad feeling'?"
Sherlock stepped back from the screen, waving a hand. "I'm no good with irrational hunches. Da Vinci, as a 'magician,' got any sparks of inspiration?"
"I'm not a fortune-teller," Da Vinci said with a grin. "Even a genius like me can't pin down the key to something from a vague feeling. My only advice? Trust it. A flash of insight when you're clear-headed is usually worth betting on."
"Like a 'divine revelation'?" Georgios chimed in.
Da Vinci nodded. "For you saintly Servants, those flashes are pretty much the same as divine guidance."
Nero cut in, shifting gears. "Any leads on that rat swarm from before?"
Mash, handling analysis and coordination, stepped up. "We couldn't get anything conclusive from the magical energy alone. Sorry I couldn't be more help."
"No big deal," Ritsuka reassured her. "That abnormal magical energy screams 'enemy move.' Taking it down is a win, plain and simple."
Nero agreed. "Bring it on, and we'll knock it down."
The plan was set. With intel still scarce, their main focus was gathering information. And the Sphinx, holding the most clues, became their prime target.
On the third day in the Singularity, Nero tagged along with Ritsuka and Mephistopheles—the three who'd already faced the Sphinx—heading out beyond the town. Georgios, well-known and respected in town, stayed behind at the lord's manor.
In the revived wheat fields, with the threat of demonic rats still looming, the farmers worked like their lives depended on it, harvesting at breakneck speed. In this era, fancy tools were still a pipe dream, so everyone hunched over with sickles, not daring to pause.
Not far from the fields, Nero spotted her again—the girl with rose-red short hair.
Beatrice. Nero and Ritsuka exchanged a quick glance, and Nero approached alone.
"Miss Beatrice, we meet again."
"…Miss Nero." Beatrice returned the greeting, her tone heavy, her face clouded with gloom.
She turned her head, gazing back at the fields.
Nero stepped beside her, softening her voice. "You seem pretty down. Everything okay?"
Beatrice, knowing her expression was an open book, didn't bother hiding it. She nodded. "You probably heard about it already—the field reforms I suggested."
"Yeah. Your father shot them down?"
"Mhm. He threw my diagram into the fireplace."
"That's a shame."
Beatrice watched the bustling farmers, her expression tangled. "It's not a shame. I knew it'd turn out like this. I just… feel bad."
"Bad about what?" Nero asked.
"Miss Nero, do you know the state of the estate's fields?"
Beatrice didn't wait for an answer, continuing on her own. "The estate's farmland has always been split into three parts: one for wheat, one for beans, and one left to rest. The fields rotate to keep the soil fertile, so we can farm every year.
"But even then, the land doesn't fully recover after growing wheat. Ever since I can remember, the estate's grain yields have been dropping."
"So you came up with that method."
As Nero spoke, she glanced back—Ritsuka and Mephistopheles were closing in.
Beatrice, only thirteen but maybe a certifiable genius, gave a bitter smile. "But it's no use. I can't change anything. The wheat'll be harvested in a few days, then they'll plow and sow the winter wheat fields. It's too late.
"Next year, the estate's yields will keep shrinking, and I can't do a thing."
"So, clever girl, got any wishes you want to make come true?"
Mephistopheles appeared behind Beatrice, dressed in his tuxedo, tossing out the question like a devil from a fairy tale.
"Wha—?!"
Beatrice jumped, startled. Ritsuka grabbed Mephistopheles's cane, yanking him back. "It's fine, Miss Beatrice. He's just joking."
Beatrice blinked, tilting her head. "Such weird clothes. Who are you all?"
Nero stepped forward with a smile. "They're my work partners. Actually, we've got a question for you…"
"I see!" Beatrice gasped softly, then rushed to ask, "So it was you who drove off those demon rats yesterday, right? My father wouldn't believe me the day before, and when the demons actually showed up, he called me a jinx…"
Nero went quiet for a moment. The lord's prejudice against his daughter ran deeper than she'd thought. Maybe that's why her gut had warned her against mentioning Beatrice yesterday.
"Yeah, that was us," Ritsuka said with a nod, then continued, "Actually, we wanted to ask—have you ever met anyone who asked you something like he just did?"
The "he" was Mephistopheles, obviously. Ritsuka held onto the demon with one hand, pointing at him with the other, looking at a slightly confused Beatrice.
"No… I don't think so?"
"Besides us, have you run into any other strange strangers?" Nero pressed.
"No." Beatrice answered quicker this time. Studying Nero and Ritsuka's expressions, she asked, "Are you… still hunting demons?"
They were. More precisely, they were hunting the Demon God Pillar. If the Pillar behind this Singularity wanted to approach Beatrice, it'd likely show up in some stereotypical guise like this.
So Nero laid down a warning. "Yep. Those rats were just the lackeys. The real demon hasn't shown its face yet. Don't think this place is safe."