As soon as she started getting ready, Felix bolted out of the room, clearly thrilled.
“That foal-like idiot,” Beatrice muttered under her breath.
* * *
Beatrice and Felix headed to the noblemen’s communal riding ground located within the capital.
Although the Ember household had its own private riding grounds, Felix, an avid horse enthusiast, preferred visiting public grounds where he could admire other nobles’ horses.
The weather was beautiful, drawing a good number of nobles to the riding grounds. It was hard to tell if they were there to ride horses or simply socialize, as the chatter among groups far outweighed the sounds of hooves on the dirt.
Thankfully, Felix was more interested in horses than their owners. While Beatrice stroked her black horse’s sleek muzzle, she muttered softly to assert dominance—a necessary routine with her intelligent yet stubborn mount, who often snorted at her as if testing boundaries.
Felix soon emerged from the stables with a large chestnut horse, beaming with pride. The animal was impressively built, taller and more muscular than average, though still no match for Beatrice’s black stallion.
As the two led their horses out, curious gazes turned toward them. The sheer quality of their mounts attracted attention, but the high status of their family ensured that no one dared approach unless invited.
“How’s this, huh? Isn’t he magnificent?” Felix declared, stroking his horse’s neck.
Beatrice gave the horse a brief look. Its coat was sleek, its eyes clear, and it remained relatively calm despite her proximity. A good horse overall, even if it seemed a bit intimidated.
“His name’s Siegfried. Brought him all the way from the plains overseas. This time, there’s no way I’m losing,” Felix boasted.
“What about your horse’s name?” he asked Beatrice.
“Just… Horse.”
“…Excuse me?”
“His name is Horse.”
Felix blinked in disbelief. Nobles typically named their prized horses with grandeur and care, but Beatrice didn’t see the point. A horse was a horse.
Seeing her indifferent expression, Felix groaned.
“A horse this amazing, and you didn’t even bother naming him?!”
“Why would I?”
“You’re hopeless. Fine, I’ll name him for you!”
“You’re right about one thing. You’re hopeless.”
“Hey!”
Ignoring Felix’s grumbling, Beatrice scanned the grounds. The warm breeze carried the scent of fresh grass, and the well-maintained fields stretched endlessly under a pristine sky. Her gaze followed the horizon until it landed on a familiar figure entering the grounds.
It was someone she recognized but wasn’t particularly close to—Duke Carnarmon Marquess.
He approached Beatrice and Felix with a courteous nod.
“It’s been a while,” he greeted.
“It has,” Beatrice replied evenly.
“Out for some riding?”
“Partly. I have an appointment as well.”
“Quite diligent of you,” he remarked.
“Merely circumstantial,” she replied, her tone as detached as ever.
Behind him, his knight led out a polished black stallion—an impressive beast rivaling the finest horses in the empire.
After exchanging obligatory pleasantries with Felix, Canermo’s attention shifted to Beatrice’s black horse. His gaze lingered, unmistakable admiration in his eyes.
“You’ve acquired an exceptional horse,” he commented to Felix.
“It’s not mine,” Felix grumbled, crossing his arms like a child who’d been denied a treat.
Canermon’s gaze returned to Beatrice, who gave him a small nod.
“It’s mine,” she confirmed.
“You must be quite skilled in riding,” he said, intrigued.
“Somewhat,” Beatrice replied dismissively, clearly disinterested in the conversation.
Before he could say more, she mounted her horse in one fluid motion. Despite its height, she settled into the saddle with practiced ease.
“Enjoy your ride,” she said, looking down at him before guiding her horse away without a second glance.
“Hey, wait up!” Felix shouted, scrambling to follow her.
The powerful strides of their horses kicked up a trail of dust and wind, leaving Carnarmon standing alone. The sight of Beatrice’s crimson riding jacket faded into the horizon.
Beside him, his knight blinked and spoke hesitantly.
“Was that the Ember family’s young lady?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem particularly close.”
“That would be accurate,” Carnarmon replied, a faint crease forming on his brow.
The knight’s expression of mild sympathy didn’t help. It wasn’t like Carnarmon had any personal relationship with her—his interactions with Beatrice were purely transactional, stemming from their shared attendance at formal gatherings.
The first time they had spoken, he had thought of her as peculiar rather than likable.
Pushing the thought aside, Carnarmon turned to his knight.
“What about Baron Fulton?”
“He’s over there,” the knight gestured.
The duke had come to the riding grounds for a private meeting with Baron Fulton, a neutral noble known for his discretion and information dealing. Though his father had been an unremarkable minor noble, Fulton had gained prominence for his sharp mind and resourcefulness.
Walking toward the central area, Carnarmon spotted the baron—a man with unassuming brown hair that seemed to shimmer with a reddish hue under the sunlight.
The baron smiled and waved upon seeing him.
“My apologies for being late,” Carnarmon said as they approached.
“Not at all, Your Grace. I simply arrived early,” Baron Fulton replied, his amiable expression unchanged.
As they exchanged greetings, Fulton’s gaze briefly flickered to the direction where Beatrice had disappeared before returning to the conversation at hand.
* * *
The morning had hinted at peculiar weather, and by the time Beatrice and Felix had completed their fifth riding match, a light rain began to drizzle. Felix, who had proudly declared earlier that his new horse guaranteed victory, ended up losing four out of five matches.
Though he managed to win the last one, it was painfully obvious that Beatrice had let him. She had ridden lazily, her posture practically inviting defeat, which only fueled Felix’s frustration as he ground his teeth.
How could someone who spent so much time cooped up indoors ride so well? Felix prided himself on his horsemanship—so much so that even in the knightly order, few could rival him in mounted skills. It had to be the horse. He eyed Beatrice’s black stallion with a mix of envy and irritation, wishing he could take it for a ride. But the wretched beast only tolerated Beatrice, making that impossible.
While Felix stewed over his grievances, Beatrice stood under the shelter of a large tree, staring up at the sky. The rain showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. If it persisted, it might be better to ride back in the rain than stand there getting drenched. She didn’t mind being soaked—it wasn’t an issue.
“I’ll go call for the carriage. Stay here,” Felix declared suddenly, springing to his feet from where he’d been sulking.
Before Beatrice could tell him it wasn’t necessary, he mounted his horse and galloped off, water splashing in his wake. Watching his retreating figure, Beatrice tilted her head and muttered, “You can come out now.”
From the shadows of the nearby trees, Todd emerged, his clothes drenched from head to toe. He shook himself off as he joined her under the tree’s canopy.
“You knew I was there?”
“Of course,” she replied calmly.
Todd looked slightly sheepish as he wrung out the hem of his coat. “I wasn’t following you intentionally. I had a meeting with Marquess Carnarmon.”
“Carnarmon Marquess?”
“Yes, your debutante partner,” Todd replied, implying he’d done his research on her. Beatrice barely reacted, dismissing the information with indifference.
When she showed no interest in continuing the conversation, Todd sighed and prodded further.
“Aren’t you curious why I met him?”
“Should I be?”
“Well… it might affect the matter we agreed upon.”
Todd explained the situation. The murder at the count’s estate had been officially attributed to dark magic. The missing servant was declared the culprit, and it was assumed that the extreme physical enhancements from the magic had killed them after the deed. However, rumors circulated that sinister dark mages were responsible for assassinating an imperial noble, and leaving the matter unresolved was deemed unacceptable.
The Emperor had tasked Marquess Carnarmon with uncovering the truth. Known for his shrewdness, the Emperor often assigned such complex tasks to the marquess, especially since he was neutral and unaffiliated with either the imperial or noble factions.
Meanwhile, Todd had infiltrated the nobility by assuming the identity of Dot Fulton, an adopted son of a minor noble. Using this identity, he had established himself as a broker of information. It seemed his growing reputation had reached the marquess, who had approached him for intelligence.
The situation had escalated, Todd explained, because Canermon’s investigations had turned toward Parallet Viscount’s secret dealings and rumors of a mysterious artifact—one supposedly capable of revealing the truth.
At this, Beatrice furrowed her brow.
“Dot Fulton?”
“That’s the name I use as a noble.”
“Your real name is Todd?”
Her tone was so blandly unimpressed that Todd couldn’t help but bristle.
“Well, Todd isn’t my real name, either!”
“Then what is it?”
“…I’m not telling you that.”
“Suit yourself,” she replied, her interest clearly waning.
Todd rubbed his temples, wondering how she managed to make every conversation so exhausting. Shaking his head, he pressed on.
“Regardless, Parallet Viscount is now under heavy scrutiny, and Canermon’s people plan to raid his property the same day we originally scheduled our move. If we stick to our plan, we’ll run straight into them.”
Beatrice’s response was as deadpan as ever. “So?”
Todd stared at her, incredulous. “So? What do you mean, ‘so’?”
“You’re making this unnecessarily complicated. Just kill them all, take the artifact, and leave.”
Her tone was casual, almost bored, but her golden eyes gleamed with a cold certainty. The sheer audacity of her suggestion was staggering, and yet, the way she said it made it sound disturbingly plausible.
Todd felt a chill run down his spine as he locked eyes with her. There was no hesitation, no bravado—just a quiet conviction that she could do exactly what she proposed.
“…Easier said than done,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.
“Then what’s your plan?” she asked, tilting her head.
Todd exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “I’ll tip off Parallet Viscount that the marquess’s men will raid his property on Friday. He’ll move the artifact ahead of time. We’ll strike the day before.”
Beatrice regarded him for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine.”
Satisfied, Todd tipped his head in farewell. “I’ll handle the preparations. See you then.”
He disappeared into the rain-soaked woods just as Felix returned with the carriage, his clothes thoroughly drenched.
Beatrice stepped into the magically warmed interior, her soaked frame greeted by a fretting Lily, who handed her a dry towel. Before Beatrice could take it, Felix snatched the towel and began drying her hair with a bit too much enthusiasm, earning a withering glare from Lily.
Felix, however, seemed oblivious, and Beatrice didn’t particularly care. They rode back to the estate in relative silence, with Felix occasionally muttering complaints about how ungrateful his “sister” was.
Beatrice merely leaned back, letting the warmth seep into her, as thoughts of the upcoming raid and the secrets it might uncover swirled in her mind.
* * *
When Beatrice woke up, her body still warm from the restful night, the duchess sent Laura to invite her for breakfast. Laura entered with a cheerful face, smiling brightly as though she had been looking forward to seeing her.
It had become routine for Laura to check on Lily during these encounters, ensuring that she was taking meticulous care of Beatrice.
This morning, as usual, the maids dressed Beatrice in a gown that was remarkably close to pajamas but carefully crafted to not look like it. Draped in a shawl, she joined the breakfast table, where Agatha brought up a request.
“There’s a monthly visit to the temple that I usually make. Could you attend in my stead this time?”
Beatrice paused, setting her utensils down. The temple held immense power in the empire. So much so that during the reign of the previous emperor, the imperial authority had often been overshadowed by that of the temple.
The current emperor had gone to great lengths to restore balance between the two. As the sole religion of the empire, worship of the Great Deity was universally practiced by nobles. With the empire’s founding myth intertwined with this faith, it was only natural.
Affluent nobles, therefore, made monthly donations to the temple. Agatha, being particularly devout, contributed large sums regularly, earning the Amber ducal family exceptional status within the temple.
At a glance, this seemed like merely another task Agatha was delegating, but it carried deeper significance. It meant Beatrice would be representing the duchy in official matters, an acknowledgment of her standing within the family.
It appeared Agatha was subtly working to strengthen Beatrice’s influence.
With little to occupy her until Thursday, Beatrice nodded. She had been meaning to visit the temple eventually. Building connections with the temple would be crucial if she were to gain access to the original scriptures she sought.
“Understood,” she replied.
“I’ve already informed Theodor,” Agatha added gently. “There’s no need to feel pressured—just take your time.”
Though Beatrice found the task far from daunting, she simply nodded again and continued her meal with Agatha. After finishing, she returned to her room and immediately began preparing for the temple visit.
One of the maids hesitated before suggesting that she change into a more suitable outfit. However, a sharp glance from Lily and Beatrice’s faint frown silenced her quickly.
The dress Beatrice wore was indeed more akin to nightwear than formal attire, so the maid’s concern was understandable. Yet, Beatrice had no intention of donning the restrictive, cumbersome garments required for formal occasions unless absolutely necessary.
If pressed by others, she might have relented out of sheer annoyance, but within the duchy, no one forced her to do anything against her will.
With only a light touch-up to her makeup, she boarded the carriage headed for the temple, unconcerned about appearances.
* * *
When Beatrice stepped down from the carriage under the escort of her family knight, a pristine white building came into view. Its architecture, vastly different from the imperial palace with its numerous columns, gave the impression of being in another country.
It seemed Agatha’s message had been received, as Priest Theodor was there to greet her—along with an unexpected figure.
“It’s been a while, My Lady,” Theodor said.
“I hope you’ve been well, Priest. And…” Beatrice’s gaze shifted to Francis, who stood behind Theodor.
“Sir Francis,” she acknowledged.
The family knight naturally passed the escort duty to Francis. Just like the imperial palace, the temple did not permit ordinary knights to carry weapons. Instead, holy knights were stationed throughout the temple, making it a secure place where outside escorts were typically left waiting with the carriages.
“I called for Francis,” Theodor explained.
The three of them walked along the path leading inside the temple.
“I received word from the duchess and coincidentally, the high priest summoned me as well.”
It seemed Theodor could greet Beatrice but not personally guide her inside, hence his decision to summon Francis. Beatrice had no objections and simply nodded.
A faint look of apology lingered on Theodor’s face. Such a diligent, kind-hearted man.
“I thought it would be better to entrust this to someone familiar. I hope that’s alright with you,” he added.
“It’s no problem,” Beatrice replied.
Accepting Francis’s offered arm, as her knight had passed on the role, Beatrice noticed his arm was unusually stiff, as if tensed with effort. It crossed her mind—didn’t holy knights have certain restrictions about physical contact with women without special reasons? Thinking of this, Beatrice let go of his arm. For a brief moment, Francis’s gaze flicked toward her before quickly averting.
Theodor guided her to the prayer hall and offered a light bow.
“I’ll take my leave here. Feel free to stay and look around after your prayers.”
After seeing Theodor off, Beatrice and Francis entered the prayer hall. The room felt as though it belonged to another realm, bathed solely in white light.
The rough white walls, the firm marble floor, the ceiling illuminated solely by divine energy, and rows of pews made of pale wood were meticulously arranged. The pews parted in two, leaving the center aisle leading to an altar that seemed like a pathway to something sacred.
At the end of the path stood a gracefully carved altar, framed by towering statues. The central statue, representing the Great Deity, stood with one arm raised toward the heavens, countless demons crushed beneath its feet.
Its face, androgynous and expressionless, gazed down impassively. The raised hand was empty, devoid of any symbol.
“I’ll begin my prayers,” Beatrice murmured.
She glanced up at the statue of the Great Deity for a moment before leaving Francis standing where he was and walking toward the altar. Ignoring the prayer pews, she stood directly in front of the low altar, her gaze rising to meet the imposing statue.
In her previous lives, Beatrice had visited countless temples, but not once had she prayed. It wasn’t that she ‘disbelieved’ in the gods, but rather that she ‘distrusted’ them.
Gods likely existed. After all, the events she had experienced defied logic.
But she never believed they would intervene on her behalf. Thus, she had never seen the need for prayer. Yet now, a whim overtook her—what if the gods responded to her prayers?
A copy of the scripture lay on the altar. Turning it to face her, she opened it. As the pages unfurled, she began her prayer.
She neither closed her eyes nor clasped her hands as others might. What is prayer, really? A plea to the divine, a letter, a longing, a lament, a wish—all forms of unattainable desires entrusted to something beyond human capability.
To Beatrice, prayer was just that.
She began reading the scripture slowly from the beginning. Much of it was familiar—tales entwining the empire and the sacred texts.
She skimmed through the words, meaningless to her, as if gliding over the surface of water, while inwardly continuing a “prayer” meant for no one to hear.
The scripture recounted how the foundation of the empire was laid by ‘Abroros’, the first king of the Rosantium Kingdom, born during an era when the land was teeming not only with humans but countless otherworldly creatures.
Long ago, the term “other beings” did not refer to the long-eared forest clans or the winged coastal tribes as it does now. Instead, it spoke of entities far beyond human comprehension, with powers rendering humans as insignificant as ants.
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