In a tavern, Nelly heard an interesting piece of gossip. Apparently, the Duke was once a romantic philanderer, leaving behind many beautiful “accidents” until he became bedridden due to illness… The drunk telling this story paused meaningfully, clearly wanting to immerse his listeners in a world of intrigue.”
However, the bartender merely yawned boredly, seemingly not believing the Duchess had anything to do with the Duke’s illness.
As long as the duchy was powerful and prosperous, why care who was in power?
Nelly had finished gathering information as evening approached. Returning near the Duchess’s mansion, the magnificent stained-glass windows and towering spires of the grand temple came into view. Standing under the arch, looking at the statue of the saint, Gerard’s past words involuntarily surfaced in her mind. The Temple and the Sage’s Tower, two organizations controlling the continent’s mysterious powers, were deeply entangled with so-called destiny.
Nelly shook her head and wandered into the temple. The smell of burning candles floated in the air, believers prostrating before the statues of three goddesses, softly reciting prayers amid the chanting of priests.
Nelly looked up at the figures on the shrine, waving away an approaching priest to indicate she didn’t need to pray, and silently withdrew.
Returning to her guest room in the mansion, Nelly stood by the window overlooking the horizon.
Suddenly, the surrounding pigeons took flight simultaneously.
Nelly closed her eyes. The city’s clamor and the splashing of the garden fountain – all converged yet seemed distant and unreal.
Her five senses screamed at the sudden proximity of a presence.
A thick cloud drifted by, and the room sank into shadow.
Opening her eyes, a slender figure leaned against the stone wall just half a step away.
Nelly trembled all over, struggling to breathe. She slowly crouched down, carefully extending her hand towards the other. The bloody smell was distinctly present. Her fingertips stopped at the person’s cheek, touching the sticky, warm liquid.
A cool palm covered the back of her hand. The black-haired, red-eyed youth was pale, dark red blood pearls rolling from the corner of his lips, trailing down into his bloodstained clothing. His wings and horns were not retracted, the golden ring at the edge of his iris barely visible.
This scene momentarily severed her thoughts.
