~Chapter 136~
1. What Not To Do At A Funeral
A slow, steady rain fell over the royal mausoleum, soaking the stone with grief.
Even the sky seemed to mourn the princess’s passing—by midday, the world was dim and heavy, as if dusk had come early.
The citizens who came to see the princess off looked just as bleak as the weather.
“Oh, our dear princess…”
“She gave us such peace. Why did her life have to end in so much pain?”
“Even the heavens have turned their back on us…”
Soft weeping echoed in every direction.
A long line of mourners snaked toward the coffin at the center of the mausoleum.
On top of the coffin, golden flowers and butterflies sent from every corner of the Empire formed a sparkling tapestry. Right in the center lay a single strand of the princess’s golden hair.
Standing beside it was Prince Padva, somber and dignified, guarding the coffin.
He was running the funeral—her older brother, and now the Empire’s sole heir.
“This is where you say your last goodbye to the princess.”
Padva spoke kindly to the young girl at the front of the line.
Though soon to be emperor, he never acted proud or arrogant. He was gracious to everyone, just as his late sister had been.
That’s why, even after the princess—long considered the next ruler—died, almost no one questioned him.
When the missing clone suddenly appeared in the capital, calling Padva the true mastermind behind the cloning experiments, the people dismissed it as a rebel smear campaign. They were furious at the traitors, not the prince.
Still, a handful of people listened.
They pointed out how strange it was that Padva had kept Princess Ariadna’s death a secret for so long.
Padva, as if responding to the rumors, made a public statement:
‘Keeping her death quiet was a necessary security measure. We planned to announce it only after Cambiata’s remnants were destroyed.’
He didn’t stop there—he planned the most extravagant funeral in imperial history, making sure everyone, highborn or not, could pay their respects. In the face of such care and effort, the whispers of doubt slowly faded away.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
The girl bowed to the prince, then stepped forward to the coffin.
“Rest well, princess. Thank you for watching over us.”
Marque, captain of the imperial guard, watched her with a tangled heart.
Is this really the end of it all?
There were questions he still couldn’t answer.
First was the strange incident at Greymoss.
Officially, it was blamed on a new S-class monster. But Marque, who was actually there, didn’t buy it.
There wasn’t a single sign of a beast in that theater.
And the blackout and hallucinations everyone experienced that day? They matched the stories told by survivors of the Empire’s bloodiest battles.
Second was Nocturne’s attachment to the clone.
At first, Marque had thought Nocturne was just mad with grief after losing his lover. But after seeing him at the Cambiata Club theater, he wasn’t so sure.
He’d seen Nocturne wrap his arms around her—protective, gentle, desperate. The way he looked at her… that was love.
Even if she really was just a clone.
…But was she really?
“Marque.”
Startled, Marque snapped back to reality at the prince’s call.
“What’s got you so deep in thought?”
“I’m sorry, just distracted for a moment…”
“Well, it’s that kind of day, isn’t it?”
Marque ducked his head and quickly took up his position beside the prince.
Across from him stood another guard—Logsi, Padva’s psychic bodyguard. They’d worked together plenty, but barely spoke. Most psychic Eshafes were sociable, but not this guy.
Marque’s gaze swept the endless line of mourners. Even after hours, the crowd hadn’t thinned.
This will probably go on for a whole month.
Padva would greet mourners personally today, but from tomorrow he’d send someone else.
Marque sighed, knowing he was in for a month of nonstop duty.
Just then, someone in a black hood slipped quietly toward the coffin.
Probably some highborn lady, Marque thought, barely paying attention.
But Logsi’s sharp voice cut through the silence.
“What’s with the hood?”
“Huh?”
“Anyone with their face hidden shouldn’t be allowed in. Was that person checked?”
Suddenly, Marque remembered: to prevent attacks, any face-covering clothing was banned today.
And… didn’t she just slip through the line completely unnoticed?
By the time he turned, the hooded woman was already at the coffin.
Then, without hesitation, she stepped right onto it.
“…?!”
“Oh my god!”
“What are you doing?!”
She climbed onto the princess’s coffin.
The room, once heavy with mourning, erupted in outrage. Some nobles yelled at the guards.
“Don’t just stand there! Drag her down, now!”
Marque wanted to move. But his body wouldn’t listen.
Is this psychic power? But…
Just then, the woman standing on the coffin pulled back her hood.
A cascade of gold hair tumbled out.
“……!”
“P-Princess?”
Golden hair spilled down her shoulders. Her eyes—deep red, like rubies—opened slowly. Scarlet garnet earrings glinted on her ears.
She looked out over the frozen crowd, lips curving into a faint, mocking smile.
“Heard you were holding my funeral. I thought I’d drop by.”
“It wouldn’t be much of an event without the guest of honor, would it?”
She turned, smiling sweetly at Padva.
“I can really feel your love, brother. You threw such a lavish funeral for me… Truly, worthy of a prince so famous for doting on his sister.”
Padva’s face went pale.
Her voice sent a shockwave through the crowd.
“Is it really her?”
“Has the princess come back to life?”
“She’s alive!”
A shout rang out. Suddenly, people surged forward, desperate for a glimpse.
Marque watched it all, dazed.
“…Princess Ariadna?”
“That’s impossible. She’s just a clone!” Padva yelled, pointing at the woman.
“What are you waiting for? Arrest her!”
The guards snapped back to life, rushing forward.
The mausoleum was heavily guarded—elite A-rank soldiers everywhere, just in case of an uprising.
Capture her alive, the prince had ordered, so the ones who moved first were those with precise, non-lethal powers—psychics, telekinetics, wind and space manipulators.
It was common knowledge the clone couldn’t use any abilities.
It’s just a Nomer. We don’t need real firepower for this.
Or so they thought.
“Urgh…!”
“What’s going on?”
The psychic powers bounced right off. Combat powers—
Fwoosh!
Flames burst out, breaking their focus and halting their abilities.
“Fire?”
“No way…”
A ring of fire cut off the view around the coffin. Water and air-users rushed in, dousing the flames—
“She’s gone!”
No one was on the coffin.
Everyone spun, searching frantically. Then someone pointed, shouting:
“Up there!”
“What?!”
There, perched on the colossal statue honoring the Empire’s founder, was the woman.
First she’d stood on the princess’s coffin, and now she was standing on the statue of the first emperor. Unthinkable.
But she wasn’t alone.
“You okay, Ari?”
A tall man, dressed in black, stood beside her in the crowd.
He was unforgettable, even at a glance.
“D-Duke Bendrix…”
Nocturne stood with her, arms wrapped around Ariadna, balanced atop the emperor’s stone knee.
