Chapter 97
“It’s nothing complicated. You just have to make Princess Titania a little sick. Then, as her birth mother, express deep remorse for neglecting her all this time, and insist on taking her away to some remote place for recuperation. I’ll take care of getting the Emperor’s permission. Once you’re outside the palace, I’ll make sure you’re safely escorted to a distant villa with doctors and maids—somewhere you can live out your days in comfort.”
If Titania, who had gone to perform the Offering Festival, didn’t return safely to the palace, that would of course be best…
Cleo had given Gregory even Kronen’s weaknesses and pleaded with him, but she still couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding.
These days, Titania was on an inexplicably winning streak.
Like a cockroach, she always managed to survive.
So Cleo had to prepare in advance for the possibility that Titania might return alive.
If possible, she would have liked to sneer and say, “I’ll even give you the chance to poison your own child,” but…
No matter how much Elaine seemed to resent her daughter, her relationship with Cleo was far from friendly. They were potential rivals. Even if Elaine had no intention of competing for the Emperor’s favor, Cleo could never find her endearing.
And if Titania—who was now formally betrothed to the Castrain family—were to die in the palace by her own mother’s hand, the Emperor’s fury would be unimaginable. The Castrain family’s as well. There might not even be a body of Empress Elaine left to bury.
No one would agree to a plan with such a risk.
So it would be enough to help her commit the act, indirectly.
Elaine and Titania would simply disappear outside the palace.
Even if the truth were later discovered, if it came to light that the Empress had chosen to abandon her daughter and flee, the princess’s honor would be shattered.
No matter how much of a benefactor she had been to the Castrain family, there would be plenty of people shouting, “How could someone with such a mother possibly become a duchess?”
Just as Titania’s birth had once shackled her mother, now Elaine would become the chain that dragged Titania down.
A delicious kind of revenge, isn’t it?
Elaine stared at Cleo with eyes damp and mossy, then slowly nodded.
Cleo felt a shiver of delight rise in her chest and grinned.
* * *
Time flew by like an arrow.
We did everything we could to prepare for the Offering Festival.
This time, instead of Bibi—who’d been too intimidated, muttering things like, “Papa says we should wait a bit longer, just in case…”—the <Emblem of Gloriana> arrived first.
We mobilized everything we had: Flux and Navira from <Hecate’s Tavern>, all of our intelligence networks.
Kronen, for some reason, kept the temple under near-military lockdown while it was under renovation. But there’s no way to block everyone’s eyes and ears. Especially not when he went around preaching like some prophet who’d received a divine revelation, saying things like, “Just trust me! Once this Offering Festival is done, all our problems will be over!”
That made it easy enough to peek at what was happening inside.
In terms of pure numbers, our fighting force was small—maybe thirty people, tops. Raymond had handpicked elite soldiers he could spare without compromising the front lines.
But thanks to Flux’s cooperation—he being the city’s future ruler—we were able to arrange the city guard deployments however we wanted.
After the recent monster attacks, the people’s anxiety was sky-high, so when we said, “It’s for your safety,” they were surprisingly understanding about traffic restrictions.
I’d memorized the entire Offering Festival ritual with the Castrain family’s help. It wasn’t long or complex.
The real problem was that we’d have to walk right into the temple’s jaws ourselves.
“Should we just… set another fire?”
Lysianthus said it with dead seriousness.
I was checking the folds of my ceremonial robe, a flimsy, toga-like garment, and replied absently, “Weren’t you the one telling me to stop setting so many fires?”
After the palace fire, and then the temple one, Lysianthus had taken to sighing at me every chance he got—“Honestly, maybe you’re the one who was meant to inherit the power of fire, not me.”
I hadn’t meant to develop a reputation for arson, but… here we were.
As I recalled those sweet and bitter memories—being told by the original story’s ultimate pyromaniac to “go easy on the fire”—the little emoticon sword hidden inside the knot of my robe spoke up with a sulky tone.
—“Honestly, Master, I think you’ve used fire more than light these days… (￣◇￣;)”
No way, I used light plenty—remember all those monsters?
—“True (￣◇￣;)… but you used fire on… people…”
That fire in the Rose Palace wasn’t even my idea! Are you jealous that I use flames more often?
—“M–Me?! Jealous?! No way!! (」゜ロ゜)」 Fire’s just a cheap trick that burns material things! It’s nothing compared to the noble, transcendent power of light!!”
Yep. Jealous.
—“KYAAAHHH!!! (ﾉ´д)ﾉ”
As the sword wailed dramatically, Lysianthus nervously shook his leg and muttered, “If the temple burns down again, maybe they’ll finally move the Offering Festival somewhere else.”
“That’s a dangerous suggestion coming from the second son of House Castrain—the very one desperate to make this festival succeed.”
“How am I supposed to know what kind of tricks they’ve set up this time?”
There was a faint bitterness in his voice. I chuckled.
“It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine. We’ve prepared for every possible scenario. Even if monsters attack again, we’re ready.”
Because money solves everything.
The ceremonial robe was designed like an ancient Roman garment—thin, flowing fabric wrapped and tied with knots. At the last minute, just this morning, a novice priest had rushed over to deliver it.
We’d sewn magic stones all through the inner lining. When I say we, I mostly mean Barbara. From the outside, it looked completely ordinary. Even if someone noticed, we could just say they were decorative gems.
The <Emblem of Gloriana> was also made of white fabric, so we fastened it over my shoulder like a sash. I’d already confirmed with the emoticon sword that it could function just like before—if needed, I could fight through a crowd like I had in the palace.
“Your Highness.”
I turned toward Raymond.
I’d seen him so often lately that I could now read tiny flickers in his expression—barely perceptible, but there. His body was stiff. He was nervous.
The great Young Duke Raymond, who had first held a sword at age five and fought in hopeless battles… and yet today, even he was tense.
We’d done everything we could. This time, I wasn’t the liability I once was.
“If it becomes dangerous, you can retreat at any time,” he said.
“Haha, really?”
“No one would blame you, Your Highness.”
But you wouldn’t run, would you?
I didn’t say it. I just smiled. His golden eyes looked troubled in the reflection of my glassy gaze.
“It’s fine. Come on, let’s go. I’ve found that the best punishment for those who try to drown others… is to drag them into the water themselves.”
If they wanted to turn innocent people into drowned ghosts, they could learn firsthand what that felt like.
* * *
The ritual of the Offering Festival was simple, in theory.
First, a sacred fire was lit at the temple’s center.
In ancient times, that meant a divine blue flame, ignited by a high-ranking fire-type ability user.
Nowadays… they just threw in some indium, a metal that burns blue, and called it sacred. The scent that was supposed to drive away monsters was recreated by burning incense.
All the rites had to be completed before that flame went out.
Then the priests would gather and chant ancient blessings together.
Meanwhile, the royal participant—dressed in pure white cloth, symbolically purified in sacred water—would walk barefoot in slow circles along a pattern carved into the white stone floor.
Curiously, even when the rest of the temple had been burned and destroyed, this chamber had survived untouched.
After circling the sigil, the royal would draw a small knife, prick a finger, and let a drop of blood fall onto the sacred relic in the center.
The relic would then glow, the circle on the floor would respond, and the Offering Festival would be deemed a success.
Originally, the ritual required everyone possessing divine power to prove it. But in this era, no one could do that anymore. Perhaps the Castrain family’s winter Offering Festival was different, but…
“Welcome, Princess Titania.”
Kronen, dressed in white priestly robes like mine, greeted me with a feigned reverence.
I glanced around. The building smelled of fresh plaster and stone. During the ceremony, the temple was completely closed off—no outsiders allowed.
The citizens could only pray outside, watching the distant sacred fire.
Perfect conditions for the conspirators to make their move.
“This must be your first Offering Festival, Your Highness. Please follow my instructions.”
With a gentle smile, Kronen handed me a cup.
Inside was a crimson liquid, dark and viscous like blood.
“Please drink this first,” he said.
I hesitated.
Should I humor this little charade… or not?
