The gentle ringing of church bells echoed between the cold stone walls. The air was filled with the scent of incense mixed with the smell of damp earth still clinging to the feet of those who had come from the slums. The church's tranquil light cast shadows over the people standing motionless, as though the world itself had bowed its head in respect.
At the front of the altar lay a simple wooden coffin. White flowers had been neatly arranged around it. Rows of mourners dressed in black filled the church. Several market-goers who had once laughed together with Michelle now wept in silence, covering their faces with their hands, as if unable to believe that the old man who had always smiled was now nothing more than a name in their prayers.
A priest dressed in black robes stood at the altar, leading the prayer. His voice was calm yet heavy.
"He rendered great service to this kingdom. Even when no one knew of it, he remained steadfast as one of those who upheld its protection," the priest said solemnly. "May the soul that has fallen asleep find peace on its journey toward the Heavenly Kingdom."
Those words lingered in the air, piercing the hearts of everyone present.
Joseph felt uneasy. The people from M21... what exactly had Michelle done to end up facing something like this? What kind of world was this? Everything made Joseph feel as though their lives were nothing more than pieces on a game board controlled by nobles. They were not free.
The priest and everyone inside the church took out a crescent-shaped emblem surrounded by stars. Then they clenched their fists around it with reverence, Joseph included.
The priest took a deep breath before starting to pray.
"Queen of the Night..."
"The Great Goddess of the Moon..."
"Star that traverses the cosmos..."
"Mistress of the endless night..."
"We beseech You, guide the soul of Your child. Lead him to Your heavenly kingdom. Praise be to the Princess!"
Joseph stood among the crowd, staring at the coffin without moving. His hands were clenched tightly, but not out of anger—it was because of something far deeper. The sorrow felt real. Too real. In front of him, Arianna cried silently, her shoulders trembling softly, her eyes swollen, as though half her life had been buried together with Michelle.
Joseph's heart felt torn apart.
Logically, he knew... the old man lying inside that coffin was not his grandfather. Michelle was not a part of his life. He was merely Ciel Grand's grandfather, not Joseph August's. He should not have been this devastated. Yet his chest felt tight. His head felt heavy. And somehow, without realizing when it had begun... the boundary between himself and Ciel had started to blur. Memories... experiences... emotions... all of them were merging together. No longer belonging to two different people. His determination to find a way back wavered slightly.
When he saw Arianna crying, something inside him collapsed. Not as a stranger. Not as a bystander. But as family. Tears fell before he even realized it.
Amid the prayers and the mourning of the crowd, Joseph lowered his head. His lips trembled as he muttered.
"What difference would it make if I returned to London? Was life there any better than it is here? Is this my soul, Joseph August, rejecting this new world? At the very least... I'm not alone here, am I?"
Joseph bit his lower lip hard. His eyes looked lifeless. Then he saw Arianna still crying, and a thought crossed his mind.
"If there's a reason for me to stay in this world instead of searching for a way back... perhaps it's to protect Arianna and be the only family she has left. She has already lost her grandfather. Does she have to lose her brother too?"
"Maybe I'll stay here a little longer. Until Arianna can live without Ciel..."
The funeral continued. In that quiet cemetery, rain began to fall softly. Written on the gravestone were the words:
"Though difficult, it still had to be done."
The echo of the priest's final prayer brought the ceremony to an end. One by one, the mourners departed from the cemetery. Leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than before.
The Grand family's house felt different when they returned. Quiet. So quiet that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like hammer blows.
Arianna sat on a long chair in the living room, which also served as their dining room. Her eyes were empty, as though her soul had remained behind at the cemetery with her grandfather. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. Ciel sat across from her, equally devastated, yet trying to remain strong. No one spoke. No one knew what to say.
Then—Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound at the door shattered the silence. Arianna flinched slightly. Ciel turned his head, slowly rose to his feet, and walked toward the door with heavy steps.
When he opened it, a tall man stood outside. His build was sturdy, and a neatly trimmed mustache framed his serious face. His hair was combed neatly backward, and the M21 uniform he wore radiated authority and discipline.
"Good afternoon," he greeted briefly yet politely, raising a military badge. "Is this the residence of the Grand family?"
Ciel simply nodded.
The man was invited inside. He sat in the living room while Arianna watched him with tired eyes. Without much small talk, the man opened the leather bag he had brought. He took out several documents, a wooden box... and then a thick bundle of money neatly tied together. Thirty ten-pirch notes and four five-pirch notes. A total of three hundred and twenty pirch. A sum large enough to rival the annual income of a middle-class family.
He placed everything on the table, the sound echoing far too loudly in the silent room.
"This is the death insurance payout for the late Michelle Grand. The box contains several of his belongings," he said flatly. "He... fulfilled his duties long before this incident occurred."
The room fell silent again.
No one moved.
Several minutes passed before Ciel finally found his voice.
"Sir..." he said quietly. "May I ask something?"
The man turned toward him.
"For something like this... what kind of work did my grandfather actually do?"
For a moment, the man remained silent. His gaze shifted slightly... there was something hidden within it—reluctance, or perhaps respect.
"Michelle Grand was a remarkable man," he finally replied. "A very brave man, and a good mentor to me as well. Beyond that... there isn't much I can say. My apologies."
His voice grew heavier as he spoke those final words.
Several seconds later, the man stood up. He bid them farewell politely and left without ever giving his name, leaving behind more questions than answers.
As the M21 officer stepped out of Ciel's house, he paused briefly in front of the door. He frowned and spoke quietly, though it was unclear to whom he was speaking.
"Search Michelle's room thoroughly."
Night slowly descended. Because Arianna was still drowning in grief, Ciel decided to cook. His hands moved automatically, trying to stay focused so his thoughts would not completely collapse. The aroma of warm food gradually filled the room.
When he returned to the living room... Arianna had already fallen asleep in her chair. Her breathing was soft. Her eyes were still red. Her body looked fragile. Ciel let out a quiet sigh.
"Get some rest..." he whispered softly.
He couldn't bring himself to wake her. Instead, he quickly gathered the belongings the man had delivered so he could put them away.
As he walked toward his own room, his steps suddenly stopped. Without realizing it, he found himself heading toward Michelle's room instead.
Michelle's room was dark when he opened the door. The scent of old wood, dust, and something faint... like cold metal, greeted him. Moonlight slipped through the narrow window, striking the aged furniture and casting long shadows across the floor.
Ciel stood at the doorway for quite some time before finally stepping inside.
His gaze swept across the wardrobe, the old work desk, the wooden chair, and the other ordinary-looking belongings. He paused for a moment as he looked at the box containing his grandfather's possessions in his hands. Unable to resist his curiosity, Ciel opened it, eager to see what his grandfather had left behind.
Inside was a bronze key with a blunt tip, lacking the shape usually found on ordinary keys. There was also a small note and a beautiful brooch. The brooch was made of pure gold, with several small gemstones embedded on both ends.
Ciel shifted his attention from the bronze key to the small note. Written on the paper was a language that should not have existed here. It was English.
His face turned pale, and his body trembled violently.
"How did Michelle write this? Who wrote this?"
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
In rhythm with his pounding heart, he read the words written on the note.
"Find the Jester!"
That short sentence struck Ciel like a bolt of lightning. He immediately looked around and noticed a painting hanging on the wall.
The same painting he had caught a glimpse of years ago. It depicted someone wearing strange clothing, almost ridiculous in appearance. The face had been painted in oil with an exaggerated smile. It looked old and antique. Exactly like a royal fool—a jester.
At the center of the painting was a small hole, resembling a keyhole. Yet strangely, it did not have the shape of a normal keyhole. Ciel suddenly realized something. Perhaps the key inside the box was meant for this?
The air inside the room suddenly turned cold.
Ciel stepped closer. His heartbeat began accelerating unnaturally. His hand picked up the key from the box and guided it toward the painting. The moment the key entered, it passed through and seemed to vanish into the canvas itself.
Then...
Something invisible seemed to flow out of the painting... like an unseen gaze watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His breathing grew ragged. And as he stood directly before it, a blood-red vortex emerged from behind the painting. Large enough to be called gigantic.
The vortex expanded. Then, at a certain moment, it pulled him forward with overwhelming force. It felt like being struck by a colossal tidal wave.
"W-What is this...?"
The air was sucked inward. Dust scattered into the air. Ciel's body was dragged toward the vortex. It was already too late to retreat. His hand was swallowed first.
Pain exploded instantly.
It felt as though millions of thorns were piercing his fingers, tearing through flesh, severing tendons, and drilling into bone. Ciel nearly screamed... but even his voice seemed to be consumed by the vortex. He tried to pull his hand back, but it was useless.
And as his skin split open, his blood flowed into the vortex. Dripping. Then merging with it. As though the vortex itself were thirsty.
The pulling force grew stronger. Ciel felt his entire body being dragged along with it.
Then suddenly, the pull stopped.
CRASH!
Something was thrown out of the vortex and slammed heavily onto the floor. Then another object followed. Two boxes. One large and one small. Both are crafted from intricately carved wood.
And just as suddenly as it had appeared... the vortex vanished. As though it had never existed at all. The painting returned to silence. The world returned to normal. The room became quiet once more.
The only thing left behind was Ciel, sitting weakly on the floor, desperately gasping for air. Cold sweat drenched his face. Yet the arm that had felt completely destroyed moments ago showed no wounds whatsoever. It looked perfectly normal.
For several seconds... or perhaps several minutes... he simply sat there. Trying to breathe. Trying to understand what had just happened.
But how was that possible? Was it magic? Some kind of demonic power? Whatever it was... it had already surpassed all common sense.
Eventually, when his body had recovered enough, his gaze fell upon the two mysterious boxes now resting on the floor of Michelle's room. With trembling hands... he picked up the larger box first.
He opened the lid.
Inside... was a thick brownish-yellow book. Its cover was old, yet still sturdy. Strange symbols were faintly engraved across its surface. There was nothing particularly unusual about it at first glance. It looked like an ordinary old book.
Except for the fact that it was incredibly thick and heavy.