Chapter 30: The Return Journey
The carriage pulled away from the Foreign Affairs Temple. Lucian didn't look back.
He leaned against the wall of the compartment and looked out through the half-drawn curtain.
The Theocracy's streets receded slowly in the morning light — the white walls, the neat stone paving, the settled expressions on the faces of passersby — all of it like a scroll being quietly rolled away.
The morning mist hadn't fully lifted yet, wrapping soft around the spires of the distant temples, making those solemn buildings look somehow unreal, like silhouettes cut from a dream.
Siel — no, the real Siel, as she should properly be called now — was probably standing at some window at this moment, watching this carriage grow smaller as it left.
Maybe she was crying. Maybe not. Lucian didn't know.
He looked away and let the curtain fall.
The compartment dimmed.
"Young Master Lucian." Aldred's voice came from across the compartment, steady as always. "The Theocracy's welcome was considerably more elaborate than expected."
A probe.
Lucian glanced at the old butler. That face carved by years showed nothing out of the ordinary, but in those clouded eyes was a curiosity that only long acquaintance could read.
"Because the Aindra name carries enough weight," Lucian said easily.
Aldred didn't press.
He only inclined his head slightly, as though accepting the explanation.
Lucian knew he hadn't.
But that was enough.
Some things didn't need to be explained too clearly.
Aldred was the Aindra family's longtime butler, loyal to the last — and precisely because of that, there were things he was better off not knowing.
Lucian was genuinely a little curious what expression that stern old face would make if Aldred ever found out what had actually happened in there — that his young master had been prostrated before and worshipped as a descended god by the Supreme Pontiff of the Slane Theocracy.
But Lucian obviously couldn't let his own morbid curiosity increase the risk of exposure.
The wheels kept turning, their rumbling sound steady and rhythmic.
Lucian's gaze settled on the figure on the other side of the compartment.
"Siel" was sitting in the corner.
The same spot, the same posture — knees together, hands folded in her lap, back perfectly straight.
The pale grey dress wrapped neatly around her thin frame. The blue braids hung quiet at her shoulders.
Everything looked the same as when they had come.
But nothing was the same.
Those eyes.
The eyes from when they had come were tentative, carrying that faint startled quality — eyes that would drop away the moment he looked at them.
The eyes now were the same amber-brown, but they were like still water with no surface movement, gazing quietly at some empty point in the air, giving nothing away.
Noticing Lucian's gaze, she turned her head.
Their eyes met.
Those eyes held no expression at all — only a near-blank calm, like the surface of a lake frozen solid in deep winter, giving no indication of what lay beneath.
She should be grateful to me right about now, by any reasonable reckoning.
Lucian was genuinely puzzled. How is she already developing toward her canonical personality?
But on second thought, maybe it was because a child this age was being taken away from everything she knew, and the instinctive fear of the unknown had hit her hard. The blank, vacant look might just be her way of keeping herself together.
Lucian looked away and leaned back against the compartment wall.
The carriage moved on. The compartment was quiet enough to hear one's own breathing.
The light outside found its way through the gaps in the curtains and drew thin strips across the floor, shifting gently with every jolt of the carriage.
Lucian closed his eyes and began working through the gains and losses of the Theocracy visit.
Identity established. The Supreme Pontiff's recognition meant he now had quiet control over the most powerful human nation — the Slane Theocracy.
Secrecy levels set appropriately. The high priests, with the exception of the Water High Priest, knew only that the "God of Judgment" had descended — not his specific identity.
The Water High Priest and Zetsumei would both be able to corroborate the existence of this God of Judgment.
Working alongside the Supreme Pontiff, he had the Theocracy completely in hand.
The Scripture captains would receive no information at all. Even if someone were subjected to Nazarick's [Read Magic], there would be nothing of real value about Lucian to extract.
And then there was the child he had left behind in the Theocracy.
Lucian opened his eyes and looked out the window.
The light was just right, the wind gentle. The distant fields receded slowly from view, a farmer's figure visible now and then moving between the rows.
Siel.
Lucian turned the name over in his head, silently.
No promises, no arrangements, not even a word of "I'll come to see you." To that child, he was probably a cruel person — someone who had brought her from the royal capital all the way to the Theocracy, and then left her there.
But it was the right thing to do.
What Lucian had to do from here was dangerous. The less Siel was connected to him, the safer she was. And staying in the Theocracy, she would be well looked after — the Supreme Pontiff had promised personally to raise her as one of the Theocracy's own.
A long quiet settled over the compartment.
Aldred sat and took in the scene in silence.
From where he sat, Siel had been taken away by Lucian for a short while, and when she came back she had become quiet and disengaged, as though nothing in the world interested her.
And the young master himself had taken on the look of someone carrying something heavy.
The old butler's gaze moved back and forth between the two of them, his brow creasing faintly. He thought of certain things he had heard about the behavior of some of the Kingdom's nobles in the capital.
"Young Master Lucian."
Aldred's voice came suddenly.
Lucian opened his eyes.
The old butler's expression was something Lucian had never quite seen before. That face, which was always composed, now carried a complicated look — the look of someone choosing words with great care, with a trace of hesitation in it.
"There is something I should perhaps say, though I'm not sure it is my place."
Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Say it."
Aldred was quiet for a moment, his gaze moving between Lucian and "Siel."
Then he spoke.
"Young Master Lucian."
His voice was very low — low enough that only the two of them could have heard it.
"This sort of thing, for someone of your age, is still far too early."
Lucian blinked.
"What sort of thing?"
Aldred didn't answer directly. He only looked at Lucian, then at the quiet figure in the corner of the compartment, with a look that carried a certain meaning.
Lucian followed his gaze.
"Siel" was still sitting there, expressionless, motionless, like a finely made doll.
Then something went ding in Lucian's head.
He turned sharply and stared at Aldred with wide eyes.
The old butler's expression hadn't changed at all, but those slightly pressed lips were very clearly saying: you know what I mean.
"You..." Lucian's voice caught. "You don't actually think..."
Aldred inclined his head slightly, his tone impeccably sincere. "This servant only wishes to remind the young master that the Count has set certain rules — that for this kind of matter, the earliest permissible time would be four years from now."
The corner of Lucian's mouth twitched.
Four years from now.
That was ten.
Ten?!
"I didn't!" Lucian got the words out through his teeth. "Aldred, your mind is in the gutter!"
The old butler's eyebrow moved, barely, and a perfectly calibrated expression of puzzlement spread across his face. "In the gutter? This servant was only reminding the young master to take care of his health and not overexert himself. Where exactly did the young master's mind go?"
Lucian: "..."
He was completely speechless.
The compartment was quiet for a second.
Then Aldred added: "The young master's reaction just now was rather strong. Could it be that certain improper thoughts have indeed crossed his mind? This servant will of course report everything accurately to the Count."
Lucian drew a long breath.
He had been played.
Was everyone in noble circles this rotten?
Lucian opened his mouth to say something, and swallowed it back. How would he even explain? There was nothing he could say.
Lucian could only grit his teeth and say, in the most level tone he could manage: "You've read too much into it. I only felt sorry for Siel. Nothing more than that."
"I see." Aldred gave a small nod, as though accepting this. "Even so, the young master would be better served at this stage by applying himself quietly to his studies."
Lucian could feel a vein somewhere on his forehead. He made a private decision then and there: the moment he inherited the comital title, he was docking Aldred's pay.
In the corner of the compartment, those amber-brown eyes shifted slightly.
"Siel" had seen Lucian's face go blank as Aldred ran circles around him, had seen the corner of his mouth twitch, had caught the flash of helpless frustration in his eyes.
The corner of her mouth moved, just slightly.
The curve was so small that if you weren't looking for it, you would never have seen it.
About two pixels' worth.
Then it was pressed back down, so quickly it was as though it had never been there.
But somewhere in a corner of her heart, something was rolling around with delight.
Lady Elis was no fool.
After she came out of that room, the Supreme Pontiff had assigned "Siel" a mission called "replacement." From that point, Lady Elis had put the whole thing together, beginning to end — the education she had just sat through was absolutely connected to the person in front of her.
Without him, she would still be living her perfectly comfortable life in the Theocracy. Delicious snacks every day, a comfortable room, attentive instruction from her teachers. She would have been trained as one of the Theocracy's finest, and might one day have joined the Scriptures.
And now?
Now she had to impersonate someone else's identity and trudge off to some backwater corner of the Kingdom to work as a servant — waiting on a young master who was barely bigger than she was, pouring tea all day.
Lady Elis felt that her life had been stolen from her.
The culprit was the person right in front of her — the one who looked so kind and righteous on the outside.
The Supreme Pontiff's orders couldn't be defied. But that didn't mean she couldn't quietly enjoy herself in the privacy of her own head. Watching Lucian get absolutely demolished by his old butler — Lady Elis was very pleased.
Her gaze settled on Lucian. Those empty eyes held no expression at all, like still, stagnant water.
But if you looked carefully, at the very deepest point of that still water, something small was moving, very gently.
Like a small fish at the bottom of a winter lake, quietly flicking its tail.
The carriage moved on, the wheels turning with their steady rhythm. And the arc of history, too, had begun to turn, like those same wheels.
* * *
Lucian Alvein Dale Aindra.
The name alone told you something about the domain. "Dale" — as the word translated — meant valley.
The domain had a population of several tens of thousands.
Not a great number, compared to the Kingdom's total population of roughly eight to nine million.
The domain was situated in the valley terrain to the east of E-Pespel.
Not an ideal location.
Lucian, back in the Aindra domain now, thought this while looking at the map.
For an ordinary noble, at any rate. It was a little too close to a certain place. According to the original work, the Great Tomb of Nazarick would appear in this territory thirteen years from now, and E-Rantel would be the first city to suffer.
But for Lucian, that made this location considerably more workable.
He stared at the place names marked on the map and kept running the possibilities through his head. Too close and you got pulled into the fighting; too far and you couldn't stay on top of how things were shifting. The Aindra domain sat exactly at the line between danger and opportunity.
There was a knock at the door.
Lucian looked up.
"Siel" was standing in the doorway holding a tray, looking at Lucian with those unsettlingly sharp eyes of hers, expression blank.
"Siel" was wearing a black-and-white maid's dress — one of the domain maids' old uniforms, clearly taken in for the occasion. The hem just covered her knees. The white apron was tied with precise neatness, a small clean bow at the collar. The sleeves were slightly too long, so they had been folded back twice, leaving a short stretch of thin wrist visible.
The outfit on her had a subtle wrongness to it.
Like a doll that had gotten into someone else's clothes.
She walked in.
The black skirt swayed gently with each step. White stockings wrapped her calves. The black leather shoes on her feet were the standard-issue ones from the domain — they looked a size too large, and made a faint tap-tap sound as she walked.
She set the tray on the desk.
The movement was light, making no sound at all. The tray settled steadily on the surface, and the tea in the cup didn't so much as ripple.
On the tray was a cup of black tea, the color clear, the scent curling up in a faint thread.
"Young Master Lucian, your tea is ready."
Her voice was as flat as someone reading aloud from a textbook, no inflection at all. Having said it, "Siel" stepped back and stood to the side, hands at her sides.
Lucian lifted the cup and took a sip.
Then he burned his tongue.
The scalding tea left his tongue numb, and he barely managed not to drop the cup.
"Siel's" unhurried voice came a moment later: "I forgot to mention — the tea is hot, Young Master Lucian."
Her expression hadn't changed. Her tone was entirely flat.
Looking at the perfectly calm face of "Siel," Lucian had the distinct feeling she was up to something — and yet the expression genuinely didn't look like it.
Lucian set down the cup and stared at that expressionless small face for quite a while.
Not a crack in it.
Perfect camouflage. Perfect performance.
But Lucian had an odd feeling — that this apparently quiet, reserved little girl was, somewhere inside, quietly laughing.
Lucian looked away and turned back to the map.
Let it go. Let her do what she wants.
There was a long road ahead.
***
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