Meanwhile, on this very night.
East Borough.
In an unassuming room, a lady in a layered black dress and a black veil stood in the only clean spot in the room.
Before her, a woman knelt on the ground, staring at the lady's feet, which were exposed from beneath her black dress, emitting a low growl like a beast from her throat, her eyes filled with longing, as if she wanted to rush over and kiss the other party's feet.
But she was struggling to control herself, which made her tremble uncontrollably.
From above, a soft, low female voice came: "On the 18th, which is Saturday night, did you participate in a mysterious gathering?"
"Saturday… a gathering…" The woman on the ground breathed heavily, trying to maintain her self-control through this action. "I don't know of any gathering, Lady. On Saturday night, I went to bed very early. I wasn't feeling well that night, so I didn't go out on the streets to solicit business."
The soft but tempting voice slowly said: "Are you sure? I think you should recall it carefully."
"I'm sure!"
The woman on the ground seemed to be losing her self-control. She pounced forward, towards those fair, crystal-clear feet, wanting to embrace and kiss them.
Suddenly, one of those feet lifted and gently came down, stepping on her head, narrowing her field of vision to a mere slit.
"Think carefully, did you say at a gathering that a terrifying witch had come to Backlund?"
"I can't remember, I can't remember."
Tears and snot streamed from the woman's eyes on the ground, and her hands thrashed and clawed wildly: "Please, please hold me tight, I want it, I want it."
From behind the veil, a soft chuckle sounded. The laughter was so clear, like that of an innocent young girl.
"You've wasted so much of my time, yet you haven't given me the answer I want, and you still dare to make demands."
"For a thing like you, like mud, to be stepped on by me is already a great favor."
"What else do you want?"
The lady in the layered black dress withdrew her foot, glanced at the woman on the ground again, and then her figure vanished as if wiped away with a rag.
"Don't go, don't go."
The woman on the ground suddenly screamed hysterically, as if she had lost something precious, and curled up into a ball, weeping loudly.
As she cried, she began to cough, coughing more and more violently, unable to get up. She seemed to have suddenly contracted severe bronchitis, a rattling sound coming from her throat, and she felt as if a ball of fire was burning in her lungs.
The woman felt her head and throat getting hotter and hotter, she couldn't breathe, her throat seemed to be blocked by something, she struggled hard, but in the end, she stopped breathing.
In this cold night, she lay curled up, still shedding tears, but the light in her eyes had already faded.
This was a hall, with something resembling an altar set up in the center.
The floor was made of neat but mottled gray flagstones, and thick pillars supported the dome, through which moonlight naturally streamed.
The lady in the layered black dress emerged from the darkness and walked towards the altar, appearing in the moonlight: "I've investigated. I found the woman who exposed my whereabouts. She's just an ordinary person, a streetwalker."
"She couldn't possibly know of my existence, and she doesn't even know she participated in a mysterious gathering. Based on my experience, she was used, possibly by an 'Spectator'."
"An 'Spectator'? The Psychological Alchemists shouldn't know about this, but besides them, which 'Spectator' would want to disrupt our plan, and what benefit would he gain from it?"
Another figure emerged from a nearby pillar. This was a man, dressed in a pure black clerical robe.
His features were like an ancient sculpture, profound and distinct. His hair was dark gold, his eyes deep blue, his nose bridge high, and he wore an old-fashioned soft hat, his temples already streaked with gray.
One of his eyes had completely lost its luster, seemingly blind.
"This news has already spread at many gatherings. It will completely expose our plan, Lady of Despair. You should investigate the mastermind, instead of returning empty-handed like this."
A third voice sounded from behind the altar, where there had been no one before, but now a figure appeared.
It was a man in a black classical robe, wearing a hood that hid his face in shadow.
Lady of Despair turned and smiled in response: "Mr. A, are you accusing me?"
Mr. A's deep, hoarse voice sounded: "I prefer to interpret it as a correction."
Lady of Despair said in a soft, low voice: "Let's put it this way, I think it's meaningless to pursue the mastermind now, just as you said, this news has already spread at many gatherings."
"Even if we find the mastermind now, it won't change this fact. What we can do is act before the Three Great Churches and the military receive this news, before they can react."
The middle-aged man in the clerical robe with one blind eye said: "That is not a bad idea."
Mr. A said: "The altar still needs a few days to prepare."
Lady of Despair looked at him and said: "Then find a way to shorten the time, even shortening it by one day would be good."
"Now, gentlemen, I must go and greet the royal family. I leave this to you."
As her voice faded, her figure also disappeared.
It was already morning.
In a room at Saint Samuel Cathedral, Archbishop Anthony had arrived early and was adding a little firewood to the fireplace, making the flames inside rise slightly.
The clean-faced Archbishop, like a true old man, warmed himself by the fireplace until a knock came at the door, and Anthony looked up: "Come in."
The door opened, and Crestet, with the collars of his trench coat and shirt pulled high, walked in. There were still droplets of dew on his shoulders and sleeves.
Habitually pulling down his red gloves, Crestet said calmly: "I'm back, Your Excellency Anthony."
"You've worked hard."
Anthony waved, inviting Crestet to warm himself by the fire. The man with golden-brown hair and dark green eyes hesitated for a moment, then walked to the old man's side and sat in a chair near the fireplace.
"Did you find anything?" The old man stirred the firewood with an iron poker, asking casually.
Crestet glanced at the old man and said: "It can now be confirmed that Prince Edessak does indeed have a witch by his side. And His Highness the Prince has fallen in love with this witch."
Anthony let out a soft snort from his nostrils, and immediately, sparks flew in the fireplace, dancing for a moment.