Meanwhile, Bernadette had also collected her 1,500 pounds from selling the Faceless characteristic.
Even knowing now that Klein was the Fool, the key to fighting off the apocalypse, business was still business — according to Vincent, only by keeping real pressure on Klein could he keep pushing past his own limits, laying the groundwork for becoming the future "savior."
Honestly, Vincent himself hadn't been entirely sure this was the right approach — but the Goddess of the Evernight had done exactly the same thing, and following a god's example was never a bad bet.
Still, Bernadette now knew the truth of the apocalypse. Through Beyond the Grey Fog — the Source Fortress — she'd also gotten a rough sense of the Goddess of the Evernight's own plans. And yet, her heart felt heavier than ever:
Going by what Dad had said, there were multiple outer gods with designs on this world, and even the weakest of them likely outclassed the Seven Gods combined. Even if Klein truly did ascend beyond godhood someday, how could he possibly stand against multiple opponents of that caliber?
No wonder Dad had sounded so utterly hopeless.
No wonder he'd told her to run, without a second thought, the moment things went wrong.
Tucking the money into the "Secret Door," Bernadette replayed her brief exchange with Klein in her mind. According to what he'd said, his next step was heading out to sea, searching for whatever he needed for his next Sequence advancement.
Could this count as some kind of hint from her own "signpost of fate"?
Though, for now, Bernadette couldn't quite work out what going back out to sea would actually accomplish for a pirate queen like herself.
She thought it over for a moment, then decided not to overthink it further. After locating the Dawn's current position, she stepped into the Spirit World and made her way there.
Moments later, she'd arrived in the Dawn's captain's quarters.
Everything in the room remained exactly as she'd left it. The instant she pushed the door open, Crunch, in his ghostly state, solidified into view before her. "Welcome back, Your Majesty."
"Mm."
Bernadette glanced toward the deck, asking, flat, "Where are you all headed?"
"That dead volcano island in the Sonia Sea."
Crunch said, "The Pirate Conference is next week. You specifically instructed us to attend, so I planned to arrive there first and report to you afterward."
The Pirate Conference...
Bernadette felt an odd sense of déjà vu wash over her. The last time she'd wanted to attend a Pirate Conference, it had been right after Vincent first became "Broker" — back then, her goal had been to help him play the role properly, and later, to broker deals, "earning" gray crystal for the scale.
She'd never had any personal interest in gatherings like that, of course — at her own Sequence, an event of that caliber held no real meaning for her at all.
Which raised a question she couldn't help but ask herself now: with her own connection to the Nation of Disorder severed, yet still retaining her "Broker" abilities, would continuing to broker deals and cooperation still earn the Nation of Disorder any gray crystal at all?
That question was destined to remain unanswered until she saw Vincent again.
Still — she'd just gotten a "head out to sea" hint from her own "signpost of fate," and now, back on the Dawn, here was a Pirate Conference conveniently coming up. Wasn't that basically a sign, telling her to go?
"How much longer until we arrive?"
"About three to four more days."
"All right. From now until the Pirate Conference ends, I'll be staying aboard the Dawn."
"Understood, Your Majesty. Everyone will be thrilled to know you're back!"
At that, Crunch suddenly frowned, hesitating a moment. "Your Majesty — when do you plan to fill the second mate's position? It's been sitting vacant this whole time. Or do you have other plans for it?"
Bernadette blinked. "The second mate's position on the Dawn has been empty this whole time? I could've sworn..."
She thought back on it, and, sure enough, it really had been vacant, all this time: the position had originally belonged to Cattleya, but after their falling-out, Cattleya had left the Dawn to form her own crew, and the position had simply stayed empty ever since.
"..."
But why does something about that feel so... off?
Bernadette waved a hand. "Use your own judgment on it."
"Understood."
"Tonight... let's throw a feast."
Crunch's perpetually stern face broke into something close to a smile. He raised a hand and called out to the rest of the crew. "By Her Majesty's order — feast tonight!"
After a brief pause, the whole crew erupted into cheers: "Feast! Feast! Feast!"
Watching her crew celebrate like a bunch of overjoyed monkeys, Bernadette couldn't help a small smile of her own, feeling, for a moment, as though she'd returned to the life she'd led before ever meeting Vincent.
She made her way up to the Dawn's highest deck, and, in the cool sea breeze, gazed out at the shimmering blue expanse stretching to the horizon, brushing a strand of hair back, murmuring: "Everything will get better..."
"Everything's already getting better."
...
The Intis Republic had been founded, with the Church's backing, out of the wreckage of the old empire, after Roselle's assassination at White Maple Palace.
Called a "republic" in name, in practice, aside from lacking a king or emperor, it had preserved nearly every institution Roselle had originally established — a comprehensively weakened, miniature version of the old Intis Empire.
It was from that point on that the Northern Continent's foremost power shifted from the Intis Empire to what eventually became the Kingdom of Loen — a position it still held to this day.
In a small town called Bolte, some forty or fifty kilometers from the capital, Trier, a plain, unremarkable carriage rolled into the simple, unassuming city.
Driving the carriage was a well-dressed middle-aged gentleman — though the long journey had clearly taken its toll; his hair was disheveled, his face etched with visible exhaustion.
"Your Highness—"
"Walter, I'm not a prince anymore. Just call me 'Ed.'"
Edsac pulled open the carriage window, speaking earnestly from within.
Ellie leaned in too. "And I'm Ellie."
"Very well, Master Ed. Miss Ellie."
Walter nodded. "It's already getting dark. Perhaps we should rest here for the night, and continue on to Trier tomorrow."
"Sure, whatever you think's best."
Walter gave the reins a light shake, guiding the horses at an easy pace toward the town's center, and, a dozen or so minutes later, drew to a stop in front of a modest-looking inn.
"Master, this is the finest inn this town has to offer."
Edsac hopped down from the carriage, then turned to help his sister down as well. The two of them walked into the inn alongside Walter — right as a small, wiry figure darted out from the side, colliding straight into Edsac.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, honored sir, I — I didn't mean to."
It was a boy of seven or eight, dressed in rags, black hair cropped short, pale blue eyes, his face streaked with grime — unmistakably a street urchin.
Ellie stepped forward, gentle. "Do watch where you're going next time. Wouldn't want you getting hurt."
"Thank you, kind miss."
The boy turned to leave — only to find his wrist suddenly caught in a firm grip. His expression shifted at once, terrified, looking up at Edsac. "S-sir... what are you doing?"
"What am I doing?"
Edsac regarded him coldly, twisting his arm just enough to turn him around, then reached into the waistband at the boy's lower back and pulled out a coin purse.
Ellie gasped. "That's — that's my purse."
Edsac opened the purse and glanced inside — a dozen or so Fellkin notes. The boy's whole body went rigid: getting caught pickpocketing a little spare change usually meant, at worst, a beating. But this much money, combined with how noble his mark clearly was — for a street kid like him, that could easily mean death.
He'd watched, with his own eyes, as one of his fellow street kids had once been beaten to death over far less.
His eyes darted rapidly, mind racing for some way out.
But right then, having confirmed nothing was missing, Edsac simply shoved the boy to the ground and said, "Get lost."
The boy blinked, startled, then scrambled backward, bowing repeatedly as he retreated:
"Thank you, thank you so much, sir."
Ellie sighed, pulling a few copper coins from the purse and pressing them into the boy's hand. "Go buy yourself something to eat. And don't do this again."
Having experienced her own share of "hardship among the common people" firsthand, Ellie knew exactly how much to give — enough to help, not enough to draw trouble.
"Thank you, miss. You're a good person."
The boy lowered his head and hurried off.
"Let's go, brother."
"Mm."
Meanwhile, the moment the boy ducked into a nearby alley, five or six other kids around his own age swarmed around him. "Boss Lumian! How'd it go? Did you get anything?"
To be continued…
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