TPOP 102

Chapter 102

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"Diana is close to water. She loves water, Duke. Don't you get it?"

Felix's words weren't nonsense. The ability to freely manipulate water, and even a 'slave' origin. Most who bore the slave brand were once citizens of the fallen nation of Dortes, a country that possessed the famed spirit paradise, the 'Well of Balestega'.

"Then, then that child, surely not—."

Could she be a spirit summoner?!

'The rain, the rain pouring down like this, surely not!'

Hugo felt like grabbing the back of his neck and passing out. He was utterly flabbergasted by his own stupidity!

Spirits. Like water and fire, earth and wind, they existed everywhere, yet were utterly imperceptible to human eyes. Thus, since ancient times, spirit masters were revered as gods capable of supernatural phenomena, sometimes as divine representatives, priests, or guardian spirits, receiving human worship. The title 'Spirit Master' was not merely a position or title, but a superhuman symbol proving nature's protection.

In the present age, even in the Kingdom of Dortes, which possessed the Spirit Well, such a being existed only once per generation. Even when Dortes fell, and the Karman army breached the royal castle and raided the well, they failed to find a single strand of the Spirit Master's hair.

Such a Spirit Keeper could instantly quell the seething public sentiment beyond those castle walls. The Spirit Keeper was the ultimate justification and legitimate cause to explain the current chaos and the Crown Prince's eccentric behavior.

A plausible story was born in an instant.

Prince Eisen, learning the Crown Prince had the Spirit Keeper, attempted treason. The rebellion failed, but their scheme led to the precious Spirit Keeper's disappearance. The Crown Prince is mobilizing every available resource to find her—.

"To squander such a golden opportunity—this truly is my misjudgment."

Hugo, his voice deep and grave, gave orders to the soldiers awaiting his command.

"Follow His Highness. Make his safety your top priority, but spare no effort in tracking down the maid!"

***

For a week of relentless search, rain fell without cease, day and night.

With the Crown Prince, the chief mourner, absent, the imperial funeral was indefinitely postponed. Undertakers maintained the body to prevent decay. The heat remained, and the unseasonal rain heightened the air's humidity. No matter how heavily salted, it was difficult to halt the decay of the dead flesh.

The Crown Prince returned to the palace ten days after the rebellion began. Only the guard unit, returning empty-handed, accompanied him; the blind spirit medium was absent. The hem of the Crown Prince's cloak was stained with mud and wet grass.

The bishop, who had come directly to the main palace, cautiously inquired about his intentions.

"Your Highness, how shall we conduct the national mourning?"

"Omit it. Send the coffin down to the church crypt."

The bishop was startled. While the content of the words was expected, the Crown Prince's voice was unrecognizably harsh.

The movement from his right shoulder to his hand was unnatural, of course, but above all, his eyes seemed like someone else's.

The blue glint lodged within his pitch-black pupils was anything but ordinary.

The Crown Prince had always been a lofty figure. Had he not been one who, even stepping upon blood-soaked ground, seemed sacred—like an angel descended to judge the world? The one who defined the world, the very embodiment of the norm. The chosen ruler of this nation, favored by the gods. A delicate, sensitive artist for whom the brush suited him better than the sword.

But now, he was merely a sword demon.

There was no trace of his finely honed elegance. The elements that made up the Crown Prince were now nothing but eerie and desolate. 

His jet-black hair, drenched and matted haphazardly; parched lips; whites of his eyes bloodshot red; pupils reflecting a desolate glow; cheeks splattered with bloodstains from who knows where. His clothes, crumpled and torn, reeked of damp earth and moss. Above all, the thick scent of blood hung heavy in the air.

If death, arriving without warning, took human form, it would surely look like this.

"The inscription on the tombstone..."

"Even a name and title would be too much."

Placing the coffin in the church crypt was the very last step of the funeral rites. They hadn't even performed the traditional ceremony allowing the deceased to shed all earthly authority and honor to be embraced by God. And now, even the epitaph was left blank? This went beyond disrespecting the late emperor; it was an act of unfilial piety.

Yet, fearing death might seize him, the bishop bowed deeply and accepted the order.

"Yes, Your Highness. I shall do so."

Feet caked in black earth passed the bishop. The Crown Prince, who hadn't even glanced toward the main palace, stepped onto the side path leading to the secondary palace.

His return to the imperial palace was not to mourn the national loss. Felix had come back for Diana's portrait.

Soldiers had been dispatched all the way to the lower reaches of the Renema River, yet no one had seen Diana. Not even a single witness had reported seeing a body floating down the river.

Riding for another seven days along the lower river reached the northwestern border region of the Karman Empire. A knight who had sent word ahead with the Crown Prince's orders had returned with the border guard commander's reply.

No blind woman passed through before the border closure. We will heighten checkpoint security to the maximum as ordered. If you could provide more detailed descriptions of her appearance or attire, we will immediately share them with all guards.

They needed specific details to pinpoint the search target. A blind woman with dark brown hair and light green eyes. The combination was unusual, but hair could easily be dyed, and light green eyes weren't exactly a rare color.

A beauty so striking she was hard to forget after just one glance. Such clichéd and subjective descriptions were still insufficient. An accurate composite sketch would have sped things up considerably. A single painting capturing her exactly would have sufficed. If she couldn't be apprehended at the border, it could be used to spread panic among civilians.

Since all his paintings were in the palace's art studio, Felix turned his horse around and headed back to the imperial palace. The option of ordering a servant to fetch the painting didn't even exist. If it was a painting of Diana, even a mere scrap of paper, he had to retrieve it himself.

Above all, he wanted to see her. 

It had already been a week since he last saw Diana. He had never gone this long without seeing her before.

Facing this unprecedented situation, Felix struggled to find his bearings. He could hear his own heart pounding wildly in his ears.

A man dressed as a chamberlain, whose face and name Felix did not know, rushed out and bowed.

"Your Highness, are you well? Please come inside—"

His babbling was drowned out by the rain.

With no orders to tidy the palace, the chaotic interior remained unchanged from ten days prior. In the front courtyard, the bodies of the servants who had died here ten days ago lay side by side in coffins. Those not yet laid to rest awaited their master's permission.

Felix’s steps faltered as he tried to pass the coffins without a glance. A headache struck, accompanied by an auditory hallucination.

“You are a terrible person.”

Felix clutched his forehead tightly with his left hand. His brain, engulfed in the headache, screamed.

The new steward of the palace, pacing restlessly, reported.

"The rain... continues to fall, Your Highness. It's said the downpour is growing worse daily, spreading beyond the suburbs to the vicinity of Taran. Moving the coffins is difficult, and holding the funerals is also... impossible."

"You know nothing."

"Burn it."

Felix barely managed to steady his breathing.

"Cremate it and send it to the bereaved family."

Death was everywhere. Felix climbed to the third floor of the palace and reached for the handle of the closed cremation chamber door. In that instant, a sharp pain slashed across his vision.

"......!"

His broken, swollen hand throbbed with excruciating pain at the slightest touch.

Felix gritted his teeth and flung open the studio door. Paintings hung on all four walls lay scattered on the floor or hung crookedly.

This was his small world, containing his very self.

The studio contained not the external world, but his innermost visions.

Walking along the walls from top to bottom, one could trace the jagged, uneven path of a human ego. It was a history of deprivation and fulfillment, refinement and collapse, and reconstruction.

Among these, the 140-plus paintings created for the exhibition occupied a space deeper inside. The final moments of the assassins who threatened his life over thirteen years were displayed there.

There was no reason to hang them carefully on the wall; most were simply piled haphazardly on the floor. Only the deaths of those who had aroused particularly intense murderous intent in him earned the honor of decorating the walls. 

Murderous intent could be seen as a kind of desire, in that it seeks the death of its target. Thus, this studio was also a projection of desire. Every painting here represented all the desires Felix possessed, whether he recognized them or not.

Diana, too, was destined to hang right here.