12 O'Clock Marionette

Chapter 12

A bored voice interrupted my explanation.

This guy probably wasn’t a good student.

I almost recalled Cruello’s excellent report card but quickly scattered the memory.

It’s just an illusion!

“Anyway, I know that. But why does it matter?”

“Have you been there?”

“......”

“Have you been there?”

“......Tch.”

Like he had.

As far as I knew, Cruello had never gone either. But there was a four-year gap between Viga and me, so I couldn’t be certain.

He’d gone through eight fiancées in that time—what wasn’t possible at this point?

As if he had read my mind, Cruello’s eyes curved in amusement.

“Do you want to go together?”

“......Why?”

“I told you.”

To set the mood.

***

The Harvest Festival.

I had forgotten about it for a while, but there was a time when I had wanted to go.

Back when I was Amy.

“I’m sorry, Amy. You can go alone if you want.”

“It’s fine. What’s the point if you’re not there?”

If I had to describe Cruello’s childhood in one sentence, it would be this:

‘A bean sprouted into a monstrous pumpkin.’

Young Roy was a bean.

Mild-mannered, without strong opinions, obedient.

He followed the adults’ rule of never leaving the estate without question, which, of course, meant he never got to see the festival.

I found that a bit unfortunate.

Not that I was terribly attached to the idea.

“We can see that much from here too.”

We had climbed a large tree in the duke’s mansion garden to watch the festival from afar.

Brilliant fireworks bursting in the sky.

A dazzling display conjured by a wizard, purely for beauty’s sake.

“Roy, what do you think?”

“I think... it’s really pretty.”

“Roy?”

“Oh. I mean, not ‘I think’—it is pretty. It would be nice to see it up close.”

“We can go someday.”

“Yeah. When we grow up, let’s go to the Harvest Festival together, Amy.”

Roy’s cheeks flushed as he smiled.

I smiled along with the child but couldn’t bring myself to agree.

Even if nothing went wrong, Amy would never grow up.

There was never going to be a day when she would go to the Harvest Festival.

But time passed, and as an adult, I was here.

The cute, adorable Roy was gone, replaced by the grown-up Cruello.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m devastated.”

Who had done this to the once sweet child?

The White Desert Elders.

If I ever met them, I wouldn’t let them off the hook.

Cruello shrugged, clueless about my inner turmoil.

We wore simple hooded robes, without guards or escorts.

Even the perception-blocking artifact had been deactivated.

Cruello had offered no explanation for this, yet I accepted without hesitation.

And the reason?

“To set the mood.”

I knew exactly what he meant.

To stir up rumors so the engagement couldn’t be annulled.

More bluntly, the goal was to screw over the Elders.

At least, that’s why I had come.

If this was how things were playing out, then was Cruello truly at odds with the Elders?

I hoped so.

Suddenly, Cruello stopped walking, and I bumped into his rigid back.

“Say something—”

“There’s a mask that suits your tastes perfectly over there.”

Reflexively, I turned my head.

A mask, similar to the ones used in the puppet theater but appearing to be about three times cheaper, greeted me.

“No, it’s not.”

As a follower of an ancient deity, I could say that with certainty.

My enthusiasm waned immediately, and I slumped in my seat.

[The dark god bewitched people into worshipping him, only to sacrifice his followers in return.]

[Hundreds fell victim to his cruelty.]

[Then, from somewhere, a hero emerged to stop him.]

[That hero was none other than Mormoro, the Saint of Recanon!]

Recanon. I knew that name.

The true name of the god of order.

His church and mine never got along.

Technically, it was more of a conflict between religious institutions, but that was centuries ago. I never paid much attention to it.

[A holy war began.]

[After a long and grueling battle, Mormoro finally drove out the dark god’s priest and vanquished him.]

[But Mormoro did not escape unscathed.]

The puppet of Mormoro collapsed, and the children watching from the front row screamed.

Some even started crying.

Their focused expressions on the tiny puppets were both amusing and oddly endearing.

[Thanks to Mormoro’s sacrifice, no more lives were taken as offerings.]

[Many came to mourn his death at his tomb. And then—]

“Huh?”

The puppets suddenly collapsed, and a person emerged from behind the box.

“Mormoro’s will continues to this day.”

What? Just like that?

The puppeteer smiled kindly. Then, at that very moment, a burst of white light flared behind him.

It was different from mine, but unmistakably holy power.

“Why is there holy power...?”

“Shh.”

Cruello pressed a finger to his lips.

Meanwhile, three more figures in white robes stepped out from behind the puppet stage.

Suspicious as hell.

The woman at the front began to speak.

“The descendant of Saint Mormoro still lives among us, caring for the unfortunate, just as their ancestor once did.”

“Oh, I know!”

“I know too! It’s the Saintess Mamic, right?”

“Correct. This is holy water, prepared under the Saintess’ guidance for the Harvest Festival.”

“Wow!”

“It contains only a small amount of divine energy, but may the blessing of the gods be with you all.”

One of the lower-ranked priests handed me a bottle of holy water.

Caught off guard, I accepted it.

A tiny vial, no larger than my pinky, filled with a milky-white liquid.

If I concentrated with all my might, I could barely sense the faintest trace of divine energy.

At this point, it was practically useless.

Beside me, Cruello also took a bottle, smiling politely.

“Thank you.”

“Huh?”

Then, as casually as breathing, he brushed his mana onto the priest’s robe.

A tracking spell?

So this was the real reason he came here?

I was baffled, but I couldn’t react.

Siora’s original body wasn’t supposed to be capable of handling mana.

“Did you really come all this way just to watch this performance?”

“Of course. I have a great interest in ancient gods.”

He never stops lying, does he?

“Just in case you’re wondering, darling, don’t use that holy water.”

“......Why not?”

“It’s expired. Last time I used it, it was a disaster.”

“That’s a terrible joke.”

“If you want to test it on yourself, I won’t stop you.”

There was no way he’d use it after hearing that.

Not that I had any intention of using it in the first place.

Still, the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth as I glanced down at the vial.

By the time I looked up again, the priests had disappeared like the wind, having finished distributing the holy water.

“They look like they just ran away. Not that they would, of course.”

“They did.”

“What?”

“It’s an illegal performance. Patrols are coming.”

No sooner had Cruello spoken than a whistle shrieked in the distance.

Guards rushed in, rummaging through the area.

Wait, seriously? Why?

“Priests conducting an illegal performance?”

“Worshippers of ancient gods are considered heretics. No one gets approval for this kind of event—except for ‘Mamic.’”