Ariadne's eyes became fierce.
“That guy?”
"Yeah, that guy. You're a half-regressor."
Ariadne didn't return to the past on her own. She never proposed a return to the "awakened ones," received a corresponding "mission," offered a tribute, showed her soul to gain permission, or performed a ritual. In this regard, she was as innocent as snow.
“The one who regressed you is definitely wandering around somewhere on the continent of this life.”
“Ah...!”
Ariadne bit her lip. He was the one who gave her a second chance, but he was also the one who pushed all the karma into her.
“If I am a half-regressor, then the one who regressed me can also be seen as the other half of the regression.”
The old woman chuckled softly.
“So far, no movement of that guy has been detected at all.”
The one who had reverted Ariadne had been as quiet as a mouse. The old Moorish woman suspected that he had either not been transported to this timeline, was unable to do anything due to his lack of memories of the past, or had already died in an unexpected accident.
The wine of return, originally offered directly, was a promise that allowed one to transcend time and space. It's unclear what tricks the Amharic used to dismantle Ariadne's magic, but the premise remains unchanged.
You can't send two people to different timelines with one offer. At least, not completely.
“That’s why I thought maybe he didn’t come.”
But it appeared like this, in a flashy red dot.
It was unclear what form he would take. Ariadne remained with her past memories and the karmic retribution he had been given. The nature of his "mission" must have been known to her.
Since Ariadne returned to her body intact with her memories, there must be some kind of taboo on that side, such as not having holy memories or not being able to return to her body.
“It won’t be in good condition.”
In fact, there was one more unspoken hypothesis: the last hope that whoever sent Ariadne back to the past might have acted with good intentions.
The person who used this magic of regression must have completely believed that she would accomplish her 'mission' and his wish, and sent Ariadne alone to the Central Continent of another timeline, praying for the best.
But every sorcerer knew that a good person does not inflict his own karma on others.
Ultimately, the appearance of this red dot today shattered that hypothesis.
- Crash!
The grandmother swung her cane wildly. The tip of the staff rippled, pointing to Ariadne's new red dot.
The Salman priestess spoke with the same authority she had held back when she was the highest priestess of the Balasa Ordo.
“Your other half has started working.”
Ariadne stared at her grandmother in surprise. The old woman spoke calmly.
“It’s a good thing.”
The other party needed to turn the tables. Ariadne is now on trial, facing the scrutiny of two people, and she's also bearing the karmic retribution of two people.
If one of us has to endure this, shouldn't it be me who has to endure it?
“And there’s no need to show mercy. He’s really evil.”
It was unclear why he'd been holding his breath all this time and why he was only now waking up, but she'd figure it out. It didn't matter.
The old woman's lips curled into a grin, almost cruel. The competition she had overcome to become the greatest Salman priestess in Balasa Ordo came to mind. Her blood boiled.
It's time to see who the sorcerer is who has come closer to the mystery, long and short.
“Let’s have some fun with karma.”
Salman the shaman had never lost a duel of this kind.
While Ariadne spoke with the old priestess above, Sancha sat in the coat room and waited in the same posture.
It was a tedious, if not uncommon, experience for a noblewoman's attendant to wait for her master to complete his business. Sancha, too, had never complained about having to wait outside alone while Ariadne attended to her business.
But today she was angry. So angry that she couldn't even hide her dark feelings.
“Miss Sancha. Does your stomach hurt somewhere?”
Sir Manfredi asked while we were killing time together in the coat room.
“Miss Sancha’s expression looks like she needs to go to the bathroom right now...”
Instead of being able to punch, Sancha punched Sir Manfredi with her mouth.
“If Sir Dino were here, he would have hit Sir Manfredi right now.”
“Sir Dino? Me? Hey, Sir Dino can’t hit me. I’m stronger.”
“Go away. I’m depressed.”
Sancha wasn't in the mood to listen to such nonsense. She abruptly turned her head away. But Antonio de Manfredi was a man who never gave up.
“If you’re depressed, should you drink some milk?”
Sancha gaped at the absurd attempt at a joke, looking up at Sir Manfredi. And Antonio de Manfredi was a man who never stopped.
“Even if the Rambouillet Relief Center is cutting its budget, it’s almost New Year’s, so they’ll at least have milk and cookies.”
Just as Sancha was about to respond, a brown-haired man joined the conversation. His hair was a light brown, like straw, and his curls were fine and wavy.
“Sancha doesn’t like sweet things.”
Sancha raised her head. The man was so tall that she had to stare at him for a long time. It was Giuseppe.
'Why is he acting like that all of a sudden?'
It wasn't that she disliked sweets. She simply hated the cookies Giuseppe brought her. Giuseppe had objectively terrible taste. He'd often bring her things like sugar cookies sprinkled with ginger and cinnamon, telling her to eat them. Sancha couldn't understand why he would spoil the taste of flour and sugar by sprinkling them with such things.
Giuseppe turned his head and asked Sancha.
“You don’t like sweet things, right?”
Sancha wasn't in the mood to explain. Both Manfredi and Giuseppe were fed up.
“Leave me alone. Both of you. Please.”
Sancha hugged her knees and just turned her head away.
They say you shouldn't let your mood become your attitude, but today, Sancha couldn't control her emotional ups and downs.
She knew that Ariadne had come here today to see the old Moorish woman. It wasn't because Ariadne had told her. She simply couldn't help but notice after being around her for so long.
Ariadne, who lived in the de Mare mansion, started going to Campo de Spezia every New Year's Eve without fail.
Miss Ariadne was the type of person who never stopped doing something once she started.
Once she decided to exercise in the morning, she would wake up every morning and stretch for years without fail. Once she decided to keep a diary, she would write at least one word every single day without fail.
It was the same with meeting the old Moorish woman.
And today was the last day of the month. Sancha knew exactly what her lady was doing.
However, Ariadne allowed Sancha to accompany her in the carriage, but never allowed her to enter the meeting place with the old woman.
'I'm not upset that you didn't include me.'
No, actually, it was upsetting to know that there was a secret the young lady couldn't tell her.
But Sancha didn't doubt Ariadne. She was her benefactor and savior. She couldn't possibly treat her badly.
There must have been a reason for everything, and since it was something she didn't need to know, she didn't tell her, so she was able to take care of it herself.
‘But why are you bringing the young lady of Count Elba up with you?’
She was her own lady. Closer to her than family, closer to her than anyone else.
When Prince Alfonso appeared and took her hand, she could truly wish her happiness. Essentially, it was a void that Sancha could not fill.
But it wasn't Felicite.
“I’m upset...”
As the words came out of her mouth without her knowing, a cookie suddenly appeared before her eyes.
As they were talking about cookies, Sir Manfredi, who had become drawn to them, went to the kitchen himself and brought them back. While he was munching on cookies, Sir Manfredi grabbed a few more and handed them to Sancha.
“When you’re depressed, sweets are the best.”
“Oh, sir.”
Sancha cursed, but her hand reached out. It was a warm cookie, fresh from the kitchen. The fragrant aroma, a mixture of sweet and savory, wafted through her, and she, embarrassed, flared her nose.
It was a sight she couldn't bear. Sancha, as if possessed, ate the cookies Sir Manfredi offered her.
It was sweet. The sugar spread through her mouth, overwhelming all other thoughts.
Sir Manfredi also gave Giuseppe a cookie.
“See, there’s no one in the world who doesn’t like sweets.”
Giuseppe absentmindedly took the cookie and put it in his mouth. But with a face like he'd eaten shit, he added a word.
“It’s so sweet.”
The meeting with the old priestess ended late into the evening. Ariadne came down from upstairs only a few hours before the new moon rose. She was accompanied by Felicite, who had no idea what misunderstanding she had caused.
But she still had a place to stop, Sir Manfredi pleaded.
“Your Highness, I think it’s time to return to the palace.”
“Just one more thing.”
She climbed into the carriage without hesitation, ready to take the reins from the coachman's box if Sir Manfredi didn't permit her.
Of course, Ariadne would never have to take the reins herself. Giuseppe was there waiting, ready to beat Sir Manfredi out of the carriage and drive it instead.
“It’s not dangerous at all.”
With fifty knights in tow, the border wouldn't be dangerous, but the destination she was headed to was somewhere a woman could stroll alone at dawn without any problems. Ariadne was planning to visit a place in Bocca della Giano, lined with the most expensive luxury homes in San Carlo.
“Let’s stop by the de Mare Mansion for a moment.”
The building will soon be renamed after the next Cardinal who will occupy it.
Before that, there was a place that needed to be cleaned up while the 'de Mare Mansion' was still the de Mare Mansion.
'It's time to retrieve the secret safe in the central staircase that my father spoke of.'
“That guy?”
"Yeah, that guy. You're a half-regressor."
Ariadne didn't return to the past on her own. She never proposed a return to the "awakened ones," received a corresponding "mission," offered a tribute, showed her soul to gain permission, or performed a ritual. In this regard, she was as innocent as snow.
“The one who regressed you is definitely wandering around somewhere on the continent of this life.”
“Ah...!”
Ariadne bit her lip. He was the one who gave her a second chance, but he was also the one who pushed all the karma into her.
“If I am a half-regressor, then the one who regressed me can also be seen as the other half of the regression.”
The old woman chuckled softly.
“So far, no movement of that guy has been detected at all.”
The one who had reverted Ariadne had been as quiet as a mouse. The old Moorish woman suspected that he had either not been transported to this timeline, was unable to do anything due to his lack of memories of the past, or had already died in an unexpected accident.
The wine of return, originally offered directly, was a promise that allowed one to transcend time and space. It's unclear what tricks the Amharic used to dismantle Ariadne's magic, but the premise remains unchanged.
You can't send two people to different timelines with one offer. At least, not completely.
“That’s why I thought maybe he didn’t come.”
But it appeared like this, in a flashy red dot.
It was unclear what form he would take. Ariadne remained with her past memories and the karmic retribution he had been given. The nature of his "mission" must have been known to her.
Since Ariadne returned to her body intact with her memories, there must be some kind of taboo on that side, such as not having holy memories or not being able to return to her body.
“It won’t be in good condition.”
In fact, there was one more unspoken hypothesis: the last hope that whoever sent Ariadne back to the past might have acted with good intentions.
The person who used this magic of regression must have completely believed that she would accomplish her 'mission' and his wish, and sent Ariadne alone to the Central Continent of another timeline, praying for the best.
But every sorcerer knew that a good person does not inflict his own karma on others.
Ultimately, the appearance of this red dot today shattered that hypothesis.
- Crash!
The grandmother swung her cane wildly. The tip of the staff rippled, pointing to Ariadne's new red dot.
The Salman priestess spoke with the same authority she had held back when she was the highest priestess of the Balasa Ordo.
“Your other half has started working.”
Ariadne stared at her grandmother in surprise. The old woman spoke calmly.
“It’s a good thing.”
The other party needed to turn the tables. Ariadne is now on trial, facing the scrutiny of two people, and she's also bearing the karmic retribution of two people.
If one of us has to endure this, shouldn't it be me who has to endure it?
“And there’s no need to show mercy. He’s really evil.”
It was unclear why he'd been holding his breath all this time and why he was only now waking up, but she'd figure it out. It didn't matter.
The old woman's lips curled into a grin, almost cruel. The competition she had overcome to become the greatest Salman priestess in Balasa Ordo came to mind. Her blood boiled.
It's time to see who the sorcerer is who has come closer to the mystery, long and short.
“Let’s have some fun with karma.”
Salman the shaman had never lost a duel of this kind.
***
While Ariadne spoke with the old priestess above, Sancha sat in the coat room and waited in the same posture.
It was a tedious, if not uncommon, experience for a noblewoman's attendant to wait for her master to complete his business. Sancha, too, had never complained about having to wait outside alone while Ariadne attended to her business.
But today she was angry. So angry that she couldn't even hide her dark feelings.
“Miss Sancha. Does your stomach hurt somewhere?”
Sir Manfredi asked while we were killing time together in the coat room.
“Miss Sancha’s expression looks like she needs to go to the bathroom right now...”
Instead of being able to punch, Sancha punched Sir Manfredi with her mouth.
“If Sir Dino were here, he would have hit Sir Manfredi right now.”
“Sir Dino? Me? Hey, Sir Dino can’t hit me. I’m stronger.”
“Go away. I’m depressed.”
Sancha wasn't in the mood to listen to such nonsense. She abruptly turned her head away. But Antonio de Manfredi was a man who never gave up.
“If you’re depressed, should you drink some milk?”
Sancha gaped at the absurd attempt at a joke, looking up at Sir Manfredi. And Antonio de Manfredi was a man who never stopped.
“Even if the Rambouillet Relief Center is cutting its budget, it’s almost New Year’s, so they’ll at least have milk and cookies.”
Just as Sancha was about to respond, a brown-haired man joined the conversation. His hair was a light brown, like straw, and his curls were fine and wavy.
“Sancha doesn’t like sweet things.”
Sancha raised her head. The man was so tall that she had to stare at him for a long time. It was Giuseppe.
'Why is he acting like that all of a sudden?'
It wasn't that she disliked sweets. She simply hated the cookies Giuseppe brought her. Giuseppe had objectively terrible taste. He'd often bring her things like sugar cookies sprinkled with ginger and cinnamon, telling her to eat them. Sancha couldn't understand why he would spoil the taste of flour and sugar by sprinkling them with such things.
Giuseppe turned his head and asked Sancha.
“You don’t like sweet things, right?”
Sancha wasn't in the mood to explain. Both Manfredi and Giuseppe were fed up.
“Leave me alone. Both of you. Please.”
Sancha hugged her knees and just turned her head away.
They say you shouldn't let your mood become your attitude, but today, Sancha couldn't control her emotional ups and downs.
She knew that Ariadne had come here today to see the old Moorish woman. It wasn't because Ariadne had told her. She simply couldn't help but notice after being around her for so long.
Ariadne, who lived in the de Mare mansion, started going to Campo de Spezia every New Year's Eve without fail.
Miss Ariadne was the type of person who never stopped doing something once she started.
Once she decided to exercise in the morning, she would wake up every morning and stretch for years without fail. Once she decided to keep a diary, she would write at least one word every single day without fail.
It was the same with meeting the old Moorish woman.
And today was the last day of the month. Sancha knew exactly what her lady was doing.
However, Ariadne allowed Sancha to accompany her in the carriage, but never allowed her to enter the meeting place with the old woman.
'I'm not upset that you didn't include me.'
No, actually, it was upsetting to know that there was a secret the young lady couldn't tell her.
But Sancha didn't doubt Ariadne. She was her benefactor and savior. She couldn't possibly treat her badly.
There must have been a reason for everything, and since it was something she didn't need to know, she didn't tell her, so she was able to take care of it herself.
‘But why are you bringing the young lady of Count Elba up with you?’
She was her own lady. Closer to her than family, closer to her than anyone else.
When Prince Alfonso appeared and took her hand, she could truly wish her happiness. Essentially, it was a void that Sancha could not fill.
But it wasn't Felicite.
“I’m upset...”
As the words came out of her mouth without her knowing, a cookie suddenly appeared before her eyes.
As they were talking about cookies, Sir Manfredi, who had become drawn to them, went to the kitchen himself and brought them back. While he was munching on cookies, Sir Manfredi grabbed a few more and handed them to Sancha.
“When you’re depressed, sweets are the best.”
“Oh, sir.”
Sancha cursed, but her hand reached out. It was a warm cookie, fresh from the kitchen. The fragrant aroma, a mixture of sweet and savory, wafted through her, and she, embarrassed, flared her nose.
It was a sight she couldn't bear. Sancha, as if possessed, ate the cookies Sir Manfredi offered her.
It was sweet. The sugar spread through her mouth, overwhelming all other thoughts.
Sir Manfredi also gave Giuseppe a cookie.
“See, there’s no one in the world who doesn’t like sweets.”
Giuseppe absentmindedly took the cookie and put it in his mouth. But with a face like he'd eaten shit, he added a word.
“It’s so sweet.”
***
The meeting with the old priestess ended late into the evening. Ariadne came down from upstairs only a few hours before the new moon rose. She was accompanied by Felicite, who had no idea what misunderstanding she had caused.
But she still had a place to stop, Sir Manfredi pleaded.
“Your Highness, I think it’s time to return to the palace.”
“Just one more thing.”
She climbed into the carriage without hesitation, ready to take the reins from the coachman's box if Sir Manfredi didn't permit her.
Of course, Ariadne would never have to take the reins herself. Giuseppe was there waiting, ready to beat Sir Manfredi out of the carriage and drive it instead.
“It’s not dangerous at all.”
With fifty knights in tow, the border wouldn't be dangerous, but the destination she was headed to was somewhere a woman could stroll alone at dawn without any problems. Ariadne was planning to visit a place in Bocca della Giano, lined with the most expensive luxury homes in San Carlo.
“Let’s stop by the de Mare Mansion for a moment.”
The building will soon be renamed after the next Cardinal who will occupy it.
Before that, there was a place that needed to be cleaned up while the 'de Mare Mansion' was still the de Mare Mansion.
'It's time to retrieve the secret safe in the central staircase that my father spoke of.'
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