“Someone wants to kill us.”
The girl rubbed a bit of rust that had risen up the carriage window between her fingers. A soft touch was enough for the rust to turn into blood, evaporate, and disappear.
The woman sitting across from her knocked on the carriage window and called to the coachman:“Sir, please stop the carriage.”
“What is it, miss? We are still far from Solvellon.” Though confused, the coachman obeyed, folding his eight mechanical legs and lowering the vehicle. He wouldn’t dare disrespect such distinguished clients.
The woman opened the door and stepped out, carrying a black chest almost as tall as herself. She then extended a hand to help the girl down.
Outside, the girl looked at the green moon in the center of the sky.
She estimated that it was already noon.
The road was deserted, and the chance of encountering another spider-carriage was practically zero.
Apparently, they would need to find a place to spend the night, as it would be impossible to reach Solvellon before dark.
The carriage they were traveling in resembled a vehicle with eight spider legs.
There were no horses pulling it; instead, there was a coachman.
Steam-powered mechanisms replaced the animals, but replacing people required something even more precious.
The girl reflected on this while watching the woman beside her and smiled.
That “something,” she had.
The coachman watched as the passenger stepped out of the carriage and approached him.
The girl gave a graceful bow, with natural and elegant movements.
Not understanding what was happening, he forgot to return the gesture.
Before he could react, he heard the girl say:“Mr. Senda, my name is Charlotte von Eiberg, heir to Count Armand and a knight of House Eiberg. This is my companion, Caroline.”
The girl who introduced herself as Charlotte wore a black dress.
She was small and delicate, looking about 16 or 17 years old.
Her golden hair had a pinkish tint at the tips, a detail that revealed her noble origins.
She seemed like a character straight out of a fairy tale, with movements full of elegance.
More surprising than her heir title was the fact that she remembered the name of a coachman.
Nobles rarely took the time to notice someone from a lower class.
Beside her, Caroline wore a white shirt and a dark brown overcoat, standing nearly two meters tall.
Her short white hair barely covered her ears.
She appeared at least ten years older than her young lady.
Her posture resembled that of a detective more than a maid.
Even in the dim green moonlight, Senda noticed similarities between them.
He suspected there might be a blood relation.
After all, rumors said that some nobles used illegitimate children as guardians for their heirs.
Charlotte asked:“Sir, have you come into contact with any suspicious individuals recently?”
“Suspicious individuals...? Well, the day before yesterday, I transported some members of the Rats gang...” Senda stammered, wondering if those men had done something in the carriage.
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Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted their money.
“Have you, by any chance, studied or come into contact with illegal magic? Something like red alchemy, witchcraft pacts, or false worship rituals?”
The accusation of practicing illegal witchcraft was one of the most feared.
For those convicted, the gentlest fate was the stake.
“Miss…”
“Do you admit to being a sorcerer?”
“That’s enough!” Rage overtook Senda.
He was just a humble coachman, but he wouldn’t accept baseless accusations, not even from a noblewoman.
“Do you think you can incriminate me just because you’re nobles? I won’t accept this insult! I don’t want your money anymore. Go on alone.” His eight mechanical legs spread wide as he prepared to leave them on the road.
“Wait a moment, sir. I only have one more question.” Charlotte placed her hand on her chest, looking at Senda with compassion.
“Does your heart still beat?”
That was when Senda realized.
He placed his hand on his chest, where his heart should have been.
He felt magic controlling gears that echoed like thunder.
He opened his mouth to say something, but instead, red steam poured from his lips.
His iron ribs projected like insect limbs, tearing through his flesh.
Behind him, the carriage began to transform, manipulated by veins that covered it and formed a grotesque metal armor around it.
Charlotte stepped back and snapped her fingers.
A magical glow emanated from her hands.
The metal, once indestructible, lost its shine, becoming fragile.
This was the only permitted form of magic: white alchemy.
Caroline, who had remained silent until then, had placed the black chest on the ground.
When Charlotte stepped back, Caroline moved forward.
Silver light appeared from her fingers.
With one movement, the light transformed into threads.
With another, the threads became a net.
The net enveloped the coachman and the carriage.
There was no sound. No movement.
The fusion process between iron and blood ceased.
Under the green moonlight, it looked like a sculpture.
A piece of the "sculpture" broke off, and then it crumbled entirely.
The silver blade Caroline had shot from her fingers melted into liquid and returned to her body.
Caroline was not human.
She was a creation of white alchemy, a masterpiece as magnificent as the steam machine: a doll.
In front of the mixture of blood and iron, Charlotte extended her hand, clenched her fist, and recited a sacred prayer according to the divine texts.
White flames emerged from the metal, purifying the filth.
Dust particles flew from the flames, gathering in Charlotte’s closed hand.
The flames went out.
Charlotte opened her hand and gently blew, scattering the dust into the air.
The particles shimmered, reflecting the light of the moon and stars, traveling in the direction from where they came.
“May the queen protect your soul. May the queen grant you eternal joy,” said Charlotte, watching the dust disappear.
Caroline picked up her black box, walked over, and stopped by her side.
Charlotte felt the automaton’s presence and asked, “If I had noticed earlier, could he have survived?”
It wasn’t the first time Charlotte had seen someone die before her eyes, but she could never get used to it.
“When he became a material for Red Alchemy, he was already dead,” Caroline replied without hesitation.
“Who is trying to kill us? I was careful to cover our tracks.”
“Forgive me, Miss, but I don’t know. The travel plan was devised by the Count, and the number of people with access to this information should not exceed ten.”
“Ten people…” Charlotte began to reason, and a satisfied smile quickly spread across her face.
After all, she was the daughter of the famous mystery novelist Charlotte Christie. Solving a case like this was easy: eliminate all the wrong possibilities, and what remained had to be the truth. It couldn’t be her grandfather, nor Ander or Evelyn. That meant…
“Caroline, I’ve figured it out! The person who revealed our location was…”
“It was you, Miss,” Caroline interrupted bluntly, shattering Charlotte’s fantasy.
“Eh?” Charlotte froze.
The culprit was the detective herself? What kind of book would write something so absurd? She had never read such a strange story!
“Miss, every time you introduce yourself, you make sure to announce that you’re the heir of Count Armand. Now, the entire city of Iris knows who you are.”
Blushing furiously, Charlotte tried to justify herself: “That’s not revealing anything… I’m a knight! Knights don’t hide their identity! They must proudly declare their lineage, stand tall, and fight for their family’s honor and the Queen’s glory!” Inspired by the protagonists of chivalric romances, she puffed out her small chest and adopted an expression of unwavering conviction, as if to say, “This is how it must be.”
“Miss, allow me to remind you that your title of knight refers only to your noble rank. The proper address would be Lady or Dame. Until you join an order, you should not declare yourself a knight,” Caroline explained patiently. She knew that, given the use of Red Alchemy, whoever was behind the attack already knew their identity. However, certain notions of her mistress needed correction.
In truth, the secrecy measures for this journey had never been particularly stringent. The family’s enemies, their three-century-old feuds buried beneath the ruins of Kaihaide, no longer had any reason to act.
Count Armand had no other heirs either. There was neither necessity nor motive for anyone to plot against the young lady.
“What is clear is that your current situation is unsafe. The best solution would be to return to Iris, investigate who is behind this, and once safe, proceed to Solvellon…”
“No!” Charlotte interrupted Caroline firmly. “We’re going to Solvellon. My parents have waited five years for me. I can’t let them wait any longer.”
“I need to bring their remains back. I need to know who is responsible for their deaths.”
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