On this chaotic morning, the news of the duke's assassination was quickly overshadowed. Rumors of a plague, one as devastating as Nolan's, spread like wildfire through the streets of Bel Diran, becoming the sole topic on everyone's lips.
The problem, of course, was the nature of Nolan's infamous plague. It sounded so terrifying because it was a Corpse Plague born from the Skull Sword. The seasonal flu Jenkins had caused was rely a concurrent event. But the citizens of Bel Diran made no such distinction. In their panic, they instinctively conflated the two entirely different outbreaks, convinced that their city was on the brink of the sa fate.
While there were plenty of rational minds, the old adage "a lie told often enough becos the truth" held fast in a city gripped by fear. By afternoon, the lockdown was in full effect. Unable to leave the city, Jenkins had no choice but to pass the ti with the young ladies at the Rosalia Inn.
He stood alone in Briny's second-floor room, gazing out the window at the street below. Small groups of n in black, their faces obscured by grim, beak-like masks, moved along the deserted avenues. Huge tal canisters were strapped to their backs, connected to hoses that sprayed an unknown disinfectant, coating the cobblestones in a fine mist.
"Isn't this a bit of an overreaction?"
From Jenkins's perspective, it was all a bit theatrical. But in the eyes of the Church and the Kingdom, it was anything but. This strain of flu had appeared once before, and with the End of the Era looming—a ti notorious for calamities—any sign of a potential epidemic warranted extre caution.
"Should I go to the Church and explain everything?"
But he had, after all, played the unsavory role of inciting an assassination, and explaining the thod he'd used would be difficult, to say the least. Worse, it would inevitably link him to the flu outbreak in Nolan. Jenkins felt a pang of guilt, but he was not about to walk into the Church and confess.
Chocolate, perched on Jenkins's shoulder, watched the scene below with curious eyes. Suddenly, the cat's ears twitched at the sound of approaching footsteps. It let out a soft ow, alerting Jenkins.
He turned to see Hathaway arriving with one of the inn's maids, who was carrying a tray of tea and cakes. The maid left as quickly as she ca, and the red-haired young woman joined Jenkins by the window.
"Where's Briny?"
Jenkins asked.
"She's downstairs with her friends. They're all disappointed they can't go out to see the lavender fields."
The city hall hadn't forbidden people from walking the streets, but leaving the city was strictly prohibited. Besides, the young noblewon from Nolan knew all too well how terrifying such a plague could be, so they had wisely chosen to remain indoors.
"It's a sha. I was planning to explore Bel Diran with Dolores and Alexia today."
Jenkins said wistfully.
"Is that really what you should be saying to ?"
the red-haired woman asked with a smile. She didn't seem angry, but Jenkins knew better than to continue the topic.
Now that Jenkins's "friends" from the northern kingdom had arrived, Hathaway intended to set her own plan in motion as soon as possible: letting Briny in on the secret of Jenkins's "colorful" love life. She told him to relax and just wait, adding in a deliberately theatrical, mournful tone that she felt like the heroine of so cheap romance novel, actively helping her own man woo other won.
Jenkins wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing that anything he said would be the wrong thing.
He planned to stay at the inn until evening, then go see Papa Oliver. Whether Oliver was in or not, he would then head to the Church to get a clear picture of the situation. He should have gone this morning, really, but a clergyman had brought a ssage telling him to stay in a populated area for the day. Jenkins presud they'd uncovered sothing strange about the assassinated duke and his killer, and wanted him to lay low for a while rather than coming directly to the Church for protection.
"Are you reading the Detective Knight Biography?"
Jenkins was lost in thought when Hathaway's voice pulled him back. She had noticed the novel lying face-down on a nearby desk.
The Detective Knight Biography was the most popular and influential series of the last few years. While it contained so rather risqué scenes, most readers subscribed to the philosophy that a good story must reflect reality, and few ever criticized the book for its more scandalous passages.
It wasn't just popular with young n like the original Jenkins; the series' influence had seeped into every corner of society. It was, in the truest sense, a novel that defined an era. Jenkins could easily imagine that, in a few years' ti, it would be hailed as a "classic" and a "legend."
"I just noticed it on the bookshelf. This is quite a nice inn, actually. It's not often they provide novels in the rooms."
"Don't they all do that now?"
She casually flipped the book open to the page Jenkins had been reading and saw it was a short poem.
"'Waiting'?"
Hathaway smiled.
"This poem is quite famous. I especially love the line, 'I'll bring you a little paper box, and set it down before your eyes.' It's so blunt, almost artless, but it's surprisingly... moving."
"ow~"
Chocolate narrowed his eyes and seed to nod in agreent, thoroughly pleased.
"A lot of books quote that poem. Almost every knight novel with a romance subplot shoehorns it in to seem more cultured."
Jenkins comnted distractedly, his mind still on the plague. He needed to find a way to explain the situation; otherwise, there was no telling how long Bel Diran would remain under lockdown.
"I heard the author of the Detective Knight Biography is coming with the delegation from Cheslan."
"Oh?"
That was news to Jenkins.
"Yes, a friend told a few days ago. It's so exciting! I an, a truly great author... Oh, I'm sorry, Jenkins, I didn't an that you're not..."
Hathaway imdiately realized the double aning in her words.
"It's fine."
Jenkins didn't mind in the slightest. He knew his own books were partly plagiarized from another world; he'd never truly considered himself a brilliant author.
"Did you know the author of the Detective Knight Biography is a beautiful young woman?"
Hathaway continued.
"I knew she was a woman,"
Jenkins said, dredging the fact from the original Jenkins's mories.
"And she's related to the royal family. A distant relation, but still."
the red-haired woman added.
"I didn't know that."
"Perhaps the King of Cheslan included her in the delegation because he knew Fidektri had found its own young, royal-descended author. Maybe the southern king wants to prove that the young talent in his own kingdom is just as impressive."
Hathaway joked.
"If that's the case, I'd actually be interested in eting her. Her books are genuinely good. Maybe I should ask for her autograph."
Jenkins replied, his gaze fixed on the street below. His eyes lingered on the n in their black coats and beak-like masks.
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