Alexia didn't imdiately explain the reasoning behind her conclusion. Instead, she invited Jenkins to sit down. Jenkins, who had only ant to drop by and deliver the news, had no choice but to take a seat. Alexia continued:
"In the tower, I discovered a rubbing of an ancient stone tablet titled 'The Record of Reversal.' It details dangerous symbols and rituals with anings completely contrary to those familiar to Benefactors. It ntions the term 'Reverser of Fate.' According to the text, this was a massive ritual created by madn in the distant past, designed to align with fate."
"Align with fate, not reverse it?"
Jenkins asked with a piqued interest, scooping up his cat, Chocolate, who was trying to bat an apple from the fruit bowl, and settling him onto his lap.
"People in ancient tis realized that once fate has been observed, reversing it is nearly impossible. So they devised another thod—one that rewrites destiny completely while seemingly aligning with it. The stone tablet rubbing is only a fragnt; the complete record vanished long ago, so I'm not clear on the exact nature of this ritual. However, I find it highly unlikely to be a coincidence that the Mr. B you encountered, the 'Reverser of Fate,' happens to use that exact title. You must understand, 'Reverser of Fate' isn't a common term. It's quite a mouthful, rarely used in everyday speech, and is said to have evolved from so ancient dialect."
She paused for a mont.
"But it could also be a coincidence."
"It's worth investigating."
Jenkins said, then paused to think.
"Investigating this on our own would probably take too long. How about this," he suggested, "I'll find a chance to use my identity as one of the Believers of Lies and commission Miss Stevel to look into it. That way, the Orthodox Church is bound to find so relevant clues for us right away."
"That would be better, but I have a bad feeling about this."
The petite woman was still a little worried, but seeing Jenkins's calm and composed deanor, she subconsciously began to relax.
His plan for Tuesday was to visit Papa Oliver first, then Bishop Parrold, and finally deal with matters concerning the Young Flower Seller, the Gear Artisans' Association demigod, and Miss Stevel.
But that busy, tightly packed schedule was unceremoniously shattered that very morning.
Jenkins woke in his bedroom and glanced at his pocket watch. It was precisely six in the morning. Treating it as just another ordinary day, he washed up and then headed downstairs with Chocolate in tow.
Julia, who had already prepared breakfast, imdiately ducked into the kitchen the mont she saw Jenkins. This was because of what happened last night. For reasons unknown, Hathaway had goaded Julia into knocking on Jenkins's door a second ti. But before she could even utter a second word to him, the young maid had darted away toward the washroom.
Nothing more ca of it. Miss Hathaway had simply leaned against the doorfra, teasing Jenkins about his rotten luck. Afterwards, as a thank you for the lute, she had stepped into his room and closed the door behind her.
In any case, it was a perfectly normal morning. Jenkins scanned the newspaper but found nothing of interest. He ate his breakfast at a leisurely pace, fed his cat just as slowly, bid the ladies of the house farewell, and then headed out.
The rain had stopped the previous evening, but a thick fog had once again enveloped the city, casting a pall over what might have been a cheerful morning.
Jenkins hadn't even made it off St. George Street when he heard the clatter of a fast-approaching carriage. He pressed himself against a nearby wall to get out of the way, but the vehicle screeched to an ergency stop just after passing him. Jenkins, using his [Spiritual Communion], could even hear the horse ntally berating its driver with so truly colorful language.
"Jenkins, get in! Quickly!"
Miss Windsor leaned her head out of the carriage window. Even so early in the morning, she was impeccably put together, her hair neatly styled and her face adorned with light makeup. Only her urgent expression betrayed any hint of haste.
"Good morning, Miss Windsor. I'm on my way to Papa Oliver's. He said he had sothing to discuss with today..."
"Papa Oliver will forgive you. Sothing terrible has happened!"
Her face vanished from the window only to reappear as she threw open the carriage door. Without waiting for an argunt, she pulled Jenkins inside.
"What's happened?"
"'The Proud One,' Tackwen, is dead."
"Hm? Who's dead? Tackwen? Wait, are you saying the king of the Cheslan Kingdom... died in Nolan?"
Like the delegation from the northern kingdom, the southern contingent was lodged within the city. While housing in Nolan had beco sowhat scarce lately, finding a large enough manor to accommodate such distinguished guests was still manageable.
After leaving City Hall the previous evening, King Tackwen had returned directly to his residence as usual. He attended to so official docunts, held a private eting with his accompanying officials, and then sat down for dinner.
Following dinner, he received a few local nobles from Nolan who had co to pay their respects. Later, he took a carriage to the Royal Opera House for a performance, where he happened upon a prince of the Stuart family, though they rely exchanged courteous greetings.
Tackwen retired for the night at around eleven. As the queen had not accompanied him on this visit, he was alone in his bedroom. The servants left him undisturbed. It was only at half-past six this morning, when the king failed to rise, that his personal attendant knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he forced his way in, only to find the king dead.
By the ti he was discovered, Tackwen had been dead for hours. Even if ti could be turned back, and Jenkins had burst into the room alongside the attendant that morning, it would have been too late to save him.
Although the Cheslan delegation imdiately sealed the residence and demanded the Fidektri Kingdom's cooperation in the investigation, news of the death spread like wildfire. That was why Miss Windsor had co rushing to St. George Street to find Jenkins.
Tackwen's death ant that the day's negotiations were most certainly canceled. Not only that, but as Jenkins and Miss Windsor rode in the carriage toward Queen Isabella's residence, they saw that the police had already cordoned off nearly the entire city center.
Miss Windsor didn't know how Tackwen had died or whether Benefactors were involved. But since the police were the ones mobilizing on the streets, instead of the Church, it was highly probable that no evidence linking the death to supernatural causes had yet been found.
They alighted from the carriage at the entrance to the manor and were only permitted entry after a far stricter inspection than usual. The number of police officers and attendants responsible for security around Queen Isabella's residence had easily tripled; it seed she, too, had been deeply unsettled by the morning's news.
After a brief eting with the elderly queen, they joined the dukes and the mayor, who were already waiting. From there, a grand procession of carriages made its way to City Hall. Standing on the building's imposing front steps, Queen Isabella delivered her first public address to the nation since her arrival in Nolan.
She promised the people that the murderer would be found swiftly and that the guilty party would face due punishnt. She also extended her condolences to the Kingdom of Cheslan and pledged that the Alecio royal family would be compensated.
At the sa ti, King Salsi II issued a statent from his own residence. He likewise condemned the killer, denounced the heinous act, and pledged to cooperate with the Fidektri Kingdom to find the person responsible for the southern king's murder.
Despite these assurances, later that afternoon, while Jenkins was reviewing the police autopsy and cri scene reports with Miss Windsor, a servant rushed in and handed her a note. The color drained from her face as she read it, and she turned to Jenkins.
"Tackwen's eldest son—the legal heir to the throne of Cheslan—announced an hour ago in Dullin that the armistice morandum signed by his father is now void. Cheslan will commit all its national strength to attack the Fidektri Kingdom. They will have vengeance for their fallen king."
Jenkins lowered the docunts he was holding, tossing a photograph of Tackwen's body—one that had been acquired at considerable expense—onto the top of the pile.
"He made the announcent that fast? Wait, sothing's not right. How did they even know Tackwen was dead? They didn't waste any ti, did they? So, does this an the war is starting again?"
Based on the investigation so far, Tackwen, "The Proud One," died from poisoning. It wasn't so rare substance, just simple pufferfish toxin. Nolan was a coastal city with a thriving fishing industry, and with it being the height of sumr, the toxin would be incredibly easy to acquire.
After interrogating everyone who was near Tackwen last night, the investigators identified the poisoner: a young chef from the kitchen staff. He was a citizen of Cheslan who had traveled to Nolan with the southern delegation and had already earned King Tackwen's deep trust back in Dullin.
When the king's death was discovered, the young chef vanished, prompting the city-wide lockdown that morning. But he was only an ordinary man. Queen Isabella, fully aware of the potential fallout, paid a personal visit to the temporary residence of the Church of Destiny in Nolan. Through their divination, the chef was located.
He was dead, too. The cause was suicide by poison. His body was found in a fishery warehouse in the Nolan Docklands, lying next to a tank teeming with pufferfish.
Since both King Salsi II and Queen Isabella had requested the Church's assistance—and because the Church itself had no desire to see war engulf the continent's heartland once more—they made an exception and joined the investigation.
With the diviners from the Church of Destiny on the case, a conclusion was reached that very day, before Tuesday night fell. The last person to et with the deceased chef was a Mr. Horas Luther.
"That na sounds sowhat familiar."
In the drawing room of his ho on St. George Street, Jenkins looked up from the docunt with a puzzled expression. He remarked this to Miss Windsor, who answered with a grave tone:
"Have you truly forgotten? He's that foreigner—the one who might have inherited the throne if you hadn't co into the picture."
Then it ca back to him. Jenkins frowned, accepting the cup of tea Julia offered with a quiet word of thanks. After leaving Queen Isabella to grapple with the major diplomatic crisis, he and Miss Windsor had returned to his ho. A steady stream of intelligence had been flowing in from all corners, and the docunts he now held were the very latest reports.
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