Seeing this, Shiomi didn't hesitate. He pulled a neatly folded cloak from his backpack, draped it over Morgan's shoulders, raised the hood to cover most of her face, and gently fastened the cord at the front.
The mountain air in midsumr wasn't particularly warm, and with the two of them using Magecraft to ward off pests, there was no practical need to bundle up.
Still, Shiomi did it anyway. Morgan didn't question him—she understood now why he'd insisted on carrying all the luggage himself.
This was the man she had chosen. If he acted this way, he had his reasons. All she needed to do was wait, like watching a film unfold, ready for the next scene to reveal its truth.
"There really are a lot of crows around here," Morgan remarked with a soft laugh as Shiomi adjusted her cloak.
"Crows carry souls."
A low voice echoed from the direction the birds had flown. A shadow erged—a man in his sixties dressed in black. Though age showed on his face, his figure under the coat remained solid and sturdy. Unkempt hair poked out from beneath an old, worn traveler's hat.
"It's not just Britannia. In continental Celtic mythology, crows often appear too. They're guides of the dead, guardians of graves. Their cry says it all—'Nevermore.'"
A single black feather landed on his shoulder.
"From the sound of it, you must be the gravekeeper?" Shiomi asked, stepping slightly in front of Morgan and turning to face him.
"What business does a Magus from the Clock Tower have here?" the man responded.
He'd recognized Shiomi at a glance—not only that he was a Magus, but one from the Clock Tower. Clearly, this man wasn't ordinary.
"No urgent business. I'm just scouting ahead for Lord El-lloi II," Shiomi said calmly as he turned to fully face him. "Also, a prophecy is close to fulfillnt. I ca here to deliver that ssage."
"Oh?" The man's eyes flashed with surprise.
Through the gap in her hood, Morgan saw the corner of Shiomi's lips curl into a smile.
"Or rather... the 'Black Madonna' will soon arrive here, to give the gravekeeper new guidance."
"Now that's a prophecy I've never heard before," the man said, still skeptical, though clearly no longer dismissive.
Shiomi's words had struck at sothing hidden in the man's identity.
"I only ca upon it by chance," Shiomi said with a warm nod.
"In that case, follow . I'm the gravekeeper—Bersac Blackmore. If you've co seeking , then co along."
With that, he turned and strode into the forest with surprising speed.
Shiomi didn't hurry. He already knew the route.
...
"Sigh..." Morgan let out a quiet breath. "So that's what this place is... I didn't recognize it."
Blackmore Cetery.
One of the most storied graveyards in the land, its na had long circulated among Magi.
"That's why I kept it a surprise," Shiomi said, taking her hand again—this ti, with deliberate elegance.
Morgan's palm rested lightly in Shiomi's, lifted ever so slightly—as if to announce to anyone watching that she was the one of higher status, and he, rely an attendant.
"Well then, just to be sure," she said from beneath her hood, lips pressed together but unable to hide the smile creeping across her face, "this 'Black Madonna' you ntioned... wouldn't happen to be—?"
"Do you really have to ask?" Shiomi smiled.
Finally, Morgan couldn't tolerate his smug theatrics any longer. With Servant-level strength, she gave his hand a hard squeeze, the resulting sound sharp enough to intimidate.
The "Black Madonna" ntioned by Bersac Blackmore was none other than Morgan le Fay herself.
Though, for the "Morgan" standing here now... that na wasn't entirely accurate anymore.
"I didn't expect you to bring
to such a remote mountain village just to play ghost gas." Morgan looked at Shiomi, who was starting to sweat but still kept a calm expression.
"If you're not happy with it, you're free to head back. It'll cost us a bit of ti, but I'll take you back to London and find another way here," Shiomi said, feeling a little guilty about dragging Morgan into this act. He had no intention of forcing her to play along.
"Well, since we're already here, we might as well take a look." Morgan stepped forward.
She had heard of Blackmore, but in all these years, she'd never set foot there and knew nothing about the place.
Following the path Bersac had taken, the two arrived at the village nestled in the rugged mountains.
The population was only around a hundred people—so small it felt like it could vanish from history at any mont. Most of the buildings were made of brick and tile, clearly over a hundred years old.
Though the villagers wore modern clothing, if they were dressed in dieval garb instead, it wouldn't feel out of place at all.
Bersac was already waiting at the village entrance. With him stood a man in clerical robes, so obese his triple chin made his face nearly round, and a young woman dressed like a nun.
People from the Holy Church.
Just one glance, and Shiomi and Morgan grasped the situation.
According to Bersac, the man and woman were the priest and nun of the northern church, also tasked with managing the village's daily affairs.
As outsiders, they needed the priest's permission to enter the village.
The priest was nad Fernando Croze, and the nun was Ilumia.
Led by the priest, the nun, and the gravekeeper, the two newcors made their way toward the church.
"So, may I have your nas?" Fernando asked, waddling forward as he wiped his sweat with a handkerchief.
"I am Tenkei Shiomi, and this is my wife, Aesc Shiomi," Shiomi introduced Morgan.
Bersac glanced at Morgan, her face obscured by a hood. "Is your wife unwell?"
"No, she just has sensitive skin. She's not used to the mountain climate," Shiomi answered smoothly.
As a Magus from the Clock Tower, Shiomi didn't attract further scrutiny from the Holy Church's local representatives.
Bersac had already explained they were just the advance party—the actual guests would arrive the next day.
Once they reached the church, the priest handed over the guest preparations to the nun and went off to receive the visiting faithful.
But as the nun passed by Shiomi to attend to her tasks, she paused and whispered sothing that imdiately caught Morgan's attention.
It wasn't the closeness that bothered her—it was the ssage, cryptic and unexpected, and it didn't seem like a warning.
"You'd better not stay here too long."...
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