Tak. Tak. Tak.
Walking through the dimly lit streets of the Theocracy, Vanitas adjusted his fedora.
Clink—
The soft chime of bells echoed as he stepped into a peculiar bar. The air inside was thick with smoke and the scent of old liquor.
“….”
Looking around, he noted several drunken customers scattered about, some laughing boisterously, others immersed in games of poker, blackjack, pool, and idle conversation.
With a subtle nod, Vanitas made his way to the counter. The bartender, dressed in an elegant suit, looked up and eyed him carefully, sizing up the unfamiliar face.
“A new face,” the bartender said, eyeing him. “What’ll it be?”
It was worth noting that this was an invitation-only bar, which made Vanitas’s presence all the more unusual.
“Rum,” Vanitas replied.
Then, he tapped on the counter six times subtly.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
After a moment, he added, “But I prefer it with a mix of absinthe.”
The bartender paused as he studied Vanitas more closely. Then, without a word, he gave a subtle nod.
“Alright,” he said. “Follow me, sir.”
Vanitas nodded silently and followed him toward the staircase leading to the second floor.
They walked down a quiet corridor until the bartender stopped in front of an ornate door. With a glance back at Vanitas, he opened it and stepped inside.
Leading him into a peculiar chamber, the bartender spoke calmly, “He’s here, just as you instructed, my Lady.”
Vanitas’s eyes narrowed slightly as he stepped through the threshold.
“….”
The room was dimly lit, illuminated by the soft glow of amber lamps and the flickering fireplace at the far end.
Seated gracefully at the far end was a woman, looking at them with a subtle smile.
“Thank you, Henry,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving Vanitas.
It was Irene.
“Excuse me,” the bartender said, respectfully nodding as he quietly stepped out, closing the door behind them.
“Please,” Irene gestured gracefully to the seat across from her, “have a seat.”
Vanitas remained still for a moment before finally walking over and settling into the chair.
“To begin,” Irene said, sliding two cards across the table toward him. “Here’s the export license you asked for… and the other item you requested.”
Vanitas picked up the cards and examined them closely. One was an official export license for the Theocracy.
The other was a false identity which was built around the records of a man who had died decades ago, someone with no known background, no family, and no ties that could raise suspicion.
“Still,” Irene chuckled. “What a peculiar name.”
Vanitas smirked and slipped both cards into the inner pocket of his coat. Then, removing his fedora, he revealed hazel-brown hair beneath it. His once amethyst eyes now gleamed a deep shade of green.
Every detail of his appearance had been altered, perfectly matching the identity on the forged ID.
James Moriarty.
Irene reached into her coat and pulled out a cigarette, holding it between her fingers.
“Smoke?” she offered.
“I quit.”
Irene shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
She lit the cigarette with a flick of her lighter, a magic circle illuminating her face for a brief moment before she took a slow drag.
*Puff*
A silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and the slight hiss of burning tobacco.
“I appreciate the quick response, Princess,” Vanitas said at last. “Unfortunately, I’ve accumulated a bit of debt with the Gambino Family, and I’m about to rack up even more. Taking on your favor right now wouldn’t exactly work in my best interest.”
“…”
Irene’s brow twitched ever so slightly, but her expression quickly smoothed into something more composed.
“Elaborate,” she said curtly.
Vanitas leaned back slightly in his chair. “Let’s just say… I’ve found myself in a rather complicated situation.”
“A problem?”
“Yes,” he replied. “The Ainsley Marquess Family is on my back. I’ve sent them a message. A very clear one. And they responded rather politely.”
His lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile.
“A vendetta is all but inevitable.”
Irene shook her head and let out a sigh. “You’ve just been elevated to Marquess, and already you’re picking fights with your competitors.”
“What can I do?” Vanitas replied with a shrug. “They pulled the trigger first.”
“Well,” Irene said, leaning back in her chair, her cigarette held delicately between her fingers, “all I can tell you is this. You’re going to lose politically. Simon Ainsley’s influence is no joke. He’s deeply involved with the parliament and a favorite to win in the upcoming elections. If he wants to drag your name through the mud, he’ll do it with no hesitation.”
“There won’t be a problem,” Vanitas replied calmly. “I have just as much dirt on him as he has on me. And frankly, he has a lot more to lose than I do.”
To put things into perspective, Vanitas’s alleged transgressions were already public knowledge.
Anyone curious enough could dig them up with a simple search, but none of it held weight anymore. They were stories people had heard before.
Simon Ainsley, on the other hand, had carefully cultivated the image of a clean, virtuous statesman. To the public eye, his reputation was that of a man of integrity.
And truth be told, uncovering any dirt on him was no easy task. However, by now, Simon had caught a glimpse of Vanitas’s capabilities after seeing the ledger presented just days earlier.
What Simon didn’t yet realize was that Vanitas held a joker card.
His son, Silas Ainsley.
“I can’t speak for it,” Vanitas said. “But he won’t have a choice. He’ll be forced to withdraw from any political battle.”
“Hmm…” Irene murmured, her gaze sharp with thought. “It seems like you have it all under control.”
She paused, then smirked.
“But don’t be mistaken. I’m not going to help you.”
“Don’t worry, Princess,” Vanitas replied smoothly. “I never intended on asking you.”
‘Because I don’t have to,’ he thought.
A brief silence followed before Irene shifted topics.
“Now, onto the matter at hand,” she said. “Have you been attending the Chicken Council meetings?”
Vanitas raised an eyebrow. “Chicken Council?”
“I don’t know. Council of Roosters or something.”
“Council of Owls, Princess.”
“Yes, that. Have you been attending?”
“So you knew I was invited?” he asked.
“It’s a gathering of lower nobles,” she replied with a shrug. “Given your rank at the time, it wasn’t hard to deduce. You were well within the range to receive an invitation.”
“Fair. As for your question, no. I haven’t been invited since the first meeting.”
Irene studied him for a moment, then let out a soft sigh.
“I believe they might be stirring a revolution,” she said. “There have been unusual movements in the slums of Aetherion lately. Discrepancies in supplies, talks of organized gatherings, even reports of arms circulation.”
Vanitas leaned back slightly, feigning ignorance. “And you suspect the Council of Owls is behind it?”
“I suspect they’re the ones fueling it,” Irene replied. “Discontent among the lower nobility isn’t new. But now they’re rallying the lower class behind them.”
There was a clear and distinct separation between the new and old nobility, as well as between the lower and higher ranks of aristocracy.
The old nobility, particularly those of lower standing, were steadily losing attention and influence. This shift was the reason many nobles had begun aligning themselves with parliament, hoping to curry favor under the newly emerging legislative government system.
To maintain power, one had to join the tide that pushed for equality among the lower classes as much as possible.
The new nobility, those who had been elevated to aristocratic status within the past 10 to 100 years, sought to legitimize themselves.
In doing so, they aimed to consecrate their power by aligning with political factions to establish a stronger presence in both social and governmental circles.
However, the real problem lay in the class divide between lower and higher nobility.
To those in the upper echelons, anyone below the rank of Earl was practically viewed as a glorified commoner.
This sense of elitism created a rigid power structure, where established noble houses actively suppressed the rise of lower-ranked lineages in fear of losing favor from both the crown and the parliament.
In the end, these growing frustrations and systemic disparities eventually gave birth to the Council of Owls, a collective of lower-class nobles, both old and new.
Time passed quickly as Vanitas and Irene continued their discussion, covering everything from politics to his plans moving forward.
As Vanitas turned to leave, Irene stepped toward him.
“Wait,” she said.
“….”
He paused and turned, only to find her standing closer than before. Without a word, she slipped a pack of cigarettes into the pocket of his coat, adjusted it slightly, then looked up to meet his gaze.
The height difference between them was evident.
“Keep a sample,” she said softly. “It helps when your mind is in turmoil.”
“….”
Vanitas glanced down at the cigarettes, eyeing them carefully.
He could sense the residue of magic woven into them. It probably had a magic that affected the psyche. Refusing the gift outright would imply that their newly established relationship hadn’t progressed at all.
He needed to draw closer to the Imperial Family, no matter the risks involved.
Because deep down, considering the circumstances between him and Julia Barielle, he was convinced there was a connection between the royal family and the secret experimentations that had led to Mana Core Degeneration Syndrome.
Or, to put it more bluntly—his cancer.
“And next time,” Irene added with a smirk, stepping back, “if you’re going to make a pitch, bring that alcohol you’re so proud of.”
* * *
The train ride back home was quiet. Charlotte, seated beside Vanitas, had dozed off, her head resting gently on his shoulder.
Across from him sat Heidi and Candice, while Evan was seated a bit farther down on the opposite side.
“….”
Charlotte had started to drool on his shoulder.
“Such a slob,” he muttered quietly.
Still, she looked peacefully endearing. He could let it slide.
“….”
Turning his gaze toward Heidi and Candice, he noted their unease. Neither could bring themselves to speak a word to him.
Though Vanitas had already explained the situation, it was still difficult for them to process the revelation that Alea had been a spy. And more importantly, the responsibility fell heavily on Heidi. After all, she had overseen the hiring process.
“Next time, Heidi,” Vanitas began. “Conduct a thorough background check. I don’t care what resources you need to use. Just make sure it’s done properly.”
“Y-Yes, my Lord,” Heidi replied quickly, lowering her head in shame.
Candice glanced sideways at her, lips pressed together, clearly uncomfortable with the tension but knowing better than to speak out of turn.
Vanitas leaned back slightly, careful not to disturb Charlotte still sleeping on his shoulder.
“I’m not asking for perfection,” he said after a brief pause. “But I expect diligence. We can’t afford another oversight like this. Charlotte could’ve been harmed… you could’ve been harmed.”
Heidi nodded her head silently, clenching her fists in her lap.
“I understand,” she said softly. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.”
“….”
Her eyes shifted between the two siblings. Their sudden closeness was almost surreal.
She had watched them grow, and had seen the distance shift between them. It was hard to reconcile this present moment with the past she remembered so vividly.
Back then, Vanitas, had been ruthless a ruthless young master.
He had often snapped at his little sister, and it was Heidi who had comforted Charlotte through those long, tearful nights. Even the servants hadn’t been spared from his harsh words and impossible standards.
It had hurt watching the sweet boy she once knew grow into someone so cold and terrifying. In many ways, Heidi had felt like she’d helped raise him, and seeing that transformation had left a bitter ache she had never voiced.
And now…. this?
This quiet, peaceful moment between brother and sister?
How could Lady Charlotte forgive him so easily?
“You,” Vanitas said suddenly, turning his gaze toward Candice.
“Y-Yes, Lord Vanitas?” she stammered.
“From now on, you’ll serve as Charlotte’s personal maid.”
“A-Ah?”
Heidi’s eyes widened. “L-Lord Vanitas, forgive me for speaking out of turn, but Candice still isn’t trained eno—”
“And you, Heidi,” Vanitas cut in, “will focus on your role as Head Maid. Oversee the staff, manage the operations, and stop involving yourself in Charlotte’s daily whims. It’s time you stepped into the role you were promoted to.”
Heidi lowered her head, taken aback. “…Y-.Yes, my Lord.”
Candice looked equally stunned, glancing nervously between the two.
Vanitas leaned back in his seat again. “It’s not a punishment. It’s a reorganization. You’ve done your part, Heidi. Now let someone else take the reins where it’s needed.”
A moment of silence followed before Charlotte stirred beside him, groggily lifting her head off his shoulder.
“Are we home yet…?” she mumbled, still half-asleep.
Vanitas glanced out the window. The cold, snow-covered mountain range had come into view.
“Soon,” he replied.
Charlotte’s gaze dropped to his shoulder, noticing the damp spot where she had been resting.
“….!”
Her eyes widened in alarm.
“A-Ah, I’m so sorry…!” she exclaimed, flustered.
Vanitas merely chuckled and shook his head. “It’s fine.”
“….”
Heidi watched the two quietly. If this had been the past, she could only imagine the kind of scolding the young master would have given over something so trivial.
However, it was clear to her that he had changed. And for the first time, Heidi truly believed he was worthy of leading the Astrea Household.
The realization settled in her gradually. The reorganization of the servant staff, the elevation in household status, the new estate, the increase in finances, the rising reputation of the Astrea name across noble circles.
So on and so forth.
He was a lord in every sense of the word.
And whether others accepted it or not, Heidi knew it now.
Perhaps that was why Evan had never left his side all these years, and faithfully served as his personal butler despite Vanitas’s difficult temperament.
Maybe Evan had seen something in him long before the rest of them ever could.
Just then, Vanitas rose from his seat.
“Brother?” Charlotte asked, blinking sleepily.
“Bathroom,” he replied casually, though his eyes briefly flicked toward another section of the train where several Gambino men were seated.
With that, he walked away. As he passed through the connecting corridor into the adjacent train carriage, he paused briefly beside a certain seat.
There sat a man dressed in plain traveler’s attire. It was one of the Gambino Family’s chasers.
“Report?” Vanitas asked under his breath, pretending to check his pocket watch as he stood beside him.
“There’s been strange movement along the train, Sir Astrea,” the man replied quietly without looking up. “But rest assured. We’ll handle everything.”
“Good,” Vanitas murmured.
He gave a subtle nod before continuing on his way, moving toward the end of the carriage.
After a brief stop to relieve himself, he returned to his seat beside Charlotte, who was now flipping through a magazine.
“Look,” she said, holding it up for him to see. “It’s Astrid.”
Vanitas glanced at the page, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”
The headline read: “Aetherion’s Sweetheart Saves Several Injured Lives After the Blood Moon?”
Below it, the article detailed Astrid’s medical efforts during the Blood Moon cleanup, treating the wounded, organizing supply chains, and offering aid where the official response had fallen short.
Vanitas hummed quietly. “She’s really leaning into that public image, isn’t she?”
Charlotte smiled. “She’s always been like that. She once treated me after an injury in our Magic Hunting class.”
“Is that so?”
It wasn’t a surprise. Astrid, despite her sharp tongue and occasionally aloof demeanor, had always been kind.
Even during his time as a player, Astrid had shown kindness toward him—well, depending on the interactions.
Nevertheless, Astrid had always been one of the more competent heroines, who was especially useful in the later stages of the game.
As time passed quietly, it was then.
Boom——!
A deafening explosion ripped through the train.