12 O'Clock Marionette-Chapter 64

Cruello woke from his dream.

As he slowly lifted his eyelids, a single tear traced a path from the corner of his eye, gliding down his cheek.

He absentmindedly touched the spot on his forehead where he had felt warmth moments ago, then let out a weak laugh.

"You still believe in me? In me."

The first thing she said in his dream was utterly ridiculous.

Amy was a liar, after all.

If she were truly a ghost, she would know exactly what he was doing.

Covering his face with one hand, he sank into thought for a moment.

But by the time he rose from the bed, his expression was more refreshed than usual.

His gaze landed on the calendar.

"Not much time left."

His birthday was just around the corner.

Was that why he had this dream? Or was it because of those words?

"Trust me."

"I’ll trust you. Don’t make me regret it."

There was no logical trigger in dreams.

Cruello scoffed and dismissed the thought.

A strange feeling had swelled in his chest because of the dream, but there was no time to dwell on lingering emotions.

He had been incredibly busy lately.

And yet, he couldn't deny that as he stepped out of his bedroom, his body felt lighter than usual.

***

The corpse sprawled in front of the underground lake was in a wretched state.

Its pallid complexion, poisoned and drained, made it evident that the victim had suffered. There wasn’t a single unscathed part of the body.

Figures cloaked in black robes inspected the body, searching for any last details.

Parting through their midst, Nigellia stepped forward.

"You’ve arrived, Second Elder."

"Have you confirmed it?"

"Yes, it is indeed the former Tenth Elder."

At those words, Nigellia nodded.

And then, as if it had just occurred to her, she asked—

"Dylan?"

"He was disposed of completely. Not even a strand of his hair remains."

"Good work."

Her cold voice made her subordinate bow even deeper.

"However, we haven’t been able to obtain precise information on what happened while he was with His Highness."

"It’s likely a silence curse was placed. No matter. Cruello isn’t someone who leaves openings easily, so that’s hardly a concern."

"What should we do with the Imperial Investigation Unit?"

"Leave them. It’s obvious they won’t uncover anything useful again."

"Understood, Second Elder."

Having reviewed the necessary details, Nigellia placed a single chrysanthemum beside the corpse.

"Strange, isn’t it? Ares had lived far longer, worked harder, and possessed greater talent than that little girl. Yet, here we are."

Clicking her tongue, she feigned regret.

It was genuine sympathy.

Though it did not change the fact that she had orchestrated everything herself.

The years had passed swiftly, and now, the appointed day was drawing near.

Cruello D. White Desert was nearing completion.

His appearance, his bloodline, his talents—everything about him shone brilliantly. Even the brainwashing he had shed on his own.

The Grand Elder took this as a sign that things were going awry and tried to reassert control over Cruello. But Nigellia thought differently.

She had already begun, at least halfway, to accept Cruello as her master.

She wanted Cruello’s acquisition of Morion to be a decision made entirely by his own will.

That was why she had allowed Qudil’s death to happen. That was why she had offered her own key. That was why she had chosen to dispose of Ares completely.

Ares had not been a fool. But he had a habit of underestimating those beneath him.

That was why he truly believed he was manipulating Dylan, that he had control over him.

All while he was unknowingly following the path Nigellia had laid out.

Right up to his death.

"I don’t know how that child lured him into the cave," she mused.

But such details were unimportant.

"Take care of the body. He served the cult, after all."

"Understood, Second Elder."

With those final words, Nigellia turned away.

Having confirmed that everything was proceeding as planned, there was no need for her to remain in the cave any longer.

Yet, she suddenly stopped in her tracks.

A faint, almost imperceptible trace had caught her senses—something she had overlooked due to the overwhelming presence of spirit energy in the area.

Nigellia’s head snapped toward it.

Her gaze landed on a spot where traces of Minuet Bonetti’s blood had pooled.

Slowly, the old woman stepped forward and came to a halt.

"Hah."

As she reached into the air, a static-like sensation tingled through her fingertips.

Though the residual energy was weak due to the passage of time, there was no mistaking it.

It was divine power.

"Who did you say emerged from the cave?"

"Excuse me? The Bonetti Count and Siora Bonetti."

"I see. So that’s why he keeps her close."

The nagging curiosity that had been bothering her all this time had finally found an answer.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across Nigellia’s lips.

She had intended to merely test things out, to leave the girl alone if she was truly someone Cruello valued.

But now, things were different.

"I set up multiple safeguards and wondered if I was being overly cautious. But I see now—it was all according to your design."

"Second Elder?"

"We need to change our plans. Contact the Grand Elder."

A deep, dark malice flickered within the old woman’s eyes.

***

After dealing with Ares, I finally had some breathing room.

Nigellia still hadn't issued the third trial.

That gave me time to examine the records I had received from Mamic.

As I had been told, 80% of the documents were written in the common language of the continent. However, there were exactly two that were in the Ancient Divine Script.

The first one was just a detailed expansion of what Mamic had already told me—nothing worth looking at.

The important one was the second.

It was a record created around the same time as the diary I had read at Bonetti.

"Hmm."

I had some expectations, but they quickly turned into disappointment.

Most of the content was simply a retelling of the past I had already seen in Bonetti’s records, just from a different perspective.

There were also a few subtle jabs at Bonetti for turning into a spirit-worshiping family, but there was only one part worth noting.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

["The Saint has bestowed upon us the relic of Recanon. He also provided us with parchment inscribed with a magic circle. When asked about its purpose, he replied as follows:

‘I wish to test how far the divine power of the Ancient God can be altered. If I succeed, the faith will be able to embrace even more followers. Spirits are merely one of many possibilities."]

"He wanted to test it?"

The more I read, the more suspicious it became.

If he weren’t from centuries ago, I would have immediately labeled him as the mastermind.

But he had long since turned to dust, and there was no one left to interrogate.

The other document written in the Ancient Divine Script was as follows:

["The Eight Commandments of Pebula.

One, all things are predetermined; embrace the natural flow of life.

One, to glimpse into what is given is only permissible under the guidance of Pebula. Let only His chosen be the sacred light."]

…

I had read these commandments over a hundred times in the temple.

Just seeing them made me sick, so I skimmed through and tossed the document aside.

And with that, I had nothing left to examine.

"That’s everything."

The Imperial Library, the Grand Temple Library in the capital, Bonetti’s archives, and finally, Mamic.

I had searched everywhere possible.

There might be more records in another country, but the chances were slim.

Summing up all the findings, the story went like this:

Centuries ago, Pebula’s Saint either sacrificed a human or was framed for doing so.

As a result, the cult was hunted down and forced to scatter.

The survivors split into three groups:

The first—those of the Fugah Shrine, who hid in secrecy. My ancestors.

The second—the Bonetti family, who became spirit-worshippers.

The third—Mamic’s ancestors, who lost everything and became commoners.

That was the objective truth.

So, in conclusion—

"There’s no way to prove Pebula is an evil god."

What could I do? I wasn’t some necromancer who could resurrect people from centuries ago and make them testify.

So, I decided to go with the simplest conclusion—

"Therefore, Pebula is innocent. Case closed. Bang, bang, bang."

Why should I suffer over an answer I can’t find?

I didn’t come all this way to dig up my ancestry.

My only task is to prevent the world’s destruction.

And since Pebula was the one who assigned me that task, there’s no way my god is an evil deity.

If I didn’t think that way, I’d drive myself mad.

Now that I had settled things, I felt lighter. Time to focus on my main objective.

Oh, but before that—

My gaze landed on a note sitting at the edge of my vision.

"Winter. The lowest place. Aristata."

"……"

I thought that after some time, something would finally click.

The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.

But nope. Nothing.

It’s as if someone had squeezed lemon juice directly onto my brain.

By now, quite some time had passed. The meeting date must be approaching, yet I hadn’t figured out a single thing.

Normally, I wouldn’t bother with someone else’s business.

But since I had some free time and was curious about what the investigation unit had uncovered regarding the cult, I decided to gather some extra brains on the matter.

And as soon as I stepped into the hallway, I found one.

"Gavotte!"

Gavotte and books weren’t exactly the best match, but asking wouldn’t hurt.

I ambushed him with a sudden shout—

"Winter! The lowest place! Aristata!"

Gavotte scowled at the abrupt string of words.

"What kind of quiz is this? Aristata blooms in lowlands during winter—is that what you’re saying?"

"Blooms? Wait, it’s a flower?"

"You didn’t even know that and you’re asking me?"

Sure, I had read most of the temple’s library, but I never bothered with botany books.

How was I supposed to know if it was a flower or a tree?

Regardless, I had gained new information.

Heh. My foresight is truly impressive.

"Is this about the Elder Council again?"

"No, this one’s different."

"You know, now that I think about it—you’re constantly busy. You never stop moving."

"That’s right. Sometimes, I envy you, Gavotte."

"What’s that supposed to mean? Hey, Siora! Where are you going? Get back here!"

I dodged Gavotte’s grasp and escaped to the Bonetti estate’s study.

As soon as I opened a botany book, I found Aristata.

It started with "A," after all.

The contents were dull.

Aristata had various species, with different shapes, blooming seasons, and growth conditions—blah, blah, blah.

Would this really help me decode the message?

I had doubts, but I kept reading.

At least the flower's symbolic meaning and legends were somewhat interesting.

And then—

"Oh, this!"

[Aristata is also the birth flower of May 19th.]

A date had appeared.

Could this mean the meeting date was May 19th…?

"……That would be too easy."