Navia emerged from the tent, cradling Lofan's lifeless body in her arms. A crowd had already gathered outside.
As the effects of the medicine gradually wore off, many had managed to struggle to their feet. They had witnessed Navia entering the tent with Lofan and remained anxiously outside, desperate for news.
But when they saw Navia's grief-stricken face and the lifeless form in her arms, they froze in shock.
Didn't Miss Navia escort Monsieur Grett outside the camp? they wondered. How did he end up a cold corpse being carried out of his tent by her?
The sight of Grett's blood-soaked body instantly brought tears to everyone's eyes.
"Miss Navia, let me speak," Charlotte said, emerging from the tent. Her own face was etched with unconcealed sorrow as she regarded Navia with concern.
Navia gently shook her head, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for your kindness, Miss Charlotte," she choked out. "But this is something I must tell everyone myself. It's mine to share."
Though consumed by pain, Navia honored Lofan's final wish, publicly declaring him the perpetrator responsible for the deaths of over a thousand innocent people. As proof, she produced a blood-stained jester's mask.
When Navia finished speaking, the crowd's initial reaction was disbelief. However, as more evidence surfaced and Lyney and Lynette appeared to corroborate her account, they were forced to confront the brutal truth.
Navia had already taken Lofan's body away, unwilling to see it desecrated by those eager to vent their rage.
Because everyone was still recovering, even those overcome with emotion were unable to act on their impulses. It was then that Navia realized Lofan had even accounted for this.
The drug he had administered merely drained their strength, preventing them from retaliating, rather than knocking them unconscious.
This realization deepened Navia's grief.
There were other ways! she thought. If the nobles truly couldn't tolerate our existence, we should have fought them to the bitter end!
Navia was certain that if Lofan had entertained such a plan, they would all have rallied behind him without hesitation.
To them, Lofan's sacrifices were a debt they could never repay, not even with their lives.
Of course, Navia understood that such a path would have led to countless deaths in Fontaine, claiming the lives of many innocents.
And her Teacher had willingly shouldered all the blame and faced death with stoic resolve precisely to spare those lives.
As Navia's figure gradually receded into the distance, some among the crowd didn't display the anger of betrayal that gripped most. Instead, silent tears streamed down their faces.
Lyney instructed Charlotte to return to Fontaine before dawn. Her mission was twofold: to publish a report on the incident, as Lofan had intended, and to search Lofan's secret laboratory in Fleuve Cendre for any potential oversights he might have left behind.
While Lyney believed someone as meticulous as Lofan would likely have left no loose ends, he insisted on this precaution.
Then, Lyney and Lynette led those still able to move to search for the tunnel Lofan had carved out to bury the Pneumousia Energy. Knowing they were standing above a massive stockpile of explosives, they dared not relax, immediately beginning a tense search.
Since Lofan had intentionally left the tunnel entrance undisguised, it was quickly discovered. When they descended into the underground chamber and witnessed the staggering quantity of Pneumousia Energy, their curses against Lofan grew even more venomous.
The Fontaine scientist, jokingly nicknamed the "Pneumousia Blast Genius," stared in stunned disbelief at Lyney and Lynette when he realized the device meant to detonate the Pneumousia Energy was just a prop. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lyney subtly shook his head.
Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, and his vision blurred with emotion.
Countless times, he had tried every method imaginable to regain his Fontaine citizenship, but all had failed, turning the matter into a recurring nightmare.
Now, he was trapped in a dilapidated bar in Fleuve Cendre, drowning his sorrows in cheap, fiery homebrew, living a lifeless, repetitive existence.
Until that day, when the man appeared and said, "Want to regain your Fontaine citizenship? I can help you."
He hadn't dared to hope too much. After so many failed attempts, he knew better than anyone how impossibly difficult such a task was.
Yet the man offered him a laboratory—small and poorly equipped, but still a lifeline. He accepted the invitation and joined the Fleuve Cendre Faction.
Then, he felt reborn, his purpose reignited. Immersing himself in experiments became the very essence of his existence.
Yet, to his astonishment, the man had actually succeeded!
Not only that, but Fontaine's high-ranking officials had compromised, granting most of them the opportunity to regain their Fontaine citizenship!
It was nothing short of a miracle!
From that moment on, his resolve to follow the man's path solidified. Even if the Director of the Fontaine Research Institute personally invited him back, he wouldn't return. During his time with Fleuve Cendre, he had discovered truths he had never noticed before.
He believed this desolate place was where he truly belonged. Though it was currently just a barren wasteland, visions of its future glory already filled his mind.
But now, that beautiful vision had shattered. The dream had ended.
The man was dead.
And he had died branded as a traitor, his reputation tarnished.
As this realization sank in, an overwhelming grief surged uncontrollably within him.
How desperately he wished Lofan could reappear before him, teasing him with a smile, even if it meant forever forfeiting his Fontaine citizenship.
They say everything comes at a price, but for him, the price was far too heavy to bear.
Tonight was destined for sorrow, rage, desperate suicides, and utter bewilderment.
Half of Marquis Relf's estate lay in ruins. Servants stared in horror at the completely collapsed main residence, utterly lost and paralyzed by shock.
Suddenly, a section of rubble shifted and caved in. Moments later, a hand emerged from the debris, followed by another.
Soon, Marquis Relf crawled out of the wreckage, his face cyanotic and his eyes glazed with shock. As he did, the faint, transparent black shield that had protected him dissipated.
A sharp crack echoed as Relf felt his only life-saving device shatter. His expression twisted even further.
Why? Why was his home destroyed while those wretched commoners' dwellings remained untouched?!
Marquis Relf couldn't comprehend it. Even if Lofan had wanted to silence him, shouldn't both locations have been leveled simultaneously?
Unless... unless Lofan had been on the side of those damned commoners from the very beginning...
"That bastard!"
"You deserve to die!"
Realizing he had been completely outmaneuvered by Lofan, Marquis Relf's eyes burned crimson with rage, his teeth grinding together with a harsh, grating sound. He slammed his fist into a nearby pile of rubble, his face instantly paling.
The sharp stones, deliberately targeted in his fit of anger, immediately left his hand a bloody mess.
Having rarely experienced physical pain, Marquis Relf was overwhelmed by the searing sensation. He desperately wanted to howl in agony, but seeing the servants gathering around, he forced himself to endure.
"Idiots! A bunch of idiots! How long were you planning to just stand there?!"
At Marquis Relf's furious roar, the servants cautiously approached. They cleared the rubble, helped him to a nearby seat, and began tending to his wounds.
As they cleaned his injuries, Marquis Relf's face contorted with pain. Then, as corpse after corpse was carried out from the ruins, his chest began heaving violently.
These were all his loyal retainers!
From the old butler who had served him for years to the Marechaussee Hunters protecting his life...
Marquis Relf felt a pang of anguish. Fortunately, he had dispatched most of the Marechaussee Hunters on another mission. Otherwise, while he might have survived, his entire retinue would have been wiped out.
His hatred for Lofan now burned at its peak. The thought that Lofan might be connected to the Fleuve Cendre Faction only intensified his fury.
Marquis Relf began to ponder Lofan's true identity. Soon, one name crystallized in his mind: Grett, the legendary figure who had spearheaded the Fleuve Cendre Faction's series of resistance movements.
The moment this idea struck him, cold sweat broke out on his back.
If his suspicions were correct, Lofan was an utterly ruthless adversary—one who would sooner inflict eight hundred wounds on himself to ensure a thousand on his enemy, tearing two massive chunks of flesh from Marquis Relf's own hide.
If that were truly the case, then this man absolutely couldn't be allowed to live!
Wait, he still had a chance to turn the tables. All he needed to do was inform those influential figures, and they would undoubtedly develop a deep distrust of this man.
When the time came, unwilling to dirty their own hands, they would have to rely on him to eliminate their target. That would be his opportunity!
Fortunately, as a precaution, he had dispatched the Marechaussee Hunters. If anything went wrong, they could seize control of Poisson and devise an alternative plan.
Heh, no matter how meticulously you scheme, Grett, you could never have anticipated this!
You'll pay dearly for this fatal oversight!
I'll reclaim everything I've lost!
Marquis Relf swore inwardly, a terrifying glint in his eyes. The servant tending his wounds trembled, and the tweezers holding a fragment of stone plunged deeper into the wound.
"Agh—!"
A pig-like squeal pierced the air. Marquis Relf glared at the servant through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with murderous intent.
"You're dead!"
The servant pleaded for mercy, but Marquis Relf, consumed by rage, ignored his pleas. He drew his gun and pointed the cold, dark barrel at the man.
"Stop!"
Just as Marquis Relf was about to pull the trigger, a bolt of lightning flashed from the distance, instantly deflecting the gun upward.
Bang!
The servant collapsed to the ground in terror. After a long moment, he cautiously checked himself for wounds and sighed in relief when he found none.
"Marquis Relf, how dare you attempt murder in broad daylight?!"
Clorinde hadn't expected to witness such a scene upon her arrival. Her eyes turned icy. If she hadn't intervened in time, the servant would likely have been killed.
Marquis Relf's face darkened. He hadn't anticipated running into this troublesome woman. Regaining his composure, he sneered at Clorinde.
"Miss Clorinde, please don't twist the truth. Isn't he standing right here, alive and well?"
"If you continue to slander me, I'll sue you for defamation."
Clorinde was stunned by Marquis Relf's brazen lies. The coldness in her eyes intensified as she realized that these pests, who disregarded Fontaine's laws, were the cause of the recent unrest.
Sensing the murderous intent radiating from Clorinde, Marquis Relf showed no panic, even a hint of smugness. He knew that someone as principled as Clorinde would never resort to executing him privately, no matter how heinous his crimes.
"Come now, tell Miss Navia that I was just trying to scare you earlier. Explain it properly!" Marquis Relf gestured toward the servant he had threatened. Under the nobleman's menacing glare, the servant stammered, "M-Marquis Relf was just joking with me, Miss Clorinde."
"Did you hear that? You can let go of my arm now."
"You're gripping me too tightly, Miss Clorinde. You're hurting me."
Clorinde's breathing quickened. She yanked Marquis Relf's hand away and hurried to comfort the trembling servant.
The maid was deeply moved by Clorinde's concern, but no matter how hard she tried to persuade him, he insisted that everything had been a joke, too terrified to offend Marquis Relf, even after the man had nearly taken his life.
Witnessing this, Clorinde's anger grew, and she couldn't help but question her lifelong adherence to the rules.
"See, Miss Clorinde?" Marquis Relf said, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. "It was all just a misunderstanding."
Clorinde found his smugness repulsive. "Don't get too complacent," she retorted coldly. "Your triumph won't last long."
After a moment, she regained her composure, her gaze fixed on Marquis Relf with the coldness of a death stare.
"Hah, empty threats won't work on me, Miss Clorinde," he scoffed. "Do I look like someone who's easily intimidated?"
Clorinde simply gave him a meaningful look. "You'll find out soon enough," she said.
Just then, a series of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall. Marquis Relf turned to see members of the Court of Justice approaching, and a wave of relief washed over him.
"Why did you take so long to arrive?" Marquis Relf demanded. "My estate has just been attacked by terrorists! How can we feel safe when you neglect your duties like this?"
The leader of the Court of Justice team frowned at the marquis's rebuke. Without a word, he stepped forward and snapped handcuffs onto Relf's wrists.
"Monsieur Relf, the Court of Justice is charging you with multiple crimes. Your title of Marquis is hereby suspended, and you are taken into custody."
Marquis Relf froze, his face paling with shock. A wave of anger and terror washed over him. "No, this can't be happening!"
His face contorted in disbelief. He couldn't believe he was being arrested by the Court of Justice. Even after the Clockwork Meka's failure, he hadn't expected such swift retribution. They knew about the Pneumousia Energy affair and his collaboration with the masked man.
The only explanation for the Court of Justice's sudden arrival to arrest him for immediate Judgment was that he was no longer deemed useful.
"No! I demand to see the Duke! I still have value! They can't just discard me like this!"
"Let go of me, you lowlifes! You have no right to arrest me, no authority to judge me!" Marquis Relf screamed. "I am a Marquis! One word from me, and you and your families will suffer the consequences!"
The moment Marquis Relf realized he had been abandoned, he lost all composure, teetering on the edge of madness.
Just then, the leader of the Court of Justice coldly spoke into his ear. "Monsieur Relf, the Duke himself issued the direct orders for your arrest."
In that instant, Marquis Relf's spirit seemed to drain away, leaving him a limp, lifeless husk.
His utterly devastated state drew no sympathy from the Court of Justice officers, who dragged him away like a slaughtered pig.
The servants stood frozen, utterly shocked that their master had fallen from grace so swiftly.
A flicker of satisfaction rose within Clorinde, her pent-up frustration finally finding release.
It wasn't just Marquis Relf's brazen arrogance towards her earlier that day; it was the weight of past grievances that now found resolution.
Upon returning to Fontaine, Clorinde immediately went to the Court of Justice. After reporting her findings and presenting evidence, she prepared to lead a team of officers to Marquis Relf's residence to arrest him. However, she received no response from the Court.
With all the senior officers of the Maison Gardiennage temporarily suspended, the arrest operation had to be reluctantly postponed. Clorinde's anxiety grew, though she tried to reassure herself that moving against a Marquis required careful consideration.
Not long after, she finally received a response from the Court of Justice. She initially assumed the procedural hurdles had been cleared, but it now seemed that the powerful figures had concluded their political maneuvering, with Marquis Relf becoming a public scapegoat.
But what exactly had happened? What had transpired during this time? Clorinde had no idea.
A foreboding feeling washed over her. Whatever had convinced those influential figures to confidently sacrifice Marquis Relf for conviction likely spelled trouble for most people.
Clorinde watched Marquis Relf's retreating figure, her heart growing heavy once more.
Though the Marquis was about to face judgment and conviction, she felt this matter was far from over.
She looked up at the horizon, where the sky was beginning to lighten with the approaching dawn. It wouldn't be long before sunrise, yet the oppressive atmosphere around her remained stiflingly palpable.
When did Fontaine become so utterly foreign to me...?