To be honest, Anastasia still found it hard to believe.
Even though she'd confirmed Lucan's identity after fleeing two days ago, it was difficult to accept that the person her father and mother revered so much was just a young man—one who looked only a few years older than herself. In her mind, someone admired so devoutly by the Tsar and Tsarina should at least have the mysterious aura of a mythic angel, or at the very least the stern dignity of an aged and solemn man.
And yet, as she stood now in the softly swaying garden breeze, the silver-haired girl tilted her head up, finally daring to meet the young man's eyes.
"You're not at all what I imagined."
He really wasn't.
Not mysterious, not grave—more like a mischievous neighbor boy. But Anastasia didn't dislike it. In fact, she found it rather comforting.
"Sorry for not having thirty-six wings and looking like a Lovecraftian monster," Lucan said breezily. "But I've never claimed to be a saint. I'm just an ordinary person—who happens to know a bit of the 'mysteries' granted by the gods."
Mystery, in Type-Moon lore, refers to the supernatural forces once gifted by the divine to humanity—magics predating modern Magecraft.
Lucan wasn't lying. And after already demonstrating his abilities, he didn't feel the need to overplay anything. As long as it didn't conflict with his plan to pass on his legacy, he did things his way.
"Mystery..." the girl murmured. Her silver hair shifted slightly, covering half her delicate face. Her lips parted thoughtfully. "Then you're... kind of cruel, aren't you?"
"Cruel?" Lucan blinked.
"Back then—couldn't your power have healed my ankle instantly? But instead, you handed me a cane..." Anastasia's voice trailed off, a flush of irritation returning to her cheeks.
Lucan's eyes narrowed faintly.
Just as the young princess thought he was going to offer a serious explanation, Lucan shrugged.
"Well, Your Highness, your limping was actually kind of entertaining."
"E-entertaining!?"
Anastasia stood frozen. She blinked. Then blinked again. Her mind failed to process.
Just because he found it... funny?
Lucan chuckled aloud, enjoying her stunned expression. The truth was, it wasn't that he refused to heal her. He simply didn't know how. His priestly role among the commoners had mostly been as an exorcist—he dealt with spiritual ailments, not physical injuries. He'd never learned body-healing Magecraft.
Still, he did find Anastasia fun.
More interesting than Nicholas II.
More charming than her mother.
More amusing than anyone else in the palace.
"You really are cruel," Anastasia sighed, though a smile crept onto her lips.
It was a mischievous grin.
"So this is the side of you behind the title of 'sage'? I wonder what would happen if I exposed this side to the public?" She glanced at the banquet's center—at all the nobles, including the Tsar and Tsarina.
They had clearly noticed the youngest princess chatting alone with the so-called Sage. But none dared disturb Lucan.
Some nobles even smiled knowingly. Especially Nicholas II—his mustache twitching as he clinked glasses with other dukes and princes.
Sages were still human.
And humans have feelings.
Lucan knew what the Tsar was thinking—trying to use his youngest daughter to draw him closer. And Lucan had no reason to reject that.
Seeing Anastasia's sly grin, he recalled what Nicholas had told him two days earlier: that his youngest daughter was mischievous around people she trusted.
She loved pranking her older sisters—scaring them with fake bugs, tying toy mice to strings, all sorts of devilish antics. Her sisters called her a "little demon."
Lucan reached out and knocked lightly on her head.
"Then, what if I told your father that you tried to blackmail me?"
"Eh...?"
Anastasia froze.
She realized this wasn't one of her sisters. Lucan wasn't afraid of her tricks. In fact, he could turn them against her.
She panicked.
Lucan's grin grew.
The dull palace life was finally growing entertaining. Between his study of Divine Blood and Mystic lore, this made things more lively.
...
[You chat happily with Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, the youngest princess of the Empire.]
[Unlike the awkward first meeting, this second encounter is smoother. She no longer blushes in nervous awe—instead, she reveals her playful side.]
[After the banquet, Nicholas II has his daughter personally escort you back to the library. You find it odd to be 'escorted' by a girl, but given it's just a walk across the Kremlin, you don't refuse.]
[It's sunset. The grand library is bathed in reddish gold, the last light falling through its tall windows like a sea of autumn leaves.]
[Anastasia glances at the towering shelves and blushes, recalling her earlier embarrassment there.]
["I should go," she says. Behind her, distant maids and knightly escorts wait.]
["Good night, Your Highness," you reply politely. You wonder why she seems so hesitant—it's just a short walk.]
[But before leaving, she pauses. She glances back. The sunset catches in her silver hair, shimmering like a stream of stars. Her angel-feather gown flutters, her midnight-blue cape rippling in the wind.]
[Softly, she says, "From now on... you can call me Ana."]
[You watch her retreating figure, hear her flustered voice still lingering in the air, and chuckle.]
[You know this princess has let down her guard. She trusts easily—or perhaps, she just trusts you.]
[She is pure. And she is sincere.]
[You remember the tragic fate history recorded for her.]
"Even if this empire is collapsing..."
"Even if the nation falls..."
"There are some people—who must not die."
In the twilight-washed library, Lucan stood at the center of the hall.
Colossal bookshelves surrounded him in a perfect circle. The cool breeze of early evening brushed across his face.
His expression was calm. But his eyes burned.
He said, "What do you think?"
"To the Executors of the Holy Church—I know you've been hiding in here all day."
He turned.
Giant bookshelves loomed like titans. From between them, shadowed figures emerged—drawn like ink on paper.
"Lucan Lovest," came a rasping voice, cold and sharp. "You stand accused of impersonating a Sage and dishonoring the Holy Church's dignity. Do you admit to your crimes?"