Meanwhile—
Western outskirts of Moscow, Tsarist Russia.
Inside the New Convent of the Holy Maidens, the darkness of night was pierced by a halo of lamplight. The sprawling religious complex stood bathed in pristine brilliance.
Beside the convent, the lake lay still, its mirror-like surface reflecting the heavens. Stars shimmered like jewels scattered across black velvet.
This convent, one of the most prestigious institutions for women in the Tsardom, lay just four kilometers from the Kremlin. From its highest towers, one could see the imperial palace—the very heart of Tsarist power—rising in the distance.
At that very moment, someone stood at the window on the convent's top floor.
"How amusing. After all these years, there's still a heretic bold enough to reveal themselves so brazenly."
The voice echoed through the dim chamber. Its tone carried an almost seductive lilt, entirely at odds with the sacred space around it. But the only person present—the nearly seventy-year-old abbess of the convent—dared not respond. Dared not offer judgment.
She simply stood still, hands folded, behind the speaker, quiet and respectful.
Even if the woman before her felt almost sacrilegious in both tone and appearance...
"Not speaking?"
The woman by the window turned her head slightly. Moonlight shimmered across her nun's robes—white and black, pure in color yet unable to conceal her voluptuous figure. A curvaceous chest, a wasp-like waist, and round hips that curved downward into long, pale legs—half-veiled, half-revealed.
Undeniably beautiful.
Though her hair was hidden beneath her wimple, it was clearly long and thick from the way it bulged underneath. Her face was angelic, her gaze sharp. At first glance, she seemed sacred—but on closer inspection, there was something… dangerously seductive about her.
A holy saint—and a devil in disguise.
She was a member of the Burial Agency.
A "Nun" of the strongest force in the Holy Church: Kishinami Kihara.
Every member of the Burial Agency possessed immense authority and power. They were monsters in human form, bloodthirsty aberrations.
Even the abbess—herself a member of the Church's upper echelons—knew to tread lightly around them.
"It's fine if you don't speak. Don't be so scared. I'm not going to eat you."
Kihara's tone rippled with lazy amusement. Her lips curled into a red smile, her eyes narrowing.
The abbess meant nothing to her.
But that boy—he intrigued her.
She recalled the memory feedback returned from the ritual projection she had hijacked earlier. The young "priest" who dared defy the Executors. Who dared defy her.
He had no intention of compromising with the Church. Had she not appeared, those Executors would already be dead.
She hadn't come for them.
And yes—she had only just been dispatched to this country.
Yes—she claimed unfamiliarity with the region.
But truthfully—
She had been bored for years.
The members of the Burial Agency were all mad.
Fanatics.
That was just fact.
As one of them, Kiara was now seeking entertainment.
"Lucan Lovester."
"I'll give you a chance to show off. Let's see how far you can go now that you've taken Rasputin's place."
Her voice was sweet, crystalline.
Her eyes sparkled, miracles glinting deep within her pupils.
The power of her Mystic Eyes activated as she looked across the city—gazing straight at the Kremlin.
She was watching.
But only watching.
Rasputin was dead. No one else had been chosen to replace him yet.
And Kihara wasn't in a hurry to strike.
She intended to let Lucan follow Rasputin's path. Let him gather power and influence at the Tsar's court.
Then—she'd take it all back.
Everything he gained—every secret, every resource that should have belonged to the Church—would be hers.
Yes, it was like raising a tiger.
But she wasn't worried.
Or perhaps—she wanted that tiger to turn on her.
The odds were low. But it would be fun.
[You have driven out the Church's Executors and the Burial Agency's Kishinami Kihara.]
[You do not yet sense imminent danger, but standing inside the library, you feel her gaze lingering—a trace of her Mystic Eyes watching from afar.]
[She is not rushing to attack. You relax slightly.]
[You know you're not her match yet. The provocation was inevitable—but you cannot give up what you've won in the palace.]
[You're confident you can grow strong enough to face her—and win.]
[Through the night, you organize the scattered books. You reflect on what you've learned.]
[The Church's 'miracles.'] [The magi's 'Magecraft.']
[Two different mystic systems coil together in your mind—like intertwined vines, beginning to merge.]
[You now have a vision.] [A mere vision—but a start.]
[In the dead of night, Empress Alexandra Feodorovna knocks on the library doors. She comes to speak with you—heart to heart—until dawn.]
[You look at her and recall the girl named Anastasia from earlier that day. You can't help but laugh.]
[The Empress, thinking she has earned a Sage's smile, is overjoyed.]
[She chats with you excitedly, staying until just before sunrise.]
[The next day—]
[Empress Alexandra and Tsar Nicholas II visit again.]
[This time, they bring their youngest daughter: Grand Duchess Anastasia.]
[Behind her father's back, Anastasia sticks out her tongue at you.]
[Having finally earned permission to accompany her parents, she is thrilled.]