Chapter 87 – A Confused Path of Advancement
"How much do you know about your aunt?"
…
The gentle question broke through Charles's slightly dazed state. He looked up to see Zachary seated on the sofa opposite him in the living room, dressed in an ordinary white cleric's robe.
His blond hair was dull, fine wrinkles creased the skin around his eyes, and the cleric looked utterly unremarkable—like a perfectly average middle-aged neighbor. Nothing about him suggested that he was capable of casually creating an angel.
"I've never met her since I was born," Charles replied honestly, unsure of the question's intent. "Before coming here, I only saw a portrait of her."
After a moment's thought, he added, "An old woman with a gloomy appearance—that's my entire impression of my aunt. Other than that, I know nothing."
"You mean she never returned to the family after leaving?" Zachary asked.
"That's right." Charles nodded, carefully searching his inherited memories. "My grandmother complained about her often, saying she'd gone too far. My grandfather rarely mentioned her, but whenever he did, he always seemed angry."
Zachary nodded in understanding. Then he took a rolled painting from his robe, spread it across the low table, and asked, "Have you seen this man before?"
Charles lowered his gaze—and froze.
The portrait was far more detailed than he had expected. But what truly stunned him was the man depicted within it.
Despite the age etched into the face, despite the heavy aura of gloom, Charles recognized him immediately.
Wasn't this the man from his dreams—the male half of that scandalous pair?
Shock surged through him, but thanks to the mask's subtle influence, he suppressed it perfectly. His expression remained calm and unchanged.
"I don't think so."
"Don't think so?"
"He has a rather common face," Charles replied thoughtfully. "He seems vaguely familiar… maybe I've seen him somewhere before. What's his name?"
"Phoenix Gallorin."
"Gallorin?" Charles glanced at the portrait again.
If he remembered correctly, Gallorin was the royal surname of the Dulin Kingdom…
"I still don't recall him. Sorry," he said—truthfully.
Zachary didn't pursue the matter. He asked several more questions before finally nodding.
"Very well, Charles. I may need to go out for a few days. You might accompany me—make sure to arrange your time."
"Go out?" Charles turned to look at Worsie, who sat quietly nearby.
The cleric smiled. "It will count as a church assignment."
Charles immediately understood—this was still connected to the same matter. With a faint sense of helplessness, he nodded.
"All right. If needed, I'll be available at any time."
Seeing that the two clerics seemed to have more to discuss, Charles tactfully excused himself—even though it was his own house.
As he walked away, he pondered the situation.
For now, it seemed unlikely that the church still suspected him. More likely, as the clerics had said, they needed his assistance.
After all, he was technically an involved party.
"But just how long will all of this go on?"
Charl sighed inwardly and casually pulled the door shut behind him. He lingered for a moment, glancing over the neatly trimmed lawn the servants had just finished tending, before turning toward the girl standing by the railing—Connie.
She was blonde as well, though her eyes were not the clear blue of Zachary's but a deep brown-black. At first glance, she looked like an ordinary noble lady, yet the gentle, composed temperament unique to church members made her seem especially approachable.
At the moment, she was staring intently at the decorative patterns carved into the iron fence, not blinking once.
Charles walked over, breaking her concentration. Connie turned and greeted him with a friendly smile.
"Hello, Cranston."
Charles returned the smile. After glancing at the railing, he asked,
"What are you looking at, Miss Connie?"
"The pattern," she replied, lightly running her fingers along the raised lines, thoughtful. "Golden tulips. They're actually connected to the civil unrest in Dulin thirty years ago. I'd really like to visit your capital someday and see where it all happened. That conflict left a deep mark on the surrounding nations."
"You're not from the capital?" Charles asked, surprised. Zachary had come directly from the royal city, so he'd assumed his assistant would be the same.
"No. I'm from Shavin," Connie said.
"Shavin? You were—"
"Assigned to assist Zachary."
"An assistant sent all the way from Shavin?"
"It sounds strange, right?" Connie laughed lightly. "But it's not that troublesome. An airship doesn't take very long."
As she spoke, she wandered over to the mailbox near the front door and crouched down to inspect it curiously.
"You don't get out much, do you?" Charles said, beginning to understand.
"That's right. Old Henry never allowed me to leave home. Said the outside world was dangerous. But honestly, it's not nearly as bad as he made it sound."
"Old Henry?"
"My father," she replied. "A stubborn old man." Then she suddenly looked at Charl with interest. "So—what's it like going on missions?"
"You've never been on one?" Charles asked.
Because the traversal gate hadn't fully recharged yet, his Eye of Reality was inactive. For now, he was effectively blind in that regard.
"Nope. I've always lived in Shavin's Fifth Parish. This is my first time traveling far from home."
So… a second-generation church member?
The thought flickered through Charles's mind. He shrugged.
"Not much to say. I've only been on one mission myself. Mostly just traveling."
"Traveling? What about adventure? Investigation? Didn't you have companions or assistants?"
"Adventure? Investigation?" Charles smiled faintly. "I used to imagine it that way too. That was before I saw the police drag away a demon cultist."
After a pause, he asked, "You seem far more capable than I am. How could you not have gone on missions?"
"My father said I'd have to reach the Third Circle before I'm allowed to," Connie said helplessly. "I'm still one circle short."
Charles nodded thoughtfully. "What does advancement feel like?"
The question was a bit abrupt, but Connie—still inexperienced in the world—didn't seem to mind, or perhaps didn't think it was something secret.
"Advancement?" She tilted her head. "It's like standing at the bottom of a step, and a senior reaches down and pulls you up. Then suddenly, you're standing on the next step."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"I don't get it."
"I don't either," Connie laughed, "It just sort of… happens."
She seemed sincere. Charles sighed. "Alright. Thanks."
"You're welcome," Connie said cheerfully. "It's rare for me to meet someone who knows even less than I do."
…
They chatted a while longer about trivial matters, and Charl gradually formed a clearer picture.
Zachary was in the Fifth Circle. Bishop Charles of Pita City was in the Fourth. Advancing from the Fourth to the Fifth required a powerful external "push."
Each advancement brought fundamental changes, though the exact nature differed from person to person.
When the two priests finished their discussion inside and prepared to leave, Charles reluctantly ended the conversation.
After returning indoors, the servants began tidying up. Charles went to check on the girl's room.
Annie was staring wide-eyed at the tiny angel floating in front of her, occasionally reaching out with her small hand—never quite able to touch it.
Charles didn't disturb her. Seeing that her complexion was healthy, he quietly closed the door and returned to his bedroom.
But the moment he opened the door, he instinctively took a step back.
An extremely sleazy-looking old man was sitting on the chair by his bed, legs crossed, casually munching on an apple.
"How did you get in here?" Charles frowned, his right hand subtly moving toward the flintlock pistol tucked at his lower back. "And who are you?"
"Guess," the old man said, looking up with a leering grin.
Charles recognized him immediately.
It was the mayor of Canyon Town—the one with the unmistakable red nose.
---