Silver Moon Count's Fief, Duskstar Manor.
The rich fragrance of roses and desserts filled the air, but no one truly felt like savoring either. Even the splashing fountain and the orchestra's strings seemed cautious, as if afraid of disturbing this false tranquility. The finely dressed noble guests held crystal wineglasses, their smiles stiff, their gazes constantly drifting toward the man at the center of the courtyard-Marquis Blackflame, Hector Ester.
The marquis's name now inspired more dread in the Duchy than the plague itself. Rumor had it that wherever he went, heretics had nowhere to hide, but the brutality of his methods sent chills through everyone who heard of them.
The manor's owner, Count Silver Moon, stayed close beside Hector, fine beads of sweat forming at his temples as he listened with an ingratiating smile to the marquis's appraisal of a newly acquired sculpture. Cold sweat had already soaked the count's back, but he had to smile. For his territory, for his family, he could only pin his hopes on this unpredictable "savior."
"The lines are passable, and the emotion is fairly rich, but the craftsmanship feels too contrived." Hector offered his assessment leisurely, as though he were merely discussing an ordinary work of art and the shadow of the plague beyond the windows did not exist.
Today was the day the Silver Moon Count's Fief received its "holy water blessing."
In the courtyard, the count's relatives, knights, and guards stood in line, devotion and anxiety mingling on every face. Rumors that Marquis Hector's territory had remained unscathed by the plague had long been an open secret among the nobility. Everyone said that this marquis, so deeply favored by the Lord of Everglory, possessed a divinely bestowed power of protection.
At noon, the ceremony began.
Hector changed into an immaculate white