Seeing that Roselle was merely looking her way thoughtfully, without trying to shout for attention or showing any strange expression, Charlotte relaxed a little, then frowned.
She had already planned to speak to him alone during this hunting trip, both to settle the matter of printing and distributing the newspaper and to take the opportunity to warn the young nobleman to watch the servants around him-even his family-lest he find himself surrounded by cultists without knowing it.
After all, Roselle had twice thwarted these heretics lurking in dark corners in their attempts to abduct more sacrificial victims. He was most likely already on their blacklist, and ranked quite high.
The only problem was that she had just promised her father not to get too close to Roselle. If she struck up a conversation with him in front of her father, the old man, who had been deceived repeatedly, would probably never believe another word his daughter said.
At that thought, Charlotte looked elsewhere as though casually surveying the hunting grounds, then gave a small wave. She left the area where the servants were preparing hunting gear and training the hounds, and followed a narrow path behind the tents toward a nearby grove.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Roselle briefly freeze before hurrying after her. He had clearly understood what she meant.
More than ten meters apart, they left the camp one after the other and entered the woods, looking like two entirely unconnected guests who simply wanted to take a walk alone.
But just after rounding a few trees, Charlotte spotted two figures hidden in the woods, pressed extremely close together.
A young lady with her hair pinned up beneath a lady's hat leaned against a thick tree trunk, her collar pulled open and her skirts gathered at her waist. A young man leaned into her, one hand braced against the tree, the other somewhere distinctly inappropriate for a formal social occasion.
Th-this is... Charlotte stared, dumbfounded. Although she came from another, more liberal world, witnessing such a scene firsthand still made her cheeks burn. For a moment, she had no idea where to look.
Hearing her footsteps, the pair, who had been making suggestive noises, froze simultaneously, then hastily sprang apart.
The woman lowered her head to straighten her clothes, while the man immediately turned away and pretended to watch the distant hounds, as though they had merely been two young nature lovers studying the patterns in the bark together.
Their effortless composure actually made Charlotte feel as though she was the one conducting an illicit affair.
Of course, this also had something to do with the social customs of the Intis nobility.
From what Charlotte remembered, among the four major powers of the Northern Continent, the Feynapotter Kingdom was more open about childbirth, the body, and sexual relationships because of its faith in the Earth Mother. In many places, its customs were even more unabashed than those of Intis. Yet Intis was hardly conservative either, particularly in Trier's aristocratic circles, where outward dress, etiquette, and forms of address grew ever more respectable, while secret flirtations, lovers, and rumors of affairs proliferated behind the scenes, subtly corrupting other regions as well.
It was said that at aristocratic balls in Trier, ladies conveyed hints through black beauty patches placed on different parts of their faces, and gentlemen who understood them could find a fleeting romantic liaison in a back garden or study.
By comparison, the Loen Kingdom seemed more conservative. In recent years, however, shifts in the two countries' cultural standing after the war had brought Loen-style etiquette and more practical, close-fitting undergarments into Intis, giving noblewomen options that allowed greater freedom of movement beneath their outwardly dignified attire.
Thinking of how women in the past had often worn only petticoats, stockings, and garters beneath their skirts, which looked as though they covered everything down to the ground but actually left them wholly unprotected underneath, Charlotte suddenly felt she had arrived in a relatively better era.
Putting those thoughts aside, Charlotte forced herself to straighten her back and walked past the pair as though she had seen nothing. Behind her, Roselle was clearly stunned by the scene in the woods as well. He even stopped for two or three seconds, only giving a light cough and casually following her again once the couple had straightened their clothes.
Why are you standing there gawking? You'll make us look like we aren't here on proper business either... She inwardly mocked Roselle for his lack of worldly experience, only recovering from the awkwardness after walking some distance away.
When she reached some bushes beside a stream and confirmed that the couple was out of sight and their suggestive noises out of earshot, Charlotte stopped and turned to Roselle.
"You seemed to have something to ask me?"
She dispensed with pleasantries and went straight to the point.
Roselle looked at her, then suddenly smiled.
"Miss Charlotte, your mind seems even more exceptional than your beauty."
"Was that meant as a compliment?"
"Of course."
Roselle touched the brim of his hat as he answered, his expression showing no sign of joking.
His manners have improved a great deal since our last meeting... Charlotte grumbled inwardly, then noticed the smile fade from Roselle's face. Lowering his voice, he asked:
"What exactly happened at the Printing House that day?
"The attackers clearly weren't ordinary people, especially that beggar. His speed and reactions weren't normal. And that woman in black seemed to be hiding in the shadows. She was burned by the liquid you were holding, then sent flying by a punch from that lady from the Church... Green and I have already been dragged into this. We need an explanation from you."
He observed things more carefully than I imagined. He only held back from asking at the time because he was wary of those people from the Church, especially Viève, who demonstrated such astonishing combat prowess... Charlotte's thoughts raced. She did not know whether she should reveal part of the world of mysticism to this ordinary man who had indeed been caught up in the incident.
Fortunately, before approaching Roselle, she had already prepared responses to various questions. Without much hesitation, she answered:
"According to the Church, they're heretics who worship an evil being. They were responsible for those murders in the Old District, and they probably targeted me for some bloody purpose as well... Perhaps these cults possess special potions that give those who take them physical abilities far beyond those of ordinary people."
Roselle plainly did not quite believe her.
"Drugs?"
When Charlotte nodded with a serious expression, he frowned and pressed further.
"What about that bottle of liquid that burned them?"
"Holy Water," Charlotte answered immediately. "Sister Viève gave it to me for self-defense. I don't know why it's so potent either, only that it's very effective against those heretics."
That explanation clearly did little to convince Roselle, but she gave him no chance to question her further, continuing at once:
"Rather than the Church's secrets, you should be paying more attention to the people around you. See whether anyone is watching you or behaving strangely. You've ruined their plans twice, after all. You might become a target too."
This was her true purpose in approaching Roselle. If the problem really lay within the Gustav Family, he might find it easier than she would to notice anything unusual.
Seemingly surprised by the abrupt change of subject, Roselle stared at Charlotte for several seconds before saying:
"There is indeed one unusual person, and she's right in front of me."
Huh? Charlotte made no attempt to hide her shock.
"You were baring your teeth at those hounds earlier," he said, choosing his words carefully, "as though you were going to bite them back. Then they were frightened of you."
Charlotte was momentarily speechless.
She had considered that Roselle might have seen her use a Beyonder ability to scare off the dogs, but she had never imagined he would describe it like that.
"I wasn't baring my teeth," she stressed.
"I'm only describing what I saw."
Roselle sounded so sincere that, for a moment, Charlotte wondered whether she really had accidentally made a fierce face. Then she realized he was leading her by the nose. Taking a deep breath, she changed the subject.
"If you think I'm watching you, then I think you were watching me all that time too."
Roselle did not deny it.
"I was just curious."
"Curious about the Church's secrets, or about me?"
The moment those words left her mouth, Charlotte realized something was wrong. Roselle also looked distinctly stunned and did not answer. Silence fell over the woods.
That sounds far too much like something that couple would have said. And the way we sneaked off to the stream is just like them too... Charlotte muttered inwardly, feeling the situation grow increasingly awkward.
Just as she was about to casually steer the conversation elsewhere, as that young lady had done, a rustle of trampled grass suddenly came from the other side of the bushes, followed by intermittent, low panting.
Surely not. Just how many people are hiding in the grass around the hunting camp? Charlotte looked at Roselle and found that his expression had also become rather peculiar.
It sounded as though something was swallowing flesh and blood, feasting ravenously.
Charlotte's expression froze. Roselle grew serious as well, his right hand instinctively reaching for the Flintlock Pistol at his waist.
They were already some distance from the tents. Trees and bushes blocked the view, and the barking of the distant hounds could easily drown out quieter sounds. The couple they had interrupted earlier had probably left by now. If something happened beside the stream, the two of them might be the only ones who knew.
First, find out what's happening... Charlotte crouched low, avoiding the dry branches on the ground as best she could, and moved toward the source of the sound.
Roselle followed slightly behind her, his hand on his holster. The weapon was cumbersome to reload and offered only one shot, so he could not use it rashly.
They rounded a clump of bushes and reached the stream beneath the shade of the trees.
A streak of dark red instantly caught Charlotte's eye. An unbroken trail of blood ran from beside the bushes to the stream, with tiny beads of blood clinging to several flattened blades of grass.
At the end of the trail lay a servant from the hunting grounds, flat on his back. His linen shirt had been roughly torn open, and a bloody wound gaped in his abdomen. His entrails had been pulled out, still steaming with bloody heat. A hunched figure crouched beside him.
The figure wore a ragged cloak, with a leather shoe on one foot and the other bare. His head hung down to his chest, both hands pressed against the servant's corpse, fingers sunk deep into the flesh. His shoulders shuddered again and again.
The wet chewing noises came from him.
Several words from Viève's booklet flashed through Charlotte's mind.
Abnormality, corruption, loss of control.
Just then, the thing seemed to notice them. His neck twisted at an angle no ordinary person could possibly manage, turning his face straight toward Charlotte.