127
Royal Museum, 2 King's Road, West Borough.
Because of the Roselle Memorial Exhibition, a long queue had already formed at the entrance by the time Klein arrived, even though it was not the weekend.
From newspapers and magazines, he knew that the middle class in this world had relatively few forms of entertainment. Besides reading newspapers and novels, attending operas and concerts, playing tennis and squash, watching plays, and hosting or attending banquets and balls, their only options were visiting parks, viewing exhibitions, and going away on holiday. Thanks to Emperor Roselle's influence, annual leave had become fairly common among this class.
At precisely nine, Klein, wearing a half-top silk hat and a double-breasted wool frock coat and carrying a black walking stick, held his ticket and followed the people ahead of him into the museum, one step at a time.
The visitors split up here, with different guides each leading a group down a different passage.
Klein and fifteen or twenty others followed an attractive woman, listening to her introduction to Roselle's life.
For Klein, who was something of a historian himself, this was entirely pointless. Bored, he checked where his wallet was, then idly looked around. That was when he spotted a rather familiar figure from behind amid the crowded exhibition hall.
"Mr. Edward!" Seeing that the other man had noticed him too, Klein took two steps forward and greeted him. "Have you come to see the memorial exhibition as well?"
"Yes. What a coincidence. If I'd known you were coming, I should have invited you beforehand." Edward answered in his usual calm voice. "This is the first time Loen has held such a comprehensive exhibition on such a large scale. I wanted to see just how much they managed to snatch after Roselle died."
"..." The corner of Klein's mouth twitched, and he changed the subject. "Did you live in Intis before this?"
"I did, once. After Roselle died, I went to live on the Southern Continent. I developed a few businesses there and made some investments. They bring in quite a bit every year, enough to cover my daily expenses." Edward did not seem bored either and answered each question patiently. "You must understand, spending fourteen hundred years in this world gets terribly dull. I used to travel or go exploring often. I've been just about everywhere one can go. It was only around forty years ago that I settled in Loen. It's been a very, very long time since I last went away for an extended trip."
"I see..." Klein nodded repeatedly as he listened. If he too had the power of an Angel, neither aged nor died, and had none of these grudges or attachments, traveling the world would indeed be an ideal life. But his ultimate goal had never changed. Though the idea tempted him a little, he only entertained it briefly and had no intention of actually trying it.
The two chatted leisurely like this, treating the guide's voice as background noise as they slowly followed the crowd toward the next exhibition hall.
After the Daily Exhibition Hall came the original drafts of the important documents Roselle had promulgated, including highly valuable historical artifacts such as the Civil Code. As the female guide delivered her enthusiastic and somewhat cloying commentary, everyone's attention followed her pointing finger toward the glass display case beside her. Klein's gaze also turned to the notebook lying open inside. Written on it was the simplified Chinese he knew so well:
"Goddammit, the food here is making me constipated!"
"March 17th. Are all the ladies of Intis this uninhibited? Was I screwing her, or was she screwing me? Something about it feels rather strange."
"March 22nd. It's time to choose a faith. On one side is the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun, and on the other is the Church of the Artisan."
"My choice is beyond question. Praise you, God of Machinery!"
"One day, I'll have the Church of the Artisan renamed the Church of Machinery."
My secondhand embarrassment is acting up again... Catching sight of Edward Vaughan reading those words beside him out of the corner of his eye, Klein practically wanted to smash the display case and burn the diary to ashes. How very romantic... romantic constipation... This should be a diary from the early days after Emperor Roselle transmigrated. There isn't a single piece of useful information... And his handwriting is even uglier than mine... Klein's scalp prickled and his toes curled as he kept grumbling inwardly.
"...Don't worry about it. I've seen plenty of this sort of thing."
With a look of pity resembling someone caring for an idiot, Edward considerately patted Klein on the shoulder and gestured for him to look at something else. "He reproduced several cookbooks for me, covering everything from Chinese pastries to Western desserts, but he couldn't cook any of it himself. Whenever he had the chance, he'd come over to my house for a free meal. It got to the point that Intis placed particular importance on food over a hundred years ago. There was even a saying-the king and his ministers discuss affairs of state at the dining table and in the kitchen."
The female guide continued in an admiring tone, "These are musical pieces Emperor Roselle composed himself. This is the libretto for his unfinished opera. These are his handwritten scores and musical instruments he invented..."
Klein saw Edward's expression abruptly twist.
A few seconds later, the former Earl whose work had been plagiarized by his own superior let out a harsh breath. "I'm going to play Ode to Joy on his grave."
Klein thought, Let it go, senior. Let it go, let it go.
128
"This is a love letter written by Emperor Roselle. This is the first love poem he composed: When You Are Old..."
"This is a bracelet he made himself. These are his manuscripts. This is a little game he invented for his children, similar to Intis chess... These are the toy building blocks he invented, also for his children..."
Klein had already gone numb.
There hadn't been a single thing along the way that didn't warrant royalties.
Edward, on the other hand, was quite interested in these objects and occasionally stopped to look for a few seconds. Sweeping his gaze over the area, he noticed a woman more than 1.7 meters tall standing before this glass display case. She had waist-length chestnut hair and a beautifully proportioned figure, neither plump nor thin. She wore a girlish yellow tiered dress, but on her head was an old-fashioned black bonnet, with a fine mesh veil hanging down to conceal her face.
She stood before the display case, gazing at the objects inside without leaving for a long time.
Edward explained to Klein, "That's Roselle's eldest daughter, Bernadette Gustav."
"Oh, right." Klein looked away from the lady. So she's Roselle's... Wait, wait, wait. Roselle's what?
The chestnut-haired lady-Bernadette Gustav-slowly turned her head to look at Edward Vaughan. Her gaze swept over Klein, who immediately felt an extremely powerful spiritual warning. Emperor Roselle's daughter is actually an incredibly powerful Beyonder! To have survived from that era until now, she must at least be a demigod. Otherwise, there's no way she could still look this young after more than a hundred years... Klein's blood surged and his face flushed red. He stumbled back several steps before recovering his senses.
"Sir, are you all right?" The female guide noticed Klein's abnormal state and approached him with concern.
Klein did not want to get involved in a confrontation between two high sequence Beyonders. Besides, he still had his own goal of finding the Card of Blasphemy. This was the perfect opportunity to separate from Edward and investigate alone. He hurriedly told the female guide, "Y-yes, I suddenly feel a little unwell. Where is the washroom, please?" His terrible complexion was highly convincing. Once the guide gave him directions, Klein swiftly left.
Bernadette's gaze had long since settled on Edward. She showed little wariness and appeared quite composed.
"I thought you'd long since forgotten my face." She spoke coolly, looking for an opportunity to end the conversation. "If you're stopping me now merely because you're bored, then I'll be leaving."
"How could I possibly forget your face, Your Highness?" Edward smiled faintly. "On the day your kingdom fell and your family was destroyed, your fear, hatred, and despair were so sweet that I could hardly bear to kill you."
I can't let his provocations get to me... Bernadette breathed deeply in and out. Amid her anger, she felt slightly reassured: he was still utterly uninterested in her. Surviving because a powerful enemy disdained her was deeply humiliating, yet Bernadette's pride had forced her to swallow that humiliation-the gulf between their strength was too great. She had yet to uncover the cause of her father's death in his later years or what had happened afterward. She could not afford to turn against the Abyss Angel. Thus, she had rationally taken advantage of his indifference and gone to the remote, chaotic seas, slowly building her own power.
"A Devil indeed. You're still feeding on other people's suffering."
Bernadette estimated how much longer it would take to end this unfortunate encounter. She kept her voice as steady as possible, as though she cared about nothing. "If you have nothing else to say, then excuse me."
With that, Bernadette walked away without looking back. Surprisingly, Edward actually did not stop her. But after she had gone two or three meters, an extremely soft remark drifted into her ears:
"Is that how you treat your elders? You haven't improved at all in a hundred and twenty years, Bernadette. At this rate, you'll never be able to avenge him."
"..." Bernadette clenched her fists, her nails digging into her flesh. She forcibly restrained herself from revealing any expression and even began reciting the formulas of the Mystery Pryer pathway in her mind to distract herself. Even so, the Devil's words continued to reach her ears, relentlessly.
"Poor, dear Bernadette. Why be so hostile toward me? It's not as though I'll kill you." The regret in the Devil's voice sounded genuine, even sincere. Bernadette had always thought he had a talent for acting, capable of making every falsehood seem like fact. "If your mother hadn't objected, you would even be calling me your godfather. Since you're still investigating Roselle's affairs, I can give you some information."
"No need."
Bernadette spoke with absolute finality.
Edward was not angered. "I hear you've established an organization at sea to oppose the Hidden Sage and search for traces of Roselle's life."
"Haven't you had enough of playing house?"
"I won't change my mind. Don't waste your breath."
"I know you hate me deeply, because you believe I made your respected father cruel and heartless, driving him further and further away from the people he wanted to protect. Heh. That was precisely what he wanted."
At this point, the Devil made a show of sighing. "But is it possible-and I only mean possible-that your father was actually a born tyrant who never cared about human life in the first place? That I merely handed him the knife, and it was the great emperor himself who decided to turn it on his subjects? Perhaps he was deceiving you all along, hoping his good daughter would think he was a good man? How pitiful. Even now, you still believe in his mercy."
Bernadette was almost at the end of her patience. She had always known she must never believe even a single word the Devil said. The moment she accepted his words in her heart, he would have an opening. She did not believe she could pay a price sufficient to redeem her own soul or life.
Yet those words clung to her like maggots burrowing into bone, lingering in her ears and tempting her to consider them carefully, to confront those painful truths.
So she quickened her pace, shut off her hearing, and left the exhibition hall as fast as she could. The people along her path hurried out of her way.
"You truly are your father's good daughter."
Edward watched her disappear from his sight at a pace that could almost be called panicked. He sighed, half regretfully and half insincerely.
"I've never told a lie."
"A pity so few people ever believe me."
TBC
These are Roselle's poems, this is Roselle's diary, these are Roselle's manuscripts, and this is Roselle's daughter.
Roselle's exhibition had his daughter, his fellow transmigrator, and his "friend." All it lacked was Roselle himself.
Before you continue