6. The Reversal Opening Ceremony (End)
6. The Reversal Opening Ceremony (End)
Anais lay draped across the sofa like a soaked towel.
Her whole body felt as heavy as if iron weights had been strapped to her limbs.
Even lifting a single finger was an effort.
Part of her just wanted to close her eyes and surrender to sleep.
But she couldn't.
There was a knot she had to untie before she could leave.
It wasn't a problem the Metropole Hotel's 24-hour massage service could fix.
The tightness wasn't in her muscles. It was lodged in her heart.
"The reason you rejected me, Troupe Leader... is it because of the difference in our stations?"
Even as the words left her mouth, Anais felt cautious.
There was a chance she was prodding a sore spot.
But Wonderstein's expression showed not a flicker of that.
He seemed to weigh something carefully, then slowly spoke.
"Viscountess, I have staked everything on reaching the Circus Grand Prix Finals. Because of that, I have no room in my mind for anything else. That is why I refused your feelings."
Anais could sense it, on a level beneath words.
His words were sincere — and at the same time, they concealed something.
"Is it truly that important?"
He answered her faintly displeased tone with an embarrassed smile.
"To be honest, the Grand Prix itself doesn't matter very much. It's the reward attached to it that I need."
Anais tilted her head.
He was a man indifferent to wealth and glory alike.
She had flaunted her fortune before him so many times, and he'd never shown the slightest interest.
She'd offered to publicize his abilities on a grand scale, and he'd refused.
So what reward could possibly be worth betting everything he had?
She pondered for a moment, then sighed inwardly.
She thought she knew what it was.
Acrobats who advanced to the Grand Prix finals were promised prize money, trophies, and various other rights.
One of those rights was citizenship in Sky City Hippodrome.
Contrary to its impressive name, Hippodrome citizenship wasn't a reward of great substance.
As a floating city, Hippodrome was severely constrained by land. Housing prices were incomparably higher than in any major city on the ground. Without a home to live in, citizenship was just a decorative passport.
That was because essential rights — voting rights among them — required residing in Hippodrome for a minimum number of days per year.
And anyway, making it to the finals brought enough fame that you could make a living anywhere in the world.
For most acrobats, Hippodrome citizenship was a mere afterthought compared to the other rewards.
But for someone, it could be worth more than money or fame.
Someone who desperately yearned for something to officially prove who they were.
"So that's what it was…"
Now she understood.
Why he, so indifferent to wealth and fame, had been so fixated on the Circus Grand Prix.
There were probably other acrobats in other troupes who also longed for citizenship.
For unregistered people—Gypsies foremost among them—gaining an official identity was a distant dream.
Born wanderers, they'd had no chance to perform deeds of public merit. Street performances, odd carpentry jobs, theft, and day labor — that was the sum of what they could do.
This tournament might be an opportunity they'd never expected to receive.
"Two and a half years from now, I don't know what will become of me. I couldn't make a promise I had no certainty I could keep."
A Circus Grand Prix that had returned after seventeen years.
No one could say when the next one would be.
It might be the last chance of a lifetime.
"I am more of a coward than I look. Heh heh—does that surprise you?"
A nameless wanderer and the mistress of an estate.
Society would never look kindly on their meeting.
He must have foreseen it — that once his status came to light, there'd be an ordeal like today's.
But she could hardly call him a coward.
This was the man who had helped others even at the risk of his own life.
His rejection of her feelings must have partly been out of consideration for her.
"No, Troupe Leader, you're..."
"You are a beautiful person, Viscountess. A remarkable, capable, captivating woman. I might not have realized it at first, but I do now. If my circumstances were different, I would have accepted your heart. But as things stand... I cannot."
Anais read the meaning hidden between his lines.
He wasn't keeping his distance because he disliked her.
It was his status, his situation. Something he had no choice in.
But at the same time, his words also held hope.
A question: could she not wait?
That now was not the moment, but two and a half years from now — once he'd secured an official identity — things might be different.
But why did it have to be such a roundabout path?
Anais pressed her lips shut, then opened them.
"What Troupe Leader wants so badly. If you would only say the word, I could obtain it for you."
If what he wanted was legitimate status, she could give him that.
All she had to do was accept him as a resident of her territory.
She was the ruler of the Bergson Viscounty.
She could certainly manage that much.
And had he not saved her life?
She had ample justification. There'd be little gossip.
"You, Viscountess? Heh heh."
But as he looked at her and smiled, there was a wry note in it.
Ah.
She realized she'd gotten something wrong.
If what he wanted was really something as simple as status, he'd have said so when he cured her illness.
Hadn't she told him then she would grant him anything he wished?
But he'd asked for nothing except for her to become a sponsor for the Grand Prix.
Did I misunderstand?
Have I been deluding myself?
Anais's voice trembled as she asked again.
"What is it that you truly want, Troupe Leader?"
"What I truly want?"
He sank into thought for a moment before speaking.
"To walk on my own two feet, and make my own way."
He said it and then smiled at her.
"Was that a little too vague?"
Anais shook her head back and forth.
She understood what he meant.
He was telling her.
That he didn't want to live as someone's belonging.
How foolish.
She had been a fool.
He was a wanderer, but he was no slave.
She had been so giddy at the thought of making him an appendage of her estate, of owning him, that she'd blurted out words that wounded him after all.
"I'm sorry. I said something stupid."
The cold, calculating Iron Mask would have used whatever means necessary here to obtain what she wanted. To get her hands on him.
But the woman she was now couldn't do that.
A memory from ten years ago, in a mining city, abruptly resurfaced.
- Relationships between men and women are a bit like negotiation. You need the technique to push and pull, to hold someone in your grasp and move them.
Her uncle had told her that.
By his teachings, did this mean she had completely lost the upper hand?
"I'll cheer you on."
But her uncle had said something else, too.
"Tell me anything you need. I'll help with whatever I can."
- With something you truly, desperately want… I suppose you could say you have no choice. Even if it costs you everything else, you won't regret it.
For her uncle, his wife and daughter had been exactly that.
Something you truly, desperately want.
Something you won't regret even if it costs you everything else.
Put in a single word: love.
The very thing hammering at her heart right now.
"I'll pray you gain exactly what you seek."
Wonderstein must have sensed her feelings, because he gave the brightest smile he'd shown all evening and nodded.
"Thank you, Viscountess."
The two of them stood there, looking at each other and smiling.
They both felt the misunderstandings that had piled up between them dissolving.
"Viscountess, the carriage has arrived."
Sir Porshu, who had been standing guard outside the door, entered the room.
Ella and Maya stood behind him.
"The staff directed us this way."
Ella said it while avoiding the eyes of the viscountess and the troupe leader.
Maya also glanced at the two of them, then sharply turned her head away.
What on earth had happened between those two?
There was an inexplicable sense that the chemistry between them had improved since before.
"Viscountess, and also this…"
Sir Porshu drew a small note from his breast and handed it to Anais.
The paper had been folded into the shape of some creature — a dog, perhaps, or a wolf.
"Stopped by, then left again without a single word of greeting, I see."
So saying, Anais tucked the note away inside her clothes.
Wonderstein knew what it was, but he pretended not to.
If he revealed he knew about it, it would look extremely odd.
"Then let us return to our lodging…"
As she moved to step forward, her body suddenly crumpled.
Wonderstein caught her before he even realized he was doing it.
Sir Porshu rushed over in alarm.
After checking his mistress's condition, he let out a sigh of relief.
"Just exhaustion, thank goodness."
She had closed her eyes and fallen into a faint-like sleep.
Her stamina had been drained to its very bottom.
For someone so frail, she had pushed herself far too hard today.
Mentally and physically.
Wonderstein moved to carry her to the carriage.
“Shall I escort you as far as your bedroom?”
Sir Porshu wore a dubious expression as he watched the man grinning while holding their host tightly.
Just as he moved to stop Wonderstein, Ella and Maya blocked the Troupe Leader’s path.
The two of them fixed him with oddly hostile glares.
“Are you out of your mind? Who carries someone all the way to their bedroom?”
“Put her down, Troupe Leader.”
They practically pried Anais out of Wonderstein’s arms by force and bore her weight between them.
Sir Porshu gave an approving nod, but Wonderstein only tilted his head.
What are they all so worked up about?
***
Title: TT3 Prologue Stage — Full Clear Guide
Posted by: Torch Dancer
Hey everyone.
Torch Dancer here.
The TTT full clear series has made it all the way to TT3.
The Prologue isn’t very long, so I think I can wrap it up in a single installment.
Let’s start with the table of contents.
1. Full Map and Item Locations
2. Main Quest
1) Clearing the Manor
2) Defeating Aeradra
3) Defeating Viscount Bergson
3. Sub Quests
1) Collecting the Viscount’s Journals
2) The Maid’s Last Meal
3) The Man Who Couldn’t Leave the Prison
4) A Birthday Present for His Daughter
4. Support Characters
1) Sir Porshu
2) Hunting Dog Mars
5. Endings
1) If You Did Not Receive the Kill Switch
2) If You Received the Kill Switch
4-2) Hunting Dog Mars
One of the two supporters you can collect in the tutorial stage: Hunting Dog Mars.
Veteran players obviously don’t use him, but for beginners, there’s no more dependable companion.
He’s been the subject of low-grade controversy ever since launch, mostly because people felt the Tril Trillo series — something you were supposed to savor by digging into every detail yourself — had gotten an official add-on. Then again, it does let newcomers push through the story with less trouble, so maybe that’s a plus.
Oh, and one caution!
Remember that items uncovered through Mars will not count toward achievement progress!
Name: Mars
Age: 40
Affection level: 100
Title: Hunting Dog
Occupation: Fixer
Recruitment Requirement: Discover the “dog-shaped origami” inside Viscount Bergson’s manor.
Traits
: [Map Search]
- Displays the positions of NPCs and monsters on the map.
[Information Gathering]: Affection level 15 reward
- A soft glow appears around the heads of NPCs who hold clues.
[Scavenge]: Affection level 30 reward
- Automatically collects coins and items dropped on the ground when you draw near.
[Item Discovery]: Affection level 50 reward
- Hidden or buried items float up into the air when approached.
[Weak Point Discovery]: Affection level 75 reward
- Highlights enemy weak points with enhanced vision.
[Background Investigation]: Affection level 100 reward
- Displays any character’s full profile without needing to investigate or raise their Affection level.
Hunting Dog Mars had served the Bergson Trading Company for over a decade.
Yet vanishingly few within the company knew he even existed. Even among those who did, most called him “the Hunting Dog.” Only the president and vice-president knew his real name.
He served Sinepekus, the Demon God who delighted in rumors, reputations, and slander, and wielded that god’s power.
In other words, he was a Madosa.
The term was distinct from a mage — it applied to anyone who borrowed power from a Demon God, not someone who studied the arcane.
All who wielded a Demon God’s power were Madosa. By that definition, acrobats who had mastered Inspira were Madosa as well.
As befitted a devotee of Sinepekus, he had no peer when it came to tracking and intelligence-gathering.
Sinepekus’s domain within the Abyss was called the Garden of Whispers. Echoing through it were all the murmured conversations and rumors collected from every corner of the world.
Mars could gather information by briefly extending his consciousness into the Garden of Whispers.
About three weeks ago, while tailing Pierre, he discovered that intelligence on their employer was being fed to Pierre on a regular basis.
“Who in Rouge is passing her movements to Pierre’s side?”
A serpent coiled through the Garden of Whispers twisted its body with a hiss, like smoke, and plucked something up.
Mars opened his eyes. He had identified the target.
Then, about two weeks ago, he came across the scandal that Pierre’s faction was spreading — the rumor that their employer was deeply in love.
He asked a different question.
“Who in Rouge is spearheading the spread of this rumor?”
Again, a serpent in the garden hissed and snatched something up.
It was the same target.
And about one week ago, while continuing to shadow Pierre’s faction, he uncovered the conspiracy behind this “trial.”
The man at the forefront of the investigation was a young deputy officer of the Mounted Police; other nobles had taken the lead in forming the faction itself. But there was someone who had orchestrated events from the shadows to bring the situation to this point.
“Who schemed this conspiracy?”
The serpent plucked up the same target once more.
The Hunting Dog arrived in Rouge today to aid the employer who had been caught up in the plot. But his employer had already overcome the crisis on her own, with splendid composure. She had no need of his help.
The Hunting Dog sent his employer a brief note of greeting and left the cabaret. He posed another question to the Garden of Whispers.
“Who concealed the forensic report on the ghost’s body, waited and watched, then produced it belatedly to suit the unfolding situation?”
In answer, the smoke-serpent seized the target by the shoulder and hauled him into the air.
The target was identical to before.
The Hunting Dog had a knack for unearthing people who had been hidden or buried.
This was simply another application of that ability.
“Aaaagh!”
The deputy chief of the Rouge Police Station was yanked upward into empty air.
He was the man who, inside this city, had been feeding their employer’s movements to Pierre, spreading the rumor of her romance, and pulling strings behind the scenes to send the investigation hurtling toward disaster.
He had arranged any number of things, but the core move was delaying the forensic report on an unidentified corpse as long as possible. If the defense had failed to mount a swift rebuttal during today’s summary trial and had been dragged around helplessly, he would have kept that report hidden until tomorrow morning’s headlines broke.
“Again? Wh-who the hell are you?!”
The Hunting Dog had already sent records and ledgers documenting the man’s corruption to every newspaper. With that, threats against his employer in this city would cease for a good while.
He listened to the screams, watched the officers who arrived haul the man down from the air, and turned away.
His mind turned to his next quarry.
There were voices the Garden of Whispers could not hear.
The first case was when someone truly went unmentioned by anyone’s lips. Most of Sinepekus’s own faithful fell into this category; they were practiced at hiding their true names and moving through the shadows. A great many unregistered persons active in the underworld also belonged here.
The second case was the Holy Church’s high clergy. They possessed the power to ward off the influence of the Demon Gods dwelling in the Abyss. At the level of a bishop, there was almost nothing to collect beyond a name and a brief profile. A pope, an inquisitor, or a saint came up as blank as a fresh sheet of paper.
Finally, the last case was an Apostle — a worshipper of another Demon God.
An Apostle was someone who acted as their Demon God’s agent in this world, comparable to a religion’s high priest. Sinepekus’s power could not take hold against such a person, because another Demon God’s might already saturated the Apostle’s body.
The Hunting Dog sniffed the air.
Ever since the romance rumor began to spread, he had been thoroughly investigating the man at his employer’s side. He had even drawn on the Garden of Whispers.
Yet not a single name surfaced.
The second case was clearly not the explanation. It had to be the first or the third.
Had the Hunting Dog visited Rouge today and watched the trial without the man being exposed as an unregistered person, he might have left his employer a warning to be cautious of him. The Church deliberately spread propaganda that Madosa were unholy beings, but a figure of Apostle rank acting as a Demon God’s agent could hardly be expected to have kept blood from his hands.
He deliberated for a moment, then turned his steps toward the Caribbean Sea.
He had provisionally concluded that the man beside his employer was harmless.
What mattered now were Pierre and the cult backing him. He would root out exactly which Demon God they served.
Mars departed the Garden of Whispers, but within it, murmurs gathered from across the world continued to hum and drone.
The Garden of Whispers had accumulated oceans of information. Every rumor, every conversation that had wandered the earth for hundreds and thousands of years lay buried in its deepest strata.
Among them was a fragment of a conversation a niece had shared with her uncle ten years ago.
— Anya, remember this. If you’re lost in the desert and someone appears before you offering the very water you thirst for most desperately, there may be poison in it.
The long-buried whisper rose like a mote of dust before fading away.
In her dream, the girl had rejected her uncle’s words. What she had found was truly sweet and warm.
A smile brushed across her sleeping lips.
------
End of the Reversal Opening Ceremony