The Daughters of the Butterfly
“What a truly adorable little lady.”
The midday tavern reeked of acrid tobacco smoke. Bibi paid no heed to the mocking lilt in the woman’s voice, rising onto her tiptoes to check the clock hanging upon the wall. It was an ancient wooden timepiece whose hands were so grime-caked that one could hardly tell when it had first been hung. As if worn down by the sheer weight of passing years, the spaces where the numbers three and five belonged were entirely vacant.
“Our establishment doesn't carry anything suited for such a darling young lady. Whatever shall we do?”
The woman’s voice fluttered as softly as butterfly wings. Bibi watched coldly as the smiling figure drew near.
Her fingernails were immaculate and pale, bearing not the slightest trace of polish or stain. Yet upon the very tip of her pinky nail rested a miniature black butterfly tattoo—so minuscule that anyone unaware would have dismissed it as an errant speck of soot.
“If I’d known sooner that every last bitch working at Hecate’s Tavern was a Daughter of the Butterfly, I could have saved myself the trouble!”
The mage’s manic laughter had echoed down the corridor as he gloated over acquiring such exquisite experimental material. Thick glass walls. Iron bars partitioning one pen from another. And the test subjects perishing slowly within...
“Don't cry, little lady.”
This woman had been among them.
“Crying only drains your strength. If you happen to know of a stray doghole to slip through, won't you let your big sister know? Ah, if you knew, would you be stuck in here like an idiot? Well, well, little lady’s got quite a temper...”
No matter how heinous the torment inflicted upon her, she had fought tooth and nail to guard her secrets, desperate never to bring harm upon her family and companions. Yet in the end, the mage had shattered her mind through unfathomable sorcery, a potion with an eerily sweet fragrance, and relentless rounds of torture.
Upon realizing during a brief flash of lucidity that she had betrayed her clan’s secrets and clandestine meeting grounds, the woman had whispered through her tears:
“...Little lady, you must survive. Please, tell them for me... Tell them I’m sorry...”
In any case, none of that had come to pass in this life. The broken woman who had foreseen her impending death, begging the trembling, wailing child not to perish and pleading for an apology to be delivered to her kin, was nowhere to be found.
“It’s fine, Bibi understands! Not every shop can be ready for every kind of guest. If you don't have it, you just have to go out and buy it!”
Bibi beamed and clapped her hands together. Lucy, who had been lingering like a shadow behind her, stepped forward and produced a velvet pouch. Bibi reached inside, drew out a single gold coin, and flicked it casually into the air. Despite the clear distaste on her face, the woman nimbly caught it between two fingers.
“Bibi, hmm, Bibi isn't picky at all! For a drink, just lemon water with an isel blossom steeped for exactly three seconds and removed. For a snack, hazelnut butter financiers from Honey Honey Bakery. And if there's any coin left over, you can fetch some orange and lemon bonbons from the Rone Confectionery. Oh, and the weekday-exclusive orangettes too!”
“...”
A throbbing blue vein surfaced upon the woman’s temple. It was an outrageous demand along the lines of handing someone a single coin, ordering three loaves of bread, and expecting change back. Yet taking in Bibi’s radiant, cherubic face, impeccably groomed hair, and unmistakably opulent attire, the woman forced her lips into a strained, polite smile.
“My word, little lady, this isn't an eatery~ Whatever shall we do?”
“My name isn't ‘little lady’ either, you know~?”
“Then may I ask what the little lady’s name is?”
“Bibi has been saying she's Bibi this entire time! Grown-ups are so strange! Stop looking down on me just because I'm small and listen properly from the start!”
“Then, Lady Bibi.” The woman’s tone flattened into something dark and solemn. “This is no playground for children’s games.”
“Bibi didn't come here to tease grown-ups either.”
Smiling brightly, Bibi leaned in and lightly tapped the gold coin resting in the woman’s palm. Tap, tap.
The woman glanced down at the coin, and her expression instantly froze. Engraved upon the surface was a delicate emblem depicting three serpents entwined with laurel. It was the clandestine crest of Hecate’s Tavern.
A black card embossed with gold foil served merely as a temporary voucher, granting a one-time fee waiver before expiring the moment a commission concluded. But those recognized as official, esteemed patrons of Hecate’s Tavern required no card to pass through its doors. That gold coin was the proof—not a flimsy strip of gold leaf that would burn to ash, but a seal struck directly into pure, solid gold.
House Castrein was an indispensable VIP and an invaluable ally to Hecate’s Tavern. Even so, not just anyone carrying the Castrein name was permitted to wield such a token.
“I’ve heard plenty of rumors that Duke Castrein would place the entire world in the hands of his precious young adoptive daughter in his twilight years...” The woman curled the corners of her lips upward into an enigmatic smirk. “Seeing it with my own eyes far exceeds my imagination, my lady.”
“You can just call me Bibi.”
“Very well, Lady Bibi. And what is it you desire that warrants brandishing such an item?”
“Every scrap of information on Imperial Consort Elaine.”
“...”
“Everything she did before entering the Imperial Palace, and everything she has done since. Oh, and you must sell it to me exclusively. Not a single word to anyone else.”
“You came all this way merely for that?”
“Nope! Because Bibi is greedy!” Bibi let out a silvery, melodic giggle, flashing an expression of complete innocence. “I have information to sell, too.”
“We don't buy just any information, you know.”
“Are you sure about that?” The smile vanished from Bibi’s face in a heartbeat. “Even information that someone hunting the blood of the Butterfly Tribe is very likely to raid Hecate’s Tavern?”
“...!”
The air in the room plummeted to freezing in an instant.
Lucy moved to step forward and shield Bibi, but the young girl raised a hand, silently halting her maid in place. With an icy glare, the woman feigned nonchalance.
“My, my, young lady. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would someone after the blood of the Butterfly Tribe attack a place like Hecate’s Tavern?”
“Because Hecate herself was the last Great Shaman of the Butterfly Tribe. And I know Hecate’s Tavern was founded for the sole purpose of shielding your kind within human society.”
The Butterfly Tribe was an atypical subterranean clan possessing the unique ability to communicate with bats. In outward appearance, they were virtually indistinguishable from regular humans, yet their natural kinship with bats had long drawn suspicion and prejudice. Because bats resembled demonic beasts, the tribe had faced severe persecution under the slanderous accusation of colluding with monsters.
Thus, Hecate, the Great Shaman of her people, had made a fateful decision: to abandon the deep forests and caverns, slip into the heart of human civilization, and secure their survival from within.
The power to command bats proved astonishingly well-suited for espionage. Not only could they perceive sights and sounds through the creatures in real time, but ultrasonic resonance allowed them to communicate across immense distances. Furthermore, they could dispatch bats to carry secret missives completely undetected. They gathered intelligence faster than anyone else in the empire, operating entirely beneath the notice of the nobility.
It was precisely this exceptional talent that had allowed them to forge an alliance with House Castrein, who had long sought out and gathered rare bloodlines.
Of course, the foundation of Hecate’s Tavern remained inextricably tied to the Butterfly Tribe. But while its descendants still occupied key executive roles, Hecate’s Tavern had long since evolved into an undisputed intelligence powerhouse—the foremost shadow network across the entire empire.
“Little lady.” The woman’s smile had vanished without a trace, replaced by sharp, piercing vigilance. “Where did you obtain that information?”
“I can't reveal the source, but my enemy was gunning for it, so I looked into it myself!” Bibi grinned cheerfully.
“Information without a verifiable source is little better than wild conjecture. And you expect us to purchase that? Yes, Hecate’s Tavern is famous, and there have been countless fools throughout history who thought they could raid us to get what they wanted.”
“Don't believe it then,” Bibi replied casually, her tone utterly indifferent. “Even if it comes from the mouth of a little girl, the fact that it originates from ‘House Castrein’ and touches upon your organization’s deepest, most guarded secret means you’ll naturally be on your guard, won't you? Even if someone targets you, you won't be caught off guard like fools.”
Bibi was no simpleton.
She did not harbor the naive delusion that returning to her childhood meant she was suddenly omnipotent. She did not know the cosmic reason behind why she had been granted a second life; she only knew she had to pour everything she had into every single passing moment.
And it seems I'm not the only one who has changed.
Reflecting on the startling reports that had reached her from the Imperial Palace, Bibi couldn't help but wonder:
Could Sister Titania have died and returned to the past, just like me?
Before Bibi’s death in her previous life, the rumors surrounding Imperial Princess Titania had been entirely contrary to her present conduct. Offering intelligence that even House Castrein had been blind to, and demanding an equal trade? Brandishing a questionable sword—one the Imperial Consort had denounced as a demonic blade, whose origins remained a mystery—and annihilating demonic beasts without a trace of fear?
It was enough to make anyone suspect that an entirely different soul had slipped into Princess Titania’s skin.
Yet Bibi could neither reveal her own secret nor confront Titania with her burning suspicions.