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The Fifteenth Mystery – Part 03

“What’s taking so long?!

The bedroom door inched open, and the Gray Wolf emerged quietly.

The government officials choked up. The principal and chairman, waiting anxiously behind them, recoiled in astonishment at the sight of her.

Victorique was attired in the Saint Marguerite Academy uniform.

A navy-blue jacket and pleated skirt, paired with a ribbon tie. White socks and plain leather shoes. Her dazzling golden hair, gathered into two loose braids, flowed gracefully to either side.

The smooth skin on her milky calves, rarely touched by sunlight, glowed faintly. Her cheeks were shockingly ashen, and color had faded from her lips. She seemed to be enduring something.

In stark contrast to her schoolgirl appearance, she held a delicate white porcelain pipe in one hand, blowing smoke. With every deliberate step she took, her body quivered, as though being sliced and diced by an invisible blade. The simple, navy blue ribbon tied to her waist swayed.

Who would imagine that the slim figure beneath this uniform was engraved with foreign characters in black ink?

She wasn’t allowed to carry any belongings. The officials subjected her to a rough body search, treating her like an object, to ensure she bore nothing on her person. Shoved from behind, Victorique stumbled out of the candy house. Ms. Cecile trailed behind, wiping tears.

Like a man carrying a cross up a hill, Victorique staggered through the flowerbed maze.

A large black carriage awaited at the maze’s exit, imposing as a sinister castle looming in the dark. Victorique drew a deep breath, perhaps out of fear.

The French garden was shrouded in an eerie stillness. No birds sang, no clumps of snow fell. Even the wind had stilled, as if Father Time himself was watching them with bated breath.

Inspector Grevil de Blois was leaning gloomily against the carriage, lacking his usual ostentation. He was wearing his customary white riding coat and boots. Silver cufflinks gleamed on his sleeves.

His eyes widened at the sight of his sister in a school uniform, exuding an aura of uneasiness that belied her actual age.

“Great. I have to see my brother’s stupid face so early in the morning,” Victorique grunted.

Inspector Blois was silent for a while. Finally, he spoke in his usual tone, “It’s your long-awaited pickup, my sister.”

“So, am I to be returned to Castle de Blois once more?” Victorique asked coldly. “No, that’s unlikely. Should the next storm come, that is, a large-scale war befalls the world, the situation would change with every moment. In anticipation of that shift, I would be taken somewhere in Saubreme. Am I wrong?”

“No. Your destination is indeed Saubreme,” he spat, turning his face away. His face was uncharacteristically pale and tense. He gestured toward the enclosure. “Get in!”

Upon seeing the cage, Victorique let out a distressed breath.

---

With a flap, a thick canvas cloak was laid over the iron enclosure. A large coachman cracked his black whip. The horse neighed and bolted down the snow-laden path.

Victorique shifted restlessly within the cage. She crept across the floor, stretched her fingers through the iron bars, and lifted the cover.

Amidst the snowy French garden stood Ms. Cecile. She leaped and waved, putting on a smile for Victorique despite the tears. Perhaps she wanted the last thing her student saw in the academy to be one of happiness.

A joyous mirage flickered for a brief moment. Although there was only Ms. Cecile there, Victorique saw familiar faces—Kazuya Kujou, Avril Bradley, the dorm mother Sophie—each smiling as they waved goodbye.

The illusion vanished in an instant. Ms. Cecile, smiling through tears, shrank into a mere speck on the horizon.

Victorique squinted and looked above. The grand, snow-capped Alps spanned her entire field of view, a staggering reminder of the inexorable might of nature and time, forces that humans could never contend with.

A French-style garden sprawled below the mountains. Though considerably smaller than the majestic Alps, it was nonetheless a remarkable man-made creation.

Deep inside stood a magnificent stone tower that had existed since the Middle Ages—Saint Marguerite Academy’s Grand Library. A monumental temple of European knowledge, magic, and history. The den of complex books collected from all times and places, which Victorique had tirelessly explored, now silently watched as its small, golden-haired master departed.

The carriage rocked as it passed through the main gate. As they entered the village road, both the garden and library tower swiftly vanished from sight. The winter road lay blanketed in pristine white on this first morning of the year.

There were hardly any people on the road. Open windows showed villagers sitting by the fireplace, red flames illuminating happy faces. Now and then, gazes darted to the ominous black carriage hurtling along the village road, brows furrowing and heads turning.

The carriage left the village and entered the woods. Despite the morning hour, the forest lay in shadow. Tall trees, stripped of their foliage, painted the landscape in black and white. There were no signs of life, only frozen bleakness.

“What are you doing?” Inspector Blois asked sharply from his seat.

Peering outside from her corner of the cage, Victorique offered a faint response, which the inspector failed to catch.

“What did you say?!”

“I’m collecting fragments for recollection, pinhead.”

“What?”

“I…” Victorique turned slowly. Her cheeks were still pallid, and her lips were quivering, as if grappling with pain or sorrow. “I think…”

“What is it, you good-for-nothing Gray Wolf?!”

In a low, quavering voice, Victorique said, “If this marks my last foray outside, then the remainder of my life will be spent alone within a cell. Sorting and reconstructing pieces of memories, tearing them apart, and then reorganizing them again. Over and over. In essence, I will spend my days dreaming of the past.”

“…”

“Either way, it won’t last long. I will likely perish as soon as this war ends, Grevil.”

“Who knows? Certainly not me.”

Inspector Blois averted his gaze uncomfortably. His face was tense, as though repressing emotions. He was as pale as his sister.

Victorique’s gaze remained fixed on the woods, as if sensing a presence not quite there. Whatever she saw, she extended her hand from the enclosure, touching the wind. A weak smile appeared on her lips.

Inspector Blois stole a hesitant, dubious glance at her face. Lost in thought, he stroked his chin with one hand and his pointed hair with the other, observing intently.

A moment later, Victorique said, “Stop staring at me! You’re creeping me out.”

“N-No, I was just…”

“You must be thrilled to see your sister returned to a desolate prison. Hmph!”

“I-I didn’t say that! Hmph!”

The siblings turned away simultaneously, mirroring each other’s motion. The carriage pressed forward.

Watching the scenery, Victorique murmured, “The fifteenth mystery…”

“Hmm?”

Victorique grunted. “Quiet, you. I’m talking to myself.”

“Well, now you’re just making me curious.”

“It’s just… Kujou…”

Victorique cast her eyes down. Inspector Blois leaned forward, intrigued. Victorique drew herself away from the pointy hair entering the cage.

“What about him?”

“I asked for fifteen mysteries on my birthday. He was deported last night, one mystery short.”

“I believe he was taken late at night.” Inspector Blois nodded, the sharp tip of his hair bobbing. “I saw them carting off Kujou as I left the precinct. Took me by surprise. Swiftly pieced it together, though. Embassies from different nations were evacuating folks from the Old World.”

“Hmph. You must’ve been burning the midnight oil, too.”

“Typical Kujou. Ran out of time with one left.”

“No.” Victorique shook her head. “That pumpkin-headed, oafish, despicable servant of mine left my heart the final and greatest mystery of all. That’s what was on my mind.”

“The final and greatest mystery, you say? What would that be?” Inspector Blois asked, jutting his drill-shaped hair into the air.

The carriage rocked. The sound of rushing water indicated they were running next to a stream.

Victorique’s gaze flitted back outside. “What is this emotion?”

“What? Are you serious?” Inspector Blois’s voice rose.

“Hmm?”

“It couldn’t be any more obvious!”

“Obvious, you say?” Victorique grimaced. “Get off your high horse. Let’s hear it, then. What is this feeling?”

“Um, well…”

Astounded, Inspector Blois moved his mouth to speak, but upon seeing his half-sister’s profile—a blend of unease, sadness, and anger—he lapsed into silence, crossing his arms. He resumed observing Victorique with a hesitant gaze.

The carriage rattled on. A leaden sky hung above the forest, bare branches and snow creating an endless landscape of black-and-white.

---

The city of Saubreme had undergone a complete change.

Gentlemen and ladies who once crowded the sidewalks were gone. Roads that should have teemed with carriages and automobiles lay deserted.

Department stores and shops were shuttered, thick curtains covering the windows. It felt dim despite the time of day. Police officers filled the streets.

The black carriage sped down the empty main street. It glided past the Charles de Gilet Station, the police station, and the department store Jeantan before ascending a gentle incline.

Entering the outskirts of Saubreme, it neared a large park situated close to the residential district.

Inside the carriage, Victorique trembled.

In this sector stood the medieval stone prison known as the Soleil Noir. Throughout history, it had held a myriad of souls—political adversaries from eras of royal strife, French and German prisoners of war during perpetual conflicts with neighboring countries, and even captives from times of religious crusades. It had housed the most heinous criminals arrested by the Kingdom of Sauville, many of whom met their demise within its grim walls, leaving only cold remains. Enveloped with the bitterness and desolation of those who were forever denied sunlight, the colossal round tower, aptly named the Black Sun, appeared shrouded in shadows and mist, even during daytime.

Today, the residents of Saubreme were unaware of the identity of the tower’s latest prisoner. As the black carriage approached, the populace—young and old alike—cast looks of both sympathy for the prisoner and fear for their fate.

The heavy canvas flapped, unveiling for a fleeting instant the figure of a young girl with braids of golden hair, garbed in a school uniform.

Onlookers exchanged astonished glances, murmuring in hushed tones. There had not been a child sent to the tower since the era of power struggles among the aristocracy hundreds of years ago.

Questions arose. Who was the young girl? What kind of crime could she have possibly committed? Not one resident had the answers.

Hooves clattering, the carriage pressed onward, crossing a drawbridge, and swiftly entered the foreboding Soleil Noir.