A Resplendent Era (5)

Of course, Freugne had anticipated such a scenario.

Struggling to suppress the upturning corners of her mouth, she signaled discreetly.

Following the prearranged cue, the physician provided supporting fire:

“A rather severe cold. The recent weather has been quite chilly, after all.”

“So serious?”

“While severe, it remains a mere cold. With ample rest and proper nourishment, she shall naturally recover.”

Originally, the plan had been to conclude the examination promptly and depart if no issues arose.

However, having been purportedly influenced by magic, they would first need to ascertain its nature before proceeding.

The physician tactfully appended:

“We shall continue monitoring her condition and notify her guardian accordingly. No need for excessive concern.”

“You mean hospitalization is required?”

“A day’s observation as a precaution. Barring any complications, she should be discharged by tomorrow evening.”

Freugne did not expect Edan, devoid of any Demonic Tribe encounter experiences, to readily discern lingering magical traces.

At best, his relevant experience amounted to witnessing individuals succumbing to mental manipulation – hardly sufficient for a Londinium native who had scarcely glimpsed the Demonic Tribe.

Magical residues resembled viruses manifesting no outward symptoms.

Unless one exhibited overt signs of mental derangement in this instance, specialized examinations would be necessary for detection by the uninitiated.

Admittedly, extensive exposure could have fostered expertise, as some organization magicians had seemingly acquired through relentless Demonic Tribe subjugation missions.

However, despite his Royal Academy affiliation, Edan – a lifelong Londinium resident unaccustomed to Demonic Tribe encounters – would struggle to perceive any anomalies.

Yet prudence could hardly be faulted.

Moreover, Freugne remained circumspect about any potential ploys Hubert might have enacted, unwilling to recklessly approach him.

“Ah, about the medical expenses……”

This was an oversight.

“…Oh, the costs shall be comparable to any other room.”

“For a private suite? Is that feasible?”

“This is, you see… Due to our facility’s shortage of available rooms. Yes.”

A rare breed these days – a benevolent hospital.

Edan muttered under his breath before retrieving his wallet, handing the physician a few banknotes.

He then approached the bedside chair, gently pressing her forehead as he spoke:

“You seem feverish too.”

“Uncle.”

“Shall I keep you company?”

“Oh……”

Quite a tempting proposition.

While part of her wavered, tomorrow’s scheduled examination by the institute’s magicians could not be deferred. Freugne shook her head.

“No need, please rest first. It doesn’t appear to be a serious ailment.”

“You’re sure? Ordinary colds seldom necessitate hospitalization. Are you truly alright?”

To ensure a smooth discharge the following evening, she could not overly concern Edan.

Waving dismissively, Freugne emphasized her indisposition with a couple of dry coughs.

“Heheh, better safe than sorry, right? Can’t risk infecting you later, after all.”

“Very well, I shall return tomorrow evening. If you’re feeling better, we can be discharged together, understood?”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

As Edan rose to depart, he paused before leaning forward, extending his arms invitingly. Though comprehending the gesture, Freugne hesitated momentarily.

“What if you catch my cold……”

“I’ll be fine, come here.”

Her reservations proved short-lived – her claimed illness had been a fabrication.

Freugne nestled into Edan’s warm embrace.

Stroking her hair gently, he inquired:

“What brought this on, all of a sudden?”

“Just… feeling guilty for leaving you alone.”

At this juncture, Freugne, too, began experiencing pangs of conscience.

And once that nagging guilt had manifested, rather than restraining herself, she opted to accelerate the emotional momentum, unable to recant her deception.

“Then, could you tell me you love me?”

“I love you.”

“…Eheh.”

Freugne shuddered subtly.

“I love you too.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.”

“No, that’s not what I meant……”

Yet she trailed off, opting to reserve her genuine confession for a later time.

If she could still receive such affection after unveiling the truth, only then would she reveal it.

After a final embrace, Edan departed with the physician.

With Ulr having retired and Edan’s departure, Freugne found herself alone once more, burrowing into the bedsheets.

Savoring the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the windowpane, she gazed pensively at the darkened ceiling.

Unsurprisingly, her initial thoughts lingered upon Edan’s declaration of love. But her subsequent contemplations inevitably gravitated towards:

‘What could that have been?’

That abrupt, jarring transformation –

Eerily reminiscent of the mind-control induced by grimoires she had once witnessed in Londinium’s slums.

Yet analyzing Hubert’s utterances precluded the likelihood of self-inflicted mental manipulation:

‘Such confidence befits your capabilities, does it not?’

‘I wonder how far that confidence shall carry you.’

These were not the words of a mere information-peddling Demonic Tribe member operating covertly in Antrim for five years without instigating coups.

Clearly, the entity speaking through Hubert possessed intimate knowledge of her.

And Freugne intuited that entity’s identity:

‘The Dark Lord.’

If not the Dark Lord himself, then at least among his innermost retinue.

Freugne could not muster absolute certainty regarding the Dark Lord’s nature, however.

Not just her, but even the Glassgow Kingdom’s classified dossiers yielded scant intelligence.

The Demonic Tribe members’ reverent invocations of ‘the Dark Lord’ did not stem from an inability to utter the name itself.

Granted, the depths of their indoctrinated fealty could compel such reverence. But for most, ‘the Dark Lord’ constituted the only descriptor for that enigmatic existence.

In that regard, the paucity of publicly available information mirrored her own circumstances.

Yet unlike Freugne, whose outward identity remained entirely concealed, the Dark Lord maintained calculated obscurity despite being acknowledged as the Demonic Tribe’s sovereign ruler.

Records investigating the Demonic Tribe’s society, culture, economic prowess, and value systems dated back to the immediate post-war era.

Ultimately, with enduring peace, such inquiries held limited relevance – akin to examining the sociocultural underpinnings of an obsolete culinary fusion.

A mere passive-aggressive taunt, perhaps? The incapacitation serving as a veiled threat of potential harm?

Had she been the Dark Lord, enforcing pro-Demonic Tribe indoctrination would have been the foremost priority – its absence hinting at a capability deficiency.

‘How should I…?’

Her spiraling contemplations eventually dissipated as encroaching drowsiness claimed Freugne.

Nestling into the lingering warmth, yet apprehensive about potentially surrendering such affection upon unveiling the truth, she curled up uneasily before drifting into slumber.

---

While a mere cold, the apparent absence of serious complications was reassuring.

Procuring an umbrella from the hospital for the return journey, I suddenly realized my hands felt disconcertingly empty.

“Ah, come to think of it, the fruit basket I’d purchased……”

In my haste after learning of Freugne’s hospitalization, I must have discarded it somewhere along the way.

Retracing my route, I would need to retrieve it if spotted.

But after a few short strides, I sensed an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

In the more sparsely populated areas devoid of vehicular traffic, a festival appeared to be unfolding to welcome the new year.

Although not yet midnight, every street vendor catering to tourists had shuttered their stalls.

True, a winding-down had been perceptible during my initial hospital trip. Yet for them to vanish so abruptly within a mere hour or two seemed prearranged.

While nearly two months had elapsed since my arrival in Antrim, I was well aware that no citywide curfews existed.

And even amidst heavy downpours, vendors would typically continue operating under rain capes and canopies.

However, one solitary stall remained open, its unmanned countertop conspicuously vacant.

Its loiterers noticed my gaze, glancing upwards furtively.

“Still haven’t cleared out, huh? Should I chase him off?”

“Wait, no need. He has finally arrived.”

“What?”

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Only then did I grasp the source of my disquietude.

As they rose, shedding their overcoats, diminutive wings fluttered behind each of their backs.