Chapter 67: The Poet of the All-Out Combat Division!
After finishing his discussion with Zani, Aeron arrived at the plaza district of Ragunna.
Just as Aeron had said, he intended to carve this Carnevale deeply into the history of Ragunna—no, the entire Rinascita.
The reason for seeking out Zani was simple: she was the only person Aeron could confide in completely. With so many unexpected situations arising this time, he needed someone trustworthy to handle the aftermath.
At least, among all the people Aeron had met so far, Zani was the only one who could take on this task.
There were no power struggles between families to worry about, no need to concern himself with the Order's tightening control over Ragunna, and no need to fret about where Threnodian and the Sentinels would ultimately lead Rinascita's destiny.
He trusted Zani, and Zani trusted him—the tacit understanding between working companions was just that simple and unadorned.
Although there might be some difficult matters to deal with later, compared to those, Aeron was more focused on what needed to be done now.
So, it was time to move on to others.
However, looking at the scene before him, Aeron felt that business would have to wait a little longer.
There was Ciaccona, slumped on a bench clutching her lute, her expression vacant and eyes lifeless, as if completely burned out, turned into pale ashes.
Aeron walked up to Ciaccona and waved a hand in front of her face.
"Hey? Still alive?"
But there was no response.
Well, it seemed she'd been gone for a while.
Aeron sighed and sat down beside Ciaccona. He reached out and patted the lute in her arms—no reaction. He poked her cheek—soft, but still no response.
"Hey, snap out of it! The deadline's here, the editor's coming with a knife to hurry you up! Where's your new score? What about that blood-and-tears narrative poem exposing the Order's true face? How long has it been delayed?"
"Ah no! Editor, please don't kill me! I know I was wrong, I'll update right away... Huh?"
As soon as Aeron finished speaking, Ciaccona seemed to trigger on keywords, jolting upright from the back of the bench, her pale cheeks quickly regaining color.
When her panicked eyes met Aeron's dead-fish stare, Ciaccona gradually came to her senses. Her expression shifted from surprise to normal to sorrow, then she directly threw herself into Aeron's arms.
"Wuuu wuuu, partner! Inspiration... inspiration has abandoned me!"
"Could you get up first? Don't dirty my clothes."
"So mean!"
Phoebe had come by once before, and now this was happening again—Aeron really didn't want to deal with another Cantarella situation.
Ciaccona put her lute aside and waved her hands in protest at Aeron.
Aeron raised an eyebrow, then lifted his hand to poke the pair of asymmetrical antlers(?) at her temple. They felt slightly cool, like some kind of wooden material.
"Wah! D-don't touch there, it's really ticklish!"
Ciaccona sharply pulled her neck back, covering her antlers with both hands, her cheeks flushing bright red.
"Cut it out. Everyone else is busy handling the Carnevale, and you're the only one slacking off here. Shouldn't you be ashamed?"
"Using such pick-up artist tactics on a girl really lowers your points, you know? Affection level ↓"
"There was never anything like that to begin with, was there?"
"You can't just claim such things don't exist by saying so," Ciaccona retorted, puffing her cheeks while covering her horns, though her eyes had regained their usual sparkle. It seemed Aeron had successfully pulled her spirit back.
"Besides, how can a creator's work be called slacking off?"
"Then what should it be called?"
"Gathering inspiration."
"Weren't you just complaining to me about losing inspiration?"
"Th-That's completely different!"
Hearing Aeron's words, Ciaccona lowered her head somewhat dejectedly.
"Just when I should be fully focused on creating, unexpected interruptions arise. Every day I struggle to find balance between art and life, only to end up staring at a blank page with no idea what to write. In seeking inspiration, I only fall deeper into procrastination, gradually becoming the very person I despise most..."
"...Wait, why did this suddenly turn so heavy?"
"Ahem, enough of that, but work still needs doing, my poet lady.""
Aeron feigned a cough, attempting to shift the topic as he withdrew his hand from her deer horns, adopting a more serious expression.
"Haven't I been racking my brains over the composition I promised the Second Miss for Carnevale?"
Ciaccona pouted, her fingers unconsciously plucking at the instrument strings, producing a few discordant notes.
"I don't want to embarrass you, my partner, or Montelli..."
"Don't worry, you won't." Aeron waved his hand, his tone softening slightly. "Don't I know your capabilities? You're from Toccata, and one of those destined to uncover the truth—I believe in you."
"But..."
"No buts."
Just as Ciaccona wanted to say more, Aeron immediately cut her off.
"The Order hurt you, hurt Toccata. As your partner, how could I stand by and do nothing?"
Aeron's words carried firm resolution, devoid of his usual playful banter.
Ciaccona's words caught in her throat as she stared blankly into Aeron's eyes. Her heart felt tethered by something invisible.
...Partner.
He said 'partner'—not 'poet miss', not 'Ciaccona', not even full-name 'Ciaccona Toccata'... but 'partner'.
The word slipped from Aeron's lips lightly, carrying his characteristic tone of apparent indifference, yet it struck Ciaccona's heart like a perfectly aimed pebble.
He's usually either completely unserious or all businesslike—why say such things at a time like this!
A warm rush of embarrassment, relief, and inexplicable excitement surged to her cheeks. Instinctively, Ciaccona hid her face behind her instrument.
Stealing a glance at Aeron's expression before quickly lowering her eyes to the strings, she murmured, "S-Suddenly saying things like that... might make other girls misunderstand, you know."
"...? It should be fine. At least when I say similar things to Zani and Little Carte, they understand what I mean."
Well, Ciaccona admitted she'd overestimated this guy. Compared to wood and stone, he'd advanced to steel plate level. Expecting anything romantic from someone like him made her feel like a complete fool.
"...Idiot." Ciaccona muttered under her breath, then took a deep breath and slapped her cheeks firmly, as if physically brushing away all those messy emotions.
"Alright! I'm fine now. You didn't specifically come looking for me just to give me psychological counseling, did you?"
Her gaze refocused on Aeron, regaining its usual liveliness but with an added seriousness.
Seeing her like this, Aeron knew she had emerged from her earlier low spirits, so he also set aside his intention to deliberately provoke her.
"Just an additional service. There's something I need you to do for me."
"Mhm, go ahead!"
"I want you to help me spread a rumor."
Ciaccona blinked twice, the excitement on her face slightly receding while her curiosity grew stronger.
"A rumor? About what? Like how you should never mention the Second Young Lady's height in front of Montelli?"
...Was that really just a rumor?
Aeron remained silent for two seconds, deciding to ignore her overly imaginative thinking. "It's about me."
"You?" Ciaccona tilted her head. "What rumors could there possibly be about you? Misconduct, wavering faith, flirting around... complicated relationships—aren't these all facts?"
"I really appreciate your summary," Aeron retorted with an annoyed glare.
"This time, we're going in a different direction. I want you to spread that I, Aeron, that exiled priest—his 'evil spirit' has returned."
"...?"
"Yes. Say that someone has seen Father Aeron, who should have died thoroughly on his pilgrimage, in the shadows of Ragunna, along with his horrifying evil spirit. Say his resentment remains unappeased, that he's come back to settle scores with certain people. The more mysterious and unbelievable, the better."
Ciaccona didn't respond immediately. Her green eyes carefully studied Aeron, the previous playful expression gradually fading, replaced by a serious, probing look.
"What are you trying to do? Scare the Order this way?"
"Scaring them is secondary." Aeron leaned back slightly against the bench, his gaze turning toward the crowds busy preparing for Carnevale in the square. "The main purpose is to create cracks in the very concept of 'pilgrimage' itself."
"...?"
Ciaccona blinked cutely—Aeron always spoke in such cryptic ways at times like this.
"To remind everyone that the Order's so-called 'pilgrimage' isn't flawless. If someone they've declared 'dead' in every aspect can still leave traces... the image of 'absolute correctness' that they rely on to maintain their rule will develop cracks."
Aeron's voice lowered slightly as he continued his calm analysis.
"Especially before Carnevale, any hint of the Order's authority wavering will spread like ripples across water. Don't forget, when I left Ragunna last time, I gave them quite the sendoff."
Ciaccona listened quietly, understanding Aeron's meaning now.
This wasn't some prank, but a battle of public opinion—using people's fear of the unknown and their potential resonance with memories of injustice to plant a hidden needle beneath the noisy sea of Carnevale.
"And," Aeron turned his head to look at Ciaccona, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile devoid of warmth.
"The 'evil spirit' of a dead person is the safest. The Order can't arrest me again, nor can they publicly debunk the rumors—the more they try, the more guilty they'll appear. This might work even better than a living, breathing Aeron stepping forward to accuse them."
Ciaccona pondered for a moment before asking, "What's the scope? Just street gossip, or...?"
"Comprehensive," Aeron confirmed. "Let the story spread in the most natural way possible. The key is to make it sound like spontaneous folk rumors, not organized propaganda."
"And the timing?"
"The days leading up to Carnevale are the perfect time for it to ferment. Seven days is enough for this story to grow all sorts of unimaginable wings."
After that, all it would take was for Aeron to go out a few more times at night with "Arsène" to enhance the rumor's credibility.
"...Hmm, I understand."
After hearing Aeron's request, Ciaccona agreed immediately without hesitation.
"You're agreeing just like that? Don't you want some kind of reward or something?"
"No need for that sort of thing~"
Ciaccona shook her head, refusing Aeron, then carefully studied him with her emerald green eyes before breaking into a genuinely happy smile.
"I've already received my 'reward' from you."
Aeron didn't quite understand what Ciaccona meant. What had he done to give her anything? Had this guy transferred money from his card without him knowing?
Whatever, but this worked out perfectly anyway—Aeron really had nothing else left to give.
"Alright then, I've given you the inspiration. The rest is up to you—"
Just as Aeron was wrapping up, Ciaccona suddenly changed her expression again. All traces of her previous smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter distress.
"...What's wrong now?"
"Ever since returning from Porto-Veno Castle, my brain's been complete mush... feels like all my previous inspiration has been squeezed dry... I should've written more drafts instead of being such a lazy dog..."
"Serves you right. Who told you to lack self-control?"
"...! That was a momentary lapse, caught up in the atmosphere!"
"And you have the nerve to say that? May I ask who was the first to make a move and then kept pestering others endlessly?"
"Th-that can't be blamed on me!"
Ciaccona's voice rose another octave, her cheeks flushing to match her hair color.
"Be-besides, in that situation, who could possibly stay calm! And..."
Here, Ciaccona's voice suddenly grew small as she looked at Aeron with pitiful eyes, fingers twisting in her clothes.
"...Y-you didn't refuse either, did you?"
Unfortunately, this tactic didn't work on Aeron—his balls still ached faintly from the memory.
"Did I even have room to refuse? And what kind of messy things have you been reading anyway? You'd better hand them all over obediently."
"You're being way too harsh! Partner affinity points!"
"Sorry, but I've already unlocked the special CG, so it's too late for that. Never thought a poet would be so interested in that kind of thing."
"Th-this is also part of research!" Ciaccona's face remained flushed. "Besides, you've already done the deed, so don't worry about it so much!"
"...Alright, you win."
Seeing Ciaccona's expression of "might as well go all out since things have already come to this," Aeron decided to end this increasingly derailed conversation. He finally understood—when discussing such topics with artists, he would inevitably be the one getting tangled in their circular logic.
"Anyway, that covers the main business." He stood up, brushing off nonexistent dust from his trousers. "I'll leave the ghost legend to you, my great poet. Remember—keep it natural, stay safe, and come find me immediately if anything goes wrong."
"Got it~" Ciaccona rose while cradling her instrument, faint blush still coloring her cheeks though her eyes had regained their professional focus. "But partner, where are you headed next? Off to assign more tasks to people?"
"Mhm, next stop." Aeron gazed toward the other side of the square where the arch bridge leading to the noble district was faintly visible. "Time to pay a visit to our family head. There are certain 'obligations of being Fisalia's son-in-law' that still need fulfilling."
"Pfft—" Ciaccona couldn't suppress her laughter. "Son-in-law obligations? Are you sure you're not walking right into a trap? Lady Cantarella won't let you off easily, you know?"
"That's precisely why I called them 'obligations'."
Aeron tugged at the corner of his mouth, revealing a resigned expression.
Because what came next would be the most challenging part.
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