Chapter 84: Proof Of Total Gain From The False!
"People of Ragunna, see clearly."
Phrolova's voice, amplified through the distorted barrier she had manipulated, rang clearly across every corner of the square as she began pronouncing the conclusion of Aeron's theatrical performance.
"What exactly is this 'evil spirit' you fear? What is it that your hoped-for 'heroes' sought to protect?"
The threads entwining Aeron emitted an even more ominous glow, slowly lifting him before her.
"This is no lingering, vengeful spirit. He is merely an ordinary person performing a meticulously orchestrated play."
Upon hearing Phrolova's words, the crowd instantly erupted into an uproar.
"People act like this in performances nowadays? Impressive!"
"Stop stating the obvious! Tell us something we don't know!"
"If he can act this well, then just give him the 'Laurel' already!"
...Yet their reactions seemed slightly different from what Phrolova had anticipated.
Why were these people more inclined to seek amusement than anything else?
Phrolova turned to look at Aeron, wanting to observe his current reaction, but he remained silent, head bowed, showing no response.
"Argh!"
Only when she tightened the threads again did Aeron raise his head from the excruciating pain, a faint smile playing on his lips, which greatly displeased Phrolova.
"Was this part of your plan as well?"
"No, what does this have to do with me?"
After all, Aeron had his reasons for altering the script this way.
"Come on, everyone's daily lives are exhausting enough. Who has the energy to overthink things? If 'truth' could be conveyed through a mere performance, wouldn't that make it far too cheap?"
Aeron, too, was among the lowest of the laboring class—how could he not know what they wanted to see?
If that series of performances alone could convince them of the truth, then he might as well have had Ciaccona sing a few lines in the square, and she'd be the center of attention by now.
Otherwise, why would Aeron have waited for Phrolova?
Even if she never fulfilled her promise, as long as he could wait for her, it was enough.
"Art must not detach itself from the masses… Miss Performer."
"Unfortunately, you are about to detach from the 'masses'."
Phrolova's tone turned cold. Since the foolish crowd was more obsessed with "amusement," she would show them the cruelest "reality."
The threads were no longer content with mere restraint. They began to wander across Aeron's body, probing for every spot that could inflict the greatest pain without causing immediate death.
"Lay bare your plans, your schemes, your pitiful sentiments—all of it, bloody and raw, before their eyes. When you are in pain, bleeding, and screaming, what will remain of this meticulously crafted performance of yours?"
"Who knows? Rather, I should ask you, as my senior: Was it worth expending so much for a goal forever beyond your reach?"
"...You truly are a variable that should never have existed."
"Thank you for the compliment."
The threads abruptly tightened, gleaming coldly as they constricted around Aeron's joints and vital points—Phrolova intended to tear apart his carefully woven drama with the cruelest reality.
Yet, in the very instant before the threads could pierce through—
"Silence!"
The wind ceased, all sounds vanished, even the glow of the spider lily at Phrolova's fingertips froze midair.
The bustling crowd in the square, their expressions of shock or amusement, Miss Carlotta and the Rover's attempts to rush forward, even the dust floating in the air—everything came to a standstill.
Time had stopped.
"…?"
Aeron stared at the scene before him, utterly bewildered.
He had indeed planned to use his trump card before the threads reached him, but clearly, his trump card did not include stopping time.
The surrounding light solidified, refracting into prisms of various shapes, illuminating the center of the stage.
Rather than shock, what Aeron felt now was… well, shock.
He knew Phoebe was capable of such feats, but wasn't this a bit too outrageous?
"Senior!"
Phoebe hurried to Aeron's side, her eyes welling up as she took in the scars covering his body.
The book in her hand floated in front of Aeron, and she gripped her staff with both hands, pointing it at the book.
"Key that conceals the power of darkness, show me your true power—"
"Hey, isn't that chant a bit off—ack!"
Just as Aeron's long-buried memories were about to resurface, the threads binding him snapped one by one, and he fell to the ground.
"…Since when could you do this?"
"...? I just used Resonance Power like Miss Carlotta and the others…"
Good grief. Aeron had thought it was just a matter of inflated numbers, but now even the mechanics were inflated.
Phoebe knelt almost beside Aeron, her gentle and devout purple eyes reflecting the blood and wounds covering his body.
She wanted to touch the bleeding gashes left by the threads, but her fingers hovered in the air, trembling, unable to bring themselves to make contact.
Her only thought now was to take Aeron away from this place. She couldn't understand why it was always her senior who had to suffer like this.
"Thank you, Phoebe. You've been a great help."
The Aeron before her, even missing an arm, showed no trace of fear. He stood up, ready to continue his fight against Phrolova.
It had always been like this—Phoebe could only follow from afar, watching as he shouldered everything alone.
"Senior, could you come here for a moment?"
"Hm?"
Aeron was taken aback by her strange request but still moved closer to her.
—Thump!
"Ow, that hurts."
Instead of speaking, Phoebe lightly tapped his head with her staff, her face on the verge of tears.
"When this is over, no matter what... You must come back. Return to my side. Don't leave me alone again."
"…"
Heh. Just as Aeron expected, even now, after attaining the position of Inquisitor, Phoebe was still the same girl in front of him.
All he had to do now was find a way to brush her off—
"If you don't promise, I'll… I'll take you away from here right now, no matter what the plan is."
"…"
Well, she's grown up after all. Now she even knows how to bargain.
Aeron let out a helpless laugh and cupped Phoebe's pouting face in his hands.
"Alright, alright, I promise you. Once all this is over, I'll accompany you no matter what you want to do."
Upon hearing these words, Phoebe finally showed a smile. Though still filled with reluctance, she knew that any promise made with her would surely be kept by Aeron.
"What you need to do now is lead the members of the Order and protect the people of Ragunna. I've always been looking forward to the day when my junior could become an example for everyone."
"....!"
After agreeing with Aeron, Phoebe took a deep breath, her eyes regaining their firmness—a determination that belonged to her alone.
"I will protect everyone... and I'll also wait for you to return, senior!"
"Good." Aeron nodded. "Then, release—"
Phoebe took one last deep look at him, as if engraving his current appearance into her heart. Then, she raised her staff and softly chanted:
"—Seal, release!"
"So what you're saying doesn't quite add up, does it!"
"...!"
Phrolova's pupils suddenly contracted.
Aeron, who had been bound by multiple layers of restraints, abruptly vanished before her eyes. Only a few fading strands of thread silently drifted down.
A sense of stagnation...
The crowd in the square erupted into louder commotion when they saw Aeron instantly break free from his restraints and appear above the stage.
"Thank you, Miss Overseer. I put considerable effort into making you cooperate with this performance."
"Hah... So what? You went through all this trouble just to lure me out?"
"As you know, every story needs a worthy villain, and I'm clearly not suitable for that role."
Aeron's figure appeared on the other side of the stage. Though covered in bloodstains, battered and missing an arm, his stance carried a peculiar composure.
"Since you can't kill me, you resort to causing trouble in other ways. Just from this perspective, you're really no different from a child. What, is your spirit trapped in that age along with your physical form?"
"...!"
The moment Aeron's words left his mouth, Hecate's blade was already at his throat.
But this time, the two on the stage wouldn't stand by idly.
Clang!
The sharp sound of metal clashing tore through the frozen air. Just as Hecate's blade was about to reach Aeron's throat, a brilliant crystal and a flash of azure blade light simultaneously appeared from both sides of Aeron, precisely blocking the attack.
Carlotta and the Rover, one on the left and one on the right, shielded Aeron behind them.
"...Thank you."
"Save that for later."
"If there's a next time, don't think about leaving Montelli."
"How many times have you threatened me with that now?"
After briefly greeting his two protectors, Aeron wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, scanned the entire area, and finally fixed his gaze on Phrolova.
"So you see, emotions are truly fascinating. As long as one is human, no matter who they are, they ultimately can't escape being controlled by them, right?"
Phrolova commanded Hecate to return to her side, frowning slightly.
"Do you think such petty tricks can change anything?"
Just as Aeron himself had said, no matter how spectacular this performance might be, it remained merely a performance—it couldn't change anything at all.
"I never said I wanted to change anything. It's always the masses who bring about change. How could one person alone alter everyone's views?"
Aeron's words plunged Phrolova into confusion.
If what this man said was true, then his actions from start to finish were entirely contradictory.
"...So what's the difference between what you're doing and futile efforts?"
If change was impossible, then everything he did was meaningless.
"There's a huge difference, Overseer."
Aeron simply smiled knowingly.
"You've lived this long solely to change things, but my goal has always been just one thing—proof."
Hearing this, Phrolova finally understood the purpose behind Aeron's actions from the moment they met until now.
From their first encounter, when he provoked her with his words, Phrolova had already become Aeron's pawn.
Aeron wasn't trying to change people's faith in the Order during Carnevale at all—he was proving the Order's hypocrisy. Whether change occurred was up to the people themselves.
As for Phrolova, merely by standing on the Carnevale stage, she had helped Aeron gather all the necessary conditions.
With sufficient conditions, methods were limitless.
Aeron turned to look at the crowd below the stage while listening to their murmurs.
"What's going on? Aren't they together?"
"Speaking of which, that 'evil spirit's' hand is really broken! They went that far?" Right
"Must have stepped on someone's toes—now they're silencing him!"
"Boring! I want to see bloodshed!"
The murmurs coalesced into a wave of noise. Once seeds of doubt were watered with blood and pain, they quickly took root and sprouted.
They were no longer just watching for entertainment—their eyes moved between Aeron's miserable state, Phrolova's coldness, and the tense faces of the two "heroes" on stage.
This was exactly what Aeron wanted. Doubt is the first crack that destroys any fortress of hypocrisy.
"As you've all witnessed, when everyone was celebrating together, someone rushed onto the stage trying to turn everything upside down."
Aeron's voice carried the hoarseness of his wounds yet clearly cut through the noise.
"Our performance," he tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the gradually quieting crowd, "Miss Ciaccona's poetry tells of the forgotten 'Golden Anthem,' of the white wings that once resonated with the sky and stars. What we tried to present was a story about hope and freedom."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"And then this Overseer appeared."
Aeron's gaze shifted to the Lycoris in Phrolova's hand, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.
"She took the stage and, without asking questions, directly attacked me. Why?"
Aeron answered his own question, raising his voice with suggestive emphasis:
"Because I deserved to die? Or because what I mentioned touched upon boundaries that certain people absolutely cannot allow to be mentioned? If the faith preached by the Order is as solid as a rock, why fear mere—a performer's few lines?"
The crowd began to stir, whispers rising once more. Aeron's words were like a key, unlocking the door of doubt in their hearts.
"Huh?"
"What's starting again?"
Hearing Aeron suddenly speak, both the Rover and Carlotta wore expressions of astonishment.
"Think back, everyone. When Ragunna was shrouded in crimson curtains and Echoes ran wild, harming people, who was it that stepped forward to shield you? And now—where have those who should protect you gone? Why are they so few?"
"Who exactly, on such an important occasion as Carnevale, would allow chaos to erupt just to silence dissenting voices?"
"—The Order of the Deep would rather ally with Fractsidus to suppress the truth than extend a helping hand to the public in chaos... How can such an Order bear the name of our Sentinel, Imperator?"
Aeron's words fell among the masses. After a brief, dead silence, the square erupted.
"The Order of the Deep allied with Fractsidus?!"
"What did he say?! The Order... and those madmen?!"
"Impossible! This is slander! Blasphemy!"
"But when the chaos broke out earlier, it seemed only Lady Phoebe was there from the Order..."
The mood of casual amusement began to fade. When a perfectly crafted conspiracy theory is thrown into a community, fear and suspicion inevitably follow.
"...?"
Meanwhile, Phrolova, after hearing all that Aeron said, revealed a smile of keen interest.
Mixing truth and lies, using a series of conditions—some real, some false—all to achieve that final goal.
But it was all too fragile, just like his frail body.
"A splendid speech—using your own suffering to gain sympathy, guiding anger with vague accusations, hijacking everyone's emotions by casting doubt on faith... I must say, you're truly a genius at spinning tales."
Phrolova took a slow step forward, Hecate silently hovering at her side as if sharing her master's icy scrutiny.
"But a story remains just a story. Accusations require evidence. You keep claiming the Order of the Deep colluded with Fractsidus, that we joined forces to suppress the truth and create chaos..."
"Then where is the evidence?"
She spread her empty hand—the one not holding the Lycoris—her posture elegant yet dripping with boundless mockery.
"I'm merely standing here for personal reasons. And you—can you produce a single piece of evidence linking the Order to me or Fractsidus?"
Hah, still trying to turn the tables on Aeron in this situation? Is this the confidence of a veteran artist?
But Aeron wasn't foolish enough to come unprepared.
"—Evidence? Of course. Not just physical proof—a witness is here too."
A young, calm voice came from behind Phrolova.
Turning around, Roccia had already taken the stage of Ragunna with the Fool's Troupe.
Roccia stood quietly on the platform. She didn't look at Phrolova, nor at the crowd below. She simply reached into the suitcase beside her and pulled out an object—a dark red Lycoris.
She extended her hand slightly forward, allowing the flower to be clearly seen. Then, she lifted her gaze, calmly sweeping over the dazzlingly spinning, crimson-glowing Lycoris in Phrolova's hand, before finally looking toward the audience below.
"This flower was discovered by the Rover at Penitent's End, after we defeated the frenzied ancient dragon together, right where the dragon fell."
She paused, as if merely stating a simple fact.
"It is the same as what you hold in your hand."
After speaking, she fell silent. Behind her, the members of the Fool's Troupe stood in silence—witnesses to that battle and now the silent footnotes to the heavy truth behind her simple statement.
She spoke again, her voice not loud but strangely overpowering the noise, carrying a deep, sea-like calm that belied her age:
"We, the Fool's Troupe, are survivors—those who lived through the wreckage of the Pilgrimage Ship and the jaws of monsters at Penitent's End."
"Many of our loved ones and friends were chosen by the Order, sent aboard the ship to pursue the 'call of the Sentinels,' and never returned."
"Now, our Troupe has come here to bring back those who were lost... to return them to Ragunna."
Roccia's tone remained steady, devoid of accusation, yet colder than any accusation could ever be.
The square fell into dead silence. The girl on the stage was young, but every word she spoke carried immense weight.
"Penitent's End... the ancient dragon..."
"The Pilgrimage Ship was sent to such a place?! No wonder no one returned!"
"The Order... did the Order know?!"
"They're in this together! They truly are in this together!"
Thus, doubt turned into conviction.
The Lycoris spinning at Phrolova's fingertips slowed almost imperceptibly for a moment. Her gaze fell upon the dull flower in Roccia's palm, and deep within her crimson pupils, a cold light faintly shifted.
"Ah... truly, leaving no stone unturned."
There was no anger in her laughter, no frustration, not even much mockery. It was more like a realization.
"I must admit, you've succeeded. Using these fools' fears and an elaborate frame-up, you've staged a performance."
As soon as she finished speaking, the flower in her hand, which had been still, began to emit a scarlet glow.
"In light of this, let it be as you wish... and as they 'believe.'"
Phrolova said no more. That icy smile froze at the corner of her lips, then dissolved into utter indifference. Since this meticulously orchestrated play had already succeeded, since the brand of "collusion" and "conspiracy" had been seared into place by her own hand, then let the script conclude in the most "real" way possible.
Woooo——!!!
The next instant, a massive form, its skin like the bedrock of the ocean floor, filled every line of sight.
Then, this moving mountain of a head advanced—in the straightest, most silent, most inexorable manner—toward the brightly lit Ragunna, toward the ant-like smallness of the square.
The air solidified, time stretched, leaving only the overwhelming, slowly encroaching shadow filling heaven and earth.
"If you have the skill, then block this too."
"Very well."
Hearing Phrolova's words and glancing at the Leviathan Whale rising from the sea not far away, Aeron instead let out a sigh of relief.
Finally, he fixed his gaze on Phrolova.
"Don't forget, this isn't your home turf."
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