TSFA l Part 2 CH 66

Posted by Eleanor, Released on September 21, 2025

Part 2 Chapter 66

At last, he saw his daughter.

Krista stood there, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot with fury, utterly out of control.

Edgar clasped his still-trembling hands together and slowly steadied his breathing.

“Why…”

No. He didn’t even need to ask.

One thing was certain.

Had he not come—had he been even a little later—

Richard would have been dead.

By Krista’s hand.

That much was undeniable truth.

***

“Gahk!”

Märchen spat blood.

It happened just as the three-day-long campaign ended, the moment he drove the poison syringe into himself to begin beastification.

But unlike before, his transformation into Ratan didn’t come.

“Your Highness!”

Bania rushed to him.

<Mirror’s Eye – Spring of Purification>

At last, Märchen’s expression softened. He swayed, leaning weakly against Bania’s shoulder. Startled, she wiped the blood from his lips with her sleeve.

Nike, watching, was convinced.

There was a problem with Ratan.

So injured, he couldn’t even undergo beastification.

“….”

Bania, Märchen, Ryan, even the Belzer troops—all turned to look at Nike.

They had lost control of Ratan. The crisis was clear in their eyes: what now?

“Cover Ratan’s transport cage with cloth and return it. If it’s empty, people will notice because of the horse’s gait. Fill it with stones equal to his weight.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Understood!”

The Belzer soldiers hurried to disguise the cage.

Supported by Bania, Märchen asked expectantly:

“Then… does this mean the beast is gone forever?”

“No. Unfortunately, no. He’s simply wounded and recovering. If he could vanish so easily, he never would’ve risked making such a commotion in the first place.”

Märchen’s face fell.

“Shall I take the Prince with me?” Ryan asked, his tone implying it would be troublesome otherwise.

Märchen hadn’t been present on the march to the campaign, yet suddenly appeared on the return. Highly suspicious.

And if Ratan truly was recovering, no one knew when he might transform again.

When Märchen was injured, Ratan emerged whether wanted or not.

—Tch, you damned gnat!

They had all seen it clearly this time: that mad beast could not be controlled by anyone except Bania, and no one could predict when or how he might rampage again.

“Märchen, you’ll stay with us. If anything happens, Bania will need to restrain you.”

“What? Really? You’re bringing the Prince along on the next journey?” Ryan grimaced.

“The… grave pilgrimage?!”

Yes. Nike still had to finish the royal ancestral pilgrimage. That was the entire reason Bania had been brought along.

It was a mandatory tradition of the royal marriage—visiting the lands of the family tombs to pay respects to the deceased royals.

Nike sighed, remembering the first pilgrimage before the campaign, where the stiff, tedious rites had nearly suffocated him.

“There’s no helping it.”

***

Ryan departed the campaign site first.

Märchen was to travel with us, which actually brought me relief.

He had always lived confined within Belzer Castle or the estate, sheltered from the world, since his beastification was a constant risk.

Now he had to cross the continent, from west to east—suddenly, after years of isolation?

And without me there to control Ratan?

Unthinkable.

No, he had to stay by my side. Nike promised that once the rites were finished, he would personally see Märchen safely back to Belzer.

Still, we needed a plausible excuse for why Märchen was with us.

“M-Märchen is…” “Ratan?”

Nike’s aide and close friend, Liner, blinked dumbly.

“Believe it or don’t. Doesn’t matter. Just keep your mouth shut and stick to the story—that Märchen was here as the Crown Princess’s attendant for the pilgrimage.”

Clever as always, Nike had spun the cover story.

But at least one co-conspirator was needed to keep the lie straight. Liner was chosen.

He gulped as he stared at Märchen, then nodded nervously at Nike’s warning.

“Y-Yes, sir. Understood…”

***

Thanks to Liner, we sent the imperial knights ahead, reducing prying eyes as much as possible.

Our next destination: the fief of Kreshman.

Royal tombs were always placed in quiet, scenic lands—mountains, rivers, beautiful countryside.

The shrines, however, were paradoxically grand and ornate.

“Your Highness!”

As we stepped from the carriage, attendants from the Imperial Household rushed to greet us at the shrine gates.

“You are much delayed,” the chamberlain said with visible relief.

“The campaign ran long. We came straight here regardless.”

Nike gestured at his still-bloodstained armor to show he hadn’t even changed.

“Your effort is appreciated. How will you arrange your attendants for the rite?”

Only four may enter the tomb shrine: the bride, groom, and one attendant each.

Last time, Nike had chosen Liner as his, while I brought a knight as mine.

“This time…”

All eyes flicked to Märchen, who had stepped down from the carriage with us.

“He is the Crown Princess’s uncle. He wished to witness the rite, so we brought him from a nearby estate.”

“I see…”

Whew. Nike’s smooth lie fooled them.

So it was the four of us—Nike, me, Märchen, and Liner—who entered.

‘Shh.’

I pressed a finger to my lips toward Märchen.

He nodded.

‘Honestly, what a fossilized custom this is.’

One of the countless strict rules inside the tomb shrines: no speaking.

To disturb the spirits’ rest was forbidden.

(As if the dead have ears…)

It was absurd, but after embarrassing myself at the first shrine by speaking out, I knew better.

We moved in near silence, barely daring to make our footsteps heard.

At last, deep inside, the tomb hall awaited, housing the portraits of past royals.

We filed in—Nike, me, Märchen, Liner.

Past a long narrow passage, the grand interior opened. Nine shrine custodians, all clad in pure white, bowed deeply.

We bowed in return.

‘Ugh. I couldn’t do this twice.’

The solemn silence. The oppressive atmosphere.

The custodians, who had lived cloistered since youth, dedicating their lives to purity and the service of the royal dead.

The head custodian gestured, and two attendants each were assigned to us for bathing, dressing, and adornment.

Ceremonial robes differed from shrine to shrine, but one thing was constant:

They were outrageously elaborate.

I knew from experience—it took over an hour just to put them on.

***

For Märchen, Prince of a kingdom destroyed six hundred years ago, the empire’s traditions felt laughably antiquated.

Paying respects to ancestors before a royal wedding, sure. But this level of ritual?

No speaking. No casual movements.

And even attendants—mere attendants!—forced into lavish ceremonial robes.

‘This can’t be right…’

Forty minutes in, as two custodians fussed over his ornaments, Märchen grew uneasy.

“Um…”

He’d meant to ask whether attendants really wore such finery—but seeing the custodians’ faces blanch in terror at his near-slip, he quickly closed his mouth.

Better not risk ruining Bania’s once-in-a-lifetime royal wedding rites…

The first shrine had driven him nearly mad with impatience, but this time, somehow, it was bearable.

When the custodians finally signaled they were done, Nike paused.

He ran a hand across his face as if to ask silently: Isn’t there supposed to be a veil?

The custodians shook their heads.

‘Not here?’

Much better than the first shrine already—simpler robes, and no stifling veil.

Then—

As the attendants guided him outside, Nike froze.

Liner stood before him, dressed in the exact same ceremonial robes.

‘Why are you wearing the groom’s attire?’

‘Isn’t this the attendant’s robe?’