The Marquis of Guinness was immensely pleased.
This was entirely due to the spell demonstrated by Archbishop Solon.
Before casting it on Juliet Montague, they had tested it on several slaves the Marquis had acquired for precisely this purpose.
"Essentially," Solon explained, "it is a form of hypnosis."
Two slaves sat bound to torture chairs, separated by a heavy curtain. Their wrists were shackled to the armrests, their ankles chained to the floor.
"Watch carefully."
A complex magic circle had been drawn on the stone floor—intersecting lines and arcane symbols that seemed to writhe in the torchlight.
Something small and black began to emerge from its center.
The Marquis could not hide his shock.
A shadow rose from the floor—translucent and dark, no larger than a child's hand. Yet it possessed a distinctly humanoid shape: limbs, a torso, the suggestion of a head. It moved with eerie, fluid grace, as though it were alive.
"It is a spiritual entity," Archbishop Solon explained, his lips stretching into a grim smile.
"We will implant it into this test subject."
"Mmph—! *Mmph!*"
The man bound to the chair in the corner began to thrash, his panicked screams muffled by the gag stuffed into his mouth. His eyes bulged with terror as the shadow drifted toward him.
The spiritual entity approached the restrained slave—and then simply *sank* into his shadow, disappearing without a trace.
The man's body went rigid.
Then, as though someone had severed the strings of a marionette, he slumped forward, unconscious.
"Is that it?" The Marquis of Guinness raised an eyebrow, skepticism dripping from his voice. "He doesn't seem to have changed much."
To the naked eye, it appeared as though the man had merely fallen asleep.
"That is because we have only introduced *one* spiritual essence thus far," Archbishop Solon replied with casual indifference. "This spell requires a preparation period—no fewer than three days, no more than seven."
He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly around the magic circle.
"The more spiritual entities that are introduced, the higher the level of control. Initially, the subject will feel sluggish, disoriented—as though moving through a fog. But with each subsequent implantation, they sink deeper."
Solon paused, counting the days on his fingers.
"The spell reaches its full potency on the night of a full moon. That is why it bears the name."
He gestured toward the curtain.
"If you repeat the process of implanting the spiritual essence over several nights..."
The curtain was drawn aside, revealing another slave seated beside the first.
This one sat perfectly still, his head bowed slightly. Unlike the previous subject, there was no panic in his posture—no struggle, no trembling.
Because there was *nothing* left.
His eyes were dull and lifeless, emptied of all will. He stared at nothing, his face utterly expressionless, like a corpse that had forgotten to stop breathing.
"...this is how they enter a complete state of hypnosis."
"So I can give commands now?"
"Not yet!" Solon raised a hand in warning. "First, you must be recognized as its master."
He quickly produced a piece of paper and pressed it into the Marquis's hands.
"Read this incantation aloud. Once you do, the subject will recognize you as the one who commands him."
The Marquis of Guinness examined the document with skepticism, but proceeded to read the words as written.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
"*Master of the Full Moon.*" He glanced at Solon. "Is that how I read it?"
Then—to his astonishment—the slave who had been staring at the floor like a corpse slowly raised his head.
Empty eyes met the Marquis's gaze.
"Yes," Archbishop Solon confirmed, satisfaction curling through his voice. "Now he will obey any command you give."
The Marquis of Guinness considered this for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"Get up."
The slave was bound—wrists shackled, ankles chained. The restraints should have held him fast.
But without hesitation, the man *tore* free of his bonds. Metal groaned and leather snapped. He rose to his feet and stood motionless, awaiting further instruction.
"Hm."
The Marquis watched with growing interest. Then, almost casually, he drew a dagger from his belt and tossed it onto the floor.
The blade clattered against the stone, spinning to a stop between the two slaves.
"Kill that one with this."
Even Archbishop Solon flinched at the command.
But the hypnotized slave did not hesitate.
He bent down, retrieved the fallen knife, and approached the other man—the one still unconscious from the spiritual entity's implantation.
"*Nngh—!*"
The unconscious slave stirred, eyes flying open just in time to see the blade descending toward his throat. He tried to scream, but the gag swallowed the sound.
***Squelch.***
Blood erupted in a crimson spray.
The hypnotized slave withdrew the dagger and stood motionless once more, the weapon dripping in his hand, his expression unchanged.
"Ha! *Excellent!*" The Marquis of Guinness clapped his hands together, standing amid the spreading pool of blood without the slightest discomfort. "This will *definitely* work!"
"You have done well, Solon." He turned to the Archbishop, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Lady Dahlia will be most pleased."
"It is an honor," Archbishop Solon replied, forcing a smile onto his face.
Inwardly, however, his thoughts churned.
*Who the hell is Dahlia?*
He still did not know exactly who this young woman was—the one the Marquis followed with such blind devotion.
But he had just witnessed the Marquis order a man's death without a moment's hesitation, without so much as a flicker of conscience.
Whatever Dahlia's true nature, it was obvious she was no ordinary priestess. Not if she was involved in activities like *this*.
"If things go well," the Marquis mused, turning back to survey his blood-soaked handiwork, "perhaps I will be able to end the Duke's life."
Archbishop Solon's blood ran cold.
"You intend to use Juliet Montague to kill the Duke of Carlisle?"
"Isn't it *obvious*?"
Solon hesitated, choosing his next words carefully.
"But... isn't that rather complicated? This is merely hypnosis—it does not grant superhuman strength." He watched the Marquis's reaction, gauging how far he could push. "Juliet Montague is an ordinary woman. Even if she managed to strike the Duke from behind while he was caught off guard, she would not be capable of killing him."
He shook his head slowly.
"Even if Juliet is fully hypnotized, the Duke will not die so easily."
"Heh." The Marquis let out a low, dark laugh. "You only know half the story, Solon. It doesn't matter *how* a person dies."
"...I beg your pardon?"
The Marquis of Guinness turned, his smile twisting into something cruel and knowing.
"Think about it. Being killed by the woman he loves—or being forced to kill that woman with his own hands." He spread his arms wide, as though presenting a magnificent gift. "Either way, it *destroys* him, doesn't it?"
Archbishop Solon stared at the Marquis in silence.
He had known the man harbored resentment toward the Duke of Carlisle. But this...
This was hatred that ran deeper than bone.
"So there won't be any complications with the plan?"
The question snapped Solon back to attention.
"Of course not," he replied, forcing confidence into his voice. "There is no entity in existence that could detect or block this spiritual essence."
---
## — What the Dragon Swallowed —
Juliet rose early that morning, hurrying to prepare for her visit to the imperial palace.
However, when she closed the wardrobe and turned around, she noticed something suspicious protruding from beneath the bed.
"Onyx?"
A black tail wagged in response.
*Rustle. Rustle.*
The sound was distinctly suspicious. Only the tail and hindquarters were visible—the rest of the little dragon was hidden beneath the bed frame.
*Could it be...?*
Juliet approached quietly and scooped up the little dragon, who had clearly been occupied with *something*.
"Onyx!"
"Pip!"
The startled creature let out a shriek of surprise.
"What are you eating?"
"Myak?"
Juliet held his body and front paws firmly so he couldn't squirm free. Onyx blinked his large, pumpkin-colored eyes rapidly, his expression the very picture of innocence.
*What on earth...?*
As Juliet studied him with growing suspicion, she noticed something smeared around his mouth—something black and faintly translucent, like the residue of smoke made solid.
She reached up to wipe it away—
*Slurp.*
Onyx's pink tongue darted out with lightning speed, licking his mouth clean before she could touch it.
Then, as though nothing had happened, he nudged her chin with his nose, asking to be petted.
"You shouldn't eat strange things," Juliet warned, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Pip!"
Reluctantly, she set the little dragon down on the bed.
She was worried, but there was little she could do about it now. It was no wonder he had been rustling around all morning instead of sleeping.
*Perhaps he was playing some sort of hunting game?*
Juliet suspected as much, though she couldn't shake the feeling that something was... *off*.
With no other choice, she asked Elliot to look after the baby dragon before departing.
---
## — Toward the Palace —
As the carriage carried Juliet toward the imperial palace, she gazed out the window at the passing streets.
"It's more chaotic than you expected, isn't it?" Knight Jude asked from the seat opposite, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
The atmosphere in the capital was indeed more unsettled than she had anticipated.
"Yes," Juliet agreed quietly. "The wedding will certainly help."
Rumors about the lake at the imperial palace turning red during the New Year celebrations had spread far and wide. Strange occurrences continued to unsettle the populace—reports of unfamiliar animal species discovered in the Imperial Forest, unexplained disturbances that set the common folk on edge.
It seemed the Second Prince's wedding date had been moved forward specifically to appease public anxiety.
The union between Prince Cliff and Fatima Glenfield had originally been planned for spring.
*That* was precisely why Juliet had been summoned to the palace.
During wedding preparations, it was customary to call upon noblewomen to assist the bride-to-be. As a countess with close ties to the Duke of Carlisle, Juliet's presence had been formally requested.
Yet as the carriage rolled toward the palace annex, a thought nagged at her.
*Does the future princess truly wish to summon me?*
Juliet could not help but wonder.
---