At that moment, the benevolent expression on Bishop Sebastian's handsome face—from which a gentle smile never seemed to depart—cracked like a porcelain mask.
The statue of the Sorrowful Saint was perfection.
A crown of thorns encircled her brow. In one hand she clutched a sword; in the other, a set of scales.
Magda, the sculptor from the village of Kanavel, had hesitated for a long time before completing the saint's image.
*What expression should grace the face of a woman overwhelmed by sorrow?*
The question had circled endlessly through her mind.
According to legend, the maiden who personified sorrow—called the Sword of the Goddess Efreet—had descended to earth last among all the divine servants, her wings unfurled against a darkening sky.
Moreover, she had appeared before mortals only once.
When the apocalypse foretold in the sacred texts finally came, she descended from heaven to pass just sentence upon sinners.
For hundreds of years, this saint had inspired artists to compete in bringing her image to life. Each had labored to express their vision of mournful beauty, as her very name demanded.
But Magda had made a bold decision. She depicted emotions entirely different from those rendered by every predecessor who came before her.
The saint she created was as beautiful as any other—yet the most remarkable thing about her was that she commanded attention not through beauty alone.
Though shadow and sorrow darkened her features, she shed no tears. Quite the contrary. Her expression was resolute, almost commanding, lending her a majesty that surpassed any other statue of the Sorrowful Saint they had ever seen.
"Ohhhh..."
Even Father Solon—who had been fully prepared to ridicule the work—stood speechless, staring in undisguised amazement.
It was a truly dignified image, wholly befitting the Sword of Justice.
Gilliam smiled inwardly as he observed the stunned expression on Father Solon's face.
He felt as though all the exhaustion from his arduous journey to that mountain village—where he had gone to retrieve the statue without a single scratch—had vanished as if by magic.
Eventually, Solon regained his composure.
Though he loathed admitting it, the statue Gilliam had delivered was genuinely magnificent.
He coughed awkwardly and finally managed to speak.
"Ahem, ahem... well, it's not as terrible as I expected. Worth examining, I suppose..."
"Your Holiness...?"
But Gilliam was in no position to savor Father Solon's shattered pride.
His attention had shifted entirely to Bishop Sebastian, who had remained utterly silent from the moment the statue was unveiled.
Father Solon also turned, wondering what had captured the bishop's focus.
"Oh my God—Your Holiness...!"
Tears were streaming down Sebastian's face.
Even as his subordinates grew agitated around him, the bishop paid them no attention. He stood as though nailed to the floor, weeping silently, his gaze fixed upon the sculpture.
It was, to be honest, a deeply strange sight.
In all the time Gilliam had served the new Bishop of Lucerne, he had never witnessed anything like this.
Only now did he realize—for the very first time—that Sebastian was a man capable of tears.
Could anyone in their right mind have imagined this? A radical inquisitor, rumored to have ice water flowing through his veins rather than blood, surrounded by whispers of darkness and suspicion—weeping without the slightest embarrassment before a statue of a saint?
No. Of course not.
But Gilliam wasn't the only one left bewildered. Father Solon, too, seemed utterly lost.
He glanced sideways at the statue once more.
It was certainly a beautifully executed piece of work—but he couldn't fathom why it would move someone to tears...
Was it possible His Holiness was simply an unexpectedly emotional man?
Whatever the explanation, the two holy fathers—bound by years of irreconcilable enmity—could only stare at their bishop with mouths agape.
"Father Gilliam," Sebastian said quietly.
"Y-yes?"
"What manner of person is the sculptor who created this piece, in your estimation?"
"Ah—she is a deeply devout and extraordinarily talented sculptor from the small village of Kanavel in the East... a woman named Magda."
"I must see her immediately."
"What? Your Holiness—wait—!"
"No. It will be faster if I visit her myself."
Sebastian, Bishop of Lucerne, swept from the chamber without waiting for a response.
The two elderly priests, left behind in stunned silence, forgot their long-standing feud entirely. For several moments, they could only exchange bewildered glances.
---
## — The Road to Lucerne —
Juliet gazed out the window of the slowly moving carriage.
The outlines of enormous marble buildings rose like sheer cliffs against the sky, appearing more strange than beautiful.
Perhaps they seemed that way because every facade glittered with ostentatious gold?
"This will be your first time attending the festival, Juliet?"
Helen's question drew her attention back inside the carriage.
"Yes. It's my first time in Lucerne at all."
"Oh, I see!"
Helen suddenly clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling.
"Excellent! Then we'll seize this opportunity to explore somewhere truly interesting together!"
Juliet offered her aunt a small smile.
She had agreed to accompany Helen to Lucerne for the annual festival.
Lucerne was a small city-state governed entirely by the temple. Only forty-eight families were permitted to attend the festival as honored guests.
*I believe I've heard something about the "forty-eight seats of Lucerne."*
The term referred exclusively to those families granted the privilege of attending as distinguished persons of the temple.
"Which means they've made the most generous donations," Theo murmured from beside her, his voice pitched low enough that only Juliet could hear.
*Lionel Lebatan is religious? What a surprising discovery.*
Juliet suppressed a chuckle.
Yet it seemed he had indeed made systematic and substantial contributions to the temple over the years, earning the Lebatan family annual invitations as honored guests.
When Theo noticed her growing curiosity, he complained that he'd attended so many of these gatherings that he found them tedious beyond measure.
Realizing the conversation had reached its end, Juliet let her thoughts drift inward. Her fingers found the silver key-shaped pendant hanging around her neck, turning it absently—an old habit.
Lillian, her late mother, had also been devout.
Once, she had told Juliet that when she was very small and fell gravely ill, Lillian had begged the temple to send a high-ranking priest to heal her daughter.
Juliet herself remembered nothing of it.
During her years in the North with Lennox, she had never attended temple services—there simply weren't any. Lennox and the other northerners were indifferent to religion, and she herself had avoided temples because of memories tied to Dahlia.
*Well, perhaps that's for the best.*
At least here, she wouldn't encounter the Duke of Carlisle.
Even if Lennox had somehow, miraculously, found himself in Lucerne and decided to attend the celebration, he could not possibly be among the forty-eight chosen families.
Juliet found comfort in this certainty.
Two weeks had passed since their unexpected meeting and parting.
Since that night, she had rested without allowing herself to dwell on anything. She had traveled leisurely between Alghera and Carcassonne, filling her days with simple pleasures.
Lennox had never visited again. She received no word from him.
Nothing was heard about further developments regarding the Duke of Carlisle's wedding—that subject had only ever been discussed quietly among a handful of high-ranking guild leaders.
She had no idea what had become of the grand deals he'd been negotiating with the famous trading houses.
Of course, Juliet deliberately kept herself distant from such matters. She refused to let her interest rekindle.
When she had finally begun contemplating a return to her mansion in the capital, Helen had suddenly suggested this trip to Lucerne—a chance to enjoy the annual festival together.
"What's the one thing we absolutely must not miss in Lucerne?" Helen asked, the first to leap from the carriage the moment it stopped.
*What should I even answer...?*
While Juliet fumbled for a response, the expressions on Theo's and Ethelid's faces clearly read: *Here we go again.*
"Um... perhaps the annual ceremony at the temple?"
"Wrong!" Helen laughed with infectious delight. "We absolutely cannot miss the shopping!"
Without further delay, she seized Juliet's hand and led her straight to the shopping district at Lucerne's heart.
Despite the city's modest size, the commercial quarter—perhaps swelled by the influx of festival visitors—rivaled Whitewood Road, the capital's most famous luxury avenue.
The Marigold Guild's income had only continued to grow, leaving Helen utterly unconstrained by budget. She could afford to shop freely in this expensive district.
"Oh, let's take this!"
"......"
"That one too!"
"......"
"This won't do. Bring me the same style in a different color!"
Helen purchased nearly everything that caught her eye.
At first, Juliet felt nervous watching her aunt enthusiastically select clothing for them both. But gradually, she relaxed and began to enjoy herself. It had been a long time since she'd shopped with anyone.
Moreover, she no longer needed to worry about whether she could afford anything. When she had mentioned to Helen that her funds were limited, her aunt had pressed one hundred gold coins into her palm as "pocket money"—with strict instructions to spend it all within the week.
This shopping expedition was the perfect way to fulfill her aunt's orders without causing offense.
Not once did Juliet feel bored as Helen, possessed of a wonderful sense of humor, guided her through every boutique in central Lucerne.
The staff at every establishment treated them with exceptional courtesy—they knew precisely who Helen was. They hung on her every word as though she were divine.
While Juliet was trying on hats, gloves, and shoes as her aunt directed, Helen suddenly announced:
"There's a banquet this evening! You absolutely must attend!"
Even after visiting every shop in Lucerne's commercial district, Juliet's preparations were far from complete.
"Today is the opening night—tremendously important! You understand what needs to be done, yes?"
Helen smiled broadly and, with these words, handed Juliet over to the employees of the final establishment they'd visited.
"Of course! Rest assured—we'll take care of everything!" the shop manager replied with energy, guiding Juliet toward the fitting room.
While one employee helped her undress, two additional girls entered carrying a magnificent crimson gown suspended from a polished hanger.
Juliet felt a flicker of embarrassment when she saw the dress—it appeared to have been fashionable perhaps a century ago.
Yet in a way, its structured design—with straight shoulders that accentuated the body's natural curves—seemed ideal for a temple banquet.
Since this style differed so dramatically from what was worn in the North or the capital, Juliet assumed Lucerne followed its own fashion traditions, indifferent to trends elsewhere in the empire.
Or perhaps this was simply Helen's personal taste.
Either way, Juliet genuinely liked the dress.
"Miss, you'll need to put on the corset first."
The employees approached with an old-fashioned corset in their hands.
After barely a minute of lacing, a furious scream threatened to tear from Juliet's throat, demanding they cease this torture. At that precise moment—as though sensing her breaking point—the boutique workers gave the stays one final, brutal tug, momentarily choking off her indignation.
"Mrs. Lebatan gave us very clear instructions! Please be patient."
Once the corset was secured, the girls dressed Juliet in a white silk chemise, then carefully draped the crimson gown over her frame.
"Oh, how beautiful you are!"
Helen appeared in the fitting room doorway an hour later, admiration warming her voice.
"This dress suits you perfectly!"
Then she leaned closer, her lips brushing Juliet's ear as though sharing a precious secret.
"Someone will arrive shortly to escort you. Please wait just a little longer—he'll be here soon."