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Michele knew.
Her master became a soldier because he was born a prince, and killed people because he was a soldier.
If he’d been born the son of a butcher, then he’d have slaughtered cows or pigs.
For Cesare there was no difference between a person and an animal.
Killing didn't mean anything special for him.
"Be he the son of a butcher, I, probably, now would be gutting cow innards, following after him."
Remembering the recent escapades of Cesare, Michele inopportunely muttered to herself, and Diego, standing nearby, threw in a remark:
"His Excellency?"
"Aha."
Whatever he’d been born, he invariably would have risen to the very top.
To imagine him a butcher was a boldness.
Realizing her mistake, Michele for a moment embarrassedly scratched her head.
Then, having smirked, she whistled, pointing at the building.
*Whistle!* A short, sharp sound pierced the silence of the night.
In that same moment the soldiers awaiting the signal rushed inside.
When the military broke in, having broken the door, the people located inside in panic set about running.
But those who were drunk or high didn't differ in agility.
The soldiers without difficulty grabbed them.
Not hurrying to enter inside, Michele caught by the head one of the "rats" trying to slip past and here same struck him with the head against a table.
*Bam!* A deafening roar was distributed, from which the table nearly flew apart.
With an impassive face Michele methodically struck with the head the caught fellow against the table, time after time.
"Ugh."
Diego, having entered after, grimaced.
Stepping over the knocked-out teeth of the ashen man, he looked over the room with a gaze.
Michele threw the already having lost consciousness freak and followed after him.
"How much can one repeat, bitchy addicts...
Imperial laws for them, bitch, as-if-all together not written."
At this coarse, nearly gangster-ish obscenity Diego only shrugged shoulders.
Formally this was an operation on detention of addicts, but for such a trifle there was no need to attract Michele and Diego.
The real reason by which the knights personally participated in the raid—obtaining the list of aristocrats using drugs in this establishment.
Cesare pointed out even the exact date, so there could be no mistake.
But Diego, searching the building together with Michele, seemed distracted.
Having inspected the room, he unnoticed approached her.
Michele, shooting in suspicious corners, ceased firing and turned to him.
"What?"
"Remember the tavern in Fiore that was torn down?"
"Aha."
After Cesare hacked off the head of the King of Kalpen, he destroyed the largest tavern on Fiore Street.
This unexpected step nonplussed even his knights.
"If one thinks, then, possibly, that was that same... tavern."
Michele's vague words turned out sufficient.
He was hinting that there they’d abused the body of the perished Eileen.
Michele put away the pistol in the holster and crossed hands on chest.
Her freckled face crumpled when she said:
"I too have a question.
Remember Senon's delirium?
What decision would we have taken in that delirium?
Probably, would have followed after His Excellency?"
"Most likely..."
He couldn't be sure, but, probably, it would have been incomparable with the quiet killings which Cesare set set about arranging in the Traon Empire.
Although Cesare was the commander-in-chief of Traon, patriotism was alien to him.
The same concerned also his knights—surely they would have not simply followed after him, but been the first to throw themselves into killing.
For the sake of the dead Eileen.
"Bitch," cursed Michele.
One thought of this already spoiled the mood.
"Dead" Eileen...
"Have you heard from Rotan?"
"..."
At the unexpected question Michele silently nodded, having squeezed her lips.
When the knights learned that their master had nearly killed Eileen, they for a long time were mute.
Even knowing that Cesare was in a much more dangerous state than was assumed, they couldn't find a decision, which made the situation hopeless.
"The best that we can do—not to provoke His Excellency."
Diego heavily sighed.
With a concerned face he shared with Michele his anxieties:
"But this type said that he’ll come with professors.
To meet with Eileen-nim."
Michele narrowed eyes.
Then, as-if not believing her ears, asked again:
"Can it really be that stalker bastard?"
***
In the nose it was as-if-frozen an echo of tobacco smoke.
Eileen automatically lead with a hand over her cheek, feeling a non-existent smell.
Thoughts again and again returned to the past night.
To the memory of the kiss under the orange tree, when they two stood under the rain.
"Rainy days are not so bad."
With these words Cesare lead Eileen inside the mansion.
Most likely, Sogno observed the inner courtyard, because he immediately approached and stretched out a dry fabric.
Eileen nearly didn't get wet, since she’d been covered by Cesare's uniform.
Nevertheless, he took care of her first.
Having given the wet form to Sogno, Cesare himself wiped Eileen with a towel.
*‘And we slept together.’*
Eileen fell asleep in Cesare's embraces, listening to the sound of rain.
It seemed that he too had slept enough.
Although she didn't see how he slept, his face in the morning was calmer than ordinary, which lead to such thoughts.
Eileen smiled, but immediately took herself in hands.
Even despite the fact that no one saw, to her for some reason it became shameful.
Having shaken head, she again concentrated on studies.
In the laboratory of the residence of the Grand Duke was all necessary for work.
In target-comparison with the cramped cubby-hole where she previously worked with old instruments, it was heaven and earth.
Earlier she’d had to buy cheap opium with low purity, and now she had access to raw stuff.
Thanks to all-round support of Cesare the experiments moved smoothly.
While the water was coming to a boil, Eileen attentively looked over her records.
Her goal was to separate from opium the analgesic constituting only a tenth part of its composition.
The problem lay in the removal of unnecessary components, and so far the progress was small.
She continued to experiment: filtered opium through boiled water, added various chemical substances—and thus time after time.
"Ugh..."
The desire to sooner achieve a result ever stronger unnerved her.
Although Eileen understood that it was necessary to preserve cold-bloodedness, nothing helped.
To calm herself, she glanced at the poppy standing by the window.
Its red petals bathing in sunlight looked fresh.
This color involuntarily reminded her of one person.
The painkiller which Eileen was developing was named "Morpheus"—in honor of the god of dreams.
She hoped that suffering patients, taking it, would forget about pain and firmly fall asleep.
According to myth, the god of dreams had two gates.
One were made of bone, others—of ivory.
Dreams having passed through gates of bone were empty and quickly forgotten.
But dreams having passed through gates of ivory carried in themselves the will of the gods.
Could it be that Cesare's dreams passed through gates of ivory?
If so, what sense did they carry?
Judging by his words, he saw one and the same dream many times...
*‘And why exactly the dream where he kills me?’*
To her it couldn't not be interesting.
Exactly when the water came to a boil and she gathered to turn off the gas, in the laboratory was distributed a polite knock at the door.
A servant reported to Eileen of a visit of guests.
"Guests have arrived.
They came earlier than the appointed time.
Should I order to ask them to wait?"
"No, I already go!"
Eileen quickly tidied up the instruments and went out.
These guests she’d waited with impatience—these were her university teachers.
Having straightened clothes, she descended to the living room.
There sat a man and woman of middle years, and nearby them—a young person, tensely looking around.
The luxury of the residence clearly suppressed them.
Awkwardly clinking cups, they stood up as soon as Eileen entered.
At first they didn't recognize her and froze, but, seeing her smile, they been gladdened and exclaimed:
"Eileen!"
They froze, having realized their lapse, and immediately stealthily looked at the servants.
Those all thus same smiled, but their gazes became harder.
"We... are glad to see you..."
Eileen quickly approached and firmly squeezed the hands of the teachers.
"Welcome.
I so much missed you."
From such a warm reception they been moved.
In this moment the young person, before this silently standing to the side, quietly spoke:
"How are you living?"
His good-natured face was unfamiliar.
Eileen thought that he was a pupil having come with the teachers, and wonderingly blinked.
Awkwardly having smiled, he said:
"I am Lucio."
"What?
Lucio... senpai?"
Eileen sincerely was surprised.
At the university he was her closest friend.
But his appearance had changed so much that she didn't recognize him.
"I missed you, Eileen-nim."
Eileen only widely opened eyes, and Lucio added with a light smile:
"Very strongly."