Mess 200

200.

When a member of the nobility commits a crime, unlike commoners, they are typically placed under house arrest or confined to the underground prison within the imperial palace.

Once their guilt is confirmed in a trial, punishment follows.

Usually, this means an enormous fine or a period of self-reflection and seclusion within their own domain, lasting several years.

However, for crimes that are considered seriously damaging to society, they are sent to prison alongside commoners.

In such cases, their life as a noble is effectively over.

The most recent person to experience this fate was none other than the notorious former Count Validus.

Convicted of beating his wife and daughter, and squandering his entire fortune through gambling and illicit pleasures, he was imprisoned under harsh conditions.

Last winter, Marchioness Iris was also imprisoned in the imperial dungeons, charged with serial murder.

Her trial was currently suspended for reasons unknown.

And now.

Another young noble, soon to follow in their footsteps, chewed nervously at his thumbnail in a dank, lightless cell.

“Haah, hh…”

His breathing, erratic from fear, was thin and uneven, as if it might give out at any moment.

Every so often, he would shudder and tremble, resembling nothing so much as a sickly fowl.

He had not even been in prison a full month, yet Herba Baglosa’s appearance was haggard, as if he had been locked away for decades.

Once young and robust, the man was now emaciated and wretched.

His skin, deprived of sunlight, had become pale and wan, bitter with self-pitying resentment.

“It’s not me, I’m innocent…!”

He had torn at his hair so much in his distress that the floor around his crouched form was littered with short strands.

His once thick locks now hung limp, splotches of bare scalp revealed by his compulsive plucking.

“It’s not my fault…”

Not my fault.

It’s not.

“All of it, all of it…!”

The broken clockwork of his denials filled the dark cell to overflowing, even echoing off the stone.

For this, only the guards assigned to watch over his cell suffered needlessly.

“Tsk, such a waste, at his age…”

“Hey.”

As one guard murmured sympathy for the scion of Baglosa, another nudged him sharply, scolding him for speaking nonsense.

“He’s not someone you should pity.”

“But still, just recently, he had such a bright future—”

“Bright, my ass!”

The guard clicked his tongue in disgust.

“Just last summer, he went after someone, and when they rejected him, tried to stab them with a knife.”

“That wasn’t his first stabbing?”

Surprised at this, the first guard was quick to withdraw all sympathy, now glancing into the cell coldly.

“His future was to be a wretched criminal.”

“Exactly.”

“As if killing his own father wasn’t enough, he almost killed someone else—”

It was at that moment, as their words ignited like oiled wicks, that—

“What’s going on here?”

The guards hastily straightened, adopting proper posture.

“Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”

“We greet Your Highness.”

Though they bowed respectfully, the guards were inwardly uneasy and a bit suspicious.

The imperial palace had many deserted corners, but none so avoided as the underground prison.

In the long history of the empire, whenever some great calamity occurred, the dungeons stank of blood.

This was the dark, ruthless underbelly of the palace itself.

And yet, the Crown Prince had come here—not the Emperor, but the Crown Prince.

“How is it that Your Highness graces such a humble place…?”

A guard asked tentatively, but the Crown Prince stared coldly at the entrance to the cell, face unyielding.

“Open the door.”

“Pardon?”

“Do not make me repeat myself. I will enter.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

The guard’s refusal made the Crown Prince frown.

“…A friend of mine is inside.”

The Crown Prince had come to see the imprisoned Baglosa heir. But he could not gain entry.

“By direct order of His Majesty the Emperor—”

The guard took a shaky breath and forced composure.

“No one may enter except those with explicit permission.”

“Not even we are permitted to enter the cell, regardless of what sounds we might hear from within.”

Bowing deeply, the guards asked for understanding.

“…….”

The Crown Prince glared at them as if to kill, then turned away.

It seemed he was leaving wordlessly—but had the guards seen the expression on his face, their knees might have given way.

‘At this rate…’

His face, as blank as a finely carved doll, carried a darkness as profound as a cloudy day’s shadow—a grim, eerie stillness.

It was uncanny.

Human warmth should bring forth a spectrum of emotion, but now he seemed less a man than an empty corpse, moving by some curse.

‘Something is wrong.’

Even upon returning to his palace, he repeated the same sentence, over and over.

Something is wrong. This can’t continue.

Something is wrong. This can’t continue.

Something is wrong.

This can’t continue.

‘What is wrong?’

Just what, exactly?

Suddenly halting, the vacant gaze of the Crown Prince flickered with dreadful light.

“…….”

He stared for a long moment at the grand palace he had inhabited since becoming Crown Prince.

And there stood the true palace—magnificent beyond compare, resplendent where his own lodgings seemed pallid by comparison.

The Emperor’s domain, seat of absolute authority.

The summit itself.

Where once the Crown Prince’s own quarters bustled with courtiers, now only a handful of maids, accompanied by knights, visited at set times.

After all, since the Crown Prince had killed an innocent maid to whom he had no connection, the Emperor had strictly limited access for all attendants working there.

“…This can’t continue.”

Something was wrong.

But what, exactly?

Everything had been smooth.

The path to the nation’s loftiest peak—the ultimate throne, unchallengeable and beyond control—had been as easy as a ship catching the wind.

So why had it come to this?

Where had it begun to go awry?

“…….”

After staring long at the main palace, the Crown Prince turned abruptly and entered his own residence.

---

“Ah.”

Another dream.

The instant she realized it, Seraphy remembered a dream she’d completely forgotten until now.

‘How could I have forgotten?’

The ruined capital, the corpses scattered in the streets, hell itself transformed by the screams of the wounded and the wails of children who had lost their families.

She was certain she had forgotten all of it, at least until lying down in bed tonight.

But now, every vivid scene returned—each memory as ghastly as the last, impossible to forget even if she wished to.

‘But where is this?’

Seraphy looked around.

Before her was a formal dinner, as for an evening meal.

Looking closer, she realized she was not standing, but seated in a chair.

‘Not in my nightgown this time?’

In her previous dream she had worn exactly what she had gone to bed in, but now she found herself in a plain dress.

‘Unbelievable.’

She scowled the moment she saw it.

This dress resembled the shabby one she’d worn before driving her wretched father from her home.

‘Wouldn’t even wear this as pajamas…’

Wearing such rags even in a dream.

So she grumbled internally as she absentmindedly patted down the dress.

‘…Huh?’

Her hand brushed across long hair—the same pale blue as her own, as if dyed from the sky.

“What?”

She was so startled she spoke aloud.

Her first thought: this makes no sense. After all, her hair was short now.

Barely long enough to tie in a tiny tail, her cropped hair was almost a badge of Count Validus.

And lately, short hair had even become something of a trend…

‘So why…’

Why does this hair feel familiar?

And the dress—why does it, too, seem right?

‘Why does everything feel so natural? As if this all makes perfect sense.’

Confused by this uncanny déjà vu, Seraphy lifted her gaze.

“How is it? Do you like it?”

Lilye appeared before her, speaking as though she had always been there.

‘Lady Albéolos!’

Seraphy wanted to shout—but the words that left her mouth were not her own.

“I’ve never eaten seafood like this before…”

Her voice came out meek and subdued, utterly unlike her usual self.

‘Huh? Wh-what?’

Panicking, Seraphy tried to clamp her mouth shut, but once again, her body moved on its own, continuing the conversation.

“And it looks, well, kind of…”

“Strange, yes?”

“…I’m sorry.”

Seraphy even hung her head in apology. She’d always thought of fish when it came to seafood, never expecting anything with such bug-like limbs.

‘…Why are you apologizing!’

And she was thrown into confusion.

‘Why is squid unfamiliar! If anyone found it gross, it was Lilye—she’s the one who called it bug-like, I remember clearly.’

Even if she had forgotten her dreams, she remembered perfectly the meal they’d shared at the Viscount Kia estate the year before.

Lilye had recoiled from the tentacles, calling them like insect feelers, and at Peonia’s urging, had swallowed them whole—barely breathing until she finally gulped them down.

‘And I remember how, seeing that, I craved chili sauce so badly…’

“Actually, I don’t much like seafood either.”

Lowering her voice as if confiding a secret, Lilye continued.

“And there’s no chili sauce here, either.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a red sauce—sweet and sour, just a hint of spicy. Sometimes when I see a crimson dress, I can’t help but think of that vivid shade—just like chili sauce…”

With an air of wistfulness, Lilye rambled on about her memories.

Seraphy listened with fascination to these novel stories, and even took another bite of squid in an act of new-found courage.

This time, she could truly taste its unique umami.

“It’s delicious…”

She murmured so softly it was barely audible.

And then she was struck speechless.

No, the conversation continued—Seraphy and Lilye exchanged easy small talk, their words flowing back and forth.

But none of it reached her anymore.

A high-pitched ringing separated dream from reason, drowning out all sound.

As the world before her darkened to black,

“It is not yet time.”

A familiar voice.

White priestly robes.

Silver hair glimpsed between locks of fine black.

“……!”

Gasping, Seraphy woke, drenched in sweat.

Remembering nothing.