"Just by looking, it's tough to figure out who left these footprints. So I think we should refocus on the source—the family involved."

Back in the tavern arranged by the mayor, the off-season farming lull had drawn a crowd. Most townsfolk gathered out of idle curiosity, eager spectators watching Rein’s table with keen interest.

"How to put this?" Hill mused.

"First, let’s cover the family’s relationships. That’s crucial."

It really was. Even in Gloria, a similar case had erupted: after a revenge killing, the culprit—versed in magical script—had scrawled a fake Magic Circle with gibberish runes on the ground. The investigating Holy Knights, recognizing the script but not its meaning, wrongly pinned it on Mages. They’d even surrounded the Magic Council with troops. The scandal shook Gloria until a Cardinal deciphered the runes. Without that, war might’ve broken out.

"Well," the mayor continued, "that guy was the village’s sweetheart. No real enemies, no debts. Don’t believe me? Ask them!"

Hill glanced at the idle crowd. They bobbed their heads like pendulums, chiming in agreement.

"What about their finances?"

"Barely scraping by. We’re all poor here."

"Especially this year—the harvest was awful. After taxes, nothing’s left."

"Yeah! Doesn’t the king ever check how we live? Taxes climb higher every year."

"He’s the king! Why would he care about nobodies like us?"

The tax talk ignited the crowd. Their hatred for it was palpable.

Rein wanted to explain that the king didn’t control taxes—or even have a say. The Sacred Empire’s monarch had long been stripped of power. For safety, ministers formed the Empire’s ruling council after terrorist-like factions—Holy Knights and Mages—made assassinations via stray Holy Light hammers or magic bolts a real threat. The king’s own incompetence sealed it; he’d willingly handed over authority, letting ministers like the finance head rule unchecked.

"So robbery’s out too?"

"Absolutely. Even if someone had money here, there’s nowhere to spend it."

"Mayor, do you log who enters or leaves town?"

"I do! But I’ll need my notebook—my memory’s not what it used to be."

"Hurry back then."

The mayor nodded eagerly and dashed off. Hill turned her attention to Rein.

The little girl hadn’t cried or fussed since arriving. Her feet, slightly red from the cold, looked pitiful. Sophia—raised as a Vindictive Knight under strict training—saw nothing unusual in barefoot snow walks. She ignored Rein’s chilled soles, focused solely on slicing roast pork into bite-sized pieces. Rein stuffed them into her mouth, grease smearing her lips, eating nonstop despite the burnt, bland meat. The hunk of pork leg was charred black on the outside, utterly unappetizing. Even the sparse seasoning barely touched the dry, wax-like center. How Rein kept eating was a mystery.

"Hill!"

Hill slid beside Rein. The girl’s seat was propped up with thick books to reach the table, letting Hill cradle her icy little feet.

"Hmm?"

*A foot fetishist and a pedophile? I’m doomed!*

Rein didn’t grasp Hill’s intent. Sophia’s glare sharpened, sizing Hill up like the real murderer.

"Holy Light!"

Golden radiance glowed in Hill’s palms—dimmer than Sophia’s. Combat Nuns sacrificed purity for versatility, their Holy Light working day or night. Warmth spread through Rein’s soles, soothing and sweet. Yet she didn’t pause, still chewing the slightly burnt pork chunks she privately found awful.

Sophia relaxed, resuming her slicing duty.

Being served by two girls like this? Rein decided being reborn was totally worth it.