Lyselle unconsciously tightened her grip on Shall’s arm.

What on earth was going on?

The massive Nursery Chamber that once stood here had vanished without a trace. In its place stood a facility Fawena called the Nursery Garden.

But it had barely been half a day since they last set foot in the Nursery Chamber.

In that short span—before the thick fog dissipated—countless unknown changes had swept through the city-state. Fawena’s altered memories. The Nursery Chamber’s disappearance. The Nursery Garden’s sudden appearance.

But why?

Why did these inexplicable changes occur?

Lyselle was certain there had to be a reason behind it all.

Changes never existed in isolation. The anomalies in Lundeheim were the same—whether it was the Matriarch’s madness, the thick fog, Fawena’s scrambled memories, or the vanished Nursery Chamber.

She even had a strange feeling—

A faint sense that all these anomalies were like beads strung along the same thread. Directly or indirectly, they all stemmed from a single root cause. If she could uncover that cause, the truth would come to light.

But the question remained:

What was that root cause behind all these anomalies?

Lyselle had no immediate answers.

No need to rush.

Pushing too hard might expose her hand.

She couldn’t be sure whether the Governor before her was the real Fawena… or some *thing* wearing Fawena’s skin.

Naturally, "Fawena" didn’t trust her—and she certainly wouldn’t foolishly trust "Fawena" either.

For now, she’d have to take it one step at a time.

*That’s the way to do it*, she thought.

Then, a brilliant idea struck her:

*Why not just summon the Old Sage?*

Only fools fought alone—dangerous and thankless. If you could call for backup, you called. Better yet, have the Old Sage bring half the White Tower with him. All fear came from insufficient firepower. With enough firepower to flatten all of Lundeheim, what were a few anomalies?

*Hmph. I’ll make sure they never return.*

Just as Lyselle indulged in this fantasy, Shall’s voice cut through her thoughts:

“We heard from bards outside that Elves are born in facilities called Nursery Chambers… It seems that, like the legend of the Elf Queen, it was just a strange misunderstanding.”

He covered for Lyselle’s lie.

She glanced at him, surprised.

Shall stood nearly a head taller than her. With her arm looped through his, she could only see his profile when she looked up.

Unexpectedly, the Champion’s profile looked… reliable.

His expression was calm, his dark eyes deep and distant. Perhaps it was the faint stubble along his jawline, but Shall no longer seemed the green youth he once was. He’d matured.

Appearance alone couldn’t prove maturity—but actions could.

The old Shall would never have said something like that… *Truly, the death of a beloved is the quickest fertilizer for a man’s growth*, Lyselle mused.

Shaking off the thought, she quickly plastered on a sincere expression to match Shall’s act:

“That’s right! I actually believed there was a Nursery Chamber here. Turns out it’s as fake as the Elf Queen legend… Those bards are despicable!”

Their performance was seamless. Lyselle carried most of the acting, while Shall only needed to play the stoic, occasionally backing her up. Still, they seemed to have fooled Fawena.

Fawena didn’t question their story. She even nodded in agreement:

“You’re right. Those bards outside *are* despicable. Spreading lies, twisting our Elves into such caricatures…”

She shook her head.

“But what can we do? Lundeheim rarely interacts with the outside world.”

Lyselle’s eyes lit up at this.

*Perfect. You brought this up yourself!*

The Sorceress swiftly adopted a curious expression. “Speaking of which, Sister Fawena, why *don’t* Elves interact with the outside world? Is there a reason you can’t share?”

To her surprise, Fawena’s expression turned confused at the question.

After a brief silence, the Governor shook her head, bewildered:

“I… I don’t know.”

“?”

Lyselle sensed something deeply wrong. She narrowed her eyes, pressing further:

“You don’t know? But how could that be—you’re Lundeheim’s Governor! Others might not know why, but *you* should!”

“…”

Fawena fell into a long silence.

A strange, fog-like expression clouded her face. She lowered her head, murmuring to herself:

“Should I… know? I suppose I should. As Governor of Lundeheim, I *should* know why we shun outsiders. But…”

Her self-doubt abruptly stopped.

She fell completely still and silent—like a wind-up doll that had run out of spring. The Governor stood frozen, head bowed, trapped in an eerie stillness.

Then, after a moment under Lyselle and Shall’s watchful eyes, she suddenly lifted her head. She smiled at them—a familiar, gentle smile.

And she nodded, repeating:

“You’re right. Those bards outside *are* despicable. Spreading lies, twisting our Elves into such caricatures…”

Like reloading a save file, the Governor repeated the exact words she’d spoken moments ago.

Yet she seemed utterly unaware. She even kept smiling—that smile now sending a chill down Lyselle’s spine.

Was this some kind of loop?

Or had she accidentally triggered a new anomaly?

Had touching that forbidden point reset the Governor’s state to before the anomaly occurred?

If so, the trigger was clearly the question: *“Why don’t Elves interact with the outside world?”* But why? What terrible secret lay hidden behind that question?

She’d mentioned the “Matriarch” and “Nursery Chamber” earlier without triggering a reset.

And beyond the taboo itself—what *was* this Fawena who reset when the taboo was broken?

A program? A puppet controlled by someone? Or the real Governor, alive and familiar, yet implanted with some insidious suggestion?

Countless theories flooded Lyselle’s mind.

But she didn’t dare test them recklessly.

She’d already reset Fawena’s state once with a forbidden topic. She could replicate it, mapping safe subjects against dangerous ones.

But what if “resetting” had a cost?

What if, after too many resets, it would alert the mastermind behind Lundeheim’s anomalies?

Lyselle wasn’t confident she and Shall could defeat that mastermind.

Shall was a formidable fighter, and she wasn’t weak—but against someone capable of warping an entire city-state? Even if they won, the price would be steep.

Worse, she couldn’t confirm whether *all* of Lundeheim was under the mastermind’s control like Fawena. When Fawena reset, Lyselle hadn’t sensed a single ripple of abnormal magic. It was unnerving.

So she forced her stiffening facial muscles to form a smile and replied quickly:

“I suppose… I suppose it’s precisely *because* you rarely interact with outsiders. Few understand Lundeheim or Elves, so those bards can spin any tale they like.”

She deliberately avoided the taboo topic, steering clear of another reset.

“Never mind them. Even if those despicable bards keep lying, it won’t affect Lundeheim. Besides, isn’t it rather amusing? Like the legend of the Elf Queen…”

Lyselle skillfully redirected the conversation back to the bards’ tales—topics she’d discussed with Fawena before, confirmed safe.

Still, she treaded as if on thin ice, terrified of accidentally brushing against the forbidden again.

She felt like she was defusing a bomb.

She had to find the one wire among many that wouldn’t trigger an explosion. But if her hand slipped—if she cut the wrong wire…

*BOOM!*

The bomb would detonate.

And the reset—or worse, the completely unhinged—“Fawena” would blast her into bloody fragments across the sky.

Caution was essential. She had to keep up this hollow conversation. As for the truth…

*There’ll be another chance to uncover it*, she told herself.

Yet the Champion whose arm she clung to seemed to disagree.

Shall watched Fawena chat amiably with Lyselle for a moment. Then he lifted his gaze toward the Nursery Garden, not far from where they stood.

The Nursery Chamber’s purpose was to birth new Elves from nothing—they’d seen its cultivation pools and embryonic Elves under the Governor’s guidance.

The Nursery Garden functioned like a human school. After birth, Elf newborns were sent here for uniform nurturing and education.

But…

Shall shifted his gaze back to Fawena.

Then, in a low, abrupt voice, he asked:

“But where do newborns come from?”

His voice was too soft, his question too sudden. Fawena didn’t catch it. “What did you say?”

The Champion locked his pure black eyes onto Fawena’s face. His tone turned grave:

“Governor. I wish to know—how do Elves conceive their young?”

[To Be Continued]