Luna Duchy, Helsing City

Over the past few centuries, the Luna Duchy has grown renowned across the Western world. Few now recall that two hundred years ago, the Stuart royal family—desperate and on the brink of collapse—clung to Judas and the Lunhai Holy Church at its zenith as their final lifeline to avoid annihilation. This buried history has since become an indelible shadow in the heart of every royal whose blood carries the Stuart name.

To express his devotion to Judas, the founding Stuart emperor carved a sacred city from the wilderness: Macedon City. Though scarcely remembered by history, he named it the “Land Far from Worldly Dust”—a phrase echoing the Lunhai doctrine’s ideal of the “Boundless and Pure Realm.” Macedon City thus became the Holy City where the Church of Lunhai settled. To further prove his sincerity, the emperor moved the royal court from Helsing City, establishing the Holy City as the new capital.

From that moment, the fates of the Lunhai Holy Church and Luna Duchy became forever intertwined. Only through this bold act did Judas finally grant his acknowledgment.

Macedon City flourished—not only as the Church of Lunhai’s Holy City, but also as the Duchy’s capital. Yet Helsing City, the former seat of power, was never abandoned. Though distant, the two cities remained bound by ties deep as the tide.

Which is why Morris couldn’t help but wonder: Had Sherlock truly traveled all the way from Macedon City to Helsing City with only two guards?

Noon. Helsing City. A restaurant.

“Yeah,” Sherlock said, spoon dangling lightly from her lips as she pondered. “Looking back… I was pretty bold. Ran off alone. Uncle Derin and Uncle Usak followed me on their own.”

Morris, mid-bite into his steak, froze. “So… young lady, you *ran away*?”

“Father didn’t stop me,” Sherlock huffed. “That’s why I hate them. The moment they heard my fiancé vanished, they didn’t care if I lived or died.”

“Must’ve been tough traveling from the Holy City with just two people,” Morris murmured, gently wiping a smear of creamy stew from her cheek with a clean handkerchief. “Lucky you could stomach commoner food along the way.”

“Don’t treat me like a kid,” Sherlock said, cheeks flushing as she snatched the handkerchief. “I’ve never been picky. *You’re* the one who came alone from the Holy City.”

Morris simply smiled and said nothing.

They’d left the church hours ago. After breakfast brought by a nun, they’d bid the priest farewell. He stood at the gate, tears in his eyes—mostly for Morris. He couldn’t fathom why the boy would so carelessly abandon what he was sworn to protect. *My sincerity was misplaced*, the priest had whispered. They then took a carriage straight to Helsing City’s central district.

“Hey,” Sherlock said, tucking her leather shoe heels beneath the seat, crossing slender legs sheathed in white stockings. Playful, yet a trace of concern lingered in her voice. “Morris… your family must be powerful, right?”

“My family?” Morris shook his head. “Nah. Just… average.”

“But you’re so well-mannered. A gifted wizard. Clearly well-educated. You walked into this upscale place like it was nothing…” Sherlock sighed. “I can’t read you. There’s no House Laws in Macedon City.”

Morris reached across the table, ruffling her hair with a helpless smile. “Don’t overthink it. Just eat. Say… were you planning to enroll from the start?”

“Yes. The wedding was supposed to happen after I graduated,” Sherlock murmured. “No idea where *he* went. Honestly… I hope he never comes back.”

Morris offered a faint, noncommittal hum.

Around them, glances flickered. Some frowned at their modest clothes against the restaurant’s opulence. Others noted how utterly at ease the pair seemed—no hint of unease, as if they belonged exactly there. But most eyes lingered on *them*. Morris: ash-blue hair perfectly trimmed, deeper gray eyes, striking features you’d spot in any crowd. Lean frame, polished manners—flawless, save for slightly messy eating. And Sherlock: golden shoulder-length hair, sapphire eyes, a simple dress revealing delicate ankles above brown Mary Janes. The faint silhouette of her legs through sheer white stockings made patrons lift water glasses to hide stolen glances.

Whispers swirled. Sherlock calmly ate the fruit-and-cheese salad Morris ordered. She hated the spotlight—but with Morris here, she stayed. No one recognized her. No royal shame to fear.

Morris frowned. *I picked this place deliberately. Do nobles have no manners?*

Just as he dabbed his mouth, considering leaving—*CRASH!*

Two tables away, a terrified girl sank to her knees.

“Well, well. Isn’t it Glenwyr?” A finely dressed girl at a nearby table hid a smirk behind her fan. “So clumsy.”

Glenwyr flinched but couldn’t speak. A man in a black suit stepped behind her. “Glenwyr. I heard that.”

“N-no, sir! Please—don’t deduct my wages! I beg you—”

“Baked lobster. Cherry cheesecake.” The man stared at the spilled food and shards. “Thirty gold. Half your month’s pay is gone.”

“N-no! It was *her*—!” Glenwyr cried, scrambling toward his leg.

“Back off.” He kicked her away. Her body slid meters across the floor, motionless except for a spasmodic twitch of her index finger. His voice stayed ice-cold. “A commoner like you dares blame noble guests? *Touch* me, Dirk?”

Only the noble girl’s delicate laughter filled the silence. No one moved. This was her fate. And nobles *loved* post-lunch theater.

Even Morris stayed quiet, mechanically stuffing bread into his mouth.