Chapter 20
Unlike Beatrice, who had unexpectedly become a “local resident” and was mentally overwhelmed, the escort unit’s preparations proceeded quickly.
In the end, the selected group consisted of five people.
Clyde, who would lead the team; one knight chosen by him; two aides recommended by the administrative side; and Beatrice.
Everything moved smoothly, and they were now only moments away from departure when the head maid approached.
She offered a casual farewell as if wishing them a safe trip, then quietly whispered,
“I’m sorry for proceeding without consulting you. But I thought you might still want to personally confirm the situation inside.”
“Ah—no, it’s fine. But… is this really okay? I’m not actually from the marquessate…”
“It’s fine. Once you enter, it won’t matter much anyway. Besides, one of the aides is actually from the marquessate.”
The head maid gestured toward one of the escort members.
There stood a woman with purple hair tied up high.
“That person is…”
“Assistant Astrid Sharon.”
At those words, Beatrice’s eyes widened slightly.
‘Sharon? The Sharon Count’s daughter who died?’
She hesitated for a moment, then quickly shook her head.
Even if she didn’t remember every detail of the past perfectly, she clearly remembered the daughter of House Sharon’s hair color.
‘I even attended her funeral.’
She vividly recalled her father’s expression at the funeral—mixed with grief and suspicion as he paid his respects.
While Beatrice was lost in those memories, the head maid, misinterpreting her silence, added gently,
“Anyway, the Crown Prince’s aides are cooperating fully since they know the truth, so don’t worry. They’ll help you.”
“Ah—y-yes!”
At that moment, a knight stationed at the gate raised his voice.
“This side is cleared. You may depart at any time!”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
Even if entry was restricted for some reason, it seemed there was no justification to block the escort unit once the Crown Prince was involved.
Beatrice glanced at Clyde, who was speaking quietly with the Crown Prince, and expressed her gratitude lightly.
“Then I’ll join up when appropriate. Thank you for everything! I’ll be going now!”
“It is for the Empire. I wish you a safe return.”
After taking a short breath, Beatrice walked toward the group of attendants.
She naturally blended in like a maid and presented her identification as she was about to pass through the gate.
“Hey, wait.”
A soldier from the marquessate guarding the gate stopped her.
Beatrice froze for a moment.
Her first thought was absurdly that her forged identity had been exposed.
‘Ugh, why am I like this…!’
Ignoring her racing heart, she looked at the soldier as if asking what the problem was.
After meeting her gaze, he hesitated briefly, then reached into the guard post and handed her a sack.
“…It feels wrong to just let you pass since you’re with the Crown Prince’s escort unit. You said you’re heading to the lord’s territory, right? You won’t make it to the capital today, so you’ll be staying overnight in Brellyn Village. You’ll need this when you arrive there.”
“This?”
“Yeah. You may go now.”
…What is this?
She wanted to open it immediately, but the atmosphere didn’t allow it.
It felt light in weight, but somehow the bag in her hand felt strangely heavy.
As she hesitated at the gate, Clyde approached.
“Is there a problem?”
“Ah, not exactly…”
Beatrice trailed off.
If she opened her mouth too much, she might end up acting too obviously like Beatrice Dalton.
Instead, she simply handed him the sack and glanced toward the gate.
It was a silent explanation.
Clyde seemed to understand immediately and nodded.
“If there are no issues, let’s move.”
Beatrice followed without further question.
She only opened the sack once the gate was far enough out of sight.
Inside were—
“…Dolls?”
Dolls.
Straw-woven dolls, cloth dolls, and even wooden ones.
All of them shared one thing in common: they were shaped like humans.
“…Does the marquessate have some kind of doll-related custom?”
At Clyde’s question, Beatrice immediately shook her head.
As far as she knew, there was no such tradition in the marquessate.
‘There isn’t… right?’
Suddenly uncertain, she glanced toward Assistant Sharon.
She also looked confused, clearly seeing this for the first time.
‘Phew. Good.’
Relieved, Beatrice turned back toward Clyde.
But Clyde was quietly frowning.
‘He must be recalling information from the regression.’
That made sense.
She too had remembered something as soon as she saw the dolls—the previous account of “a village filled only with dolls.”
After investigating the marquessate in the past, Clyde likely had even more information surfacing in his mind.
Watching him, Beatrice spoke in a careful voice,
“U-um… we probably won’t reach the capital today anyway… so maybe we should stay in Brellyn Village first and observe the situation? The dolls… maybe they were given to help us or something…”
She was simply repeating what the soldier had said, but no one else knew that.
Her words, surprisingly local-sounding, made others nod.
“Let’s head to Brellyn Village. However, the situation inside the marquessate seems more unusual than expected. If possible, do not separate. And if you must, or if something happens, follow knight order protocol and use this.”
“This is…”
“It’s cloth marked with special pigment.”
Ah, so it’s used to track movement.
She had only ever heard Clyde mention such tools before—she didn’t expect to use one herself.
Beatrice lightly ran her fingers over the cloth.
It would be best if they never had to use it, but she had a bad feeling about this.
* * *
“…My mother once said that if even I feel something is wrong, then something really is wrong.”
It turned out she was right.
Beatrice swallowed nervously as she stared at a note slipped through the crack of her door in the middle of the night.
When they first arrived in Brellyn, she had thought it might all be unnecessary worry.
The village looked no different from any other border checkpoint town.
Inns for travelers, shops advertising local specialties, restaurants calling out to customers.
The only difference was something she had seen in a report before her regression—
Dolls placed everywhere in the village.
‘More precisely, it looked like the village was decorated with dolls. As if they were part of daily life.’
Dolls posed as if harvesting potatoes, dolls walking hand in hand near the village entrance, dolls selling flowers on the street.
To anyone watching, it looked almost like a festival dedicated to dolls.
Not only Beatrice and Clyde, but even the escort members had grown tense and searched the village carefully.
Yet there were no obvious abnormalities.
‘So we decided to rest and investigate more tomorrow at the capital, then split into rooms…’
And now she had received this suspicious note.
Beatrice carefully crouched down instead of touching it directly and began reading.
[We are leaving this note quietly in case we disturb your rest.
If you feel as if something is pressing down on your body, or if you break into a cold sweat from a chilling presence, please place the doll from the drawer onto your bed and come down to the lobby.
Even if you do not experience the above symptoms, if anything strange occurs, please follow the same instructions.]
