MCFPM 56

Sherylotte gazed out through the window blurred by the blizzard.

“We are witnessing nature itself being twisted by magic.”

“……”

“Are you not afraid, everyone?”

At that, several eastern nobles seated near Odelie shouted out.

“What kind of nonsense are you pulling, Duke?!”

The one speaking was a leopard beastman professor—
the same man who had visited the ducal estate previously over a patent dispute.
She had only invited him out of courtesy, but the brazen man had the nerve to show up in person.

“Of course we’re afraid! You’re trying to isolate us in the North!”

As expected, his outrage became fuel; murmurs of protest erupted throughout the banquet hall,
particularly among the southern nobles—who had never once experienced such cold in their lives.

Among them, the Countess of Chelonia suddenly stood up.

“Your Grace! My son has frostbite!”

She was a sea-turtle beastwoman from the tropics.

“Thankfully, the young duke treated him immediately,
but I still cannot understand why Your Grace gathered nobles from across the continent under the pretext of a wedding!”

“Madam, please—”

“My child keeps begging to leave!
The snow piled up to his neck terrified him, and now he has a fever from the cold!
He cries to go home every moment!”

The countess wept bitterly, nearly choking on her tears.
The count tried to calm her, but she covered her face and sank back into her seat.

“This is absurd, darling,” she said to her husband.
“How could snow pile up this high in just a few hours? It’s a natural disaster!”

“……”

“Your Grace, please—call the young duke and offer a prayer to the Lord. I beg you!”

Sherylotte gave a faint, bitter smile.

Could she really turn the mood around?

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure. She was no gifted orator like Aeonian, and even less of a demagogue.

The only thing she could express was her sincerity.

“…You’ve done well to let it out.”

So she chose to speak her heart.

“Fear, when left to fester, clings to the heart and drags it down.
But since you’ve finally expressed it, Madam, I believe you’ll endure until this blizzard passes and warmth returns to the North.”

“What are you saying—”

“Madam.”

Sherylotte strode up to the Countess of Chelonia, pulling a handkerchief from her coat.
With the poise of a knight, she bent slightly and murmured:

“You may save your tears until you’ve returned home safely.”

“……”

“I once fled through the woods from a beast,
and I learned that if you waste too much strength early on,
it’s much harder to make it back.”

The countess hiccuped softly, startled by the duke’s small, delicate figure—
and by her manner, more gentlemanly than ladylike.

Handing over the handkerchief, Sherylotte turned back to the center of the hall.

“It’s shameful to admit, but I too share the countess’s fear.
This absurd cold—since coming here, I have never once experienced anything like it…”

A low growl, born of her carnivorous beastman nature, rumbled faintly in her throat.

“And because I can no longer stand to see innocent people die.”

Sweeping her bangs aside, she turned her back to Duke and Duchess Freyew.

“Not just because my house, Chartreuse, bears the duty of protection—
but because I’ve seen far too many people die before I could do anything.”

She met the leopard professor’s eyes.

“Yes… that is why I’ve chosen to protect not only you nobles,
but the common folk outside these castle walls as well.”

“Are you saying our lives are worth the same as those peasants?”

“I see no line dividing them.”

She shook her head gently—only to hear a languid voice from behind her.

“Then why bother being a duke at all?”

She turned to see Fernand standing with his arms crossed, smirking.

“If you truly mean that, wouldn’t it have been better to cast away your title and live as a beggar among them?”

“Because I am greedy,” she answered plainly.

“Oh? You don’t look like you’ve much to be greedy for.”

A few nobles chuckled at his sneer.
Her aunt, Lady Heritis, slammed her wineglass onto the table and glared daggers at him.

Sherylotte raised a hand to calm her.

“Well, uncle, perhaps you can’t understand me because you’ve nothing left to protect.
But hearing you speak that way, I suppose you must have quite a lot.”

She shrugged lightly.

“Though I can’t imagine how you claim to have what you cannot protect.”

“……”

“Even a thief guards his treasure, does he not?”

Fernand snorted and raised his glass again.

“I’ve already lost too many people.”

“……And so?”

“I don’t want to lose anyone else. Not even in a storm like this.”

Sherylotte turned her gaze from the ducal couple and raised her voice.

“Yes, I am a greedy woman—
because I fear that neither you nor my people will survive this northern cold!”

Her sudden cry made everyone flinch.

“But tell me, is my fear truly equal to the terror you feel?”

“What do you mean by that?”

A central noble spoke up hesitantly.

Perfect timing. Sherylotte pointed toward the frost-covered window.

“I’ve just discovered the cause of this extreme cold.”

“Is it a weather anomaly?”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“It’s fissures.”

“…What?”

“Hundreds, thousands of microscopic magical rifts.”

A murmur of shock rippled through the room.

“You mean to reveal it?”

A clear, lilting voice cut through the confusion.

“Don’t.”

She didn’t need to turn to know—it was Odelie.

“If you name the East, everyone will turn on you, Sheryl.
You of all people should know that, you former nobody.”

“……”

“People only blame the figurehead they can see.
No one cares about the real cause.”

Odelie smiled faintly.

“A pity, isn’t it?
Everyone lashing out at the one who’s actually working the hardest.”

Sherylotte ignored her cousin’s jab.
She knew Odelie was right—
she couldn’t accuse the East, nor did she intend to.

What she could do was gather allies.

“These rifts won’t summon beasts or monsters,” she continued.
“But they do connect to the polar regions,
freezing the moisture in the clouds and the surrounding air.”

“Th-then what do you intend to do?”

“I’ve dispatched mages from the Academy.
They’ll seal the rifts around the castle by today.”

Silence fell as someone—who hadn’t spoken once this entire time—raised a hand.
The air itself seemed to chill as people turned.

It wasn’t a noble.

“And how can we trust that?”

It was the Pontiff.

The only one here with the title of “King,”
and the only person who could rival Freyew’s authority—
for he had the power to crown another.

“The mages you speak of are merely students of the Magi-Engineering Department, are they not?
And you claim they’ll fix this in hours? That’s pure arrogance.”

“Some are professors, others teaching assistants,” Sherylotte replied evenly.

“…Oh? Is that so?”

The Pontiff’s tone was calm,
but beside him, Archbishop Feliceri went pale.

He saw it—the Pontiff’s Ring of Truth glowing a fierce blue,
so bright it almost hurt to look at.

“I promise this,” said Sherylotte.
“No matter what happens, I will return every person here safely—just as they came.”

The Archbishop’s eyes darted between the glowing ring and Sherylotte,
calling over nearby bishops in alarm.
They too recognized the relic—its brilliant blue light was exceedingly rare.

Sherylotte smiled gently at the Pontiff’s deliberately blank face.

She knew he had already delayed punishment for both herself and Aeonian
because he had promised “a gift for the Grand Duchess of Baskalia.”

Her smile, then, was not to demand payment—
but to ask whether he could see her true intent:
that she wished, earnestly, to save them all.

Outside, blizzards no priest had ever witnessed ravaged the North.
Surely, survival alone was reason enough to listen to a fool who meant well.

Who would refuse shelter freely offered in such a storm?
If they lived, they could reclaim power later—
and if things went wrong, they could always blame the fool.

“…So, if those mages succeed, we’ll be safe?”

Just as she predicted, Archbishop Feliceri was first to ask.

Sherylotte nodded.

“Yes. After that, Baskalia and I will handle the rest.”

“Well, if it’s Baskalia…”

The archbishop glanced at the Pontiff—his own kinsman.
Finally, the Pontiff sighed softly and raised a hand.

“Very well, Duke.”

“……”

“I shall trust you, your mages, and my nephew.”

It worked.

Once the clergy saw her sincerity, the nobles would naturally follow.

Sherylotte bowed deeply to all present, seizing the moment.

“Everyone, I offer my sincerest apologies.”

Even if the House of Chartreuse lagged behind the other ducal houses,
Sherylotte was still a Grand Lord.

“I am sorry that my wedding celebration in the far North has brought you such discomfort and fear.”

When she bowed at last, several nobles swallowed hard.

“As the Duke of Chartreuse, I will work with Baskalia and the mages to resolve this swiftly.”

They all knew—on their journey here, they’d seen Lavre City’s promise:
abundant harvests despite the cold,
thriving workshops, smiling townsfolk,
and the still-fearsome Northern Knights said to have never lost a fortress.

It was hard, even for eastern nobles, to dismiss the strength of Chartreuse.

Soon, one by one, the nobles bowed their heads as well.
A faint smile curved Sherylotte’s lips.

It’s under control.

She wasn’t bluffing.

Her fellow graduates were skilled mages.
They’d seal the rifts around the castle by nightfall,
and once she received their reports,
she’d be able to counter even this unnatural cold.

If there was one thing she was confident in, it was finding the cause.

She smiled warmly at the nobles.

“Hot cream stew with meat will soon be served. Please eat your fill.”

And just then—

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

The communication orb in her coat began to vibrate wildly.