After receiving Thomas's message, Crozier Manor fell into a smooth yet urgent rhythm that very same night.
On the highest floor, the light in the Duke's study never went out. A map of the territory's defenses was spread across the table, with troop positions and military strength being constantly adjusted to ensure the festival proceeded in absolute safety. Grand Duke Johannes personally oversaw the reinforcement of security at key locations while also dispatching an elite unit deep into the sealed-off area to suppress the magical beasts.
Outside in the square, Rebecca worked with Lady Catrina and the priests to reinforce the formations. Every magical stroke blazed in the night. Temporary treatment tents were erected around the testing grounds, while servants and maids hurried to carry crates of food, medicine, and bandages.
Everyone had a position, a role to play in protecting the family.
And Franziska?
She was taken to the Prayer Room, the only place in the manor untouched by the battlefield's tense atmosphere. There, only the scent of fragrant candles spread between the cold walls.
An elderly priest placed an icy hand around her wrist, examining the flow of spiritual energy through her body. He observed how quickly her wound closed, then meticulously recorded the maximum amount of blood that could be drawn each time the ritual was performed.
He did not ask whether she was in pain, nor did he bother looking at her pale face.
To him, Franziska was merely a vessel whose capacity needed to be measured.
“How many treatments can you sustain in a day?”
The priest spoke in a dry voice, his quill hovering over the page.
Franziska stared into empty space. Silence stretched on amid the crackle of the candles. After a while, she answered softly:
“If there’s time to rest between each one... about three.”
“And if Her Grace needs more?”
Franziska lowered her head, looking at her fingers, laced so tightly together that they had gone white.
“Then... I’ll try.”
The priest immediately frowned. The tip of his quill halted, leaving a dull blot of ink on the page.
“There is no answer here called ‘try.’ We need an exact number to make our plans. Your spiritual energy is a resource, not something we can estimate.”
Franziska was flustered. Her lips trembled faintly, but she did not know how to defend herself.
She knew perfectly well that her body was already nearing its limit. But she also knew that here, her limits had never been a priority.
“Five times. Write that down.”
A deep, cold voice came from the heavy wooden doorway.
Franziska spun around in surprise.
Johannes was standing there. She did not know how long he had been there. His back cast a long shadow beneath the candlelight, blocking part of the room's illumination.
She looked at him, her eyes instinctively searching for even the slightest flicker of emotion. Pity would have been enough.
But Johannes did not look back.
His eyes rested only on the priest's notebook, cold and rational, utterly devoid of the easygoing smile he wore whenever he was with Rebecca.
“Rene won't be able to remain stable if she's treated only three times,” he continued, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the amount of equipment needed by the soldiers. “Prepare the best restorative medicines. By any means necessary, make sure she's conscious enough to perform it five times a day.”
The priest nodded and quickly began taking notes.
Franziska slowly withdrew her hands, hiding them inside her oversized sleeves. She said nothing more.
Because she realized that, in Johannes's eyes, those five treatments were not the limit of what a human being could endure.
They were simply the price that had to be paid.
From that day forward, Franziska no longer hesitated or searched for what little affection she might receive. She merely repeated the tasks that had been arranged for her: training, going to the Prayer Room, treating Rebecca, then resting so her body could recover.
During those days, the Duke visited her once while she was alone in the Prayer Room.
Lady Catrina still stopped by often, bringing fruit and freshly baked pastries from the main kitchen, all flavored with things Franziska liked.
After Lady Catrina left, Franziska sat staring at the pastries for a long time before trying a few bites.
The familiar taste made her feel better. But at the same time, it made her realize that she was no different from a small deer trapped in the middle of a desert.
Just a little concern, a little kindness—regardless of the purpose behind it—was enough to warm her heart.
Time passed quickly. The frantic machinery turning throughout the territory and Crozier Manor did not slow down; it only grew more intense.
Seven days after Rebecca received Thomas's letter, the official decree for the Moon Trial Ceremony was announced across the entire kingdom.
The Duke of Crozier and his heir personally received the imperial edict from the Emperor, officially accepting the authorization for the Crozier Duchy to host and prepare this year's ceremony.
One month later.
Preparations were gradually completed. Invitations from Crozier began going out throughout the nobility, carefully managed so that not a single noble house would be overlooked.
During that month, Franziska was required to safely increase the number of treatments she performed for Rebecca in the days leading up to the festival's opening.
The physicians also said that the poison in Rebecca's body had been suppressed by forty percent. If she continued receiving the major ritual treatment regularly once every fourteen days, along with one bloodletting every two days for the month immediately before the opening ceremony, the poison's potency would be suppressed by a full fifty percent. With that fifty percent suppression, Rebecca would be able to safely use her bloodline ability during the first round of examinations and at least two bouts.
This also meant that the pressure on Franziska would be greatly reduced throughout the Moon Trial Ceremony.
When Johannes came to personally inform her of the change, Franziska was walking alone in the forest behind the manor.
“Do the Duke and Lady Catrina know about this change?”
She was slightly surprised and instinctively turned to look at Johannes. A white petal, carried by the wind, had fallen unnoticed into Franziska's hair. For some reason, it irritated Johannes.
“Our parents agreed. Rene herself also thinks this is the best approach.”
He really had answered her question again. His eyes, whether intentionally or not, remained drawn to the little petal. His own unusual reaction suddenly made Johannes annoyed. He snapped,
“Don't ask so many questions. Just focus on your work. As long as you don't die, that's enough.”
“I know. Don't worry.”
She lowered her head, her voice light as a passing breeze. Franziska understood perfectly well that five treatments a day, or such frequent bloodletting, exceeded what her body could endure. But in the Crozier family's mind, it was simply a measurable figure. She was not angry with Johannes. She merely regulated her breathing in silence, telling herself that she would try to soothe her body a little—or find another, shorter, more effective way to ensure that this year's Moon Trial Ceremony for Princess Rebecca succeeded according to their wishes.
Franziska smiled faintly, wearing the proper smile she had been taught in etiquette class, yet her eyes reflected an entire forest bathed in golden sunlight.
Seven days before the opening ceremony, the Crozier Duchy began receiving representatives from noble houses across the kingdom. Carriages came and went in a constant stream, while the main residence was perpetually busy entertaining guests. Even Rebecca, who had just awakened after completing the major ritual treatment, had to stay busy alongside Lady Catrina. No one in the Crozier territory had any time to rest.
Except Franziska.
It was not that she had nothing to do. She simply could not get out of bed.
Franziska had a fever.
Her second coming-of-age had arrived without warning, leaving her feverish for two days straight with no sign of improvement. Faintly visible atop her head was the shadow of two young horns, each about a handspan long. Perhaps because her body had been exhausted so often lately, but this second horn growth was far more painful than the first.
Franziska felt as though thousands of nails were being driven through the bones of her head and then pulled back out. The pain was so intense that she could not retain even the faintest thread of consciousness. Because of that, Franziska did not know that some people had come only to look at her before immediately leaving, while others scolded her for being troublesome during the day but quietly stood beside her bed at night, leaving only after she had fallen into a sound sleep.