Marquis boarded the train, casting a final glance back at Leonardo. As the train levitated and the passage of time gradually became a blur, Marquis turned to his guide.
The figure, cloaked in dark green, slowly removed his outer garment to reveal a man in his thirties, his lean, muscular physique hidden beneath the cloak.
It was evident that the de Lorraine family had servants, and Marquis had chosen this man for the role.
"..." he paused momentarily. "I forgot you don't have a name yet," Marquis muttered, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of melancholy.
The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the distance he maintained from those bound to serve him.
It wasn't that he couldn't name the man; it was that he refused to.
To name him would be to acknowledge the bond of master and servant, a bond he detested. Marquis had chosen this man for his guide not out of need, but as a silent rebellion against the very system that had chained them together.
He had hoped that by not naming him, he could somehow erase the lines drawn by duty and birthright, setting the man free in a way.
Though now the man, free yet bound by duty, had to accompany him through perilous quests and the realm's wonders.
Marquis found himself regretting his earlier decision. Leaving the man at the family estate in the tower would have been a better choice.
Now, he had to navigate the dangerous journey with him, a situation fraught with life-or-death stakes. Marquis was astonished that the man hadn't attempted to escape; he would have welcomed it.
He viewed this ordeal as a trial he must endure to become the future head of his family—if he survived.
The cloaked figure merely nodded.
"Alain should be here," Marquis muttered, recalling how Alain had remained unfazed amid the chaos of the explosion.
"That prick," he whispered under his breath, his steps quickening with each passing thought.
The train's compartments seemed to stretch endlessly before him, each one filled with passengers who barely registered his presence.
As he passed through, his eyes darted from face to face, searching for the flash of red that would mark Alain's presence.
His mind raced, replaying the scene in his head—the explosion, the chaos, and Alain, sitting there as if nothing had happened.
How could he be so indifferent? Marquis's frustration grew with each empty compartment, a simmering anger that threatened to boil over as he delved deeper into the train.
Despite his frustration, the presence of someone from the Takashiro family, who had somehow ended up as Alain's guide, was impossible to ignore.
"He knew I saw him, though he wouldn't hide from me," Marquis thought, his mind racing. He huffed as he walked, observing passengers seated by the side. Some were sleeping, while others, unable to rest, bore the scars of the explosion's aftermath, having witnessed their families' destruction.
He winced, feeling powerless to assist them, especially knowing that Alain had remained indifferent while conversing with his guide amidst the chaos.
His pace quickened, fueled by his anger.
Marquis was notorious for his short temper, a trait honed by witnessing situations deteriorate due to others' apathy—situations that could have been easily avoided if everyone had fulfilled their required roles.
The explosion could have been prevented. It could have been, it could have been, could it have been prevented?
"No," he muttered to himself. He couldn't continue blaming those who were present, those who had endured the tragedy.
The screams of the victims still haunted him, veins throbbing at his temples. He needed to find the perpetrator of the explosion and... he paused, contemplating what he would do upon finding them. Was it even a person? "He's going to come with me," he declared, quickening his steps to locate Alain.
As Marquis moved from compartment to compartment, a sinking feeling began to settle in his chest.
The train was long, but not endless. He had passed through enough to realize that something was amiss.
His footsteps slowed, the urgency that had driven him now tempered by a growing sense of dread.
"He isn't on the train," he finally admitted to himself, the words coming out flat, devoid of the anger that had fueled him moments before. He paused, reaching out to steady himself against the wall.
The cold metal beneath his fingers was a stark contrast to the heat of his frustration. With a sudden burst of anger, he struck the wall, the force of his blow sending a faint tremor through the compartment.
The sound echoed in the silence, but it did little to ease the tension coiling within him.
"That lazy bastard," he muttered to his guide. "Yes," came the reply. "And that guide of his," he said again. "Yes," his guide responded.
"Could you answer me properly?" Marquis snapped, recognizing that his guide's responses were inadequate for the rhetorical questions he posed.
"I don't think it's a person on the train," he continued. "Someone is trying to kill us?" he queried, his mind racing. "Yes," his guide finally replied.
With three families aboard the train, the motive to cause an explosion was evident, fueling Marquis's anger.
The train sped through the endless expanse of hills, with the colossal tower visible even from a great distance, as far as the mountain. Its height and imposing size ensured its visibility from anywhere in the star.
"The meeting should start in a few hours," his guide interjected, pulling Marquis from his thoughts.
He had approximately three hours to uncover any information related to the explosion. The city was nearing.
Marquis halted and turned, heading back to his previous compartment.
The restless pacing annoyed the passengers, who glared at him as he continued his back-and-forth motion.
"Guide," he said tersely. "Yes?" came the reply. "How long would it take you to return to the mansion?" he asked, his anticipation clear.
The speed of his guide was crucial. "It depends," his guide responded. "Do it in an hr," Marquis ordered, walking away without waiting for confirmation. Though he had chosen the man to set him free, he had inadvertently placed him in an even more precarious situation. Under the current circumstances, this was the best solution.
"I'll apologize to him later," he thought, "I wonder what he thought of me, a teenager with status? A user of Rasvian energy?" He continued his walk.
The guide, pulling back his cloak, slipped through the train doors as they briefly opened, long enough for him to exit but too short for the passengers to feel the immense rush of air from outside.
"This will be a long three hours," he mused to himself.
With his guide gone, it was time to investigate the train.
The average passengers who had been affected by the explosion were not primary suspects. Marquis's mind turned to potential leads, focusing on the events preceding the explosion.
His thoughts drifted back to the events leading up to the explosion, searching for any detail that might have escaped him. He had been at the lake with his guide, practicing his control over Rasvian energy.
The calm surface of the water had mirrored the stillness in the air, a deceptive calm before the storm. He remembered watching as Anna and Elara, accompanied by that strange boy, Leonardo, made their way towards the mansion to meet Uncle Richard. Everything had seemed ordinary, routine even.
But as he turned his attention back to the train, he recalled the subtle shift in the atmosphere—the uneasy quiet that had settled over the passengers. Most had remained inside, unaware of the looming danger.
The noise of their distress had been almost tangible in the aftermath.
And then, a flash of memory came to him: white robes, slipping through the train's doors just before the explosion.
It was a fleeting image, but one that now stood out with stark clarity. "White robes," Marquis muttered to himself, clutching at the only clue he had.
"White robes," he repeated to himself.
[Landing imminent], the conductor announced.
There was not enough time to thoroughly investigate the train now. His immediate priority was to assist those who had lost things in the explosion, families maybe, even themselves in the explosion.