Falano, Central-North Region, Flottes. In the afternoon, outside the city of Flottes, the banquet at the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty continued. This gathering, modeled after the New Year’s court banquet from the Splendor King era of the Bourbon dynasty, had entered its second day—and it was about to reach its most grand and important moment. At this moment, countless nobles from across Flottes were assembled inside the temple. They wandered about in groups through gardens, plazas, and halls, engaging in lively conversation and socializing. Compared to the day before, the number of guests had increased significantly, and the carriage parking grounds were now nearly filled to capacity. The first day’s gathering was merely a prelude—a warm-up to the main event. The true highlight was scheduled for dusk and evening of the second day. With the ever-growing crowd, the Temple bustled more than ever. Nobles and ladies gathered in nearly every corner—except for one place. Standing inside the Dome Hall of the temple, Adèle, dressed in a luxurious evening gown, looked up at the tall and sealed doors of the Opera Hall with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. At the same time, she was speaking with Dorothy through the information channel in her mind. “I was only away for a short while, and now this place is sealed off? The highlight of the banquet is about to begin—what are they planning by closing the main hall at a time like this?” With a curious tone, Adèle questioned Dorothy, who quickly replied. “According to the Temple’s servants, this is the final round of decoration for the Opera Hall in preparation for the dusk performance. It’s said to be the most important segment of the court banquet—a tradition that’s remained unchanged since the time of King Charles.” “An important tradition, huh… If that’s the case, they should’ve finished decorating earlier. There’s not much time left before dusk. Can they even finish in time?” Adèle responded, and Dorothy replied with interest. “Who knows… maybe last-minute decoration is part of the tradition. Or maybe if they had finished earlier, certain things might have been exposed too soon.” “Oh? Sounds like you already know something.” Adèle asked, intrigued by Dorothy’s remark. Just as Dorothy was about to reply, the tightly sealed doors suddenly creaked and slowly opened with a deep rumble. “Oh… looks like they’re about done decorating. Let’s hurry in and check out the results.” From Adèle’s point of view, seeing the doors slowly open via mechanical operation, Dorothy remarked. Adèle glanced into the now-opening doorway with curiosity and, once the entrance was fully open, joined the other banquet guests in entering. Upon re-entering the Opera Hall, Adèle looked around curiously. What she saw were many added festive decorations—streamers, banners, tapestries—and several banquet tables placed around the stage and balconies, laden with delicacies and fine wine. “The decorations all look pretty normal. Nothing seems out of place.” As she strolled through the Opera Hall, Adèle commented while observing her surroundings, and Dorothy quickly replied in her mind. “You might want to take a look from the viewing balcony.” “The balcony…” Murmuring to herself, Adèle stepped away from the hall floor and ascended the stairs along the edge of the Opera Hall, reaching the upper-level viewing balcony. From this vantage point, she had a better view—and what she saw immediately caught her attention. “The stage… that’s… the Seven-Petal Blooming Lotus!” Looking down at the circular stage at the center of the Opera Hall, Adèle exclaimed inwardly in astonishment. The previously chaotic floor patterns were now gone, replaced by a distinct and complete design. The circular stage’s floor panels now formed a coherent, interconnected pattern—a massive lotus with seven petals clearly emerged across the platform. It was unmistakably the Seven-Petal Blooming Lotus, a significant symbol of the Desire Path. “Those floor panels… they’ve been rearranged and reassembled to form the Seven-Petal Blooming Lotus. So this is one of the three hidden lotuses?” Staring at the newly revealed pattern, Adèle spoke to herself in surprise, and Dorothy soon responded. “Yes… the first hidden lotus is essentially a jigsaw puzzle. Didn’t you notice how chaotic and broken the floor patterns looked before? This is a stage built under the supervision of King Charles, an artist himself. Would he really allow something so devoid of beauty to exist here? “The answer is, of course not. What we saw before wasn’t the stage’s original state—it had been altered. And judging by the disjointed lines between the floor tiles, it’s clear the original pattern was deliberately broken up into a puzzle.” Dorothy explained. Adèle, hearing her words, furrowed her brow in thought and continued. “So, restoring the puzzle in the Opera Hall revealed the Seven-Petal Blooming Lotus pattern… which means the first hidden stage is located right here. But since the pattern has already been restored, it must’ve been discovered by someone else before us. Could it be… those people behind the scenes?” “It can only be them. Clearly, they’ve already explored the temple multiple times and succeeded in locating at least one stage. Reassembling it now can only mean they intend to use it… when dusk arrives.” As Dorothy spoke, Adèle scanned the Opera Hall’s surroundings. What she saw was a large number of security personnel surrounding the reassembled stage, preventing anyone else from stepping onto it. Seeing this, Adèle asked in her heart with suspicion. “What exactly are these people planning? They’ve put the stage together at this time—are they planning a performance?” “As for their purpose… I actually already have a rough idea.” Dorothy responded. Adèle's expression revealed a flash of surprise. “You’ve already guessed what they’re after?” “Mm. You should head to the gates at the Ceremonial Plaza. Once you see what’s happening there, you’ll understand.” “The gates…” Dorothy continued responding to Adèle. After hearing her words, a flicker of confusion passed over Adèle’s face. Then, she suddenly noticed that the surrounding atmosphere had grown noticeably more chaotic at some point. The guests who had been inside the Opera Hall seemed to have heard some kind of news and were all surging outward. Seeing this, Adèle descended from the balcony, exited the Opera Hall and the Dome Hall, and made her way to the Ceremonial Plaza, heading directly toward the gate. At the entrance to the plaza, Adèle saw a bustling scene. A large number of guests from the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty had gathered here without her realizing it. The gilded gates were now wide open, and the Temple’s Honor Guard stood in two straight lines behind them, tall and dignified. The two rows of guards had opened a passageway, keeping the other guests at bay. More than half of the Temple's attendees were now gathered here, almost filling the entire plaza. Many of them stood with their heads held high, gazing expectantly at the golden gates, as if awaiting someone’s arrival. “What’s everyone waiting for? Is someone important arriving?” Curious, Adèle asked a nearby guest. The man, gentlemanly in appearance, promptly replied. “You don’t know, miss? Lord Consul Legoff Samson’s carriage is arriving shortly. He’s the chief host of this year’s court banquet.” A surprised expression appeared on Adèle’s face after hearing that. “Consul Samson...? Isn’t he known for opposing the remnants of the Bourbons? Why would he appear at an event like this?” After all, the court banquet was a tradition inherited from the Bourbon dynasty. It didn’t make sense for Samson—who had long been at odds with Bourbon loyalists—to show up here. “Ah, but you might not know. Tradition dictates that one of the five Consuls hosts the court banquet each year, with the four Deputy Consuls taking turns. It just happens that this year is Lord Samson’s turn. It’s his first time officiating since taking office. Given his past statements, many thought he would refuse—but as you can see, he came. I suppose even he can’t resist tradition forever.” The gentleman guest answered. Adèle furrowed her brows and gazed toward the wide-open gilded gates. There, a black carriage had come to a steady halt. After a servant opened the door, a figure stepped out. It was a middle-aged man in a simple yet sharp black suit, with neatly groomed facial hair and short blond hair. A visible scar marked his stern face. As soon as he descended, several high-ranking guests came forward to greet him. After exchanging a few words, he walked with them down the path created by the guards, crossing the plaza toward the open doors of the Dome Hall. Several bodyguards stayed close by his side. “That’s… Consul Samson?” Watching the man walk into the Temple surrounded by such a crowd, Adèle murmured thoughtfully. At that moment, her desire-sensing ability suddenly detected something unusual. A faint trace of murderous intent—a subtle desire to kill—was picked up by her “desire radar” at close range. And the target of this intent was none other than Samson, right in the middle of this public scene. Realizing this, Adèle quickly turned toward the source of the desire. There, she spotted a familiar figure—none other than Martin, the old man who had come with her and was himself a Bourbon remnant! “Hmph… Samson… Consul, huh. The bastard who’s destroying Falano’s traditions…” Standing in the crowd, Martin muttered quietly to himself, only loud enough for him to hear. His gaze fixed coldly on Samson as he walked past, filled with loathing. Seeing that look in Martin’s eyes—and the faint hint of killing intent—Adèle froze for a moment. Then, as if something clicked, she immediately spoke to Dorothy through the information channel in her mind. “Little detective… the Bourbon remnants I came with are showing clear hatred—and even a bit of killing intent—toward Samson. Could it be… the real target behind that mastermind’s invitation wasn’t us… but Samson!?” “Mm… Yes. Based on everything so far, that seems highly likely.” From afar, Dorothy was watching Samson’s entrance through a different vantage point. She gave her honest assessment to Adèle. “Legoff Samson is very likely about to be assassinated here in the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty—an assassination fueled by the legacy left behind by the Splendor King Charles. And you all, who are still inside the temple, will become the scapegoats for this incident—the publicly blamed culprits… “After all… Samson is the hardline Consul who’s been cracking down on ‘Bourbon remnants.’ And you, as one of those remnants… are his natural enemy.” … While Samson was being welcomed into the Temple, in a wooded hill far from the site, several figures had gathered. They looked down toward the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty. “That bastard Samson has gone in. Looks like it’s time for me to move. Are you ready, Dear Consul?” Standing among the trees was a sickly yet strikingly beautiful woman holding a cane. She turned as she spoke. Before her was a pitch-black carriage. From within, a man’s voice responded. “I’ve already begun suppressing Samson’s authority as Consul. When the operation begins, don’t worry too much about him. Just play out the script we’ve prepared…” “But of course. That’s my job after all. I’ve long looked forward to this performance… especially one held in the temple left by the Lord of Blossoms… in front of that famous star Adèle… I can’t wait to meet her face-to-face…” The woman replied, her tone carrying a hint of danger. At that moment, another voice rose from within the carriage. “Is Adèle Briouze still inside the Temple of the Goddess of Beauty?” “She is. She has some suspicions but hasn’t grasped the full picture yet. That’s why she’s still inside.” The reply came from a servant standing beside the carriage. The man inside seemed quite satisfied with this response. “Good… as long as she’s still inside… then we’ll have something to offer to the other side as well…” Hearing that, the pale-faced woman smirked with mockery. “The ‘other side,’ huh… I never thought we so-called cultists, worshipers of so-called evil gods, would have the chance to work—indirectly—with those so-called Guardians of Radiance. What irony. “So, how does it feel, Dear Consul? Two major official factions colluding with us heretical cultists. Isn’t it blasphemous? Don’t you feel you’ve betrayed your precious justice and conscience?” With a wide grin, she sneered at the carriage. But the voice from within snapped back sharply. “Watch your tone, Sandrina! Know your place—Witch of the Blood Chalice. You’re nothing more than a mercenary.” Hearing the harsh rebuke, the woman known as Sandrina paused slightly, then bowed with an unfazed smile. “Understood… then allow me to apologize, Lord Chevalier…”