"Lord Tilly!" Guided by the Nightingale, the Five Princesses entered Lord Castle, only to find Sylvie waiting for them. Without a word, she ran toward her, bent down, and embraced her. "How did you get here? It's still autumn!" "It's almost winter," Sylvie said with a laugh. "What about the others?" "Lian is building homes for refugees, Evelyn and Candlefire should still be in the industrial zone, and Honey is training messengers in the back garden," Sylvie counted on her fingers. "Your Highness has already sent someone to inform them." "Don't worry, I think you'll see them soon." A voice that sounded familiar yet strangely alien echoed from behind Sylvie.
Tilly looked up to see a gray-haired man smiling at her. His features bore little resemblance to his memory, but the smile and God-like demeanor had completely lost their former charm.
"Welcome to Border Town, my dear sister."
Tilly's mind was in turmoil, with a flood of questions she wanted to voice, yet her face remained calm as she followed Roland Wimbledon into a room that looked like a study.
"Please have a seat," he said, pouring a steaming cup of black tea and placing it before her. "We haven't seen each other in a whole year. I know you've had so much to say, and I feel the same... But don't rush," he remarked, glancing at the snow outside the window. "This winter will be long." She took the cup but didn't speak. Instead, she sat down at the rosewood table, gazing quietly at the Fourth Prince.
At this very opening, Tilly sensed something was amiss—this wasn't the kind of man she'd imagined her brother to be. He was timid and cowardly, outwardly strong but inwardly weak, and above all, he was a habitual evader who never faced challenges head-on. Roland Wimbledon, however, was a different story. He was actively trying to steer the conversation, his tone gentle yet commanding, unmistakably the demeanor of someone in charge.
"Nightingale." Roland tilted his head.
"But Your Highness..." The voice of the guide witch echoed from the room.
"It's okay, she's my sister." "Alright." The Nightingale fell silent for a moment, then appeared and left the room with a huff.
"Now it's just me and you," he said with a smile, returning to the square table.
Tilly fell silent for a moment. "Who... who are you?" She had expected hesitation or feigned mystery, but he answered immediately: "I am your brother, Roland Wimbledon, the Fourth Prince of Graycastle." Then he smiled. "I know I've changed a lot, but I'd like to explain it to you slowly." Suddenly, Tilly remembered his letter's words: "As for what made me make this decision, or what made me no longer indifferent to everything as before, these trivial matters can be explained in detail when the opportunity arises." It was probably these words that had driven her to come to this remote town.
She couldn't help but smile, "I'll listen carefully." The story, though simple, was gripping. After hearing Roland recount his experiences in Border Town, Tilly realized her teacup was empty. She let out a long sigh and reread the tale. In short, a witch named Anna had moved Roland. Through the rescued witch, he witnessed the Church's evil and its manipulation of the people. Then, the assassination of Garcia revealed the darkness beneath royal power. Even in the shadows, he couldn't escape the relentless malice. Finally, he resolved to change everything.
This explanation may sound dramatic, but it's a valid one. The crux of the matter is that such esoteric knowledge—be it steam engines or muskets—couldn't have been mastered through mere momentary inspiration.
"So, the ultimate factor behind all this is the memory that suddenly appeared in your head?" Tilly asked.
"Indeed," Roland said earnestly, "I know it's hard to believe, but that's the truth... After narrowly escaping an assassination attempt by Third Sister, I woke up from my coma and understood this. If meeting Anna was the trigger, then the memories are the catalyst I need to change things." "A Witch?" Tilly mused. The possibility of replacement or control was slim—Hilvy had already proven it. The abilities of the Co-Operation's Witches weren't Godly secrets; they underwent daily specialized training. None of them possessed any abilities within those two categories, not even those that came close.
The only possibility is possession. She cannot rule out the possibility of possessing someone's thoughts through physical intrusion. Yet this theory remains highly improbable. Despite his father's distrust, Roland Wimbledon is undoubtedly the Graycastle Prince. The God's Stone holds no significance to him, and with Knights and bodyguards constantly protecting him, it would be impossible for a Witch without hidden abilities to approach him easily.
Moreover, even if such a Witch existed, how could she possibly know so many extraordinary things? As a child, she had searched through the royal library and received instruction from several elderly, erudite court tutors. Yet even they never mentioned the knowledge of using steam and snow powder as substitutes for animal power and blades.
In this light, the bizarre knowledge and the bizarre encounters seem to be somewhat compatible.
"How do you prove you're Roland Wimbledon, not that extra memory?" Tilly knew the question was rather rude. Had it been the Fourth Prince, he would have stormed off in a rage, slamming the table in a fit of anger.
"Because I still remember what happened in the palace," the other man's tone remained calm, "I believe the essence of a person lies in their unique memories. If a famous Witch were to become exactly like you, yet her memories differed, she would still be fundamentally different. I have many strange memories, though I can't recall their origins. And your God-like emotion—left on the glass shards and crying—remains vividly clear to this day. This is proof." He paused. "Of course... I never had the chance to apologize to you. I hope it's not too late now." Tiri remained silent. Roland before her was impeccably dressed, God's expression sincere, as if stating an undeniable fact. Clearly, in every way, he was far superior to the former spoiled Prince, though doubts still lingered in her heart.
"Unbelievable..." "It's only natural," Roland said, as if reading her mind. "Many things seem miraculous until you've lived them. I never imagined my sister would awaken as a Witch and deceive everyone in the royal palace. But... as I mentioned earlier, this winter is still long—we can learn more gradually." This was probably the best solution at the moment, Tilly nodded. "Then for the next few months... it's up to you." "Leave it to me. You'll love this place."