These Reincarnators Are Sus! Sleuthing in Another World

The next morning, a rather shocking letter arrived for Kylian, delivered by a retainer of House ark-Chelon. It was from Ailn.

Kylian was certain he understood how Ailn operated by this point. In the short time they'd known each other, they'd shared more than a number of adventures—and misadventures. He'd seen just how capable Ailn was. More importantly, he'd come to realize just how conscientious his friend was, beneath the irreverence and seemingly carefree attitude.

But if there was anything that could test the dutiful knight's faith, loyalty, and friendship, it was this letter.

'Kylian,

I can't attend the meeting today. I promise you this is for the greater good. No, I can't explain. I'm truly sorry.

Please act as my voice in negotiations. If things come to a head, use your own judgment.

P.S. My Echo Stone can be reached via the blue resonance, Echo VII.

Duke Ailn eum-Creid'

Slowly, Kylian crumpled the letter in his hands from sheer vexation—something he'd never done before.

"Damn him…!" Kylian gritted out.

Ailn and Bea were eating breakfast.

"Dessert… for breakfast?" Bea's eyes were wide as the server set down a plate of donuts for the two of them, and a glass of milk for Bea.

"That's right," Ailn said. "But you can't do this every day, alright? And uh, don't tell your mom I let you eat sweets first thing in the morning."

Bea's eyes glimmered. She gave a miffed look toward Cant—all three of her stuffed animals were given chairs of their own—and defended herself. "We already paid, Cant…! Be practical!"

It wasn't exactly that Ailn enjoyed shirking his duties. But if it was completely out of his hands, he wasn't going to stress about it either.

Not to mention he was trying to raise Bea's spirits. If they really wanted to save Sigurd's life—if, indeed, he really was in mortal danger—then they definitely weren't going to get it done with a pessimistic attitude.

So, donuts it was.

The sugary treat would take up half her mental space, so it was a good time to ask questions. If she thought too hard about her powers, she might start fixating on the vision that made her cry.

He wiped chocolate off Bea's cheek while she ate. "Tell me something, Bea. If I was planning to buy you chocolate for lunch, could you see the future where I buy it for you?"

"That's easy 'cause it's pacific," Bea nodded. Her eyes briefly went out of focus. Then she tilted her head. "...But we eat strawberries?"

"Can't have too much sugar, of course," Ailn replied. "How many strawberries do we have for lunch, Bea? Can you see?"

"The shapes are too fuzzy…" Bea complained.

"Fuzzy, huh?" Ailn mused. So, she couldn't see perfect details.

He actually intended to find some honeyed pears or apples—the kind Renea liked. Now that he'd heard 'strawberries,' though, he had to admit: kids probably liked strawberries better.

So, there wasn't a perfect match between intent and the future. Of course there wouldn't be. The real question was whether lunch had changed to strawberries because Bea had told him, or if he was always going to change his mind, anyway.

"Alright, Bea. Let's try this," Ailn said. "I wanna go ride home fast so I can see your dad. Can you look into my future and tell me what's gonna happen?"

Bea gazed at Ailn unblinkingly, but her eyes never went out of focus.

"Don't see it…" Bea said after a while. Her eyes came back into focus, and she started rubbing them as if they ached.

"Is it too far for you to see?" Ailn asked.

Bea shook her head. "I see far stuff… sometimes…" Her chewing slowed down, and tears welled in her eyes.

Ailn could guess what she was thinking about, so he picked her up and set her on his lap, not caring that powdered sugar was getting all over his trench coat. "Just think of this as a game we're playing Bea."

He tapped his index against her noggin. "You told me yourself, right? You're good at changing the future to be better."

Mere minutes remained before members of the imperial family were to arrive at the Great Hall. The vast hall of oak and walnut stood mostly empty, save for the Azure Knights, whose murmurs were sufficient to suffuse the air with an oppressive hum.

In truth, Kylian had received Ailn's letter over an hour ago. He should have informed Ashton earlier—that would have been the most prudent response to a poor situation. But instead, he had wasted time stewing in the barracks, hoping this was some sort of joke.

As the meeting loomed ever closer, reality settled in: Ailn was not coming.

"I must have misheard you," Ashton said, his normally smooth smile beginning to fray at the edges.

"... Duke eum-Creid has informed me that he will be absent today," Kylian said, keeping his tone flat. "Though it is certainly beyond my station, I will be acting in his stead."

"He WHAT?!" Dartune bellowed from the gallery.

A terrible dread rippled through the present members of the Azure Knights in the tiered seats above. And Kylian hardly felt any better. A knight sitting at the table with the imperial family was the height of impudence.

But what choice did he have? The alternative was that Varant did not come to the table at all.

"Sir Kylian," Ashton's voice turned on a cold edge. "I trust you do not need me to explain what lèse-majesté is."

"I am well aware," Kylian replied.

"And a knight of your acuity surely understands how fickle Their Imperial Highnesses can be," Ashton continued, vein throbbing on his forehead.

"... I have heard," Kylian said monotonously.

All the knights had arrived dutifully, and early at that. Though the Azure Knights had a reputation through most of the empire as boors who knew little beyond shadow beasts and swords, they took some pride in their ability to maintain decorum.

If, perhaps, they did not know the fine rules of etiquette, they at least had good sense and discipline.

Apparently, this could not be said for their new duke.

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Camille marched anxiously down to the Great Hall's center. "Tell me where he is, and I shall retrieve him," she said, her serene smile accompanied by panicked, darting eyes. "Perhaps he is in his room, savoring this jest at our expense."

"He is not," Kylian said. He stifled a deep sigh. "Nor do I know where he is."

Then, realizing this was his best chance to do so, the long-suffering knight grimly gestured toward the echo stone central to the table. "His Highness Ailn has informed me, however, that his stone will be set to the blue resonance, Echo VII."

"... He intends to participate through echo stone?" Ashton uttered, his voice taut.

Laughter rang out from the Great Hall's entrance—pleasant and easygoing. But as the sharp click of heels descended the steps to the center of the forum, the woman's laughter became more fitful, as if she couldn't stand how amusing it was. "How brazen," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "I can't say I dislike it. A man who fears fickle flames has no place in the company of dragons."

Then, breaking once more into a cascade of scornful giggles, she added, "He must truly wish to burn.

"Where am I even gonna get the strawberries later?" Ailn wondered. "Maybe from the estate's kitchen?"

Ailn and Bea had made their way back to the ark-Chelon estate—the very same estate where his absence was causing a diplomatic disaster. He tried not to think too hard about it.

There were some basics Ailn needed to test. At the moment, he had almost nothing to go on. Lacking a time, place, method, or culprit for a death—or murder—that hadn't even happened yet, his only option was to start with broad, general probing.

"Don't think I've ever had to solve a murder that hasn't even happened yet," Ailn sighed. Then he addressed Bea, who he was carrying around. "Alright, Bea. To figure stuff out, we're gonna have to play a little prank, alright?"

"If it's not mean…" Bea said softly. "Aristurtle says little pranks are okay. In modrayshun."

She held the turtle solemnly in front of her, as if she were listening to it. Bea had gotten tired of carrying all three of her stuffed animals so Ailn had the other two under his left arm.

"It's not too mean," Ailn replied. "We're just gonna meet someone and look into his future."

"Okay," Bea nodded. She leaned in and cupped a hand to Ailn's ear. "I need to work harder… if I'm not in the future."

"...Don't work too hard, alright?" Ailn said.

From what Ailn understood, the west wing of the ark-Chelon estate housed all of its bureaucrats. By day, the chief steward and an army of scribes convened on the ground floor to manage the ducal house's affairs, retiring to their private quarters above by night.

Just outside stood the stables for couriers and their horses, always on standby should a missive need dispatch.

"I've got a message I need to send," Ailn said, as he entered the stables, addressing a bored-looking clerk sitting half-asleep at her booth.

"...Duke eum-Creid?" the clerk gaped, straightening her posture. "C-certainly…!"

Her panic was momentarily interrupted by confusion, her brows knitting together once she noticed Bea.

"It's one of the knight's kids," Ailn lied.

"You need not explain yourself to me, Your Highness," the clerk fumbled. "It is hardly my place…"

So she said—but as she rapidly filled out parchment, her features continued to crease with bewilderment. She might've known Ailn was supposed to be at the negotiations.

"Rhett! Come promptly!" the clerk yelled for one of the couriers. "A dispatch needs bearing! Duke eum-Creid is waiting!"

"Is that a jest?" A man said, looking disgruntled as he popped out from his horse's stable. He regarded Ailn skeptically as he approached. "'Tis rare for us couriers to be called upon, these days."

Apparently, Calum's increasing reliance on echo stones had bred some resentment within its couriers' ranks. They certainly weren't obsolete, as the majority of the empire still lacked the technology—but the vast majority of Calum's dealings were with high nobility, particularly those in the capital. It was only a matter of time.

"Well, Varant still uses them," Ailn said, shrugging.

"Ah. Varant. Of course," the courier said with a look of dawning realization. "Have you a parcel for me?"

"No, just a simple message for my family—specifically the eldest brother, Sigurd eum-Creid. Tell him he's desperately needed in Calum," Ailn said.

"Er, is there any further context I need provide?" the courier asked.

"No. Just that," Ailn said. Then he thought for a moment. "I'd appreciate it if you could make sure Sigurd gets the message. They can be a little flaky in Varant—so if you could wait until someone confirms its delivery, that would mean a lot."

He handed the courier a silver coin. "For your troubles."

"A silver?" the courier gaped.

"You can keep the whole thing, so long as you do what I ask," Ailn said. "Don't try to cheat me, though. I'll ask Sigurd."

"I would never," the courier said, fixated on the silver.

Ailn adjusted Bea on his shoulder, turning so she faced the courier directly. "Alright, say bye to the bureaucrats."

"Bye," Bea waved. Her eyes came out of focus for a few seconds before clearing up. "Have a good trip."

With that, they left the stables.

"Alright Bea," Ailn said. "What'd you see in the man's future? Does he successfully deliver the message?"

"Don't know," Bea said, face scrunching up in thought. She rubbed her eyes. "I saw him look grumpy…"

"I'm guessing no, then," Ailn mused.

It was a good way to confirm that whatever happened to Sigurd didn't happen in Varant. Considering the letter he got from Renea, he already had his suspicions. But now he was almost certain.

Sigurd's death and his sudden departure were related.

There was something else Ailn was testing, too. He wanted to know how the future responded to what they did and what they intended to do. Sending a courier was a concrete and committal action—unlike earlier when he'd simply announced to Bea his intention to ride to Sigurd himself.

This wasn't a perfect plan, of course. Ailn was still wary of unwittingly causing the future Bea saw—if, say, Sigurd got the message and was crushed by a freak landslide on his way to Calum—but there was only so much he could account for.

There was something else Ailn wanted to test, though. Sending a courier had a specific advantage—one he'd actually been complaining about lately.

"What about my future, Bea?" Ailn asked. "Can you tell me if he gives the coin back sometime next week?"

"Uhuh," Bea nodded, and gazed at Ailn. After a few seconds, her eyes went out of focus. "He gave you something shiny I think."

But her gaze didn't clear. Her eyes flitted around and she seemed confused.

"Do I look sad?" Ailn asked.

"...Uhuh," Bea said, her voice getting a little quieter. "You're… doing funny stuff with your arms."

Unbelievable. Ailn quietly celebrated. He genuinely didn't think this would work.

"Can you tell me what letter I'm making with my arms?" Ailn asked.

"...An X. Then you do a one with your hand," Bea said. "Then another X… then you put both hands up, like this!"

Bea raised both hands and extended both of her index fingers. She put them behind her ears. "Like a bunny!"

"And after that?" Ailn asked.

But Bea's eyes suddenly refocused. She blinked a few times, her glare getting sharper as she tried to manifest her precognition once again with pure determination.

"I can't see anymore…" Bea said, tearing up. "It's hard 'cause I'm not there…"

Ailn wiped her eyes gently, and gave her a reassuring smile. "Important missions are never that easy, Bea. And you got us a big clue, anyway."

The signs Ailn made in Bea's vision were answers to questions. Retrieving his coin from the courier created an anchoring point for Bea's precognition to find—and for future Ailn to 'send back' his answers.

It was a cheat sheet from one week ahead. And the three questions future Ailn answered were as follows:

First, was Sigurd's death prevented? The answer was no. That alone carried a wealth of information.

Second, did sending the courier inadvertently cause Sigurd's death? Thankfully, the answer was again negative.

The third question was a bit more ambitious: what's the most useful thing you can tell me?

Uncertain of how much information he could convey in Bea's vision—he wasn't certain this would work at all—Ailn had to balance between efficiency and flexibility. Thus, he'd left the third spot open-ended, letting his future self decide what would be most useful.

Unfortunately, Bea's vision had prematurely ended. She'd glimpsed a moment from Ailn's future where she herself wasn't present, and that took a toll on her.

It made sense she wasn't there. By then, she'd surely be reunited with her mother. And it was a timeline where Sigurd was dead. There'd be no way to explain to a grieving Ciel that he wanted to borrow Bea to send a message back in time—especially when that version of Ailn likely lacked proof it would even work

Just as Ailn was considering this, though, Bea's eyes slipped out of focus one final time.

"You've got paper…" Bea said, biting her lip. Her voice was shaky, and her eyes were starting to tremble—turning bloodshot the way a kid's never should. She was clearly in pain. "I can't see what you wrote…"

He wrote something? Based on what Bea said, he'd surmised writing would be too illegible through Bea's precognition. That's why he'd planned such big motions to communicate.

Then again, the third question was free-answer. He'd left the conveyance issue for future Ailn to figure out.

"...Don't hurt yourself, Bea," Ailn said. "If you can't read it, just let go."

"Blank…" Bea mumbled. Her voice got soft and doubtful. "The paper's blank."