ps: 3,900+ words — please cast your monthly votes!
The coachman driving the carriage was a man of forty or fifty. Even when the old earl was alive, he had already belonged to the "Bernie" estate, ferrying numerous nobles back and forth, and so the carriage moved with extraordinary smoothness, making it impossible for Lucian inside the cabin to tell that this was merely a ordinary packed-earth road between estates.
Sitting in quiet contemplation, after an unknown stretch of time, Lucian discovered the carriage had come to a stop.
"Mr. Evans, we've arrived outside Sir Vein's estate. Shall I go announce your arrival?" The coachman turned his head and asked in a low voice. With his experience, a refined gentleman would never lower himself to speak with the gate soldiers — that sort of thing was always handled by servants or coachmen.
Lucian smiled warmly. "No need. My friend is also a knight squire — I'm no higher than he is."
Once one could awaken the power of the bloodline, a formal knight's status far surpassed that of an ordinary musician — they were genuine nobility. Of course, Lucian himself was now something of a quasi-knight as well.
The guards at the gate were Ian and Drag, whom Lucian had met before. When they spotted the carriage bearing the Hain family's flaming bull crest pulling up to the estate entrance, they immediately straightened up, preparing to welcome the distinguished guest.
But what surprised them was that the person stepping out of the carriage was none other than that commoner boy they had encountered once before — the one who had overwhelmed them with a single sharp rebuke and left a deep impression. He was now wearing a white shirt with wide cuffs and a black formal coat, and paired with his handsome, refined features, he looked like a proper noble.
Still stunned, it wasn't until Lucian stood before them that Ian finally came to his senses. "Good day — are you here to see John?" The Hain family carriage, combined with the utterly transformed Lucian, made Ian temporarily forget his past humiliation, and he was brimming with courtesy.
"Yes. Could I trouble you to let John know?" Lucian had more or less forgotten Ian and the others. Ian nodded and said he'd go, then turned to head into the estate, at which point Drag hesitated and spoke up: "Pardon me — are you Mr. Evans?"
After the Sacred Hymn Hall concert proved a tremendous success, even though John was not the sort to boast or show off, he still couldn't help but share the story of his friend Evans among his fellow squires — recounting his musical talent and past experiences, the unprecedentedly enthusiastic response at the concert, and the praise from the Grand Duke, the Cardinal, and the princess. So when Drag saw Lucian, who had once been a commoner but was now being transported in a Hain family carriage, he quickly connected him to the prodigy musician Evans.
"That's right. I'm John's good friend," Lucian answered calmly.
Drag said with some excitement, "I heard your 'Fate' — just the other day at Sir Vein's banquet. It's an absolutely peerless work. I love it so much — please forgive my attitude toward you before."
Warm, earnest, and excited — Lucian hadn't expected Drag to actually be a genuine music-loving aesthete, which didn't quite mesh with his thick arms and sturdy chest.
But then again, this was Altor. Such things were perfectly normal here.
"Thank you for the kind words. I'm delighted and honored," Lucian replied politely.
Meanwhile, Ian, standing to the side, wore an awkward smile. "So you're Mr. Evans after all. Please forget my earlier rudeness."
He wasn't a passionate music lover like Drag, but the knight he served, Sir Vein, adored and held the "Fate Symphony" in extremely high regard — he even wanted to hear it at banquets. So Ian had no choice but to outwardly express goodwill, though inwardly, he still harbored his dislike of Lucian.
Seeing this scene, Lucian could only sigh to himself — once one's identity and status changed, the attitudes of everyone around would undergo a seismic shift as well.
While Ian went inside to find John, Drag was still caught up in his excitement. He rubbed his hands together, looking at Lucian, but didn't know what to say. When he finally managed to squeeze out a sentence, it was: "Mr. Evans, might I invite you to visit my home?"
Lucian felt slightly awkward and had to find a polite excuse to decline.
After a while, John came out with Ian, looking puzzled. "Lucian, what are you doing here? I would have gone back by noon."
Lucian hadn't been lying when he told the cultist that John was going home on Saturday — he had simply moved the timeline up by half a day.
"Something that's already been dealt with. I'll explain in the carriage." Lucian pulled John into the carriage, and the old coachman was very tactful — he tied the horses to a wooden post and walked off to the side, pulling out leaves similar to tobacco, lighting them, and holding them under his nose to sniff.
John knew Lucian was not a reckless person, so despite being filled with questions, he listened carefully.
As Lucian's account unfolded, John's face gradually turned ashen, his fists clenching tight. When he heard about the three severed fingers, the sound of grinding teeth came from his mouth. But he held his composure — no shouting, no cursing — waiting all the way until Lucian finished before letting out a long, heavy breath. For a long while, he couldn't speak.
Lucian sat with him as he steadied his emotions, saying nothing himself.
"Lucian, you mustn't blame yourself. I know it's because you became Her Highness the Princess's music advisor that the devil's followers targeted Father, Mother, and Evan. But the fault lies with those villains — not with you, not with your pursuit of music. Even without this, the moment you or I had any potential contact with His Grace the Grand Duke or Her Highness the Princess, they would have done the same thing. We can't hold ourselves to account for the mistakes of villains."
Once John had recovered some of his composure, the first thing he said was words of comfort for Lucian — afraid that Lucian might be unable to let go of this matter and that it would affect his musical path.
Lucian hadn't expected John to say such a thing, and a small measure of warmth welled up inside him, while the faint guilt that hadn't truly affected his emotions slowly dissipated. "Thank you for the comfort, John. I understand — we will never be able to predict what a villain will do to harm us because of something we've done."