The Defector's Island
"This is the interest."
At the Yukline mansion. Betan had come to visit me with the 'whistleblower.' The whistleblower's face was concealed by a mask.
"He came looking for me in the desert..."
"Betan, you go on ahead first. If his words are true, we have no time to waste, do we not?"
"...Understood."
"Your achievements will be reported to Her Majesty as well."
"Yes!"
Betan sprang to his feet, saluted, and hurried out. A broad smile lit his departing face.
"..."
The drawing room fell into a calm hush. With Telekinesis, I removed the man's mask.
"Hngh!"
Pale skin. Long golden hair. Blue eyes.
A face bearing not a single trait of the Altiegue.
Indistinguishable by appearance alone—an Altiegue through and through.
"Your name."
I asked softly. He replied in a voice taut with utmost tension.
"...Lumenil."
"Your real name?"
"Yes. My real name."
A trembling voice. It was the truth.
I nodded.
"Premien is Altiegue."
"Yes. That's correct."
"Evidence."
"Lilia's real name is Yurina. She and I are both Altiegue from the north. We've known each other for ten years."
"..."
I stared into his eyes. I murmured with a mocking sneer.
"So you've betrayed ten years' worth of bonds."
"...It's not betrayal. The Altiegue have no future. And I have no faith in the clan itself. So I must survive, at least."
Only then did Lumenil's tension ease. His face twisted with what seemed genuine hatred for his own kin.
"I've wasted twenty years in the desert. As you said, Professor, the Altiegue are all vermin. A race with nothing to rely on. Filth."
"..."
I was momentarily speechless. Lumenil spat the words like blood, veins bulging in his neck.
"I wanted to escape as soon as possible. But the Altiegue desert is an ant hell. Once you're in, you can't run or get out. That's why I've played the loyal part until now."
Lumenil reached into his chest. He pulled out a tiny capsule.
"The Altiegue roster and a map of the desert."
Crack—he crushed the capsule. A thick roster and a large map burst forth.
"Is that your talent?"
"Yes. I can miniaturize and store anything inside this capsule. First, this roster—it's the Altiegue registry. Time was short, and my authority low, so I only copied five thousand names. But capturing five thousand Altiegue would be a tremendous feat, wouldn't it?"
Lumenil looked to me. I merely nodded.
"Yes. And above all, this map of the desert. With this alone, you could shatter the Altiegue entirely. Capture and execute the Grand Elder."
"Hm. Is that so."
"...Grant me a single island."
His sudden demand furrowed my brow. Yet Lumenil pressed on with utmost seriousness.
"One island and about two hundred attendants. All women would be ideal, but a few handsome men would do. Build me a grand estate there, give me enough elne to live out my days in comfort, and I'll be satisfied."
"..."
"Professor. Look at me. I don't look a bit like Altiegue. And only if defectors like me are rewarded will the Altiegue fall even one day sooner. The clan's fate? Screw it. I'm no Altiegue—I'm a man who wants to get ahead."
...Was there a guy like this on the named list?
Honestly, his brazen freshness drew a smile from me. No one had ever amused me so purely.
"Hahaha."
Color bloomed on Lumenil's face. He laughed along.
"Ha, haha."
"You're a funny one."
"Pardon? Ah... ha~ hahaha. Thank you, hahahaha. These damn Altiegue scum. Hahaha—"
As the man flushed with excitement, I activated Voice of Steel.
* * *
In the office of the Security Ministry's Vice Director. Premien slightly parted the curtains. Many shadows milled about outside.
"...Hm."
The time had come.
Premien calmly sorted her mind and affairs. There wasn't much to take. Stock and bond certificates. Cash. Documents containing Security Ministry secrets. She packed them all into her bag.
From here on, it was just as rehearsed.
Premien was no fool. As an Altiegue, some preparation was only natural.
"..."
Of course, her mood was glum. That wasted a bit more time. Premien gazed out the window once more, taking in the vast capital's vista.
"...Can't we just live together?"
The most fundamental doubt arose.
The capital was a fine city. For Premien, who hated the cold and loved convenience; for the Altiegue dying in the desert or camps; it was a place worth living.
You could strike it rich with stocks, horse racing, lotteries. Honest work abounded. If your body held up, join the military. If your mind was sharp, take the civil service exam.
Premien liked that capital.
She liked the Empire.
The land itself was blameless.
Only people were vile.
"..."
She picked up her bag. Donned her coat. Then, with her mana, she lifted the office floor.
Thud—a passage revealed beneath the tile.
A ventilation duct leading to the Security Ministry's rear garden.
Pour mana in like lubricant, slip your body inside.
Shiiiiek—
Like a slide, you reach the rear garden in moments.
Rustle—Premien stood on the grass, dusted off her document bag, and opened the manhole cover to the sewer.
"...Whew."
Before descending into the underground depths, Premien looked up at the Security Ministry building. She drew a deep breath of imperial air.
"Farewell. Too filthy to live here."
The continent wouldn't accept Altiegue yet. Perhaps it was inevitable. They lacked even a word to distinguish Altiegue from the Altar.
The demonic terrorism across the Empire was pinned as 'all Altiegue' guilt, and Premien couldn't rebel against that massive tide of history.
No one could defy it. Emperor Sophien's earthly task was Altiegue extermination.
"Fuck."
As soon as Premien reached the sewer below the manhole, she cursed. The stench was overpowering. She pinched her nose with two fingers.
Thud—thud—
Echoing footsteps. But the surface noise was louder.
—Premien! Where's Premien!
—Please explain the situation first.
—What situation? Where's Premien! I'm Betan of the Imperial Guard! Get out of the way, you filthy Altiegue scum...
Had they raided the entire Security Ministry?
Premien shook her head and walked the sewer.
The rendezvous with Elesol wasn't far. A compatriot with a new identity would be waiting.
Truth be told, fleeing to the desert from here was fool's work. Instead, like the darkest place under the lamp, Premien planned to start anew in a city—not the interior, but urban life under a fresh identity...
"Hm?"
In the sewer's depths. A hazy silhouette in the gloom caught her eye. Premien approached, speaking.
"Early, are you?"
No reply. But the glimpsed face was familiar.
"Hey, Lumenil."
Lumenil. One of the few Altiegue compatriots who knew Premien's face. As she drew near, she asked.
"The prepared items..."
Mid-sentence, Lumenil collapsed. His whole body toppled like a log—thump.
"..."
Premien belatedly checked his state.
Ashen complexion. Stiffened skin. Eyes bloodshot to bursting.
He was long dead. Quite some time ago.
"...Who are you."
Premien prepped her mana and demanded, glaring behind him.
Then, clack—
Crisp shoe heels rippled like waves. A luxurious fragrance wafted in, banishing the sewer's reek.
"..."
Premien stared at the noble. Tension and doubt stiffened her nape.
"Premien."
The one calling her name was the Altiegue's foe. The Yukline lord the desert children feared more than tiger scorpions.
Deculein.
"Where do you think you're going."
His tone flowed like frost. Premien met his indifferent gaze.
He calmly countered.
"Shall I not ask? Where you intend to go."
"..."
Premien's eyes slanted downward. Lumenil, the desert herald. A decade's acquaintance, no less.
"Ah, this fellow."
Deculein twisted his lips and shook his head.
"He fed me some strange tale."
Clack—
Deculein took a step forward. A bead of sweat trickled down Premien's temple.
"Premien, you're Altiegue, he claimed."
"..."
"And this... Lumenil tipped off Betan."
Deculein glanced at the corpse with utter disgust.
"In exchange for an island. Give him one island, hundreds of maids and servants, gold and jewels to live on, and he'd hand over five thousand Altiegue names and desert locations."
Then he looked back at Premien. She met his eyes.
"...Yet. Why refuse?"
"I did not refuse."
"..."
In that instant, Premien's heart plummeted. Because of the 'roster' Deculein drew from his breast pocket.
"Five thousand Altiegue are listed here, he said."
Thwap—
He tossed the roster. Its thick cover soaked in the filthy sewer water.
"And this. A map of the desert, he claimed."
Whish—
This time, the map. Premien scrutinized it closely. An early blueprint recording the underground desert's structure and entrances.
Premien clenched her fists tight.
...That damned Lumenil.
"Why... show these to me."
Premien still wore a composed face as she regarded Deculein. But her lips and eyes quivered.
"Premien. I may believe you are Altiegue—or not."
Yet the professor's words were strangely cryptic.
"I may have known you were Altiegue all along—or not."
Clack—clack—
As he drew near, he rested his cane on her shoulder.
"Premien. My goal is not trifles like Altiegue. Killing a few ants skulking underground won't better the continent."
"..."
Premien looked up. She glared into Deculein's eyes.
Blue pupils like jewels in the night sky—darker, more radiant.
"Truth be told, I do not even desire Altiegue extinction."
"...Politics?"
Then, Premien realized. The intent behind Deculein's ambiguous, meaningful actions toward her all this time.
"Altiegue extinction means no pretext to eliminate rivals or further entrench your position, Professor."
Deculein said nothing. Yet Premien felt a chill rising from her heart. Gooseflesh prickled her entire body.
"Is that what you've wanted all along?"
From the start until now, had Deculein foreseen everything?
From the moment he pursued Altiegue extermination, had he predicted himself swallowing the Empire on that pretext?
"...That roster and map are yours."
But Deculein ignored her question. He merely pointed to the scattered documents on the ground.
"Premien. Now it's your choice."
"..."
Premien silently regarded the two items. She pondered her next move.
...No need to ponder.
Whoosh—!
She burned the desert map and 'copied' the roster with her talent.
"...The roster."
She pocketed the original and returned the duplicate to Deculein. Premien said.
"Take it. A blank roster."
Better than the worst.
No—at this moment, Deculein was no mere lesser evil.
He was the optimal choice she must seize.
"Now, whatever names you inscribe there are yours to decide, Professor."
Deculein twisted his lips. Accepting the roster, he replied.
"Premien. I do approve of your wisdom, after all."
"...Yes. Then, if you'll excuse me."
The deed was done. Knowing Deculein's true intent, leaving the Empire entirely seemed wisest...
As Premien turned to walk away, Deculein stopped her.
"Where do you think you're going."
"..."
Premien silently looked up at Deculein.
So he had no intention of letting her go easily, after all.
Mistaken, Premien readied her mana—but Deculein chuckled.
"You remain Vice Director of Security."
"..."
"Moreover, the Voice needs you. Come with me."
Come with me.
Deculein's words left Premien dazed.
* * *
...Meanwhile, the Hadekan mansion teemed with adventurers crowding the gates. All here for 'Deculein's Trial.'
"When does it start!"
After nearly a week of waiting, even Lia's nerves were frayed.
"If not, give back our IDs right now!"
Lia pounded the Hadekan mansion's iron gates, shouting. A few adventurers echoed her.
"Aww, so cute. Even Lia mad is adorable."
Ganesha watched the fuming Lia fondly—when
Viiiing—
The Hadekan gates finally opened. Lia crossed her arms, cheeks puffed in a pout.
Beyond the gates, the old butler bowed to the hundreds of adventurers.
"Apologies for the delay. Please enter. The trial will begin shortly."
"..."
"First, there will be a banquet—"
—Ugh, another banquet! Just let us take the damn trial!
The adventurers bellowed, but fell silent at his next words.
"Professor Deculein will also attend, so please bear with us a little longer."
"..."