The Script (Part 8)
After circling around in endless detours to scrub every trace of my trail, I finally managed to slip back into the Cradle.
I would have loved to say my ties with Jeff and Melana ended right then and there... but this incident had proven that the two were unexpectedly useful. So, after establishing a foolproof alibi back at the academy, I headed straight for Andvaranaut.
"Well, if it isn't my gallant hero? Word has it you pulled off quite the stunt."
"Hero? What are you talking about?"
"This. You guys were behind this, weren't you?"
Sprawled languidly across the counter, Cattleya tossed a newspaper my way. I caught it midair and skimmed the front page. Sure enough, it covered the chaos that had just unfolded in Creta. Naturally, there wasn't a single mention of Loki's deadly poison or the antidote; it merely reported that a new terrorist outfit had emerged, and that members of the imperial family had stepped forward to subdue them.
"Hardly a hero. That title is a bit heavy for my taste."
I didn't bother denying it. I had already figured someone of Cattleya's caliber would piece it together anyway. Anyone who knew Yuna's true identity was bound to figure it out, and on top of that, Cattleya had caught a glimpse of Melana back when I rented a carriage from her. At that point, connecting the dots was just basic deductive reasoning.
I neatly folded the newspaper and handed it back across the counter. As filthy rich as this woman was, she was the type to casually bill me for the paper. You don't become the head of a merchant guild without being a ruthless penny-pincher.
"What are you talking about? You're practically my personal savior. You dealt that bastard Loki a massive blow."
"Well, that was..."
"It was magnificent. Downright thrilling."
I tended to view Cattleya as a dangerous figure. That was why I never let my guard down around her, even during business transactions. But because of that caution, I sometimes forgot a crucial fact.
"Ehehehe. How'd you screw him over like that? Huh? Come on, spill. You know that miserable son of a bitch's weakness, don't you?"
She, too, was someone who had suffered immensely at the hands of the imperial family. Her burning hatred made all the sense in the world, especially considering she had once been Loki's fiancée.
Loki was the very man who had spearheaded the destruction of Cattleya's house to seize their fortune. Hiding behind the Emperor's authority, he had ruthlessly crushed his own betrothed and her family for personal gain. Every last member of her household had been marched to the executioner's block under his direction. It was only natural that she loathed him to the bone.
"Well, we can talk about that once we're a bit closer."
"Sounds good to me. I love a good transaction. So? What do you need today?"
In a way, it was pathetic how naturally she translated the concept of 'getting closer' into a business transaction. She was a woman so thoroughly broken that she couldn't trust anyone without a signed contract. Which also meant placing blind faith in her was out of the question; the moment I had nothing left to offer, she wouldn't hesitate to sell me out.
"I'm glad we could cut straight to the point. It's regarding what was reported in that paper."
"I know what you're getting at. You want me to sponsor you guys, right?"
"No."
The Motley Crew had officially disbanded that very day. We weren't an actual terrorist syndicate, after all—that label was merely a convenient smokescreen. Still, Melana and Jeff were surprisingly capable assets. It made sense to place them somewhere I could easily stay in touch with them. I fully intended to make use of them a few more times.
"Could I ask you to provide safe lodging for my friends? As you've probably guessed, they're currently on the run."
"That carries a hefty risk of its own."
"Which is precisely why I'm asking you to shoulder it."
Cattleya was funneling funds into both Eden and Under Chain. To put it bluntly, the fried chicken someone bought at Andvaranaut could literally fund the missiles fired back by terrorists. The horrifying part was that it wasn't even a joke. At any rate, dumping two deserters onto a woman with deep-rooted ties to those very terrorist networks was no simple favor. She would have to assume considerable danger on her end.
"To be honest, I fail to see the difference between that and sponsorship... but fine. If this is part of the 'process' of us getting closer, I suppose I have no choice."
"Yes, well. Let's look at it that way."
As long as she had something to gain from me, Cattleya would play nice. I could have resorted to blackmail, but weighing the long-term profits and losses, building transactional goodwill was the smarter play. Besides, I was the one who had humiliated her mortal enemy, Loki. Desperate to learn my methods and secrets, she had no choice but to be as cooperative as possible. It wasn't as if I was demanding an exorbitant fortune, either. All I asked was for her to do what she already did best, so it was mutually beneficial.
Of course...
"Loki will be hunting us down for the foreseeable future. The blow we dealt him was far from minor. In fact, we're likely right at the top of his priority list..."
"Ahahaha! Perfect. Leave it to me."
I needed to offer her some sort of compensation. Handing over this intelligence was partly to protect myself, but it also directly empowered Cattleya. Loki was actively searching for us, and aggressively at that. That meant Cattleya could exploit his fixation—tormenting him with false leads, calculated misdirection, and insidious traps. A woman of her shrewdness wouldn't need that spelled out twice.
"Well then, I'll be taking my leave."
"Already? Why not stick around a bit longer?"
"Because I have an appointment to get chewed out."
It was about time Lobelia's party returned. Having easily seen through my disguise, she was bound to barrage me with complaints—demanding to know how I'd found out, why I hadn't briefed her beforehand, and picking apart every single detail from start to finish.
We were the ones who had set the board to ruin Loki. But the script that filled that board had been written by someone else entirely.
There was someone who had uncovered everything—Loki's master plan, the lethal poison he concocted, the exact dates, methods, and manpower involved. All I did was assemble those scattered puzzle pieces together.
Deus, the Playwright.
Just what was he after? He claimed it was all to protect the secret laboratory he had tucked away in Creta, but genuinely brilliant minds never lay all their cards on the table. In the end, we had merely been marionettes dancing across the Playwright's stage.
The trade city of Creta.
Having weathered both the monstrous evil of Loki and the unwelcome tempest of Lobelia's visit, the bustling city had begun to regain its vibrant energy. With crowds flowing through its streets and commerce moving freely, supplies were easy to come by. Consequently, the shattered buildings were being restored at a remarkably swift pace.
"Old man, you in here?"
"Tsk. The nuisance returns."
Theseus had returned to the clinic for the first time since personally helping demolish it the other day. Until recently, he had been swamped hunting down the criminals lying low in Creta and rooting out Second Prince Loki's remaining lackeys. Doing a thorough sweep after such a long time had eaten up quite a few days.
"Um, well... How is she? Has she improved at all?"
"Hardly. That's not the sort of thing resolved in a day or two. Only time can mend that kind of wound."
"I see."
Only after finishing his cleanup had Theseus finally come to check on the young girl Loki had left in the clinic's care. Though freed from Loki's clutches, she remained terrified of everyone around her.
"Well? Do you intend to block my doorway all day with that awkward look on your face?"
"Ah, my apologies. It's just... I wasn't quite sure what face to make when confronting you..."
Having dragged a storm of calamities to the clinic's doorstep and ultimately leaving half the building in ruins, his hesitation was understandable.
"Hmph, ridiculous. You wouldn't have come if you hadn't already settled your mind."
"Well, that's true enough."
With a wry chuckle, Theseus stepped into the interior of the clinic. The doctor kept his back turned, acting as if he couldn't care less.
"You took the joke too far."
Shring.
A gleaming blade slid to a halt right against the doctor's neck. Theseus glared at him with icy eyes. He had finally arrived at his answer regarding what face to present.
"Old Man Deus."
"Little brat, barking like a stray."
The Playwright, supreme leader of Ex Machina. Even with cold steel pressed against his jugular, Deus didn't bat an eye. If anything, he casually flicked the edge aside with a fingertip as if brushing off an annoyance, then turned around to face Theseus directly.
"It was destined to happen regardless. I merely possessed advance knowledge."
"You could have given me a warning."
"And if you knew?"
"I could have prevented it before it even started."
"Then your dear brother would have concocted a different scheme. One far uglier, and far more difficult to resolve."
Rather than nipping the plot in the bud, Deus had chosen to engineer a crushing counterstrike. In the grand scheme of things, this outcome was vastly more economical. The collateral damage and property loss? A bargain compared to the long-term catastrophe that could have erupted.
"Haaah..."
Theseus sheathed his sword. He knew Deus hadn't withheld the truth out of malice. Deep down, Theseus didn't view Deus as a bloodthirsty terrorist, but rather as an eccentric, stubborn old codger who loved causing grief.
"So, what did you actually gain from all this?"
"I secured peace for this city."
"I know damn well you're not the type to act out of the goodness of your heart."
"Shall we say I protected the laboratory built beneath this clinic, then?"
"..."
"Good grief, if glares could kill, I'd be six feet under."
Deus and Theseus shared a long history. Even if Theseus flew off the handle, he would never touch Deus's hazardous underground laboratory; Theseus was well aware of the horrifying materials buried down there. Everything Deus had told Yohan had essentially been an excuse. Even so, it hadn't all been fiction. The laboratory truly housed weapons of mass devastation, and Deus's direct entanglement in the situation had indeed rendered him unable to act openly. He had merely woven a sprinkle of half-truths into the mix.
"Theseus. How much do you know about the Oracle?"
"The Oracle? Don't tell me you actually believe in legends like that?"
Theseus asked, caught off guard. He had never pegged Deus as someone who bought into superstitious folklore. Wasn't the man supposed to be a scholar of pure science?
"Personally, I tend to wonder what practical value a pair of so-called 'special eyes' could possibly hold."
Deus's core conviction remained unshaken. Just as he had told Yohan, he believed the world was reshaped not by eyes that foresaw the future, but by brilliant flashes of inspiration and monumental inventions. Yet, he was not rigidly dogmatic in the way most assumed.
"However, denying a possibility out of hand is nothing more than shackling one's own imagination. Superstition, you say? If I truly deem it superstition, then it falls upon me to test and disprove it myself."
Which was why he had drafted the script. All for that peculiar individual whom certain factions suspected of being the Oracle.
And that boy had executed his role magnificently. Possessing knowledge no ordinary layman should ever know, he had concocted an antidote to counter Loki's virulent poison—a substance he shouldn't have encountered in his entire lifetime—in less than half a day. And ultimately, with sheer acting, sharp wit, and impromptu cunning, he had resolved the crisis.
"The Oracle is real," Deus declared with absolute certainty.
Naturally, Yohan Damus was not the Oracle. He was far too clumsy and riddled with vulnerabilities to be a divine prophet. Deus had already suspected as much during their first encounter, and observing the chain of events had confirmed his conclusion.
But Deus knew. If he had been the true Oracle...
There's no way in hell I'd pass up a spectacle this amusing.
The real one would have come in person to observe the counterfeit.
Amidst Loki's treacherous scheme—within the sprawling chaos the prince had unleashed across the city—Deus had spotted her. A young, blonde-haired girl watching everything unfold from a distance. Slipping effortlessly past the surrounding turmoil as though the future were already laid bare before her eyes.
"So tell me, Theseus. What do you think the Oracle's true ability actually is?"
"I don't care to guess. More importantly—you sat back and watched this city get torn to pieces just to test that theory?"
"I can hardly contain my curiosity. From what source does this power of prescience originate? And if, as the legends whisper, the Oracle only manifests when catastrophic peril looms over the Empire... then I cannot help but wonder what manner of doom is about to descend."
"You still don't listen to a single word anyone says, do you?"
The eccentric recluse of the trade city of Creta, the Playwright, cackled with wicked delight. It was the unmistakable prelude to an entirely new experiment.