Awakening (1)
There was only one real cure for terminal stupidity.
Education.
The problem was that trying to educate someone who didn’t even comprehend the word “synthesis” would demand an exorbitant amount of time and effort. If that was the case, I would be far better off researching and synthesizing the reagent myself. The Cradle would foot the bill anyway, and frankly, I couldn’t care less how much it ended up costing them.
Still, just in case…
“Pardon me, but if it wouldn’t be too rude, may I conduct a brief intelligence test?”
“It would be quite rude, yes.”
“Understood.”
Right, time to drop lingering attachments. When a person was both stupid and stubborn, teaching them took an eternity.
“…Well then, I shall take my leave. I’ll call Melana over, so please take good care of her. Yes, indeed.”
What a colossal waste of time.
I would just head back and hole up in Instructor Georg’s alchemy workshop. Once Ariel returned, I could dedicate some time to studying illusion magic. Busy, busy.
“My goodness, are you not coming along?”
“I have too much on my plate.”
“Are you truly comfortable with that?”
“…What do you mean by that?”
“I fully intend to help you all,” Tillis said, nonchalantly pouring fresh tea into the cup sitting before me. It was a clear signal that our conversation was not yet over. “However, I can hardly guarantee the outcome will be flawless. Considering the sheer scale of this endeavor, I will have to exert a considerable amount of power.”
“……”
“As the Judge, I will likely unleash an indiscriminate slaughter. But making an exception for a single, specific individual…? Amidst a flock of Eden believers who all harbor the exact same holy power?”
“Surely such a distinction isn’t impossible for the Saintess?”
“Impossible, no. But it is hardly simple.”
This wasn’t a matter of capability. Even if Tillis could tell them apart, the odds were high that she simply wouldn’t bother. Yet the fact that she was going out of her way to explain this meant that my presence might alter the outcome.
“What are you trying to say?”
“If you desire my complete and utter cooperation, then do as you did last time.”
“Excuse me?”
“I am telling you to devise an efficient method,” she replied softly. “Just like when you prepared that ambush to bar my path.”
“……”
“I quite want to see that side of you again.”
Come to think of it, I did have a track record of concealing myself in a pile of ash and driving a dagger straight toward the space between her brows. Naturally, the strike had been blocked, but Tillis hadn’t detected me until the blade was already on its trajectory. For someone of her caliber, getting caught off guard by a weakling like me must have been a novel experience.
“…I think I’ll pass. This isn’t a matter desperate enough for me to shoulder that kind of personal risk.”
Was there any reason for me to put my neck on the line just to rescue Jeff? For Melana’s sake? Preposterous. Besides, reading Tillis’s true motives was an impossible task. Why would she go out of her way to attach such conditions? Something about this smelled terribly foul.
“Are you abandoning the hostage?”
“Hold on, I’m not the one abandoning anyone here.”
She was phrasing it as though I were committing some heinous crime. This wasn't malice; it was merely the pragmatic survival instinct of an ordinary civilian.
“Yet, is choosing not to save what lies within your power to save not a form of evil in itself?”
Creak—!
Was it just my imagination? For a fleeting second, it felt as though the scales resting inside Tillis’s mind were slowly, inexorably tipping to one side.
Chills ran down my spine.
Unbelievable. How does she leap to that conclusion? Does this woman know what moderation is? To claim that anyone who wasn't actively good was inherently evil was the most atrocious black-and-white fallacy imaginable. What would happen if I outright refused her here? Would the lunatic before me classify me as a villain and start slicing me to ribbons right on the spot?
“If you want to split hairs like that, wouldn’t you be the one abandoning him, Saintess? You have the power to save him, yet you’re choosing not to.”
“It matters not to me. What I commit is not good, but evil. Swallowing evil by means of evil. Intent and outcome are entirely separate matters, after all.”
“Ah, I see.”
So she’s going to act with good intentions, but she’ll behave however the hell she wants, so we’re on our own?
Perhaps I had made the mistake of trying to rationalize a madwoman. Tillis was a lunatic who practiced benevolence and malevolence in the very same breath. I should never have assumed she possessed a consistent moral compass to begin with.
“…Fine. I will at least make an effort.”
To hell with Jeff and the rest of them. The moment an opportunity presented itself, I was slipping away.
And so, dragged along by circumstance, we made our way toward the site where Jeff was supposedly being held captive. Under our original plan, Yuna and I would have parted ways halfway through, but Tillis’s thinly veiled threat had forced me to see this through to the bitter end. The only thought echoing in my head now was that I really should have ignored Melana last night.
—How much further?
It was Tillis who spoke—not in the guise of a gentle saintess, but in the dreadful mantle of the Judge. Befitting her title as the Head Librarian of Lemegeton, she was draped in scholar-like robes and a striking red goat mask, her voice echoing directly inside our minds through some eerie medium. It was undoubtedly one of the delegated powers of a demon. With Melana present and an impending massacre on the itinerary, Tillis had donned her public persona for the bloodshed.
“I believe we should alight here.”
Having halted the carriage a discreet distance from our destination, I gave a concise rundown of the plan.
“It would be best if the Judge initiates the assault from the western side.”
—Understood.
I really couldn't get used to that tone. Knowing full well what lay behind that mask only made it worse.
“Melana, we head this way.”
“Right.”
Yuna, Melana, and I crept toward the vicinity of the manor where Jeff was reportedly confined. The Eden cultist who had abducted him appeared to be an imperial noble. Because Eden was a religious sect rather than a disorganized band of barbarians roaming the snowy tundras, their organizational structure operated on an entirely different level.
“You heard the plan, right? The moment the Judge begins her offensive, all eyes will be drawn toward her. That’s your window to slip inside.”
“…Thank you. I swear I will repay this debt.”
“Sure, do that. As for us…”
We’re going to get the hell out of here.
That was what I had intended to say. But the words caught in my throat.
“…We’ll infiltrate through a different route, so let’s all do our best.”
“Johann? Weren’t we heading back?”
“That was the plan, but it looks like the situation just changed.”
Out in the corner of my vision, someone was acting conspicuously suspicious. The figure looked blatantly guilty, practically radiating the aura of an idiot on the verge of causing a massive catastrophe.
“Ah, isn't that our junior?”
It was Dietrich—Eden paladin candidate and the future Sword Saint.
“What in the world is that bastard doing…?”
Actually, I already had a pretty solid guess. Even so, it was best to confirm it firsthand and rein him in. Whatever he was plotting, it had failure written all over it.
“Hey, Diet—”
CLANG!
Sparks exploded right before my eyes. A blinding flash of steel, followed instantly by the concussive screech of parried metal. As my brain belatedly caught up with reality, my entire body froze stiff.
A blade was hovering an inch beneath my throat.
“…Johann Senior?”
“Dangerous, dangerous! Junior, look at who you’re swinging at before drawing steel!”
If Yuna hadn't deflected that slash in the nick of time, my head would have gone rolling across the dirt.
“I-I am so sorry!”
This punk… Why was it always me? Why was he always so eager to plunge cold steel into my neck?
“Yuna, smack this bastard upside the head.”
“Okay!”
No matter how high-strung his senses were, who in their right mind swung a lethal blade without looking? If it had been anyone other than us, they’d be carrying out a corpse right now. By the time Yuna finished tenderizing Dietrich—reducing the suspicious hood he had thrown over himself into a tattered rag that made him look like a destitute beggar—I finally addressed him.
“I have a rough idea, but what on earth brought you all the way out here?”
“Well, the thing is…”
Ever since Helena collapsed, Cult had locked himself away inside the Ereticus Marquis Estate.
Dietrich was naturally worried sick about the two of them, but because this was a grave matter concerning the marquisate’s private affairs, a mere knight candidate like him was barred from entering the inner chambers. In the end, Dietrich had no choice but to pace restlessly around the estate's perimeter, waiting aimlessly.
After an agonizingly long wait, he was finally granted an audience with Cult.
However…
“Cult?”
“Ah, Dietrich. I heard you were loitering outside the manor. I called for you so you wouldn't worry so much.”
“Not worry…? How am I supposed to not worry when…”
When you look like that?
Dietrich had to force down the words rising in his throat.
Cult appeared calm enough on the surface—at least, his posture and demeanor suggested as much. But the bandages wrapped around his eyes had long since been stained a deep, sickening crimson. Trails of bloody tears had spilled down his cheeks, staining the pristine white collar of his robes.
“Dietrich. I am truly fine.”
“……”
“Hasn’t it always been this way? I am merely a little exhausted right now, but I will find the answer. So please, believe in me and wait.”
“…All right.”
Dietrich reluctantly nodded. Cult was right. Cult was wiser than anyone; even without his sight, he saw through everything as though looking into the future. He would find a way. If Dietrich just waited patiently as he always had, Cult would solve the problem.
Ultimately, Dietrich resolved to trust Cult and bide his time, just like before.
Yet, as Dietrich left the manor with a lingering knot of unease twisting in his stomach…
“Hm?”
He spotted another noble who had come seeking the Ereticus marquisate. That man, too, appeared to have been denied entry, pacing back and forth with frantic agitation.
“Ah, why… why? Why won’t you answer me? What am I supposed to do? I must… I have to do something, somehow…”
The man wandered erratically, muttering frantic, incoherent words under his breath. Anxiety bled into every erratic step he took, giving the distinct impression of a man primed to detonate at the slightest provocation.
“…I have a bad feeling about this.”
Trusting his uncanny instincts, Dietrich shadowed the retreating nobleman.
“So I tailed him, and…”
“And it turned out your bad feeling was spot on?”
“Yes. When I followed his trail, he was gathering children from the slums. Disgusting scoundrels like him always target the slums first whenever they plot something wicked.”
“I see.”
Was it because he grew up in the slums himself? His knack for sniffing out illicit, sinister operations was extraordinary. At this rate, it was safe to say Dietrich’s personal character arc had officially been triggered ahead of schedule.
The only trouble was that the timeline had been dragged forward, and with it, the scale of Dietrich’s inaugural trial had ballooned dramatically. Getting entangled with a noble-level conspiracy right off the bat was going to be an uphill battle. A large part of the blame lay with me. Who could have known that casually mentioning the Holy Relic to Cult with good intentions would trigger a chain reaction like this?
This was precisely why one had to be terrified of the butterfly effect. Still, I couldn’t just leave Dietrich to his own devices.
“Well, that works out conveniently.”
“Pardon?”
“We happened to be investigating that very same noble.”
“Ah!” Dietrich gasped in admiration. “As expected of you, Senior! Your personal combat prowess may be completely trivial, but your drive to jump straight into action is truly unmatched! To think you would march forth when you could be cut down at any moment—a true noble truly is built different!”
“……”
And there it was: his usual filterless, vaguely insolent tongue. Was I being overly sensitive, or did that sound an awful lot like he was calling me an arrogant noble who didn't know his place?
“…For starters, stop acting so blatantly suspicious or you’ll blow our cover. Fall in line and follow us.”
“Understood, Senior!”
Should I actually be thanking Tillis for dragging me here? Why had I spent the last two days expressing gratitude to criminals? Regardless, thanks to her, I had caught wind of Dietrich’s antics before he got himself butchered. Good grief… one little thing goes wrong, and everything starts collapsing like dominos.
“So, Dietrich, how much do you actually know?”
“Aside from the fact that Viscount Alec is acting suspicious, not much… How much does Senior know?”
“Just that Viscount Alec is a devoted follower of Eden. Putting together what you said about him rounding up children from the slums, the purpose is likely…”
“…Brainwashing, most likely. Their utility falls well within expectations.”
Utility, he called it. The choice of words was heartbreaking. If anyone else had said it, I would have found it cold and inhumane, but coming from a slum orphan like Dietrich, the phrase carried a somber, heavy weight.
“If it’s Eden, they must be put down. Most of them won’t bat an eye at bloodshed anyway.”
“That’s the final resort.”
If we resorted to butchery from the outset, we’d end up with nothing but a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. Combat had to be kept to an absolute minimum; securing our primary objective came first.
“If we kick down the front door guns blazing, do you think they’ll leave the hostages untouched?”
“An infiltration, then! If we search thoroughly, we should at least find a drainage pipe or a crawlspace, right?”
“No.”
There was a far simpler way.
“We’re walking straight through the front gate.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just keep your mouth shut and follow behind us.”
“Ah… understood.”
There was no need to take the hard road. Because Eden was a clandestine religious sect, its members rarely knew one another. At most, they might know that Cult served as their Prophet. While they weren't strictly organized into isolated sleeper cells, their need to operate beneath the Empire’s watchful eye inevitably forced operational secrecy. Even among high-ranking officials of the cult, they wouldn't possess an exhaustive registry of every associate. Therefore, we simply had to brazenly masquerade as fellow Eden devotees.
Under normal circumstances, of course, any gatekeeper would be on high alert. However…
“Remember. No matter what we say, keep your mouth shut and just follow along. Got it?”
“Yes, Senior!”
We had Dietrich with us.
A cultist influential enough to personally seek an audience at the Ereticus Marquis Estate had to be an executive of considerable standing within Eden. That meant there was a very high probability he was aware of Dietrich—the boy Cult had personally handpicked as his holy paladin candidate. Even if Dietrich himself was utterly oblivious to Cult’s secret identity, let alone the fact that his very existence was tied to Eden’s inner circle, he was an invaluable asset.
Dietrich held profound symbolic weight within the Eden organization. Bringing him along in plain sight meant that even if we blatantly impersonated cultists, the opposition would find it nearly impossible to doubt our legitimacy. This was the overwhelming leverage born of an information asymmetry.
“Yuna, relax your expression. Today, we’re going with a mysterious, enigmatic vibe.”
“That sounds like the perfect concept for me.”
“Naturally.”
Yuna usually gave off an air of playful silliness, but so long as she wiped that goofy grin off her face, she possessed an undeniably mesmerizing presence. After all, wasn’t this the very girl who had tried to take me under her wing purely because she was self-aware of how breathtakingly beautiful she looked? As long as she held her tongue, her sheer visual appeal would naturally radiate an ethereal aura.
“What about our clothes?”
“We stick with our everyday attire. This is a secret society; if we go out of our way to don elaborate clerical robes, they’ll treat us like lunatics.”
“Ah, so we’re acting as covert operatives seamlessly blended into normal society?”
“Spot on.”
Our required preparations were minimal. All we needed was a solid acting performance from Yuna and myself.
“Haha! You two are so in sync, you look just like a pair of professional swindlers!”
“……”
And I definitely, absolutely had to keep Dietrich’s trap shut. Every time that kid opened his mouth, the temperature in the room plummeted by ten degrees.