Resistance in the Shadows
To catch a fox, you must first drive it into a corner.
Following that basic principle, I had finally dismantled one wing of the royalist faction I had left untouched until now.
When the pillars of a house collapse, the people living beneath the roof they once supported will inevitably react in some way.
Some will try to move to another house, others will attempt to repair the pillars, and still others will dig tunnels so they can survive even if the roof caves in.
What I had been most wary of was the third possibility. To prevent the royalists from going underground, I had allowed them to wield their former authority and strut about freely for nearly two years.
While the nobles of the Kingdom of Oz split into pro-demon and royalist factions and waged fierce political battles, the Ozma Governor-General's Office, having firmly laid the foundations of colonial rule, was at last ready to spread its wings.
By this point, the royalist nobles whose usefulness had run out were nothing more than obstacles.
Of course, I had prepared in advance to discard them the moment they outlived their purpose, which was why I could proceed with this operation now.
Special Audit Period — Day Four.
Because most of the nobles belonging to Marquis Quillen's faction had been arrested yesterday on charges of high treason, the capital's morning was deathly quiet.
Some had received advance warning and fled in time, while others were caught during surprise inspections while trying to escape with their families and dragged off to the Governor-General's Office.
Even now, there were surely still those hiding within Oz, unable to escape.
As a result, the city was effectively under a semi-martial law.
Large and small skirmishes continued to erupt throughout the capital.
My Master had declared the Emerald Tower's neutrality early on, yet she also stated that any noble-born mage wishing to defect was welcome to come.
Consequently, nearly one-fifth of the mages affiliated with the Emerald Tower vanished overnight, but Master remained perfectly calm.
She simply remarked that in a few years the place would be bustling again anyway.
As expected, those who have lived a long time see the world differently.
"Loyalty!"
"Yeah."
I was currently overseeing the search and seizure of the club house frequented by Marquis Quillen's subordinates.
A club house was a private building reserved for small gatherings of select individuals.
Naturally, entry was not open to just anyone; membership usually required passing a rather strict screening process.
Moreover, this particular establishment had been directly operated by Marquis Quillen, one of the most powerful nobles in the royal capital.
No one could guess what treasures might be hidden inside.
As I stepped into the building, one of the police officers moving busily about approached me.
"Chief Financial Officer, as ordered, all servants and attendants inside the club house have been detained and searched. However, nothing of note has turned up yet, so we are interrogating them one by one."
"Is that so?"
I glanced around the interior, lavishly decorated with expensive furnishings.
At a glance it resembled an adult playground, filled with billiard tables, bowling lanes, darts, and chess sets.
Yet it was hard to imagine fifty- or sixty-year-old gentlemen gathering here merely to laugh and indulge in hobbies. This place had most likely served as a meeting spot where the core members of the Quillen faction plotted together.
Since the Marquis's mansion had already been turned inside out until not a speck of dust remained, the only place left to search was here.
I looked up at the staircase leading to the second floor and spoke to the officer who had addressed me.
"Keep questioning the staff. If anything seems suspicious, don't decide on your own—report everything to me."
"Yes, sir!"
After receiving a crisp salute, I waved a hand and climbed the stairs with my hands tucked into the pockets of my babari coat.
The wealthy do not always prefer things that are large and ostentatious.
Marquis Quillen apparently possessed relatively modest tastes for a nobleman. He had furnished the club house—used exclusively for summoning his most trusted subordinates—with nothing but antique wooden furniture.
Of course, each piece was worth a fortune ordinary citizens could scarcely imagine, yet on the surface it did not feel particularly luxurious.
Walking down the long corridor lined with taxidermied animals, I soon reached the room Marquis Quillen had used as his study.
Inside, every book had already been pulled from the shelves and piled on the floor, evidence that the police had swept through earlier.
In movies or mystery novels, one might expect a secret compartment behind the bookshelf, but such things almost never exist in reality.
Experts can detect irregularities simply by examining the mansion's blueprints.
If anything like that had been present, the investigators would surely have informed me. Therefore I paid the books and shelves no attention and walked straight toward the desk.
A polished solid-wood desk.
It appeared well maintained even in daily use.
I opened the firmly shut drawer.
Ink, quill pens, envelopes, seals—nothing but ordinary items one would expect to find in a study.
Just to be sure, I pressed down on the bottom of the drawer, but there was no false bottom.
Feeling somewhat deflated, I sank into the black leather chair.
"Oh. Jesus."
I hadn't noticed from the outside, but it was incredibly soft.
Once seated, one would never want to stand again—a chair with truly dangerous charm.
Reminding myself to ask the Marquis where he had acquired it during his interrogation, I looked around the room and suddenly felt my gaze drawn to the fireplace.
"Hmm?"
Something felt off.
It was as though something that should have been there was missing.
It did not take long to identify the source of that unease.
No soot marks?
Unless this study had never been used during winter, that made no sense.
In a world without modern boiler technology, the only heating options were fireplaces or oil stoves.
Yet with a fireplace present, there would have been no need for an oil stove, and indeed no stove-like object could be seen anywhere in the room.
It might have been stored away since spring had arrived, but I generally trusted my instincts.
Clunk—
Let's see…
I bent down and peered inside the fireplace.
The structure was no different from any ordinary fireplace.
Above was a hole leading to the chimney, and the less visible areas were finished with plaster.
Just in case, I conjured a magical light and examined the chimney's interior, where I discovered something strange.
"……"
No matter how I looked at it, it was a button—clearly meant to activate some kind of hidden mechanism.
"Chief Financial Officer? What are you doing in there?"
Several police officers had just entered the study. I raised a finger to my lips, signaling them to stay silent.
Though confused, they immediately closed their mouths.
I pressed my ear against the plastered wall inside the fireplace.
No sound.
Even after waiting a while longer, I heard nothing. Just as I was about to press the button myself, a faint vibration traveled through the wall.
Thump— thump— thump—
Short, rhythmic tremors.
I realized at once that they were footsteps.
Then there was nothing more to consider.
Click!
The moment I pressed the button, a grinding sound echoed as the entire fireplace rotated with me still inside it.
After pulling myself out of the fireplace, I found three or four men—clearly members of the Oz Independence Association—staring at me in shock.
"It's always darkest under the lamp, they say."
This was no noble club house. It was a resistance safe house.
The man whose eyes met mine first shouted.
"Kill him!"
At his command, the two men in front drew their swords and charged.
To someone who had survived countless battlefields, their resistance was clumsy at best.
I sprang to my feet and knocked their blades aside with Wind Blade. When the one who appeared to be a mage tried to burn evidence with fire magic, I fired Wind Bullet.
"Krrraaaagh!"
The mage collapsed after being struck by the wind projectile.
Seeing this, the last man attempted to knock over the candle used for lighting, but the air in this space had long since fallen under my control.
With a single gesture, the room became a vacuum. The candle flame died instantly. Unable to breathe, all four resistance members clutched their throats and crumpled to the floor, gasping.
After glancing down at them as they looked up at me with bloodshot eyes, I collected every document and letter they had been reading moments earlier.
Soon, one by one, they began to faint from oxygen deprivation.
Snap!
At the precise moment they would not die, I released the vacuum. I bound the fallen men with Bind, then destroyed the fireplace—the entrance to the secret room—with Wind Sphere.
Boom!
The police officers outside rushed in with startled expressions, spotted the resistance members on the floor, and quickly moved to arrest them.
After instructing them to guard the important witnesses carefully so they could not commit suicide, I took the letters and maps the resistance members had been reading inside the hidden room and stepped outside.
It seemed I had found something quite useful after all.