Chapter 47
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Came to Make a Deal (3)
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"Ugh...!"
Nausea surged all the way up to my throat.
"Urgh...!"
I quickly turned my head and shoved my face into the corner of the cell.
"Central Officer! Are you alright?"
"Are you hurt anywhere!?"
The Tactile Officer and Olfactory Officer rushed over in alarm, shouting worriedly.
I barely managed to empty my stomach and raised a hand to them in response.
"I-it's nothing. Just a bit startled, that's all."
There was no way I was fine.
This was the second time.
The second time I'd watched someone die right in front of me.
The metallic stench mingled with the warmth of blood splattered on my cheek, slowly cooling.
This horrific sensation I could never get used to.
It was the complete opposite of what happened with the Visual Officer, but the end result was the same.
A mangled corpse lying limply on the floor.
My gaze slowly shifted to the changeling.
Nausea welled up again.
'Calm down. Get it together, Nathan Kell.'
I shook my head and took deep breaths.
To distract myself, I spoke to the werewolf beside me.
"Olfactory Officer. G-go inform the margrave at once."
The first thing to do right now was report this to the margrave, to whom I'd been granted interrogation rights.
"We can't afford any misunderstandings. Bring him here personally."
While I was interrogating under the transferred rights, the changeling had died.
This was wide open to misinterpretation.
Before the evidence vanished, he needed to see it with his own eyes.
The Olfactory Officer, grasping the gravity of the situation, nodded.
"I'll be right back. Tactile Officer, take care of the Central Officer."
With that, he bolted out of the prison at tremendous speed.
The Tactile Officer gently patted my back with a worried touch and murmured softly.
"Deep breaths. You're okay. I'm here, so everything will be fine."
"Hoo... Hoo..."
I fought to steady my emotions as best I could.
As an immigration officer, I'd seen countless horrors, but watching someone die right before my eyes was something I could never handle.
I desperately pushed away the recurring image of Rene's final moments when Lacrissa cautiously offered,
"Shall we step outside for a bit? Some fresh air might..."
"No. We have to preserve the scene."
If we both left now, who knew who might come in.
'Until we know who's behind this, we absolutely can't leave this post unguarded.'
Everyone except the margrave, the sense officers, and me was a suspect.
"Tactile Officer. Are you absolutely sure there was nothing inside her body? Besides the fur—any traces of magic or the like?"
She paused to recall, then shook her head.
"Nothing. It was clean."
Lacrissa wouldn't lie.
Which meant no magic had activated from within her body.
'Someone from outside did this.'
But that led to a contradiction.
Magic normally required a caster nearby.
This was an underground prison, though.
In this narrow, isolated space, there had only been the three of us and her.
How could anyone interfere from above ground to form a magic circle down here?
"And this dark red aura..."
It was a form I'd never seen before.
An utterly alien energy.
'Could be a curse.'
If it was a curse, it made sense.
A binding spell that triggered upon violation of its terms.
'But who?'
That was where everything ground to a halt.
At that moment, urgent footsteps echoed.
Soon, the margrave appeared with a throng of guards, his face pale with shock.
"Central Officer!"
"Margrave."
He froze at the sight of the brutally torn corpse and the magic circle beneath it.
"What in the world is..."
With the Tactile Officer's support, I stood and slowly spoke.
"This is terrorism."
Terrorism, plain and simple.
A different form from the border incident.
An extreme act conveying one clear intent.
Silence.
"It seems someone cursed her to shut her mouth."
"Who?"
"..."
Even I had no answer for that.
Six hours later, late at night at the Southern Border Immigration Control Office.
The meeting with the margrave had wrapped up without issue.
He'd seen everything with his own eyes, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
The problem was the total lack of information.
"Hand me the departure records and the book on changelings."
As I frantically rifled through documents, the Gustatory Officer wearily stacked the full Encyclopedia of Continental Races on the desk.
After digging through the mountain of books and papers for what felt like ages, I stared down at the desk with hollow eyes.
In utter exhaustion, I muttered softly,
"Border terrorism, kidnappings, and now silencing an internal whistleblower."
No matter how much I searched, nothing useful turned up.
Who the hell was behind this?
What kind of lunatics would go this far?
I retraced the changeling's dying words once more.
- My, my employer is Haten Si-
"Haten Si."
I immediately reached for the entry records.
Scanning down the list, matching names appeared.
- Haten Si. Human. From the western deserts.
- Haten Siliya. Arachne. From the northern great forest.
- Haten Silla. Human. From the northern Scardi Empire.
- Haten Silur. Merfolk. From the southern coast.
- Haten Sipi. Centaur. From the eastern nomad tribes.
"Damn it."
I shoved the records to the corner of the desk with a curse.
Too many.
Over fifteen names containing "Haten Si."
And their entry dates, origins, and destinations were all over the place.
Tracking them all was impossible.
"Gustatory Officer. Departure records, please. From three years ago onward."
But at least I could narrow it down.
The response came not from her, but the Olfactory Officer.
"Central Officer. It's late. Head home."
I looked up.
The werewolf loomed right in front of me, frowning.
"Not yet. We're just getting started. Go home yourself."
"All the clerks have gone home. Check the time."
Glancing around at his words, I saw the office was silent.
No one but me and the sense officers remained, and outside the window stretched pitch-black night.
"...You go first. I'll wrap up soon."
How could I go home without exhausting every lead?
I couldn't.
No, I wouldn't.
Not until I knew who'd done this.
"You saw something shocking today. You need rest—pick it up tomorrow."
"I said I'm fine."
A sharp retort slipped out unbidden.
Yet the Olfactory Officer replied even more calmly.
"It'll affect your work tomorrow."
"Olfactory Officer. Don't make me say it twice."
"Rushing like this won't yield results right—"
"How can I sleep with this hanging over us!!"
My patience finally snapped, and I shouted.
"Terrorism! Terrorists murdered someone to silence her! In the most gruesome way possible!"
Disgusting.
Something those filthy criminal scum would do.
The first incident in four years—since I'd wiped out the southern underworld after the Visual Officer's death.
Seeing me erupt like this for the first time in ages, he replied quietly.
"She would've been executed anyway, even if she'd spilled everything."
"Yes, executed. Not butchered like some animal!"
He was right; she deserved execution.
Intent and circumstances aside, she'd committed grave crimes.
But not like that.
Legally. Procedurally.
"What if this means the underworld's active again? What if some backed faction's planted criminals in our kingdom?"
The margrave's earlier words resurfaced.
- Keeping serious criminals alive too long sends the wrong message to the locals and visitors.
Now the situation had flipped.
This would send a message.
That the south was ripe for underworld activity again—a dangerously tempting notion.
"First border terrorism, now their whistleblower silenced. If word gets out we can't even find a lead, what then?"
Borders must be impregnable.
Incidents happen, but cleanup must be flawless. Suspects apprehended.
Only then can future safety and trust be assured.
The border is the kingdom's first impression, its face to the world.
Internally shaky is fine, but externally? Immaculate.
Right now, we knew nothing.
And that gnawed at me.
"That's why you need rest."
The Olfactory Officer handed me a dropped paper from the floor.
"This won't resolve tonight. I get the urgency. I know this is the second time you've seen someone die up close."
"..."
"But not tonight. Six hours in, no leads? Take a break and start fresh. I'm saying this out of worry."
Only then did I notice the sense officers' fatigue.
"Central Officer..."
Blaszek and Lacrissa looked as drained as I felt.
Back-to-back overtime, plus the gruesome sight they'd witnessed. The toll was physical and mental.
The Auditory and Gustatory Officers watched me worriedly too.
"...Sorry. I was too harsh."
I let out a long sigh.
He was right; I'd been too frantic.
No change would come from this tonight.
And dragging my subordinates into my anxiety was even less justified.
I said quietly,
"...Let's call it a day."
Just for tonight.
"Hm hm~ Hm hm~."
Meanwhile, at Nathan Kell's house, cheerful humming filled the air.
Erzena lay on the bed, swinging her legs back and forth.
She still remembered her morning exchange with the Central Officer.
'Th-then... I'll be off. Erzena.'
'Have a good day, Central Officer.'
He was diligent, earnest, and clever all at once.
And she was the woman seeing him off.
Like a loving couple's farewell.
The thought made Erzena's holy power tremble suddenly.
"What am I even thinking."
She buried her face in the pillow.
But already, she was rehearsing lines for his return.
'You're back?'
A dutiful wife's greeting.
His reply:
'I'm home.'
The steadfast breadwinner's response.
"I'm crazy, crazy, crazy!"
She kicked the bed wildly.
A muffled scream of embarrassment into the pillow, her holy power resonating and flaring with light.
"B-but... we're living together—no, I'm in his debt, so that much should be fine... right?"
As she furtively mouthed the lines in practice,
- Click, creak.
The door opened.
"Ah!"
Erzena bolted upright, eyes wide, and raced downstairs to the entrance.
There stood a man staggering in, utterly spent.
Slumped shoulders, face etched with deep worry.
Trembling, she spoke.
"Y-you're back?"
Nathan Kell gave a weary smile and nodded.
"I'm home."
Her lips quivered at the perfect response.
He continued,
"Sorry I'm late. Didn't warn you I'd be working overtime. Had to chase down some intel."
"It's fine. You always work so hard. More importantly, have you eaten—"
But Erzena's words cut off.
She stared at him in shock.
Unlike his vibrant morning self, exhaustion weighed heavily on his face.
That wasn't the issue, though.
She sensed it.
A repulsive aura, the polar opposite of holy power—familiarly vile—emanating from him.
Different from his own dark energy.
Dark red, like congealed blood.
In a flustered murmur, she said,
"D-did you encounter the Evil God Cult?"
Nathan's head snapped up.
"What did you just say?"
The clue the Central Officer so desperately sought lay, unexpectedly, right beside him.