The Last Conscience
The great-explosion runestone. At this point, it no longer mattered what intentions the City Council’s bourgeois had when they handed it to him.
One thing was certain: this explosion was not something that could be crudely blocked.
Even basic common sense made that clear. In a place where the boundary between material and immaterial could not be precisely severed, there was no chance the client would have provided an explosive that could be easily stopped. In a sense, they trusted the runestone’s “problem-solving ability” even more than Solomon did.
That was why Solomon trusted its power as well. More precisely, he trusted the bourgeois’ faith in the runestone. And as if answering that faith, Elise spat out in a voice cold enough to freeze blood.
“What a boring move.”
“Whether it’s boring or not, we’ll have to wait and see. Personally, I find it pretty damn exciting.”
“Hmph. You think a cheap trick like that will work?”
“Hm. Does this look like a cheap trick to you?”
Solomon asked back, voice flat. It was the truth. The cold sweat running down his spine and the way the runestone’s light pulsed brighter in time with his pounding heart served as proof.
“……Stop, Hector.”
Target is agitated.
Target is young and inexperienced.
The instant the flickering light appeared, even Elise’s expression gained a vivid spark of life across her corpse-pale skin. It was not the pleasant kind of life. The moment Solomon caught it, the cheerful clatter of dice rang out.
She’s shaken.
Solomon’s high Insight had not missed that fleeting flash. He understood something else, too.
She’s young.
…The phrasing carried room for misunderstanding, yet it was literally true. Separate from her mastery as a mage, the attitude she displayed while negotiating with Solomon was far from skilled.
She could not hide her emotions and was openly revealing her agitation.
“Hand over that thing’s soul and crawl back into whatever hole you came from. Your life holds no value worth taking.”
“Afraid I can’t do that.”
The very fact that she had offered a “compromise” was proof. It was essentially an admission that Solomon’s threat had landed.
“I’ll be taking Dr. O’Neil’s soul.”
“Why should I comply with such nonsense?”
“There’s no reason you should.”
Solomon answered with a straight face.
“Just as there’s no reason for all of us to die nicely together.”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
Any trace of composure had vanished from Elise. That alone proved just how real the threat of the great-explosion runestone was. Exactly how real?
……
At this point, the pressure was starting to weigh on Solomon instead.
“Do you truly believe we will hand over what you want every time you bastards barge in waving that thing around? What an absurd delusion.”
The Haunting Family. Soul Binders. The girl who proudly declared herself a direct descendant of one of the Five Great Families spoke.
“I have no reason to concern myself with the next guest. Shall I tell you what I do concern myself with? Exactly two things.”
Solomon remained uncompromising. In truth, whether the young lady before him was skilled at negotiation or not changed nothing. From the beginning, there had never been any room for negotiation on his side.
“We all die together, or we all live.”
“……”
A short silence fell.
“I am……”
After the silence, she spoke.
“Elise Haunting, Soul Binder of the proud Five Great Families.”
She straightened her posture with clear resolve, chest out and voice ringing with dignity. From Solomon’s perspective, it did not look like a welcome sort of resolve.
“I will not yield to the threats of ugly, repulsive bourgeois scum.”
At that declaration, the fairy Oberon cut in, sounding utterly dumbfounded.
“Well damn, look at her. What, does the little lady think the pot-bellied bourgeois are threatening her virginity or something? Her brain’s a damn flower field… nah, it’s a full-blown nineteen-plus magazine at this point.”
“Wh-what nonsense are you spouting!”
“And even if this guy with zero conscience says we’ll all blow up nicely together, you think that counts as a victory for the Haunting Family? It just means everyone gets screwed. The pot-bellied uncles would probably cheer.”
It was a hard point to refute.
“I swear on the name of the Fairy King. Let us leave. The moment we’re out of here, I’ll dismantle that cursed runestone and smash it to pieces so it can never be used again.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?”
“Where else are you gonna find a fairy who loves love and peace as much as I do?”
It wasn’t a particularly persuasive line. In a way, though, it was true.
“Besides, I don’t exactly enjoy seeing weapons from the Great War floating around either.”
“Hmph. So now you’re feeling responsible?”
“Think whatever you want.”
Leaving behind a conversation Solomon couldn’t quite follow, Oberon continued.
“It’s basically reducing the number of nuclear weapons in the bourgeois’ hands by one. No loss on our end.”
“……That does make sense.”
The conversation had reached a point Solomon could no longer ignore.
Wait, did I hear that right?
The Great War and Nuclear Weapons
Unfortunately, he had heard correctly.
It wasn’t merely a great explosion. Paradoxically, it was faithful to the term in the most absolute sense.
“Second.”
Elise spoke again.
“In addition to the great-explosion runestone that man carries, promise to reduce one more of the ‘Great War armaments’ currently held by the bourgeois.”
“What? No……”
The moment the fairy Oberon faltered, unable to answer immediately—
“Fine.”
Solomon cut in, overriding the fairy.
“As promised, I’ll dispose of one more weapon they possess—runestone or otherwise.”
Elise let out a cold laugh.
“That is not for the likes of you to decide.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“A bourgeois dog dares to speak above its station.”
Solomon paid it no mind.
“The moment we walk out of here, two great-explosion runestones will be destroyed. Believe it or don’t. Your choice.”
“You expect me to believe that bluff?”
“Uh… actually, it might work.”
Oberon suddenly nodded as if he had realized something.
“I swear on the Fairy King’s name. Let’s trust him on this.”
“……I’m the one who has to trust you lot?”
“So you’d rather watch that guy’s conscience turn into a goddamn mushroom cloud? Fine! Let’s light the fuse and watch the fireworks!”
“This should be quite exciting.”
Solomon nodded. A brief silence. In that frozen stillness, a sound echoed.
Rattle……
NEGOTIATION GREAT SUCCESS!
“Get the hell out of my sight.”
With those words, the swampy mire that had flooded the area vanished as if it had never existed. So did the unbeatable foe within it—the Knight of the Swamp.
“And I swear upon the name of the Haunting Family: if you break the promise……”
Elise spoke, her face—framed by ash-grey hair—now flushed red and blue from an excess of raw emotion.
“I will hunt you to the ends of the nine hells and let your soul taste the ‘worst hell’ your imagination can conjure. You will beg for death, and even death itself will feel like an unattainable luxury.”
“Oh dear, how terrifying.”
“……”
At Solomon’s sarcastic reply, a fresh, throbbing vein rose on Elise’s forehead.
Ah, shit. This damn tongue of mine.
He realized it the moment the words left his mouth. His trait Rough Mouth had activated on instinct.
“I mean, I really did find it scary.”
“Of course! Watching a little lady throw a fit like that is enough to make a man piss himself!”
“……”
Solomon widened the distance without hesitation. He left the mansion without once looking back—through the front gate, more boldly than ever before.
He stepped straight out and was greeted by the black, dark landscape of Ghosttown stretching beyond the estate.
Haunting Family territory. Baskerville House 221B.
Even that dreary, grey-zone scenery felt like a symbol of incomparable liberation to Solomon.
─A-ahhhhh……!
Dr. O’Neil, who had followed silently behind him, suddenly cried out in his bluish soul form, sounding as if he might soar into the air at any moment. His voice rang with irrepressible relief.
─F-freedom! Freedom!
Swish.
Toward the rejoicing soul, Solomon silently leveled the bone blade capable of cutting spiritual bodies.
“Freedom my ass.”
─……!
A blade that could deliver a clean strike to an incorporeal form. In his other hand, an automatic crossbow coated with ruinous poison was already aimed.
He had to retrieve Dr. O’Neil’s soul and deliver it to the client.
It wasn’t over until it was over. The journey here had proven that, and the return trip would be no different.
Once again guided by Oberon, Solomon crossed the streets of Ghosttown.
At last, they had reached what could be called the final stretch of this long, hellish request.
At the edge of Ghosttown, in a grey street that was clearly different from the Baskerville or Haunting estates—noticeably closer to the “sunny side”—the path welcomed him.
“You’ve finally arrived.”
─Hik!
A group stood waiting, ready to receive both Solomon and Dr. O’Neil’s soul.
─Y-you bourgeois bastards……! Why are you here!
City Council.
He recognized their identity at a glance. The number and scale of the force that had come to greet him made the value of the information inside Dr. O’Neil’s head painfully obvious.
After all, the great-explosion runestone they had handed Solomon was no mere magic stone that produced a slightly larger boom.
The Great War and nuclear weapons. Words that could not be taken lightly.
“You performed the request admirably, Mr. Solomon.”
A rather plump man dressed in a spotless suit spoke as the group’s representative. Behind him stood men and women in uniform, armed with blades and automatic crossbows. Their numbers were considerable.
Nominally, they were the Sword Watch—police tasked with maintaining order in the city. In reality, they were nothing more than the bourgeois’ private army and another pack of hunting hounds.
─W-wait! You said you’d release me!
“I said I’d release you from that place. Who ever promised you freedom?”
Dr. O’Neil’s soul protested belatedly. The hippie fairy perched on Solomon’s shoulder simply shrugged his wings.
Clatter!
Chains shot out from nowhere and wrapped around the soul. They seemed to rise from empty air or the ground itself. It was clearly the binding of a medium.
─Aaaargh! You tricked me! You disgusting bourgeois! You damned City Council bastards……!! Urgh, uuurgh!
The chains did not stop at simple restraint. They quickly wrapped around the soul’s mouth, silencing his screams.
“The request has been completed safely, Mr. Solomon.”
The mustached representative bowed with perfect courtesy, not a single eyebrow twitching.
“Per the contract, the City Council’s ‘protection’ will be granted immediately. Naturally, this includes the appropriate compensation you are owed.”
“Much appreciated.”
“As it should be.”
On the surface, his attitude seemed exceedingly polite. Yet Solomon could tell the difference. This was not the politeness one person showed another. It was the politeness one showed a useful beast.
“The special favor we are granting you is not something just anyone can enjoy.”
One did not refrain from kicking a dog out of respect. The man’s demeanor was almost exactly that—looking down at something beneath him.
“I’m so moved I could cry.”
Whichever it was, it didn’t matter to Solomon. The request was finished. With this, he would receive what he was owed, and the threat of the intangible villains—the Black Museum and its Curators—would finally be lifted.
The thought caused his mental guard to loosen, if only slightly.
“Oh, this is interesting.”
Thud.
The sound that rang out like a warning bell came almost simultaneously.
The tap of a cane against the floor.
“To think I would see you here again.”
And…… the sound of a fly beating its wings.