Chapter 5
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: 2. Blue Moon
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The temporary hideout was a cave deep within an abandoned mine.
Damp humidity and cold air hung in the stillness. Everyone was tending to their wounds or collapsed in exhaustion.
A heavy silence blanketed the space. They had successfully stolen the black grimoire, but the price had been steep.
There was still no word from Marcelo.
Someone broke the silence. His face was filled with both fatigue and suspicion.
"There's a traitor among us. This isn't just a suspicion. It's a certainty. There's definitely a traitor."
All eyes darted around, rife with mutual distrust. I was still the one receiving the most suspicion.
It was because of my usual shady behavior. And to be fair, I hadn't exactly tried to hide it.
"Benches, you were acting weird today. Never mind your usual sloppiness—where were you during the auction instead of holding your position?"
"Don't suspect me. I got attacked too. They already knew we were there."
I showed them the wounds on my body. Anyone could see it was the body of someone who'd been through a fierce battle.
No one dared imagine those wounds were self-inflicted.
"Don't suspect Benches. If he hadn't tipped us off that the Sword Saint would be at the auction, the damage could have been worse."
"No. If anything, that makes Benches even more suspicious. He knew the Sword Saint was coming, and he claims he saw her himself."
"But there are plenty of other suspicious people besides Benches. Especially Marcelo. Has anyone heard from Marcelo? There's no way he couldn't have escaped."
"True. Marcelo was in charge of disabling the security system. But the guards reacted abnormally fast. Marcelo's the most likely traitor."
Suspicious glares continued to circulate, but there was no decisive evidence.
As everyone eyed each other warily, only Ludwig remained silent.
He leaned against the wall, clutching the black grimoire tightly to his chest, eyes closed.
His fingers trembled faintly.
"Ludwig. What do you think? Who's the traitor?"
Ludwig's gaze scanned his comrades one by one before finally settling on me.
"...Benches. Let's talk alone for a moment."
"What's this about, Rudy?"
"...Follow me."
He led me deeper into the cave, to a small, completely isolated space.
It was Ludwig's personal quarters and command room. Just bare stone walls, a desk, and two chairs.
As the door closed, all outside noise was cut off.
"...What did you do to Marcelo?"
'He knows after all. Should I play dumb? Nah, that's too cliché. No fun.'
I pondered the best way to mentally destroy Ludwig.
How could I cook him up most deliciously?
My ultimate goal was Ludwig's corruption.
Turning Blue Moon from a rebel group into a band of indiscriminate terrorists.
'To do that, I might need to redirect the arrows toward the Empire first.'
"... ."
"Answer me. What did you do?"
"He's dead. Marcelo is."
Ludwig held his breath. An explosive killing intent erupted, only to subside in an instant.
Proof he was still holding onto his sanity.
"Why.... Why is Marcelo dead...?"
"I killed him. With my own hands."
"...Why. Why the hell would you do that, Benches? Answer me. Why?"
Ludwig's hands, turned away from me, shook violently. He was desperately holding back his rage and murderous urge.
If I weren't Benches, he would have killed me on the spot.
This was his last chance, given because I was his last remaining friend.
"The Empire caught on to us. I told you—the Sword Saint was coming."
"...Don't tell me... You didn't just see her—you got captured. And you sold out your comrades to survive...?"
He figured it out without me saying a word.
Smart people are a pain like that. They have their own worldview and logic.
They weave stories from the smallest clues.
'Let's go with that scenario.'
I decided to stay silent.
"What did you tell them? How much...?"
"Our real goals. And personal details on a few members. But... not sure if this comforts you, but your name wasn't on the list. I didn't tell them about you."
Ludwig finally unleashed his pent-up fury.
"You fucking bastard! Benches! You seriously think that excuse will fly?!"
I watched Ludwig's lips move silently.
He probably wanted to say: If you got caught, you should have shut up and died.
'He didn't say it himself because some remnant of friendship as friends held him back.'
"Ludwig. I'm sorry. Truly... I'm sorry."
I could see Ludwig floundering between rage and friendship.
His anger toward me soon turned inward, toward himself—the root cause of it all.
His fury was a snake devouring its own tail.
To the bewildered man, I whispered apologies in acapella.
It was a shame his back was to me. His expression would have been a delight.
But this had its own charm.
'I especially love that lost, helpless arm.'
Wanting to strike me but unable to.
'Hating himself for not even being able to resent his last remaining friend. I love that. I love it.'
Ludwig turned around with effort. His face was contorted.
"...Benches. Listen well. The only reason I'm not killing you right now... is our last thread of friendship. Don't... ever show your face to me again. Whether you get caught and executed by the Empire or survive as a whistleblower, it's none of my business."
"..."
"...Get out of my sight. Before I kill you."
"...Got it."
I wondered what reaction Ludwig would have if I just quietly died right here. Curiosity was killing me.
I stepped out of the room.
The other members bombarded me with questions, but I gave no answers and left.
They turned their questions to Ludwig.
Ludwig said nothing. He needed time to sort his thoughts too.
'He's cornered mentally now.'
What choice would Ludwig make?
Would he break down completely and become a wreck?
Or turn into a vengeful ghost living only for revenge against the Empire?
Maybe he'd double down on the rebellion with renewed conviction.
'Doesn't matter which. Even if he truly awakens, that's fine.'
Things going exactly to plan can get boring too.
Sometimes, the fun in life comes from the unexpected.
Arbelia von Carmilla stood before a grand mansion.
It belonged to a man named Ernst Walther.
'Ernst Walther. 41 years old. Single. Runs a small investment firm. Clean as can be.'
Ernst Walther was above suspicion to anyone who looked.
Nothing suggested he was a front for someone else. No scandals with women, clean family ties.
'He had a daughter and wife, but both passed away. Their marriage was harmonious.'
So why was she here?
'Ever since meeting that man on the train, I've felt like I'm being toyed with by something.'
How long had it been since she'd felt this way?
A thick sense of unease. The unpleasant sensation of becoming a puppet. The alien feeling of being watched.
Everything dragged that damned bastard to mind.
'...Damn it all.'
Once her mentor.
The man she'd respected more than anyone, thought of as a father.
Even now, closing her eyes brought it back.
That question: Did you enjoy the family play?
That mocking sneer, as if he couldn't contain his glee. It still haunted her dreams.
The mansion door opened, and a servant came out to greet her.
"Is the master of the house in?"
"The master is still out. You...!"
She brushed off the familiar reaction. As the Sword Saint, her face was well-known publicly.
Most people with any social standing recognized her.
"If he's not in, I'll come back later. Then—"
As Arbelia turned to leave,
a girl peeked out from behind the servant's skirt.
'The girl from the train. The one who called Walther "Uncle" and followed him.'
Her name was Ceres, was it?
Ludwig sat at his desk, translating a page from the black grimoire.
In the ink-scented silence, Bella's voice rang out.
"Ludwig. Benches is dead. Suicide."
He'd hanged himself in an inn room.
The pen in his hand snapped. Black ink spilled across the ancient parchment.
It stained the demonic summoning incantation he was translating.
"...I see. Suicide... Suicide, you say?"
His voice sounded flat. Too flat, making Bella look at him with uneasy eyes.
"Word from the guards. He hanged himself..."
"I got it. Leave."
Bella closed the door behind her. The cave's damp air crushed Ludwig's lungs.
'Suicide.'
The word circled his mind like a black serpent laced with venom.
Benches had sworn with him, Marcelo, and Azrael atop a pile of trash.
To topple the corrupt Empire and create a paradise where the exploited could breathe free.
They'd fought with each other's backs to lean on. Even as they died, fled, they rose again.
It was a long time ago.
'Benches got caught by the Empire and sold out his comrades. The suicide... Guilt drove him to end it himself.'
That was Ludwig's conclusion. Though it could have been murder disguised as suicide.
Marcelo's words came back to him.
Once this was over, he'd return home and teach children, he'd said.
'Damn it. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. What... What the hell am I even doing...?'
Guilt was a poison with a unique flavor.
Bitter at first, but over time it seeped in, numbing every sense.
And when that numbness reached a certain point, a clarity akin to awakening descended.
For Ludwig, this was that moment.