The Paris Commune (1)
My business trip to France was not yet over, but as the calendar turned to October, the situation began to shift.
First of all, Delis was coming to Paris herself.
"Are you sure it's alright? For you to come here in person."
My question wasn't about leaving the Syndicate's headquarters unattended, but rather a genuine concern for the suspicion Delis might draw upon herself.
"You have nothing to worry about. Perhaps a few weeks ago it would have been different, but the Ministry of Magic harbors no suspicion toward you now, Lady Yerina."
"Well, that is a relief."
"I am merely visiting Paris as a member of the final fact-finding mission, tasked with determining whether magic played any role in Princess Diana's death. My movements will be far more unrestricted than those of the initial investigators."
This was the second change. Just as Delis said, over the past few days, I could tangibly feel the physical and intangible pressures on me easing.
The disappearance of the Marseille traitors who had been tailing me was a given, but even putting that aside, it wasn't hard to see that the heat had died down.
The suspicions surrounding Princess Diana's death seemed destined to remain just that—suspicions. The prevailing consensus was that it was a tragic accident, a compounding of sheer misfortune with absolutely no magic involved.
Delis had joined this final investigation team to catch any evidence that might have been overlooked. If even this group concluded it was a simple accident, then that would be the end of it. The atmosphere among the investigators seemed incomparably relaxed compared to the beginning.
All human emotions dilute with time. Even for a princess beloved by the public, a month after her passing meant the tears had mostly run dry.
Having heard the full story, I asked once more.
"So... even if you quietly assist with our operations on the side, there's absolutely no risk of you getting caught?"
"Most of the investigators treat this trip more as a vacation than an official deployment. The scheduled itinerary isn't particularly tight either. So, there is no reason I cannot manage both."
To my mind, the final investigation team's trip to Paris looked like a mere formality. It felt like a preemptive move to draw a line, as if to say, "We did everything we could, so don't complain later."
That was likely why the name of Delis Bloomfeld, whose reputation had been soaring lately, was included on the roster. It was a calculated gesture to show they were putting their absolute best effort into the matter.
It was obvious who they were trying to impress. I found the underlying power struggle between the British Ministry of Magic and the civil government highly amusing.
Despite serving the same Queen, one side distrusted the "democratically elected government," while the other despised the "aristocratic, elitist snobs."
Thanks to their bickering, not only had I slipped off the suspect list, but I was also able to summon another highly capable subordinate to Paris.
It was against this backdrop that Moscow's perception of me as a profound threat came to light. This revelation was entirely thanks to my Information Chief taking direct charge of compiling the data, elevating our operational efficiency to unprecedented heights.
Amidst the influx of new intelligence, I tilted my head in confusion.
"I still don't quite understand. I know my Charm is a powerful magic, but would they really go to such lengths over that alone...?"
"And yet, the documents consistently point to that conclusion. Unless, of course, they planted a mountain of paperwork specifically to deceive us."
I had already ruled out that possibility. There simply hadn't been enough time for them to plant fake evidence for a deception campaign.
I picked up a Russian document that had been buried in the archives of the Marseille branch. It was a file that seemed to have come straight from Moscow.
« The head of the Northern Covenant Syndicate, Willo Bronsky, has one daughter. Although Bronsky himself is not a mage, his daughter, Yerina Willovna Bronska, is capable of casting magic, albeit in an incomplete state. »
« However, the mechanism of her magic is estimated to be fundamentally different from conventional spellcasting. »
« It is highly probable that this is an unknown, primordial magic, likely inherited from her deceased mother or maternal ancestors. Investigations indicate that neither her father, Willo Bronsky, nor any of his ancestors possessed magical traits. »
The document detailed my personal history far more thoroughly than the DVD my father had left behind. Then again, the two were hardly comparable.
The former was a digital file my father had created specifically for my eyes, while the latter was an internal document of the Soviet of Materialists, written for their own operatives.
Fortunately, this document allowed me to view myself and my family with greater objectivity. Cross-referencing this data was infinitely easier than relying solely on my own hazy memories and the testimonies of old subordinates who had served the Bronsky family.
According to the file, Yerina's mother had lived in Kaliningrad for a long time, where she met my father in the early 1980s and subsequently gave birth to me. The Syndicate was founded around the same time.
However, one detail struck me as odd. Wait, isn't there a contradiction here?
The Moscow document listed my mother's birth year as sometime in the 1950s. Yet, in the digital files my father left behind, he mentioned that my mother had once reminisced about living through the Nazi era.
Since Nazi Germany had collapsed in 1945 in this world just as it had in history, at least one of those sources had to be lying. After a brief moment of contemplation, I searched Yerina's memories to discern who the liar was.
"Rina, why do you think your papa built our organization in this city, of all places?"
"Hmm... because it's the city where you met Mama?"
"That is correct, but it is only a half-mark answer. The other half lies in the fact that Kaliningrad is the city where my youth resides."
His youth was meant in the most literal sense. As a Polish veteran of World War II, the final battlefield my father had served on was Kaliningrad in 1945—known as Königsberg at the time.
For his distinguished service during the East Prussian Offensive in the Great Patriotic War, my father had even been awarded the title of Hero of the Soviet Union.
There was a reason why men like Kim Philby, a member of the Cambridge Five, branded my father a traitor. To have received the highest honor of the Union, only to betray the Leader, the Party, and the Motherland—it was bound to be perceived as a profound shock.
Yet, the piece of metal my father had shown me in that hazy memory was something else entirely.
"Rina, would you look at this?"
"Is this... an Iron Cross...? Papa, why do you have something like this?"
"To tell you the truth, this medal is the very thing that drew me back to this city."
My father had explained that the Nazi Iron Cross he plundered during the fierce fighting was what ultimately guided him back to Kaliningrad. At first, he kept it out of pure opportunism, thinking he could sell it for a high price later.
But as he carried the object with him, he realized that even as twenty-five years passed after the war, he had physically aged only about ten.
I hadn't known then, but I knew what it was now. Pavel, who was reviewing the documents alongside me, murmured quietly.
"It must have been a relic that slows aging and extends one's lifespan."
"Undoubtedly. Looking back, I wonder how I didn't realize it sooner."
Across all times and cultures, the most commonly discovered relics were those that extended life. They took many forms, from simple accessories to treasured swords. It was proof of how deeply humanity feared death and clung to life.
My father must have stumbled upon a life-extending relic that happened to be embedded in an Iron Cross. Given the Nazis' rudimentary understanding of magic at the time, they likely hadn't crafted the relic themselves; they had probably just crudely mounted a magical artifact onto a standard military medal.
Even so, it was more than enough to make my father look a decade younger than his peers.
"I looked in the mirror and thought to myself: if I return to the city where I found this medal, perhaps I might find some answers."
"And that was where I met your mother."
Involuntarily, I conjured up the image of my mother from my memories. She looked so much like me—or rather, I looked so much like her. Her apparent age had seemed no different from my father's. Thus, on the surface, her being born in the 1950s wouldn't have raised any eyebrows.
"So, did you find the answers you were looking for, Papa?"
"Well, now. I found them, but they only birthed endless new questions. There were the questions your mother left behind, and the homework the Union set for me..."
"Hmph, you're making it sound way too complicated."
At my pout, my father, sitting in his leather armchair, pulled my tiny self onto his lap. He tapped his fingers against the mahogany table as he explained.
"Is that so? But you will understand when the time comes. This Syndicate will help us find the answers."
Unlike my father, whose birth records and various identities were fully documented by the Soviet authorities, my mother hailed from East Prussia, which the Union had newly acquired. The post-war chaos would have been more than enough to temporarily erase any trace of her identity, which had once been cataloged by Nazi Germany.
"Hah..."
"What is it, milady?"
"Nothing. It's just... the situation is rather amusing."
A woman living in hiding, concealing her true identity from the world. If one were to describe such a person in a single word, it would be none other than a witch.
Since the Industrial, Scientific, and Magical Revolutions, it had become virtually impossible for mages to live in hiding. As the world advanced and the administrative reach of nations extended into the deepest rainforests, the polar ice caps, and the barren deserts, secrecy became a luxury of the past.
Thus, with very few exceptions, most mages were forced to adopt public identities. Even I, on paper, was Irene Lonska, a British citizen employed by a Polish trading firm.
Because of this, the end of World War II was essentially the last window of opportunity for mages to slip into the shadows amidst the chaos.
Piecing these facts together, the conclusion was clear.
So being a witch is a title with far more history than I thought...
Though the document contained highly sensitive information about myself and my family, I felt no hesitation in reviewing it alongside Pavel and Delis. After all, they were the subordinates I trusted implicitly. If not them, who else could I rely on to shoulder such heavy burdens?
Pavel took the document I had been reading and let out a low sigh.
"...So that is what happened. It seems your mother was a woman far ahead of her time, even more than I imagined."
"I didn't know the details either, but it certainly seems so. Moscow must have been in the dark for a long time before they stumbled upon this truth. That was probably when they started digging into my father, our organization, and my mother."
But they must have tasted bitter defeat at every turn. After all, my mother had passed away from an unknown illness when I was still a child.
I remembered how the former head of our organization had searched high and low for a clue to my Charm, which was clearly a maternal inheritance. Even my father, with me as a living subject right beside him, had failed to find any substantial lead.
What could those communists, sitting in their council chambers over a thousand kilometers away in Moscow engaging in mere academic debate, possibly know?
Because of this, the captured document concluded with a heavy emphasis on my Charm:
« It is self-evident that Yerina Willovna Bronska will act as a major variable—and furthermore, a direct threat—to the operations of the Council. »
I handed the document from the Soviet of Materialists, which explicitly labeled me a threat, over to Delis and looked at my Information Chief.
Ever since joining the Syndicate, Delis had begun learning Russian, the organization's primary language. Her genius shone through in linguistics as well; now, nearly four months in, she could read it with ease, even if speaking it was still a work in progress.
As far as I knew, when the heads of Information and Security spoke to each other, Delis was usually the one who accommodated Pavel by speaking in Russian. The reason remained unknown, but she had shown an unprecedented passion for mastering the language.
After scanning the document, Delis spoke up.
"In that case, milady, we need to ascertain the exact nature of the threat the Council of Materialists perceives you to be."
"What do you mean by 'nature'?"
Delis lightly tapped the paper as she answered my puzzled look.
"We can divide it into two broad categories. First, a simple fear of the unknown magic that is your Charm. If that is the case, their response would be a preemptive elimination out of caution: 'She might be dangerous, so let us remove her beforehand.'"
"And the second?"
"Yes, the second scenario is that they understand in detail exactly how your Charm poses a threat to them. Naturally, this would be the far more troublesome situation."
"Mmh, that would certainly be worse."
But these two categories were not static. For instance, while it might have been the former when I fled Kaliningrad, the events of the past six months could have easily escalated their assessment to the latter.
By now, they had more than enough time to realize they had lost contact with the mage they dispatched to Marseille.
"As your Information Chief, I will prepare for every scenario... but from an operational standpoint, I must advise you to always assume the worst-case scenario."
"Of course. I've always believed that just as I give my absolute best in everything, my enemies will do the same."
"Then the Information Department will formulate our response with the second scenario in mind."
My tendency to assume the worst was entirely born of my incomplete knowledge of the enemy. In other words, it was the fear of the unknown that steered my thoughts toward the darkest possibilities.
I let out a heavy sigh. Raising my teacup, heavily sweetened with sugar cubes, to my lips, I murmured in frustration.
"Sigh... there is still so much I do not know."
It was Pavel who offered a quiet word of comfort.
"Do not say that, milady. Ever since you took full control of the Syndicate, you have never made a wrong decision."
It wasn't that I lacked confidence. A second chance at life is not granted to everyone, and having been blessed with this undeserved opportunity, I was more than ready to burn through this life with absolute intensity.
If anything, a fierce competitive spirit was boiling within me. I replied with a smile.
"Yes. And I intend to keep making the right decisions."
What I needed at this moment was not some weak, self-doubting question like "Am I doing the right thing?"
I was right, and my enemies were wrong. Even if that weren't true, what did it matter? The only thing that mattered was that I believed it to be so.
Ordinary people follow the law. Only by doing so can they live in peace.
Rulers make the law. Only by doing so can they maintain their peace.
And I will become the law itself. Only by doing so can I secure my own peace.