An Eve at the End of the Century

The Magister of the Council of Materialists, the General Secretary of Steel, read the freshly printed sheet once before carelessly crumpling it into a ball. Why did the machine have to write out something even an idiot could understand in such tedious length?

On a whim, he set it ablaze. The magically conjured flames consumed only the paper, flaring up briefly before vanishing on their own. The remaining ashes scattered, swept away by the draft of the underground ventilation system of the Kremlin Palace of Congresses.

Even without being told, he had already intended to follow OGAS's advice. The intelligence reaped from British high society, spearheaded by the Cambridge Five, had been quite lucrative. Where on earth had the leak occurred for that wretched Witch to find out?

Regrettable as it was, there was nothing to be done. Just like the Paris Commune in Marseille, this too had to be written off as a sunk cost.

He had once contemplated revealing Yerina Bronska's existence to the British magical authorities. However, the analyses from OGAS and the KGB consistently pointed to one conclusion: it would only worsen the situation, never improve it. If those island-dwelling imperialist pirates, whose specialty was divide and rule, were told of the Witch's existence by the Union, they would gleefully seize the opportunity to fling her straight at Moscow instead. She would become an incredibly sharp dagger, possessing more than enough potential to pierce the very heart of the Union.

Useless bastards, the lot of them.

Even so, it wasn't the absolute worst-case scenario yet. The second option proposed by OGAS remained. Though the intelligence network within Britain had been shaken to its foundations, there was still a piece that even the Witch could not touch. Because it was a Trojan Horse planted entirely separately, with absolutely no connection to the compromised network, it had remained perfectly intact.

'The problem is how to eliminate the Minister of Magic...'

Even on the cusp of the new millennium, he was a man who stubbornly clung to the reactionary aristocratic title of Marquis. The only reason such an anachronistic figure could firmly secure his position was entirely because Lord Dunhaven was an exceptionally brilliant wizard. Unless they could somehow deal with him, the Union's grasp on the British Ministry of Magic would remain a distant dream.

For now, the only option was to ensure the Trojan Horse continued to curry favor with the Marquis. Stalin clicked his tongue.

Returning to the syndicate's headquarters just a day before Christmas, Pavel and I were greeted by a gentle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flurry of snow—a rare sight for London. All along the way from Heathrow Airport to our safehouse in Greenwich, the city was fully engrossed in conjuring a festive, year-end atmosphere. Twinkling lights hung along the banks of the River Thames next to Big Ben, and the falling snowflakes caught the illumination, flickering in a kaleidoscope of colors.

"It is truly magnificent. Up until last year, I had never seen an atmosphere like this."

"Well, Kaliningrad wasn't exactly an environment where reactionary religious zealots worshipping Jesus could easily pop up, was it?"

Whether due to Soviet religious suppression or because the syndicate nurtured under my father's leadership was overflowing with pragmatic atheists, the organization was, on the whole, thoroughly secular. Thanks to that, the arrival of Christmas did not bring our internal affairs to a grinding halt. Of course, non-essential tasks were relaxed to a reasonable degree. It would be rather cruel to keep our members trapped in a hell of overwork while the rest of the world was in a festive mood. For the sake of operational efficiency, a proper amount of rest was essential. Now that the syndicate's darkest days were behind us, year-end vacations for non-essential departments were well within the realm of acceptable indulgence.

Meanwhile, welcoming me back to the Greenwich safehouse after a long absence of a month and a half was... yes, a literal mountain of paperwork awaiting my signature. Even if I granted rest to my subordinates, I couldn't afford to slack off completely. In fact, giving the members time off had its benefits. A reduction in my subordinates' workload meant that, at the very least, no new documents would pile up on my desk until the new year dawned.

Besides, going straight to sleep would only ruin my attempts to overcome the jet lag. As soon as I arrived at my office, I washed away some of my accumulated fatigue with a quick shower and dove straight into my work. Fortunately, Delis had handled the documents she could resolve on her own, leaving only concise summaries on my desk. Had she not, the mountain of paperwork would have been at least twice as high.

As I pushed through the encroaching drowsiness with cups of coffee and black tea, continuing my work ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to adjust my internal clock, Delis visited me just as the sun began to slip below the western horizon a few hours later.

"Forgive my late arrival, Lady Yerina."

"Ah, you're here. Don't worry about it. I'm sure you came straight here the moment you finished."

Though I often disparaged it as a bureaucratic hell, the Ministry of Magic was still a place that took proper care of its own. One could call it a corporate-style workplace that offset high intensity with excellent welfare and high pay. In any case, Delis's duties at the Ministry for the year concluded today, on Christmas Eve. Since the magical technocrats—excluding field agents—had little to do, they were granted leave until the end of the year, much like our syndicate. During this time, Delis could focus entirely on the syndicate's internal affairs.

When I had suggested that she, as the Chief of Intelligence, should take some rest, the girl before me had replied:

'Now, when everyone else is resting, is the perfect opportunity for the syndicate to pull ahead.'

I had no reason to refuse. It wasn't as if we had some silly culture of declining three times out of politeness.

"The documents regarding Misoka that I mentioned previously should be completed within today or tomorrow. Please wait just a little ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠longer."

"Yes, Pavel and I told you before, didn't we? We trust you, as always."

Normally, she would have delivered the report before the week she asked for was even up, but it seemed it was still unfinished. There must be a vast amount of information to organize. I wasn't growing impatient. I had absolute faith in Delis's capabilities. Once she began digging into the matter, crucial pieces of information must have started popping up left and right. In that sense, the longer the wait, the more detailed the information I would obtain regarding the whereabouts of the national artifact, Misoka. Thus, no matter how long it took, I couldn't help but look forward to the files she would eventually place on my desk.

As if sensing my thoughts, Delis gave a brief bow.

"Thank you for your understanding."

As I had reflected many times before, it was an immense blessing that she had joined our organization. Otherwise, such a talented individual would have never stepped onto the path of magic, ending up as nothing more than a vengeful ghost in the Metropolitan Police Service. Even when pursuing vengeance, the blade one wields must never lack purpose. In that regard, providing Delis with a direction was truly beneficial in more ways than one. For me, for the syndicate, and for Delis herself.

I stretched my limbs and let out a long yawn before replying.

"Mmm... Is it finally time to sleep? It seems the black tea is starting to lose its effect."

If I slept deeply for about twelve hours, I would probably wake up around morning. Given that my body was already accustomed to working late nights and pulling all-nighters as if it were second nature, I wondered if adjusting to jet lag even mattered, but it was still better than nothing. Though my sleep schedule would likely fall into disarray again in a few days anyway.

Just as I began to unbraid my hair and head toward the bed, Delis suddenly spoke up.

"Ah, by the way, it seems there may be some shifts in the upcoming power struggle within the Ministry around the turn of the year."

I was just about to lie down. What was this about now?

When I hummed a questioning "Hmm?" in response, Delis immediately answered.

"It is as I said. As you know, Lady Yerina... the position of Minister of Magic feels less like a Prime Minister or President and more like an absolute monarchy, does it not?"

"That's true. But why so suddenly? Is Lord Dunhaven about to kick the bucket?"

Despite being a state institution of the United Kingdom—a supposedly democratic nation—the Ministry of Magic operated far more independently than any other government branch. The Minister of Magic was practically treated as an equal to the British Prime Minister behind closed doors, which said it all. Its nature as a secret organization hidden from ordinary citizens certainly played a part in this.

As Delis's analogy suggested, the leadership of the Ministry was not decided by popular vote or appointed by the Prime Minister; rather, the incumbent Minister simply handed it down to whoever they pleased. Of course, debating the tradition was entirely pointless. Because the average lifespan of wizards was so long, a transition of power had never actually occurred in practice. It was merely a procedure outlined in their bylaws.

Delis shook her head.

"No, it is not that the Marquis's health is failing. Rather... it seems his intention is to solidify the succession before it is too late."

"Ah, I see. Come to think of it, doesn't the Marquis have a grandson?"

"Yes. His name is Benjamin Ashford. Born in 1945, he is said to have been baptized directly by the Marquis as a child to become a wizard."

I hadn't had much to do with the British Ministry of Magic in my past life either. The United States had been the one commissioning far more work regarding relic excavations. I had never paid close attention to their family trees, only catching a few names here and there. Because of this, the information Delis meticulously analyzed and delivered to me was incredibly valuable.

"Why choose his grandson of all people? Considering the average lifespan of wizards, his son shouldn't have been an issue."

Assuming roughly twenty-five years per generation, Lord Dunhaven's son would have been born in the early 1920s. That would make him 'only' in his seventies now. If one wanted to seize power, age couldn't be ignored, so his son seemed like the more viable candidate.

My deduction was instantly shattered by Delis's follow-up explanation.

"The Marquis's son... that is, Benjamin Ashford's father, was killed in action on the Western Front during World War II."

"Ah, now it makes sense. Since father-to-son succession is out of the question, he's opting for grandfather-to-grandson?"

"Furthermore, despite being over fifty, he remains unmarried. While lacking the support of an in-law family is a weakness, it also means he can secure a new alliance through marriage at any time without any existing baggage."

This was getting more and more interesting.

"Do you think you could gather some materials on their internal power struggle as well?"

"If you command it, absolutely. In fact, I was already compiling it alongside the Misoka investigation. I will present them together."

Preparing it all without even being asked. This was precisely why I couldn't help but hold Delis in such high regard. At any rate, I had obtained some useful news after a long while.

Filled with immense satisfaction, I flashed a bright smile at Delis as she turned to open the office door. Then, waving my hand, I called out her name.

"Delis?"

"Yes, Lady Yerina?"

"Merry Christmas."

It was an Eve at the end of the century.