Delis in Wonderland, Part 4
How does it feel when the deduction you were absolutely certain was correct is shattered to pieces?
"Me, a Soviet spy? Me, the one who burned to death people who received the Order of Lenin directly from the General Secretary himself?"
This was information I had already cross-referenced and verified. They had been awarded it for some absurd reason, like making a great contribution to the spread of communism and the global revolution. Of course, I didn't need to tell her right now that those medals were actually low-grade relics—not quite national treasures—imbued with magic that extended one's lifespan.
Delis's reaction did not deviate much from my expectations.
"No, that can't be. You killed him...! You... you ordered someone to kill my father!"
My goodness... It was as if she had broken down all on her own without me even doing anything. Was she simply unable to accept her own mistake?
"..."
A brilliant idea flashed through my mind. What if I thoroughly proved to her that her deduction was wrong, making it absolutely clear that I was not her father's killer, and dragged her ego down into the bottomless abyss? What if she realized that the target of her ultimate revenge was actually nothing but an empty void?
I'm getting curious.
I wondered how she would react.
"Pavel. Do you have the camcorder footage with you?"
"It's in the car, miss. I have all five of them burned onto CDs."
"Good. Bring it here along with the ThinkPad."
At my command, Pavel quickly returned from the car with the laptop. There was no need to show her the parts where we interrogated them for information. I dragged the playback bar all the way to the end, making the moment of Kim Philby's death the only thing Delis could see.
I watched the recorded video along with her. Watching a communist writhe in agony before finally departing this world was still immensely satisfying to watch, even on screen. Although the camera hadn't captured his shattered soul scattering in the wind, simply reminiscing about that moment brought me a deep sense of gratification.
I snapped the ThinkPad shut with a click and asked with a bright, beaming smile.
"So, how about it? Will you believe me now?"
Even if she didn't believe me, it wouldn't change a thing. What was the point of her trying so hard to deny it?
"Up we go."
I climbed up and sat on the high desk where the laptop had been. Swinging my legs back and forth, I asked her.
"Now, since you know I'm not the culprit, care to try deducing again? Who do you think the real culprit is now?"
A trembling voice squeezed out a faint reply.
"Obviously... the communists running rampant within the Empire...?"
Getting the right answer on her very first try after that was quite encouraging. I let a hint of pride slip into my voice.
"Spot on. See? When people are blinded by anger, they can't make rational judgments. Only when you take a step back can you finally view the situation objectively."
At this moment, my dominance was firmly established. I immediately shifted my attitude toward Delis. Delis raised her head to look at me. The difference in our eye levels—her looking up, me looking down—was the most intuitive way to instill a sense of hierarchy.
I instantly wiped the cheerfulness from my voice. Rapidly shifting between playfulness and gravity would undoubtedly make it difficult for Delis to read the situation. There was no need to tell her that causing such confusion was my actual goal.
"Well... as you've seen in the video, your deduction was ultimately incorrect, Delis Bloomfeld. While I am connected to this in some way, I am merely a person of interest, not the suspect."
"Then... what about me now..."
Her trembling amber eyes were now filled with absolute terror. Her hands, though bound, shook just as violently. Her subservient tone was proof of her fear. I was secretly pleased by how quickly she grasped the situation.
Should I ease up on the pressure a bit?
I shifted my tone once more, speaking to her gently.
"Oh, don't worry. You won't end up like Kim Philby."
Similarly, there was no need to drag things out. The entire nation was already focused on the death of a high-ranking officer from the Metropolitan Police. If his daughter were to die now as well? Even though I hadn't committed the first murder, it was obvious that my syndicate and I would be blamed for both. No matter how cautious we were, exposing a part of our organization would be unavoidable. Therefore, the original plan of silencing her permanently was best avoided if possible.
Until this morning, I had been prepared to bear that cost if necessary, but now that a way out had presented itself, there was no reason to refuse it. Moreover, simply killing a unique individual immune to my Charm would be a terrible waste. There was no telling how many more people like her existed in the world. To ensure my own survival in case of an emergency, Delis Bloomfeld had to remain alive.
And so, I made up my mind. I would make her my captive.
I hopped down from the high desk and instructed Pavel.
"Let's go, Pavel. I'll head up first, so bring her up."
"How securely should I bind her...?"
"Hmm, she'll be sitting next to me, so untie her legs and just keep her hands in handcuffs."
Since it was a rather impulsive order, Pavel questioned it.
"Excuse me? Wouldn't that be too dangerous for you, miss...?"
"Pfft, what? Dangerous?"
I couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle. Who was worrying about whom? He had been right by my side, watching me obliterate countless obstacles with magic ever since Kaliningrad, and yet he still worried. It seemed I would have to demonstrate my absolute magical superiority to him again sometime soon.
"Enough. Just do as you're told."
Without waiting for a reply, I headed toward the stairs leading back to the surface. From behind, I thought I heard Pavel's sheepish reply. It was probably something along the lines of, "As you wish, miss."
Climbing the monastery stairs, I thought to myself that I really needed more hands. I wasn't the type to seek out work, yet tasks seemed to pile up on their own before I even realized it. In truth, these were just matters I hadn't noticed before that were finally coming to light, but to me, it felt like the exact same thing.
Aside from routine operations like smuggling and intelligence gathering, the entire syndicate had been keeping a low profile. It was about time we began our external operations, which meant things would only get busier from here on out.
But I couldn't stop. Just as Kim Philby had said, by now, the members of the 'Council' entrenched in Moscow must have realized that I had survived and firmly established myself in London. They would undoubtedly devise countermeasures—sending more spies to Britain or ordering local collaborators to intensify their pursuit of me and my syndicate. Broadly speaking, it was safe to assume it had already begun.
Though it was merely speculation for now, the syndicate strongly suspected that the murder of Delis Bloomfeld's father had also been ordered by Moscow. Therefore, if I ever wanted to stand atop the ashes of the Kremlin, look out over the world, and declare, "And behold, it was very good," I had to keep pushing forward relentlessly.
For instance... planting local collaborators within British politics and administration.
By sheer coincidence, a perfect piece to fill that empty puzzle had fallen right into my hands. In just a month or two, she would graduate from Oxford Law, and her late father had been a high-ranking official in the Metropolitan Police. On top of that, she clearly possessed immense intellectual capability. It would be a crime to let such talent go to waste.
If I softened her mind just a bit more with this kind of tempering, I could make her utterly dependent on me and the syndicate. It would mark the birth of a genius driven solely by a burning desire for revenge against the communists and materialists who murdered her father.
I also needed to plant my own people in the Ministry of Magic to prevent any complications. Judging by their deliberate murder of a Metropolitan Police officer, the Magisters of the Council seemed to believe I was deeply entangled in British politics. I didn't know how the British Ministry of Magic would react to this. However, since variables had to be eliminated beforehand, I wanted the shadowy department responsible for relics and magic across Britain to become my complete puppet. It would be even better if it could be forged into a sharp blade to pierce the heart of the Soviet Union.
Stepping out onto the surface, the quiet countryside and coastal scenery immediately came into view. Unlike the streets of London, the sky here was untouched by artificial light, cradling a sea of twinkling stars.
Should I just buy this monastery?
If I secured a bit more funding, I could probably buy the whole place. After all, carrying out continuous purges and soul-harvesting would be difficult if we kept doing it in this slipshod manner. Setting up automated facilities in the monastery's basement would save me a lot of time and resources. It was definitely worth considering.
As I walked toward the car, feeling the sea breeze on my face, a dry laugh escaped my lips. Operating a facility to purge my own subordinates at any moment because I couldn't trust them, and recruiting new people who would be entirely dependent on me for the exact same reason... How was I any different from Stalin? The scale might be different, but fundamentally, there was no distinction.
Strolling along the path and sinking deep into my thoughts, a conclusion soon surfaced. Indeed, we weren't that different. I was ultimately of the same breed. No matter how much I packaged it under the guise of shared grief over losing our fathers, kidnapping a relatively ordinary person to induce Stockholm syndrome was not something anyone with a sane mind would do.
Just as I had pondered on this very path during my previous visit to the Southend monastery, I was a witch. Greed in one hand, revenge in the other.
But—
So what?
Even if those two were the only forces driving me, and no matter how many sins I accumulated on my race toward Moscow, I only needed to care about myself and my people. The rest of the world was nothing but a means to an end. I would use and discard anything that dared to stand in my way.
With my mind made up, I got into the car and called the subordinate in charge of human resources.
"It's me. Just letting you know we'll be having a new member join us soon."
"..."
Delis Bloomfeld watched the girl disappear toward the stairs, utterly speechless. It was clear that the hulking man walking toward her was a subordinate, and the girl who had just left was the superior. In fact, she wasn't even sure if "girl" was the right word to describe her anymore. Judging by the sheer pressure she had just exuded, even a seasoned veteran who had survived countless trials wouldn't be fit to lick her boots.
Though the girl looked seven or eight years younger than her, Delis had felt like a small animal cornered by a predator. That was why, when she first faced the girl, she had been so convinced her deduction was flawless—the deduction that a girl of that age had associated with high-ranking communists at the very peak of British society and had contracted them to murder her beloved father.
Even Delis herself had harbored doubts, but she had pushed forward out of sheer stubbornness. She could have easily dismissed it as the lone act of a crazed red, but that was a possibility she refused to accept. Her father was not a man who deserved to die in such a meaningless way. There had to be a grander conspiracy lurking in the shadows.
But... that girl had just shattered her beliefs, declaring that she was actually the one who had executed the five communists, including Kim Philby. The footage playing on the laptop showed absolutely no signs of manipulation. It certainly wasn't a movie filmed with body doubles. Naturally, despair washed over her.
That her father had simply been run over and killed by a crazed drug addict who was now rotting in prison? Having the very possibility she had desperately tried to deny systematically proven by the girl she had believed to be the mastermind felt like drinking pure, concentrated despair. It was like being dragged down into a bottomless pit. If this was true, then she had been chasing a complete illusion. Did it mean her father's death was nothing more than a meaningless, accidental tragedy?
She had to know more. That girl, that person, definitely knew something else. She had to know far more than Delis, who had analyzed everything from public records to the classified investigation files leaked from the Metropolitan Police. Her detective's intuition screamed it. No, it had to be so.
And so, Delis asked.
"That person... Yerina Bronska... Who is she...?"
The hulking man, who spoke somewhat broken English, untied the ropes binding her to the chair and replaced them with handcuffs, sneering dismissively.
"She is not someone a person like you has any right to know about."
He wouldn't tell her. Was it because she was of so little value? Delis decided to swallow her pride. It was only natural to bow and bend before those who held absolute power over her.
"Please... who is she...?"
Perhaps sensing the desperation in her voice, his response was different this time. With absolute gravity, he replied:
"The master of souls."