Military Supply Corruption, Explosive Terrorism (2)
The magic tool workshops of House Rowen and House Ardel, which had been locked in fierce competition for the market, had in fact been working in collusion.
It was not an easy truth to accept, yet neither was it impossible. One could even choose to see it as a healthy rivalry of a sort.
If the claim proved true, every conclusion reached by Luminus—the inspector in charge at the time—would stand exposed as a lie. He had closed the case by declaring that the two houses had attacked each other in a bid to monopolize the market.
Dig deep enough into that single point, and landing a solid blow against the chief of the 3rd Division would not be difficult. Yet something far more important demanded my attention: bringing Marquis Rosman’s crimes into the light. Scrubbing the rest of the Inspectorate clean could wait until afterward.
Tap. Tap. Tap—
I stopped drumming my fingertips against the table. The habit always surfaced when I was turning a problem over in my mind.
“I, too, found the way that case was closed rather strange. That is precisely why we are reopening the investigation now. If you know anything further, please tell me.”
“I see. As expected of an inspector…”
Sahad let the sentence trail away. Complex emotions flickered across his face—relief on one side, a smoldering anger on the other. At last a quiet, almost detached voice emerged.
“In truth, I lost my son in that incident. The boy was not even grown, yet he insisted on helping his father and came to the workshop that day.”
“That… is regrettable.”
“How is a father supposed to go on living after his own flesh and blood has died? For a time I even regretted surviving.”
Nobles filled their own pockets, and commoners paid the price in tears. That was the path the empire was walking toward ruin. Sahad was far from the only victim; countless others stood in the same place. Yet I had not come to save them.
I might feel pity, but I did not truly share their grief. What I felt was pure hatred for the corrupt nobles who had caused it all. My goal was to put them behind bars and make them pay—not to play the savior of the wronged. One lifetime spent overflowing with justice had been more than enough.
Haa—
Sahad exhaled a long breath and lowered his head.
“Forgive me. I have said too many useless things.”
“It is all right.”
“To return to the matter at hand—I gathered evidence on my own. Concerning that incident. I am certain it will be of use to you, Inspector.”
“Yes. It will be of great help. I would be grateful if you would entrust it to me.”
Whether the material he had collected would truly hold up as evidence remained to be seen. Still, something was better than nothing; at the very least it would give the investigation a direction.
“Then I shall go and fetch it at once. It may take as long as an hour. Will that be acceptable?”
“Yes. Waiting is no trouble.”
“In that case…”
“I think it best we leave together.”
My gaze had drifted to the window. Faint though it was, I could sense mana outside. It seemed an uninvited guest had arrived. I did not need to experience the consequences of sending Sahad out alone to know what would happen.
From my Expansion Bag I drew a worn robe—something I kept for occasions when I needed to pass as a wandering knight. I had hoped never to wear it, but my luck, it seemed, was not that generous.
“Shall we?”
Pulling the hood low, I stepped out of the room. However they had learned of our meeting, a guest who had come this far deserved a proper welcome.
“He really agreed to meet this late at night?”
“Yes, you may trust me. He said a nighttime stroll would be best—there is no doubt.”
“Then we strike the moment he separates from the inspector.”
Rundal, who had spoken with Caenderic earlier, stood beside the manager of the magic tool workshop. Marquis Rosman was clearly trying to bury the old incident. Rundal had seen an opportunity and sold the information; in return he had been promised the position of master of the Third Workshop.
Of course the tip had to be accurate—but that much, at least, no longer worried him. With his own eyes he had watched Sahad slip out of the dormitory late at night. By now the old artisan would be deep in conversation with the inspector.
Not long afterward a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley, hood pulled low. The stranger scanned the surroundings with wary care before quickening his pace. Both Rundal and the manager saw him.
“We follow.”
Keeping a measured distance, the two began to tail their quarry. A hood might hide a face, but it could not disguise a build. Convinced the slight figure was Sahad, the manager stepped out from the shadows and blocked the path.
“Remove the hood.”
After a moment’s hesitation the man pushed the fabric back. White hair and a deeply lined face came into view. There was no need to say it—this was Sahad.
“Too much curiosity invites disaster. I hold no personal grudge, so forgive me.”
The manager launched himself forward. A short dagger had somehow appeared in his hand; its keen tip streaked toward Sahad.
In that instant the clouds overhead swallowed the moonlight. When the moon next lifted its face to the world—
“It’s true I have never earned anyone’s personal grudge.”
Someone now stood between Sahad and the manager. Hooded like the artisan, the newcomer had locked the dagger in an iron grip. Even in the darkness those blue eyes shone with a light that planted pure dread in anyone who met them.
Watching from the side, Rundal swallowed hard.
“C-Caenderic…”
“I am glad you remember my name so well. That means you also know what I do for a living.”
Caenderic released the blade. The manager tried to spring back—only he had forgotten about his head.
Thud—
The severed head rolled across the filthy alley stones. The body, robbed of its center of gravity, crumpled. Blood gushed from the neck and began to mingle with the dust.
“Drawing a blade against a noble is a grave crime. Seeing you standing together, I take it you are an accomplice.”
“H-hiiieeek—!”
The moment Caenderic’s gaze fixed on him, Rundal spun and fled for his life. There was a certain injustice to it—he had never intended to kill the inspector, only Sahad, and the manager’s target had been the same. But truth no longer mattered.
The manager’s death meant Rundal himself might be next. Better to run until his legs gave out than to stay and argue the finer points of guilt.
“So it truly was him, just as you said, Inspector…”
“It was not difficult to guess. Only one person knew of our meeting.”
“I do not understand… That man was clearly from House Arden. Why would someone who shared the same fate…?”
“Not everyone feels the same emotion about the same event. To him that incident was probably nothing more than a brief disturbance of the past.”
It was a cold truth, yet it was reality. The entire world could not share a single feeling over a single tragedy. On the day Lydia died by my hand, the other knights had thrown a celebration. There was no point in measuring right and wrong; each of us simply stood in different places.
“Shall we go, then?”
“You will leave the one who fled as he is?”
“Yes. He never pointed a blade at my throat himself.”
I had no intention of killing him. I recognized that a measure of violence was sometimes necessary, but I had no desire to swing my sword indiscriminately. This should serve as warning enough; he would not dare another foolish move.
Together with Sahad I set off again, leaving the darkened alley and walking the streets until we reached the magic tool workshop. True to its reputation as the empire’s finest, the place was enormous.
“This way, please. The evidence is in my room.”
Following his lead I entered the chamber and received the materials he had gathered. He must have begun collecting them immediately after the incident; the stack of documents was considerable. I could examine their contents carefully beginning tomorrow.
“Inspector… I leave it in your hands.”
“Yes. Entrust it to me.”
Our business here was finished. All that remained was to use the evidence he had so carefully preserved and drag Marquis Rosman before a tribunal.
Before stepping out of the room I halted and spoke once more.
“Sahad—if you are willing, would you come with me?”
“Where do you mean…?”
“I intend to open a magic tool workshop of my own before long, yet I find myself short of skilled hands. I can promise you better treatment than anything you received here. And the sort of misfortune you fear will never befall you under my roof.”
Sahad nodded without the slightest hesitation.
“If such an opportunity exists, I would very much like to take it.”
Once House Rosman’s workshop collapsed, many would find themselves without work. Sahad would prove invaluable then; the network of contacts he had built over long years could not be ignored. Of course I would see that they were treated generously.