[No title provided in translation]
A chilly night breeze settled quietly over the streets at dawn. A man with a haggard face peeked cautiously from between the alleys.
Like a frightened squirrel, he whipped his head around repeatedly, scanning his surroundings, and only when he confirmed no signs of life did he quicken his pace.
'Kuh! How did it come to this?!'
He'd even kicked off his shoes to avoid his footsteps echoing in the silent night as he ran, all while reflecting on his dire situation and wondering how things had gone so wrong.
The man—son of Viscount Olbert—had been an ordinary academy cadet dreaming of becoming a proud knight. While carrying on the family line was important, his father respected his son's choice of the swordsmanship department over administration, expecting that passion to burn brighter with each passing day.
But the problem was, the son had no talent for the sword. No matter how hard he trained—blistering his palms until they peeled, calluses building up everywhere, barely eating—he remained utterly average. Overwhelmed by self-loathing, the son's perpetual gloom made it hard for the viscount even to offer comfort.
Honestly, the viscount had been on the verge of suggesting he give up the knight's dream and inherit the family instead. But after all his son's blood, sweat, and tears, it felt like dismissing that effort outright, so the words stuck in his throat.
All the viscount could do was wait for the day his son would regain his spirits and spread his wings freely. As the family withered day by day, good news finally arrived.
After endless trials, his son had graduated the swordsmanship department with excellent marks. The viscount and his wife were overjoyed—they wanted to gather all their relatives for a feast right then and there, but settled on a quiet family celebration, eagerly awaiting his return.
Events shaking the continent had stirred up trouble during that time, but the viscount knew little of them and dismissed them as unrelated to his life.
'Dad!! Save me!!'
'S-son! What are you saying all of a sudden?!'
His son's words upon returning from the academy were shocking. Worn down by repeated exam failures, he'd turned to an illegal drug called Drak on a classmate's suggestion in the same boat—and passed thanks to its power.
And on the very day the Heaven God Cult's broadcast echoed across the continent, the viscount's son realized the drug he'd taken was the seed of the rumored monsters. He rushed to his father, begging for help.
'That unfilial wretch...'
He truly had a talent for fire-attribute magic, not swords—making every parental worry come true, and now threatening his own life. Yet the viscount, resigned to his own fate of trying to leak imperial secrets to the enemy for his son's antidote, hurried even faster to prolong his life.
'The rendezvous point should be around here!'
Moving as etched in his mental map, he sensed he was nearing the spot and slightly relaxed his tension.
"Well now. You shouldn't let your guard down until the very last moment."
"Who the hell are you?!"
The low voice whispered right in his ear. He'd spat the words in panic, but the viscount had sensed it too. Would the empire catch state traitors leaking secrets on their own turf with just neighborhood watchmen?
"The ones you were supposed to meet are already under surveillance. Viscount, do you have any defense?"
"...None. You've probably figured it all out already."
"Then—"
"Anything else is fine—just tell me who reported this."
"......"
"I didn't expect you'd spill easily. Probably the wife or one of our servants, right? They're all soft-hearted and naive; must've been agonizing over it."
The viscount offered his arms without resistance, his expression far more at ease than moments ago when he'd tried contacting the enemy.
"Just... tell them I'm sorry for putting them through this. And to my son... sorry for being such a worthless father."
* * *
'That's the twelfth one...'
Five days after the Heaven God Cult dropped their bombshell, I joined the imperial forces in rounding up those trying to smuggle state secrets.
Yet in less than a week, we'd nabbed over ten spies. At nearly two a day, my head spun, but I understood their desperation.
They couldn't deny aiding crime, but who could ignore a parent's love for their child? That's why His Majesty had only ordered detention for those caught—no harsher punishments yet.
He had a child too, and as a father who'd nearly lost his only one, he couldn't bring himself to impose the death penalty lightly, even for such crimes.
"Take the prisoner away. Like last time, the judiciary will handle isolation."
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers bowed and dragged the handcuffed viscount off. Watching his limp retreat, I let out a heavy, conflicted sigh.
'I'm exhausted.'
Days of this—dragged everywhere under the pretext of bolstering imperial security. We mobilized instantly on reports, but most were panic-driven false alarms, wearing out the guards and officers for nothing.
'No sleep again today.'
Gazing at the rising sun, I trudged back to Amor Academy.
* * *
"The empire's in utter chaos overall, and the academy's no different."
Back from my mission, Princess Astraia greeted me, buried in paperwork as usual but utterly drained. Her face resembled a zombie from some old movie—I flinched involuntarily. The other student council officers looked just as wrecked.
"Rumors about Drak spread, and now kids are shunning anyone whose grades spiked recently. Afraid they'll turn into monsters any moment. Sure, some improved legitimately, but terrified students won't see that...
"Still, His Majesty has key departments—military, administration, personnel—under tight watch, so that's a small relief."
Good, but... if they're pushing this hard, they must want specific intel. What could it be? It nagged at me.
"We're back—oh? You're already here."
"Ah, Saintess. Any progress on the investigation?"
"None at all... I scoured every diocese history book, but no records of Madness."
Hertia had looked into the "Madness" the sub-cult leader mentioned that day. Knowing their heretic god would make countering them easier.
Problem was, no trace of Madness anywhere in history.
"Religions shifted as nations rose and fell, but Madness isn't mentioned once. Like someone deliberately erased all records."
"Strange. Worshiping a god that doesn't exist..."
They could be lunatics with an imaginary friend they all pretend is real, but their power was miraculous—beyond magic or aura.
Their god existed, but a deity with scant faith wielding continent-shaking force? Astonishing, compared to the Goddess.
As we pondered, other members trickled in, filling the room.
"Father's working hard, but no breakthrough on the antidote. Magic and aura fail; holy power reacts but rejection's too strong."
"The North values personal strength, so Drak damage is minimal. But the kingdoms are bad—influenced by the empire's Lords, people secretly mass-distribute it for power."
"So what do they really want? Stirring division gets half-baked power at best, with massive backlash."
"Mass-producing chimeras is odd too. With that tech, they could make plenty of empire threats without chimeras."
A chimera-change drug triggered only by specific words, ignoring aura and magic but vulnerable to holy power? With that tech, mass slaughter black magic would've invaded more effectively.
"Why not just ask directly?"
"Huh?"
Luna, pouring tea, dropped that bombshell so casually everyone's eyes widened. Even Prazia was left speechless by her boldness.
"We know someone who was in the Heaven God Cult, climbed pretty high inside too."
"......Ah."