Suspicions and the Copper Key
Rowell’s not-quite-accusation hit me like a sudden blow to the head. My eyes widened.
“You’re right. Even if someone in their leadership truly holds influence inside the Empire, would they really have enough control to appoint an ordinary man with no notable position as the head of their diplomatic mission?”
Rowell and Aegina were correct. No matter how powerful the High Assassin Guild claimed to be, could they truly exert that level of influence?
The High Assassin Guild stretched its reach across vast territories and maintained ties with countless operatives, yet at its core it remained nothing more than a precarious alliance bound only by necessity and profit.
Its leaders constantly checked one another, and their obsessive secrecy—born from prioritizing their own safety—inevitably created gaps and vulnerabilities throughout the organization.
Moreover, whether they were informants, assassins, simple collaborators, or high-ranking officials, every member ultimately used the guild’s system for personal gain rather than out of any genuine loyalty.
Could an organization like that truly dominate the Empire—an empire, not some minor kingdom? A group lacking shared conviction or true cohesion? Even if they managed to suborn a few high nobles, the current leadership might find itself being used by others instead.
“…Or perhaps it’s a trap. Even if not that extreme, maybe they have some other scheme in mind?”
Was the Ayman Kingdom meant to seize the guild’s weakness and turn it against them? I doubted they would attempt such a cumbersome, risky plan with uncertain results, yet I couldn’t dismiss the possibility entirely…
Could they be targeting Bagloros directly now that things had come to this? Or were they trying to extend their influence all the way into the Ayman Kingdom?
“Should we capture and interrogate him?”
“We can’t do that, Bagloros.”
I wanted to agree with Bagloros, but as long as the man had arrived as an official envoy, we had no choice.
“For now, let’s watch how they move. We should focus on the negotiations. Even if Gafel belongs to the High Assassin Guild, we don’t know whether this visit reflects the guild’s intentions or if he simply needs an achievement to secure his own position within Sigmut.”
That was possible too. He might not have been dispatched after already securing his place; this negotiation could be his way of trying to establish himself.
“…This is just a thought, but wouldn’t it be better to just grab him and interrogate him?”
After all, the queen herself had once beaten an envoy senseless. The urge to drag Gafel away on the charge of being a High Assassin Guild member and make him confess everything was overwhelming. If anyone complained, we could simply ask whether Bagloros had requested the visit.
Anyone who experienced firsthand why he was called “He Who Creeps in the Night” would never speak again.
“Honestly, that wasn’t just a passing thought, was it?”
“Anak. I’ll take it as a joke.”
“Please restrain yourself.”
In the slightly lighter atmosphere created by my half-serious joke, I quickly gestured for Bagloros to follow and headed for the door.
“I’ll send word to Master Medrup. Bagloros, it would be best if you kept an eye on the envoys.”
“Understood.”
I needed to separate the two before Rowell could ask Bagloros how he had learned about Gafel.
“No, the Royal Guard can handle surveillance…”
“It’s all right, Sir Levrant. No matter how discreet they try to be, the Royal Guard and palace sentries can’t completely hide their presence. Isn’t that right, Bagloros?”
“Yes.”
The answer had been obvious, but it mattered that he said it aloud. For Sir Levrant and His Majesty, who didn’t know Bagloros well, refusing became difficult once Bagloros himself expressed his willingness.
“Everyone else should rest for now. You’ll be busy preparing for tomorrow’s negotiations and reviewing other matters.”
“Thank you, Anak.”
“We appreciate your consideration, Anak.”
After a brief farewell, Bagloros and I stepped out. The moment the door closed, I caught Bagloros just as he was about to vanish into the shadows and led him away from the audience chamber as naturally as possible.
“Bagloros. What were you going to say when Rowell asked how you learned about Gafel?”
“I saw him when we were looking for Raze in Peltecheru last time.”
Just as I expected. I had asked him to keep our meeting and my request secret, and Bagloros understood the reason, but he would never lie to Rowell—no matter the circumstances.
“…Just checking, but even if I asked you not to say anything, you’d still answer honestly if Rowell asked, right?”
“Yes.”
Of course. It had been a pointless question.
“…How about just saying you stopped by briefly after leaving the Mereka Mountains?”
Yes. Keep it vague. It wouldn’t even be a lie.
“Understood.”
Fortunately, he agreed. Still…
“…But if Rowell asks for details, you’ll tell him everything anyway, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
Right. There was no helping it. I could only hope Rowell wouldn’t press for more.
“All right. Then keep a close watch on Gafel and the rest of them.”
The moment I finished speaking, Bagloros disappeared. Once again, I was grateful he was on our side.
* * *
Deep within a forest. Olsidra came to a halt before a sheer cliff face after safely passing through the barriers, spells, and guardians that filled the woods.
“This should be it.”
The crystal orb in his hand indicated this was the destination, yet all he could see were tall cliffs and rocks. Not even a single crack was visible.
“……”
Olsidra stared at the orb with a blank expression, then hurled it straight at the wall. The orb shattered into countless fragments upon impact. The instant it broke, strange runes appeared across the rock face, and a hidden door revealed itself.
“Having to discard a top-grade crystal orb every single visit… Even with age, some people never lose their vanity.”
Olsidra took out an old, unremarkable copper key from his robes. It looked like something anyone might own—worn and ordinary, no longer useful. It seemed utterly mismatched with this place, protected by countless spells, barriers, and guardians. Yet this key was the most important item of all.
He inserted it into the keyhole beneath the door handle and turned it. A click echoed, and Olsidra slowly pulled the handle.
“They didn’t deceive me, it seems.”
The sight beyond the door might have disappointed anyone unfamiliar with it. The room was small and shabby enough to be mistaken for a wooden shack, and though it was packed with books, its scale was pitiful compared to any noble’s study. One might wonder why such elaborate precautions had been necessary just to reach this place.
Olsidra showed no sign of disappointment as he entered and began examining the bookshelves. This humble appearance was, in truth, the true face of the witches’ library—Wigmorium.
The door he had opened was not an ordinary entrance but a passage connecting to different dimensions. Depending on which key was used, it led to different locations. The copper key he had inserted granted access to the very heart of Wigmorium, where the most important volumes were kept.
Using the wrong key would trap one in an endless maze of countless bookshelves and tomes, or throw them into a space filled with monsters created by the witches. The silver keys given to all Library Witches and the golden keys held by their executives only led to the outer archives and their deeper sections. They could never reach this central chamber.
After finishing one shelf, Olsidra moved to the next. Tomes on magic and sorcery, experiment records, ancient histories, books detailing the types of sacrifices needed for rituals, and celestial movements. Every volume in this room was either impossibly rare or contained powerful magic, along with the secret arts and techniques of famous ancient witches. Yet Olsidra paid them no attention.
He stopped before the shelves holding historical texts and personal records. He gathered an armful of books and carried them to a white, worn desk in the corner. The moment he sat down, he began flipping through the pages as though being chased.
Records of the first witch gathering, preserved only as legends and tales. The conflicts and unifications between witch factions. The dream of founding a witch kingdom and its failure. Accounts that existed only among the witches, never properly recorded in official histories, continued one after another. Whenever such passages appeared, Olsidra turned the pages even faster, his movements growing more agitated.
Each time the pile of books he had brought shifted to the opposite side of the desk, Olsidra’s skeletal face grew more twisted. He had no time. Though the Swamp Witch and the Library Witches were currently cooperating with him and the other Dark Priests, it was only because their goals aligned. The moment they judged the Dark Priests useless, Olsidra and the remaining priests would be reduced to nothing more than test subjects.
After examining every book he had brought, Olsidra returned to the shelves for another armful. He repeated this process several times. Just as the stack of checked books reached the floor, a smile finally appeared on his lips.
His hand stopped turning pages. His gaze fell upon a passage in an old record where a witch from the past had documented and analyzed spell systems and secret arts different from those of her own era. Written in a condescending tone and accompanied by mocking notes, the page described in detail the magic circles and rituals that Dark Priests primarily used to reach their god, Urshus.
Because it had been recorded in an age when the witches had not yet abandoned the demon gods, the text meticulously pointed out how crude and inferior the Dark Priests’ methods and spell systems were compared to their own. Ironically, it was precisely that arrogance and mockery that allowed Olsidra to obtain everything he needed from the record.
Olsidra tore out the pages containing the record and tucked them into his robes without the slightest hesitation. Even though these were not magically empowered tomes, he knew full well that every book in this room was a priceless treasure to the Western Witches. Yet not a trace of reluctance crossed his mind.
“Lord Urshus will descend. And when that moment comes, you loathsome creatures will vanish without a single trace left behind. Your spells, your history, your achievements—none of it will ever have existed.”
Olsidra’s eyes burned with ecstasy, hatred, and the thirst for vengeance.