The Polar Night Dagger (1)
Having secured a false identity for Erso, Ziel returned to the faculty dormitory.
"Ah! Senior! You're back!"
The moment Ziel stepped onto the ground floor, Erso came rushing out to greet him with a deep, impeccably polite bow.
"Why are you bowing like that?"
"Because you're the senior I'll be serving from now on!"
"Is that so? Understood."
"While we're at it, should I just call you Boss?"
Ziel recalled something he had read in a book. The word 'boss' could also denote a workplace superior.
'An instructor and his teaching assistant. I suppose I am his superior.'
"Very well. You may call me that."
"Understood, Boss!"
Of course, that was not at all what Erso had meant by 'Boss.'
"Oh, and I finished reviewing the student profiles you mentioned."
"Did you."
"You organized them astonishingly well. I had no idea you'd cataloged every single student in such meticulous detail. It's several times more thorough and flawless than any target analysis file I ever handled in the organization. Truly remarkable, Boss!"
Erso was not merely flattering him; he meant every word. Ziel's documentation skills were on a level no ordinary clerk could dream of matching. The sheer volume was impressive enough, but the synthesis, organization, and analytical precision were nothing short of perfection.
"Looking through it, a few students really stood out. Beyond the ones who competed in the exchange matches, Maris and Kus showed remarkable growth during last semester's practical exercises. Those two are definitely worth keeping an eye on."
"Good assessment. Both are progressing well."
"Naturally! It's all thanks to your brilliant analysis, Boss!"
Erso swelled with grand ambitions.
'What kind of syndicate is Senior—no, what kind of syndicate is the Boss dreaming of building?'
"Boss, I believe the times are changing."
"The times?"
"We must conceive our strategy differently than before. Your approach is the right one."
"Is that so."
The era of assassins and crows was drawing to a close. The collapse of Black Sky had been the opening salvo. Such trades would not vanish entirely, but they would never command the influence they once had.
'Which means... outwardly, at least, we mustn't brand ourselves as assassins or crows!'
A covert syndicate composed of individuals with seemingly spotless reputations—that was the future. And he would become one of its founding pillars!
Erso was thoroughly misunderstanding the situation, while Ziel nodded, assuming the man was speaking of educational philosophy.
"As long as it's an efficient method and doesn't stray from the fundamentals, feel free to experiment and offer your input."
"Understood, Boss!"
Ziel held out the papers he had brought.
"Your identification certificate."
"Ah! Finally!"
"From this moment forth, your name is Gilbert."
"An ordinary name. I like it very much."
The Valdrain Empire did not strictly track the births and deaths of commoners. Edelbein Academy, however, hired only staff with verifiable backgrounds. Nobles carried pedigrees that were easy to trace, but commoners rarely possessed such clear documentation. To bypass the issue, Ziel had outright purchased a legitimate commoner identity.
"He was a casualty of the eastern conflict. Officially marked missing, with no notable background or complications."
"An airtight identity. Thank you, Boss."
"Tomorrow, I will speak with Department Head Berhal Abue and register you as faculty staff."
"Understood, Boss. Our time has finally come!"
"Only once the skin mask arrives. Until then, do not leave this dormitory."
"I'll keep it firmly in mind."
The dawn of his career as a true teaching assistant—or so he thought. Erso—now Gilbert—felt his heart pound with anticipation.
'From now on, I am Gilbert.'
"With a new name and a fresh resolve, I pledge my absolute loyalty to you, Boss."
In truth, he had no other viable path left. Thanks to Ziel, he had escaped the syndicate's hunters, but his entire foundation had been wiped out. All he possessed was a handful of Dikelen silver coins. While that was enough to start an unremarkable life somewhere, living like a ghost had never been Erso's dream. Ziel had handed him an entirely new horizon.
'Now, I will soar!'
As Gilbert basked in his grand dreams, Ziel delivered a piece of welcome news.
"I also checked on the inventory you asked about. They said a single bed from the Eve Collection is still in stock."
"Oh! Thank you! As soon as the skin mask arrives, I'll head straight over to purchase it."
"It seemed to be an establishment selling rather extravagant goods."
"You didn't know? Mortiis Boutique is legendary. Simply magnificent. An extraordinary place."
Gilbert made no effort to hide his fanatical reverence. Anyone with a coin to their name dreamed of owning a masterwork from that collection.
"I only learned of it today. It differed considerably from the shops I am accustomed to."
"Well, of course it does. Was that your first time visiting a luxury boutique like that, Boss?"
"Yes, my first. There were numerous attendants, and they guided me personally to view their wares. They showed me their new collection, as well as something called the Origin Masterpiece Collection."
"...Excuse me?" Gilbert blinked, wondering if his ears were playing tricks on him. "Wh-what did you just say they showed you?"
"The new collection, and the Origin Masterpiece Collection."
The seasonal line was one thing. But the Origin Masterpiece...?
"Th-they showed you that?"
"Yes. Is there an issue?"
"Didn't you say it was your first time going there?"
"I did."
"Then why on earth would they show that to you, Boss?"
"I cannot say."
"..."
It was impossible that the Boss was lying. He had named the collection down to the exact syllable.
'That isn't something they display for just anyone, and ordinary clerks aren't even permitted to touch it!'
The Origin Masterpiece! The holy grail that every devotee of Mortiis longed to glimpse even once in their lifetime! Merely laying eyes on it was an impossibility, and only the highest tier of staff could ever authorize its presentation. A deputy director, or Lord Mortis himself—
"Um, Boss... by any chance, what did the clerk who assisted you look like?"
"I don't know. He never gave his name."
"Did he happen to have a mustache?"
"Yes."
"..."
Gilbert's jaw dropped. "Boss... you met Lord Mortis in the flesh. The master of the boutique, the greatest designer in the entire Empire!"
Despite Gilbert's breathless commotion, Ziel remained entirely impassive.
"So that is who he was."
"That's unbelievable! I'd heard rumors he occasionally walks the floor to greet guests, but still!"
"Why is that so remarkable?"
"Because it almost never happens! And showing you the Origin Masterpiece Collection is practically unprecedented!"
"Is that so? Then it would have been better if you had gone instead of me, Gilbert."
You don't have to tell me twice!
"I'm so jealous, Boss... D-did you buy anything?"
"I did not."
"Why on earth not?!"
"It did not appeal to me as much as his explanations suggested."
"Boss, just buying a piece and reselling it would turn a profit several times over!"
"That is somewhat regrettable."
"Forget reselling—merely owning and wearing an Origin Masterpiece is a supreme honor..."
"If I have occasion to visit again, I will buy one."
"Without fail! You absolutely must!"
Internally, Gilbert wailed. 'I should have been the one to go...'
Then, realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
'Wait. I can't go anymore, can I?'
The strength drained from his knees. His false identity! He was no longer Erso, third son of a noble house turned underworld Crow; he was Gilbert, an unregistered commoner presumed missing from an eastern skirmish. That meant—
'I can't even buy the bed!'
There was no longer any way for him to step foot inside Mortiis Boutique. Well, technically, an avenue existed—he could enter with a formal recommendation. But a recommendation alone was never a guarantee. If the applicant was a commoner, the boutique subjected them to an excruciatingly stringent screening of social prestige, imperial standing, and personal net worth.
'Curse that organization!'
A fresh wave of rage against his former syndicate boiled within his chest. Thanks to those bastards, he couldn't even enter the boutique. Someday, he would have his vengeance!
"...Never mind the bed."
"Is that so? Very well."
"I'll have my revenge first, then buy it with their blood money!"
His hands trembled with indignation. To regain his composure, Gilbert changed the subject. "By the way, Boss, you mentioned earlier that I'd have a task once the skin masks arrived."
"Indeed. We must locate the Robson Family, the outfit controlling everything below District 40."
"Huh? If it's Robson's thugs, you'll trip over them anywhere past District 40. The alleys are crawling with them."
"We are looking for King Robson."
"King... Robson."
King Robson. The undisputed supreme boss of the syndicate. The moniker 'King' was by no means an exaggeration; the man ruled the sprawling, densely populated slums spanning the lower numbered sectors.
"You're hunting a dangerous man."
"I heard rumors of a black market held once a month. The location shifts every time, and the merchandise rotates. King Robson holds intel regarding its whereabouts, which is why we must find him."
Gilbert had caught wind of that very market in the past. "I tried tracking it down several times myself and failed. It's shrouded in complete secrecy."
"Yes. There is an item I must retrieve there."
During his previous visit to the black market to procure the Velberg's Wing, Ziel had acquired a key to one of Black Sky's hidden caches. What he sought now were the artifacts and equipment that had leaked into the underworld following the organization's collapse. He had two objectives in mind: scrubbing any remaining traces of the syndicate, and acquiring tools that might prove useful in the future.
Ignorant of Ziel's true past, Gilbert simply nodded. "Understood. However, tracking down King Robson won't be simple."
"Why is that?"
"The loyalty of the Robson Family is terrifyingly fierce. They'll never open their mouths."
To this, Ziel offered a flat, emotionless reply.
"Everyone has opened their mouths so far."
"...!"
A cold chill ran down Gilbert's spine. 'Right... he's the Boss.' Only a master of his caliber could state such a thing with absolute certainty.
"We move the moment the skin masks arrive."
"Yes! I'll see to it that our first mission is carried out flawlessly!"
A few days later, the packages finally arrived. Two skin masks in total: one crafted for ordinary daily use and academy duties, the other specifically tailored for covert operations. Today, they would wear the latter.
"Both fit like a second skin, Senior."
The craftsmanship was impeccable, unlike any disguise mask Gilbert had ever worn. "I could wear this for days on end without the slightest discomfort."
As expected of the Boss!
"Then let us depart at once."
Their first real assignment had begun. Finding King Robson and wringing information from him was inherently perilous, but with the Boss at his side, what could possibly go wrong?
"Understood. Ah, before that—an express courier came looking for you earlier, Senior. He waited around for quite a while before heading back."
"I crossed paths with him on my way in. It was sent from Mortiis Boutique."
"Ah, I see. Mortiis Boutique... WHAAT? From there?!"
"Yes."
"Did you open it?"
"No. I have not. It is resting in my quarters."
"You have to open it!"
"The mission takes priority. We move now."
A parcel from Mortiis Boutique was an extraordinary rarity in itself, but with the Boss setting his foot down, Gilbert had no choice but to yield.
"You have to promise you'll open it the moment we return, alright?"
"Understood."
"Promise me!"
"Very well."
Accompanied by a deeply conflicted Gilbert, Ziel stepped beyond the academy gates.
"Let's head toward District 45 first. That's where Robson's men become noticeably prevalent. District 45 is virtually all paupers and beggars."
Ziel wore his operational skin mask, transforming his features into those of a forgettable stranger, and dressed in drab, nondescript garments. Under normal circumstances, he would never draw a second glance. The dagger sheathed at his hip, however, caught Gilbert's eye.
"Boss, what is that?"
"The Polar Night Dagger."
"Pardon?"
"Are you familiar with Aznil?"
"Of course. Who isn't? Isn't he that legendary, enigmatic artisan?"
"He forged this."
"Aha. Does it possess some sort of extraordinary power?"
Ziel shook his head. "I do not know. But I intend to find out."
The memory of a certain knight flashed through his mind—Gunter. Ziel had been trapped listening to the man's endless chatter throughout the entire carriage journey back to the capital, leaving him zero opportunity to examine the weapon. In fact, fearing that drawing the blade would merely give Gunter another subject to ramble on about, Ziel had instinctively kept it concealed.
"It looks unusual. The carvings etched into the fuller are remarkably... intricate."
This was Ziel's first time examining it closely as well, since House Kundel had originally presented it inside a sealed ornamental box.
"Indeed."
It appeared finely crafted, though Ziel kept his expectations measured. The Breathing of the Polar Night and the Polar Night Dagger shared the same creator, so he had suspected there might be some connection between them.
'Perhaps it cannot be deciphered right away.'
As Ziel turned the dagger over in his hands, he noticed something curious.
"The edge is entirely unmarred."
"Oh, you're right."
"And there isn't a speck of rust."
What manner of ore had it been forged from?
"Could it be enchanted with some kind of preservation spell?"
"A possibility, yet I sense no lingering traces of mana."
"...You can detect that just by looking?"
"It is possible with proper training."
As expected of the Boss! Discerning enchantments through mere touch!
"Please teach me how to do that later, Boss."
"Understood."
Fastening the scabbard to his waist, Ziel gestured forward. "Let us proceed to District 45."
As the pair crossed deeper into the lower districts, the scenery shifted dramatically. Past the boundaries of District 40, destitute wanderers began lining the gutters, and the cleanliness of the paved streets deteriorated sharply. Dusk crept over the horizon as they walked, cloaking the decaying alleys in an eerie, oppressive gloom.
Just before entering District 45, as the street lanterns began sputtering to life one by one, Gilbert produced a leather belt and offered it to Ziel.
"Fasten this around your waist."
"A belt."
"The key is to let it show just enough beneath your tunic to catch the eye. We need to draw attention."
Baiting them. The plan was to lure the syndicate out into the open.
"The scoundrels down here have an uncanny instinct for anything that looks remotely valuable."
"An invitation. Understood."
Ziel took the belt and buckled it in place. "What comes next?"
"Now we head into an alley."
"Will they follow?"
"They're probably already watching us."
Gilbert was entirely correct. Ever since they had crossed into District 45, Ziel had felt eyes tailing their movements. The moment the belt was displayed, several more gazes locked onto them.
'The Robson Family.'
Sure enough, as soon as they turned into a narrow alleyway, figures moved in unison to seal both the entrance and the exit. The dirty, flickering glare of battered oil lanterns washed over Ziel and Gilbert.
'Ten in total.'
Ziel didn't even need to count to register the number. These cutthroats were clearly seasoned muggers. Neither Ziel nor Gilbert showed the slightest hint of panic.
"See?" Gilbert whispered.
"You were correct."
"Praise me, Boss."
"Well done."
The thugs exchanged bewildered glances at the duo's casual banter.
"Who the hell are these bastards?"
"Thought we finally caught a pair of fat sheep... are they out of their minds?"
Gilbert grinned broadly at the insults. "Allow me to handle this, Boss."
"Very well."
Leaving it to Gilbert was fine. These street ruffians stood no chance against him. Despite everything he had endured, Gilbert was a former first-class Crow; petty back-alley brawlers were miles below his league.
'I'll wrap this up in ten seconds. One second per bastard. Clean and neat.'
Meanwhile, just in case an unforeseen variable arose, Ziel subtly began circulating the Breathing of the Polar Night.
And then—
Whoosh!
"Huh?"
"Wh-what the—?!"
Without warning, absolute darkness descended upon the alley. In a single breath, pitch-black obscurity swallowed the world, extinguishing all sight.
Or at least, that was how it appeared to everyone except Ziel.
Only Ziel saw what truly happened.
'The dagger?'
The dim light cast by the two battered lanterns had been violently pulled through the air, sucked directly into the dagger sheathed at his hip.
'The engravings are glowing.'
Faint, luminous lines traced across the patterns etched into the metal.
'Did it absorb the ambient light?'
In that fleeting fraction of a second, Ziel's thoughts raced. The moment he circulated the Breathing of the Polar Night, the light had vanished—no, it had been drawn into the Polar Night Dagger. Under the present circumstances, nothing else could account for this unnatural shroud.
'House Kundel claimed its purpose had never been uncovered.'
When presenting the dagger, they had repeatedly asked if he preferred another treasure, warning him that this relic possessed no known practical utility.
'As I suspected, there was a hidden design.'
Forged by the same artisan, bearing the very same name: 'Polar Night.' An artifact capable of consuming all light. It was a moniker that could not have been more fitting.
'The darkness is remarkably dense.'
Because it seemed to absorb even the faintest stray glimmer, the resulting void was so total that one could not see an inch ahead. At least, that held true for everyone other than Ziel.
'How does one release the stored light?'
He did not yet know. For now, there was a matter at hand.
"Stay where you are and do not move."
Ziel's calm, steady voice reached Gilbert's ears, slicing through the panic of the pitch-black void just as the former Crow was scrambling to comprehend what had happened.
A heartbeat later—
"Aaaargh!"
"Guh-ack!"
Agonized screams began tearing through the dark.