The Mournful Cry of a Crow (2)
Ziel had recently finished reading a book.
It was titled The World of Politics Through History, and to Ziel, it had proved utterly enthralling. Lethal political machinations! People living or dying on the weight of a single word! Fierce psychological warfare waged without a single drawn blade!
It was a book capable of redefining the very concept of assassination.
Ziel had reached a revelation: steel and poison were far from the only instruments with which to destroy a person. What captured his imagination most was the method of bringing down an adversary without ever laying a physical finger on them. For instance, the account of a politician who dismantled a rival entirely through the deliberate circulation of baseless rumors was profoundly striking. Witnessing a feud resolved without an assassination—without so much as crossing swords—was deeply intriguing to him. In Ziel's world, after all, "winning" had only ever meant mission accomplished.
Guided by this newfound perspective, he posed a question.
"What do you think we should do with Dakeus?"
Ziel was well aware of his own shortcomings in matters outside physical violence. And so, he sought the counsel of the Crow, Erso.
To Erso's ears, however...
I have to answer this right. One wrong word and I'm a dead man.
The question sounded less like a casual query and more like the riddle of an archfiend straight out of folklore—one who devoured anyone foolish enough to guess wrong.
"Do you mean... killing him?"
Ziel said nothing.
Erso trembled violently.
Wrong answer.
According to legend, demons granted three chances. That was strike one.
"Th-then... do you mean maiming him?"
Still no reply.
Strike two. In other words, only one chance remained.
"You mean getting rid of him for good, don't you?!"
"What do you mean by that?"
He finally got an answer!
Without even a moment to exhale in relief, Erso babbled in haste. "I-I mean... making sure he bears full responsibility for this incident. That sort of thing."
"I like that. Responsibility."
Ziel had resolved no longer to decide matters of life and death—at least not unless placed in a situation where such authority clearly rested in his hands. He was an assassin no longer. He had been contemplating how best to ruin Dakeus using this indisputable evidence, which was the sole reason behind his question.
"Making him take... responsibility could be handled in several ways, but..." Erso stammered, then gasped as his eyes locked with Ziel's.
What in the world is with that look in his eyes?!
It was utterly terrifying. Any fleeting thought of betrayal evaporated in an instant.
"For starters, I think getting him dishonorably dismissed should be the priority."
"Meaning we force him to leave this academy in disgrace."
"Precisely."
For some reason, seeing Ziel nod filled Erso with a bizarre swell of joy.
"What penalties would follow?"
"Uh... well, first off, he won't receive severance pay, and..." Think, brain, think! "R-right! No severance pay!"
"No severance pay?"
"And returning to the academy will be completely out of the question!"
"And then?"
"And... well... Ah! With a scandal of this magnitude, he'll likely face retaliation from noble houses."
"Retaliation?"
"Yes. A house of the Kundels' standing will strike back, if only to preserve their prestige."
"I see."
Ziel organized his thoughts. In short, forcing a dishonorable dismissal would ensure Dakeus paid an undeniable price for harming his student.
"Imperial punishment will be a bonus. On paper, all incidents within the academy fall under imperial jurisdiction. While many matters are hushed up internally, the Imperial Palace intervenes once an incident escalates beyond a certain threshold. It is an imperial academy, after all."
Ziel recalled reading something similar in the academy regulations.
"Understood."
Internally, Erso sighed with profound relief.
I lived.
He had survived the demon's trial.
Yet the questioning was not over.
"What about employing a political approach?"
"A political... approach?"
Indeed. Ziel wanted to see whether what he had read in the book actually worked. Destroying an opponent politically!
Erso caught on with razor-sharp speed. "Ah, so you wish to use an elegant method?"
"Is it an elegant method?"
"O-of course! Utterly sophisticated! Taking him down without a single drop of blood on your hands, hahaha."
An awkward laugh, barely cloaking the terror beneath.
What a horrifying monster.
He seemed every bit the cold-blooded professional, yet he was calculating how to drown a man without even drawing a blade. That was usually a Crow's domain.
I get it. He plans to use me.
The revelation sent a fresh shiver of dread coursing through Erso's spine. A professional of this caliber could easily handle the job alone, so choosing this route meant...
He has no intention of dirtying his own hands. Terrifying bastard...!
Borrowing a knife to kill!
He had truly crossed the wrong person.
"Then let us proceed with an elegant method. In my view, it would be best handled by whoever stands to gain the most from Dakeus's absence. What do you think?"
Another question. And logically flawless at that.
"A magnificent idea!"
"Who do you believe that to be?"
How long is this interrogation going to last?! Think, Erso, think!
His mind spun at frantic speed until a single face flashed into his thoughts.
"There is someone! The one who stands to gain the most! I-I'll see to it personally!"
"My name is Elcanto Paredes."
"Oh, Professor Elcanto. I've heard a great deal about you. The youngest on the faculty, aren't you? Haha."
"Indeed. I've only just begun my professorship."
"My, my, I really must have made it in the world, hahahaha! To think an academy professor would come over to greet me first!"
Elcanto's expression was curdling into rot. Strictly on the inside, of course.
You vulgar, insolent swine.
It was deep into the night—so late that dawn was creeping over the horizon—yet Professor Elcanto had been unable to return home. All because he was stuck playing host at a social gathering. And the guest was none other than the Obious Merchant Guild.
Why can't that damn bastard just stay home and count his gold? Why did he have to come here...?
By all accounts, Guild Leader Obious shared an intimate friendship with the president of Edelbein Academy. He often dropped by to host lavish drinking parties, and the problem lay right there: he always insisted on summoning a professor to the table, flaunting his own influence. And the president, treating it as entirely natural, summoned one at his whim.
That was how Elcanto had ended up here.
"Whoops, look at that. Spilled my drink, didn't I?"
"Ah, my apologies. I should have held the glass more steadily."
"Aiyoo, and it landed right on your gut. My mistake, though you can hardly blame me when your belly sticks out that far! Hahahaha!"
Disguising bodily mockery as casual banter. Granted, Elcanto's paunch was rather pronounced, but still.
"Have another glass, Professor Elcanto!"
"Gladly, Guild Leader."
In the empire of old, such disrespect would have been unthinkable. But merchants who amassed fortune through the great war now wielded influence rivaling the nobility. As a mere junior professor who was neither head of his house nor even firstborn, Elcanto had no choice but to bow his head. And he was the youngest professor, to boot.
"You know, Professor Elcanto, I've been giving it some thought lately... Now that the war is over, shouldn't the empire redirect its priorities?"
"I'm not certain I follow, Guild Leader."
The guild leader, flushed red with alcohol, gestured toward Elcanto's hand.
"Rather than the swords or spells wielded by those hands, shouldn't commerce form the bedrock of this empire's progress? Wouldn't you agree?"
"..."
"Violence is uncivilized. The era of lopping off heads and severing limbs with steel ought to be brought to an end. A world governed by gold and the quill—how truly peaceful would that be?"
It was sophistry of the highest order. Or perhaps deliberate provocation. Obious had always operated this way.
"..."
Yet the sting to Elcanto's pride was unavoidable. Paunch or not, and despite having long stepped away from active combat, Elcanto was a man who had dedicated his entire life to the blade.
...The sword is no mere instrument of violence.
His hands trembled faintly.
Furthermore, a sword achieves its highest splendor the longer it remains in its sheath.
Yet the words died in his throat. Giving voice to them would mean throwing away the professorship he had fought so bitterly to secure. Why did being born a second son instead of the heir have to sting so sharply tonight?
Social life is so disgustingly exhausting.
When the drinking party finally concluded in the dead of the night...
"Welcome!"
"Give me a bowl of stew."
"Right away, sir! One bowl coming up!"
Professor Elcanto decided to have another drink at a cheap tavern on the outskirts of the capital.
Back during his days as a teaching assistant, he had frequented this place whenever the burden became too heavy to bear. As long as he kept his face concealed, it was far more comforting than the academy.
Gulp, gulp.
The ale paired with hot stew tasted heavenly.
"Phew."
Exhaling the breath he had held in all night felt liberating. He liked the atmosphere here. Boisterous patrons, the occasional drunkard—having once been quite capable himself, he felt utterly at ease.
"So then the thief in that house..."
"That's gold plating, right? No way it's real! Let me bite it!"
The bustling racket actually soothed his mind.
"Wait, is that really true?"
"Told you it is. Heard later on that he was an academy professor or something."
"Why was an academy professor meeting someone in the sewers?"
"How should I know? Just drink!"
Amid the chatter...
A professor?
"How did you know he was a professor?"
"I asked the guy who delivers building materials to the academy. Said he was from the Sword School or whatever. Da... Da... what was his name again?"
Elcanto's ears pricked up. He focused his hearing on the conversation.
"Da-what?"
"Don't remember. Anyway, no clue why an academy professor was loitering in a filthy sewer, but it's bizarre, right?"
"Quiet down. If he's a professor there, he's a big shot."
What was that about?
Elcanto wanted to walk over and question them, but the pair settled their tab and left almost immediately. By the time he rushed out into the street, the predawn alley was desolate and empty.
"Hmm."
He tried to put it out of his mind, but the snippet of conversation refused to stop echoing in his head. Elcanto finished his ale, returned to the academy, and entered his research office.
What could that have been?
As Elcanto sank into his desk chair, lost in thought...
"Hm?"
Through bleary eyes, he caught sight of something. A sheet of paper.
"That boy Tyron..."
He had told him countless times to keep the desk spotless.
Yet the moment Professor Elcanto picked up the document, his eyes flew wide.
"A... commission form?"
As he scanned its contents, shock gradually washed over his features.
"This crazy bastard..."
The contents were unbelievable.
"What happened during the selection matches..."
Dakeus had orchestrated it? And using a student, no less?
"What a lunatic."
Even by the worst standards, using one student to injure another was beyond contemplation. No matter how corrupted by ambition a man might be, how could a professor do that to a student...?
"...Is this authentic?"
Reading further, the pieces began falling neatly into place. Yon Riversong. People were unpredictable, but Yon was hardly reckless enough to strike at the scion of House Kundel on a whim. Yet the Riversong family was currently teetering on bankruptcy, and Dakeus appeared to have employed a Crow to exploit Yon's desperation.
"Why Deleb?"
That remained the puzzle. Why had Dakeus sought to harm Deleb? While Deleb's name wasn't written on the commission form, no one would throw around a fortune like 1,000,000 Sel unless targeting someone of Deleb's stature.
"What in the world..."
Amid his bewilderment, the tavern conversation abruptly flashed through Elcanto's mind.
That was Dakeus?
Under normal circumstances, an academy professor would never meet someone in the sewers. Sewers were covert conduits far removed from public view.
"..."
Connecting the rumor to the document drastically magnified its credibility.
At the same time, a question arose.
Why was this on my desk?
Elcanto glanced around his office. Nothing seemed out of place. Or rather, he couldn't tell for sure, since Tyron cleaned it every day.
"..."
After agonizing over it, Professor Elcanto reached a conclusion. Whoever had placed it there, their intent was glaringly obvious.
They gave this to me on purpose.
Professor Dakeus. As long as that man remained, Elcanto would forever be the junior professor—the lowest on the faculty ladder, perpetually stuck managing the first-years.
But what if he used this evidence to remove Dakeus once and for all?
...I can take his place.
Life at the academy would become significantly easier, and succeeding Dakeus would expand his authority. Normally, a junior professor's term was indefinite unless a senior retired.
And above all, there was one decisive reason.
"I can't stand the bastard anyway."
Dakeus had dumped every tedious chore on him under the guise of seniority and constantly rode him with petty complaints. Shouldn't a senior who had suffered through years as the youngest be more considerate to his junior?
Elcanto made up his mind.
"All right."
Taking a deep breath as though performing a sacred ritual, he composed his thoughts. Now it was time for a snack. A sweet bite whenever he felt hollow or overwhelmed was his non-negotiable comfort. Having had alcohol tonight, he could skip his diet for just one day...
Click.
"H-huh?"
The box was empty.
His treasure chest, crammed with cookies and confections, was completely bare.
"Wh-which... which bastard did this...?!"
An uncontrollable fury surged within him—a wrath far hotter than the humiliation Obious had inflicted!
Crunch!
Delicious.
It had been a chance discovery. Slipping into Professor Elcanto's office alongside the Crow, Ziel had caught an intensely sweet aroma. By the time he regained his senses, he had carried out every single confection inside.
"Would you care for one?"
"Ah, th-thank you."
"Is it good?"
"It's sweet."
We are definitely not close enough to be sharing sweets like this, Erso thought. The mood was certainly far from casual.
"Are these very expensive?"
"They are. Elcanto takes his snacks quite seriously."
"Takes his snacks seriously?"
"He is exceedingly particular and strict when selecting confectionery. He only consumes top-grade, artisanal creations. That's why he gained so much weight."
"I see. The more expensive, the better it tastes."
While not universally true, desserts in Valdrain generally followed that rule. Particularly the bespoke, high-end confections Elcanto indulged in. Erso had never dreamed they would end up raiding and gobbling them down, however.
"Now we only need to await Elcanto's choice."
"We must also prepare for the possibility that he pretends not to notice."
"Yes. But he won't do that."
"What makes you so certain?"
"Elcanto is the second son of a noble house. Second sons tend to be ambitious; they inherit nothing, after all. He endured heavy discrimination and fought tooth and nail to secure his professorship at the academy."
A Crow indeed. He possessed an impressive depth of information.
"Then we can look forward to tomorrow."
"Indeed. Suspecting the commission form alone might not suffice, I planted several of my trusted operatives at the tavern Elcanto frequents. As expected, he headed there straight after entertaining his guests."
"You guided him there?"
"I capitalized on habit. He always visits that establishment after hosting outsiders."
"You know quite a lot."
"I am a Crow, after all."
Just as Erso was basking in a moment of pride, Ziel abruptly thrust a fistful of candies and cookies toward him.
"Eat them all."
"Pardon?"
"We cannot leave behind evidence."
"..."
Erso accepted the handful in a daze. It felt distinctly like becoming an accomplice—like receiving a cut of stolen loot.
Crunch.
It was, undeniably, delicious.
Yet as he chewed absentmindedly, a cold dread whispered in the back of his mind.
What on earth is going to happen to me now?
In the shadows of the night, a crow wept mournfully.