The Mournful Cry of a Crow (4)
An anonymous tip.
In plain terms, a whistleblowing document.
Such things were occasionally seen, but rarely taken seriously. In most cases, informants hid their identities out of fear of retribution, and unless the evidence was irrefutable, a piece of paper alone could seldom prove anything.
However—
"An anonymous tip, you say...?"
"An anonymous tip regarding Professor Dakeus Altman."
The moment the words left the man's mouth, Dakeus sprang to his feet as if having a seizure.
"Who dares slander my name?!"
"I never said anything about slander, Professor Dakeus Altman." The man from the Personnel Bureau stepped toward the fuming professor. "Professor Altman. Would you accompany us for a moment?"
"Wh-what kind of insolence is this all of a sudden! We are in the middle of a faculty meeting, so I will visit the bureau later on my own—"
"Would you prefer to be humiliated in front of your fellow professors, or will you come along quietly?"
Dakeus had once been strong. Though born the second son of a noble house, his martial talent alone had been enough to cast a shadow over his elder brother. Even if that glory lay in the past, his fierce spirit had not entirely withered.
And yet...
"What is your decision?"
The pressure rolling off the man from the Personnel Bureau made not only Dakeus but the other professors flinch in their seats. Only two men in the entire hall retained their composure.
One was Dean Berhal.
And the other—
An Esoteric Practitioner.
It was Ziel.
And a formidable one at that.
Warriors condensed mana within their physical bodies. Mages stored a set reserve of mana, circulating and expelling it through formulas. And Esoteric Practitioners drew upon mana dynamically, channeling it on demand. In the strictest sense, an assassin's method of wielding mana mirrored that of a warrior. Mages, on the other hand, gathered a fixed pool of mana to circulate and release as spells.
Esoteric Practitioners, however, received unique authority granted by their patron constellations, drawing down power whenever the need arose. They were exceptionally rare, but depending on the practitioner, they could unleash terrifying might.
The Academy's Personnel Bureau. What an intriguing place.
Ziel had clashed with an Esoteric Practitioner once in his past life. Naturally, Ziel had won.
Meanwhile, Dakeus's thoughts spun out of control.
A tip? An anonymous tip? Which bastard... Don't tell me, Yon? I should've disposed of that little rat right then and there...!
Dakeus's hands trembled violently. He wanted nothing more than to roar at the bureau agent standing before him. But—
"Professor Dakeus Altman, I cannot wait all day."
The man showed no sign of lowering his aura. The constellation-infused pressure combined with his raw mana to fill every inch of the conference hall to bursting. Unaffected by the stifling atmosphere, only Ziel and Berhal quietly observed the standoff.
"Or would you prefer to test your luck?"
Driven into a corner, Dakeus bellowed, "Even if you represent the Personnel Bureau, this is far too disrespectful!"
"Then I shall state the matter here and now, Professor Dakeus Altman."
As if he had been waiting for that exact opening, the man took a document handed to him by a subordinate and shoved it directly in front of Dakeus's face.
"Dakeus Altman. This is the commission you submitted to the Crow syndicate known as 'Red Shadow.'"
The sudden drop in honorifics hit like ice water. The atmosphere plummeted in an instant. The moment the name Red Shadow was spoken, utter chaos erupted among the faculty.
Red Shadow? Why them?
A commission? What is this about all of a sudden...?
"The compensation: one million five hundred thousand Cel."
Before anyone could fully process the staggering sum, the man pressed on.
"And the objective: to coerce a specific student—namely Cadet Yon Riversong—into using poison against his duel opponent to engineer a defeat."
Gasps tore through the hall, mouths hanging agape.
"Ridiculous! Where would such an absurd commission form even come from! It's forged!" Dakeus's voice trembled violently. Just as he claimed, the contents were so preposterous they sounded completely divorced from reality.
Yet the man countered flatly, "Then I suppose you will claim someone stole your signature and personal wax seal to stamp it as well?"
"N-naturally—"
"Then what about this?"
The next document thrust before him carried a different weight entirely.
"The guard outpost's entry logs and incident reports. Late last night, you entered the guardhouse and met personally with the captain of the guard."
"Th-that was..."
"A simple meeting is hardly a crime in itself. The problem lies right here."
— Evidence inspected in the presence of the Guard Captain.
The entry was written in clear, indisputable ink.
"Incidentally, I came straight from the guardhouse. When I reviewed the evidence inventory, things looked somewhat amiss. Certain items were missing, replaced by pieces that differed entirely from the original record."
Evidence tampering.
Dakeus turned deathly pale. Desperate, he tried to cut in and stem the bleeding.
"I-I'll explain everything! We don't need to do this here, let us go to the bureau and—"
"We have already secured the guard captain's testimony. He confirmed that portions of the evidence were altered following your visit." The man drove the final nail into the coffin. "One more thing, Dakeus Altman. We audited your finances. According to our findings, you possess nowhere near one million five hundred thousand Cel in assets."
To the listening professors, it sounded like a routine inquiry into tax evasion. But to Dakeus's ears, the underlying question rang loud and clear.
Who is backing you?
"We will hear your answers at the bureau. Take him."
The uniformed agents, who had silently handed over documents until now, moved with clinical precision to surround Dakeus. His eyes darted in terror toward Berhal.
"D-Dean..."
Berhal looked back at him in silence, then let out a heavy sigh.
"It seems we will not be seeing each other again."
"Dean! Dean! It wasn't me! This is slander! Someone framed—let go! Unhand me!"
Click.
Heavy metal clamped around his wrists. Bracelets forged to disrupt the gathering and circulation of mana—shackles designed specifically for those who wielded internal power.
"Struggle any further, and these bracelets will be replaced with total mana-nullifying restraints."
And just like that, Dakeus was dragged away.
It felt as though a tempest had torn through the room, yet everyone present knew the true storm was only just beginning.
What in the world did that lunatic Dakeus do?
Then yesterday's selection matches... all of that was...?
Madness orchestrated by a senior professor. The aftershocks were bound to be catastrophic.
"Dean Berhal, if you will excuse us."
Just as the man who had brought the storm turned to depart, a voice halted him.
"Rocus."
The man, Rocus, paused and tilted his head slightly. "Do you have something to say?"
"Next time, I suggest you show a little more courtesy."
"Courtesy, you say?" Rocus turned his entire body to face Berhal. "Pray tell, how could one possibly be more courteous than this?"
The two men locked eyes, standing in an unyielding standoff.
Nearly five minutes passed before Rocus finally looked away and walked out the door, bringing the tense encounter to a close.
The remaining professors gasped for breath, their minds spinning with bewilderment.
What was that? What just happened?
Why did they suddenly...?
Only Ziel looked at Berhal with an inkling of understanding. It wasn't that he had deduced the reason for their hostility; rather, after observing the two men intently for those five long minutes, he had reached a simple conclusion.
Their scent is similar.
Never a dull day at the Sword School. As the department was thrown into another uproar following yesterday's chaos—
"Elkanto sent the report just as expected, and Dakeus will be ousted now. He might even face retaliation from the families involved. House Kundel's retribution is terrifying just to imagine."
"House Kundel's retribution?"
"Yes. Given their nature, that family never forgets a kindness or a grudge. Their motto says it all: 'Gratitude and grudges are etched into the bone.'"
Ziel was meeting once again with the Crow. Of course, what the Crow saw was an entirely different face, disguised beneath a realistic Skin Mask.
"He's completely denying the charges, but a conclusion will be reached shortly. It's the Personnel Bureau, after all."
"Are they a powerful group?"
"At least within the Academy, yes. They are practically the Headmaster's private enforcers. No matter how fiercely the Sword School and Arcane School butt heads, once the Headmaster steps in, none of it matters. I never dreamed Elkanto would submit the report directly to them. Then again, had he filed it through the Sword School, the Dean likely would have swept it under the rug or let it quietly dissolve."
The most foolproof method had been chosen.
I learned something today.
If you wish to resolve a problem by the book, use an absolute channel. If there is a risk of a matter being buried, blow it wide open.
The world is remarkably complicated.
Even during his days as an assassin, operations had their own intricacies: blending poisons, selecting ambush perches, destroying evidence. One had to account for countless variables before a hit could succeed. Yet the political complexities Ziel was witnessing now far surpassed any of that.
"Does everything always unfold like this?"
"Pardon?"
"In such a complicated manner."
"Ah... well, the more intricate the setup, the sweeter the fruits of success, wouldn't you say?"
"Is that so."
Looking at Ziel's impassive expression, the Crow felt another chill run down his spine.
Is he asking why I made things so unnecessarily convoluted?
A true professional through and through. He was implying that there was a way to resolve this cleanly in a single stroke without going through such a tedious circus. The Crow desperately wanted to ask what that method was, but he lacked the courage to voice it.
Was this... a test?
Erso swallowed hard. In truth, he had more than enough troubles of his own. With the commission document leaked, the contract had naturally been rendered null and void. Disciplinary action from his guild was inevitable; after all, Erso was the operative assigned to the job. But that wasn't the real problem. A problem that made disciplinary penalties look like child's play stood right before his eyes.
This man.
This terrifying, nameless monster.
What does he plan to do with me now?
Would he kill him to tie up loose ends? A man of his caliber could erase him from the face of the earth without leaving a speck of dust behind. He might even wipe away every trace that Erso had ever existed within the guild.
Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Erso opened his mouth. "Um, excuse me, but..."
Just then, a hand swept toward his face.
Whish.
I knew it.
Sensing the end of his life, Erso squeezed his eyes shut. But one second passed. Then two seconds. Then five seconds. Nothing happened.
Could this be the afterlife? A realm free of pain, despair, and anxiety...
"Why are your eyes closed?"
"Huh?"
"Take it."
Opening his eyes, Erso found not the afterlife, but a slender wooden box held out before him.
"What is this?"
"Your commission fee."
"Pardon?"
"Do Crows not accept commission fees?"
"Well, we do, but..."
A commission fee all of a sudden?
"I gave you a commission, Crow. Regarding this matter. Therefore, accept your payment."
To Erso's ears, the words translated quite differently.
Take this hush money and keep your mouth shut, is that it?
A wave of relief washed over him. He wasn't going to be killed.
"Th-thank you kindly."
"Open it."
Click.
Resting inside the velvet lining was a dagger.
"This is..."
"A dagger."
He could see that much, but what kind of dagger was it?
"I heard that payment is sometimes accepted in goods rather than coin."
"Well... that is true, but..."
The quality of the blade was respectable. Though there were no maker's marks to identify its forge, it was clearly forged from exceptionally high-grade steel. It wasn't a bad weapon, but Erso had never received a commission fee quite like this before. Nor had he ever received a payout this meager.
"Is this... something you used yourself?"
"Until recently."
"Ah..." Erso grumbled inwardly. Unless this was wielded by the Phantom himself, what good is it to me?
To think he was brushing him off with a single secondhand dagger. Relics of the Phantom were slated to appear on the black market auction block soon, and they would undoubtedly fetch astronomical sums.
I don't know which bastard will get their hands on them, but I'm jealous as hell.
Erso was an ardent admirer of the Phantom. Though espionage and assassination belonged to slightly different trades, hearing the legendary exploits of the Wraith had made him a devout believer. How his heart had dropped when news broke that the Black Sky assassin syndicate had fallen! Fortunately, rumors said the Phantom had evaded capture and was currently lying low near the imperial border.
Please don't ever get caught, Lord Phantom. Run far, far away.
"Do you like it?"
At Ziel's flat question, Erso nodded frantically. "Of course! Ah, the overall balance, the lethal edge, the grip... it's magnificent!"
"Meaning you are very satisfied."
"Yes, sir! Absolutely!"
"Then going forward, I shall pay your commission fees in these daggers."
"Excuse me?"
What did he just say? Pay his fees in daggers?
"For tasks slightly more difficult than this one, I will give you two."
Red Shadow, the empire's premier intelligence syndicate. In that very moment, the compensation rate for one of its elite 1st-Class Crows was officially fixed at one or two used daggers.