The Voice
Maleus Garibaldi, a man clad in white clerical robes, regarded his unexpected visitors in silence.
Suspicion, bewilderment, responsibility, lament—he set the tangle of complicated emotions aside for the moment.
Turning away a guest was simply not proper hospitality. And when that guest happened to be a child who had barely survived a witch's assault, leaving them standing was even less acceptable.
...For now, Maleus decided to think of it that way.
"Hm."
He spoke with a faintly weary expression.
"Coffee or tea. Which would you prefer?"
"Well, I'm not particular, but it's nearly bedtime, so tea would be appreciated. I'm still growing, after all."
Shiron offered a bright, boyish smile.
"Lucia. Tea's fine for you too, right?"
"I'll have the same, please."
"Sir Yohan, is there anything else you need?"
"Don't talk to me. Can't you see I'm working?"
Yohan glared at Maleus with a face like a goblin's.
From the moment he heard that Shiron had been attacked by a witch, the old knight had remained locked in a rigid stance, glued to the children's sides, eyes blazing. The sight of him filled Maleus with profound exhaustion.
And that was hardly the half of it.
This tent had originally been intended as the private, secluded quarters of Maleus, captain of the 2nd Holy Iron Hammer Knights. Yet far too many large bodies now packed the space inside.
Holy Iron Hammer Knights: ten. Changcheon Knights: twenty-two.
The tent flying Maleus's command banner had been all but occupied by outsiders.
And yet there was nothing he could do about it.
Even though the boy still held the status of a suspect, the very person who had brought in the head of a presumed witch was now asserting himself as the victim—and that made everything considerably more difficult.
Because of Maleus and the Holy Iron Hammer Knights' lukewarm response, the young master and young lady nearly lost their lives.
Yohan Urheim had bellowed that possibility at the top of his lungs, eyes bloodshot—and despite his advanced years, he had cowed Maleus and everyone else into shrinking back.
"..."
Having set the teacups on the table with his own hands, Maleus let out a sigh.
"I hope it's to your taste."
"Thank you."
Bowing his head slightly, Shiron dropped two sugar cubes into Lucia's cup. After taking a few polite sips, the boy set his cup silently back on the table.
"May we get to the matter at hand? You seem to have calmed down enough."
"Ahem... I appreciate your consideration."
Maleus wiped his brow with a handkerchief.
It was the dead of winter, cold wind howling outside—yet the cloth came away soaked with cold sweat.
"Regarding the suspect believed to be a witch—"
"Maleus Garibaldi!!"
Yohan roared with a terrifying expression.
"The young master nearly! Died! I told you that! Didn't I! And yet here you sit, quibbling over justifications for your own convenience?!"
His voice was so thunderous that Shiron couldn't help but frown a little.
Yohan. I thought you were one of the relatively normal ones. Time to revise that assessment.
Betrayed by someone he'd trusted, Shiron clicked his tongue quietly.
He demoted the emotionally overwrought Yohan to the same tier as Lucia.
"...Sir Yohan. I'm fine, so please calm yourself."
"This unworthy Yohan has no face left to show the young master and young lady. This old fool should never have left his post..."
"It's all right, Sir. I'll say it again—it's entirely the witch's fault. How could I possibly hold you responsible? Anyone can make a 'mistake.'"
"Young master..."
At Shiron's awkwardly kind expression, Yohan felt a sharp sting behind his nose.
What a magnificent young man. A witch that an entire knight platoon had spent years hunting down—and this boy had taken her head alone. As a mere child. With a body that couldn't even wield sword aura, practically a cripple...!
Yohan pressed his lips tight and pinched the bridge of his tingling nose.
The great house of Prien. Extraordinary from the bud.
Already, the opening chapter of Shiron's heroic legend was being written inside the old knight's heart.
"Shall we continue?"
"Ahem. So. You say the witch threatened your life... Had I gotten that far?"
"Yes. That witch nearly died because of me."
"?"
"No—I mean I nearly died. It was truly terrifying. Having just been through something where my life hung by a thread, I misspoke. Ahem."
Shiron pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed lightly at the corners of his eyes.
"...I understand."
Maleus nodded and pressed hard at the space between his brows. Gesturing to a subordinate, he brought his palms together lightly and invoked a spell.
At once, the ambient sounds circulating through the tent vanished.
From Yohan's ragged breathing to the slightly elevated beat of Lucia's heart—everything disappeared.
Yet the resonance of the air produced by Maleus himself reached Shiron with perfect clarity. The boy's eyes widened as he stared at him.
"What is this?"
"Ninth-class magic—the Room of Truth. One of my modest talents."
"Ninth-class magic—that's truly remarkable. You've nearly reached the ranks of a grand mage."
"Haha. When you do this kind of work long enough, it pays to pick up the useful spells."
Flattery could make even a whale dance, and Maleus was no exception. Hearing Shiron's praise, he composed himself somewhat and drew out a pen.
Shiron folded his hands politely atop his knees, under the strange illusion that he and Maleus were alone in a sealed chamber.
Maleus offered a faint smile at the boy's ready posture.
"First—can you walk me through the sequence of events? For reference, the moment you begin your testimony, every action and every word will be recorded and preserved for posterity. Now that you've entered this domain, false testimony is impossible. Keep that firmly in mind."
"Yes."
Shiron nodded and began to explain the day's events with careful clarity.
The observation tower. The oath. Ailey Suarez. The hallucinations. The space that crumbled the moment he killed her... Maleus organized the listed information into his case log.
The reason they had been toyed with by the witch all this time was now clear.
Once it came to light that Ailey Suarez could cast what appeared to be a reverse-side barrier through dual incantation, the clues that had refused to connect finally began falling into place.
And yet, even so, a doubt took root in his mind. Maleus looked at the boy sitting before him.
So this child truly slaughtered the witch alone...
Shiron had told him he had "shaken off the hallucinations through sheer force of will, lured the witch into dropping her guard, and cut off her head."
It was a claim nearly impossible to believe—and yet Maleus accepted every word of it without reservation.
The Room of Truth had guaranteed that not a single syllable from the boy was false. Maleus chose to trust the phenomenon of magic over his own suspicions.
At least I've avoided dismissal.
He reviewed the case log once more.
Cross-referencing the information gleaned from the boy against the records he'd compiled over time, then reassembling them into a reconstructed document—the result declared without a shred of doubt that Ailey Suarez was the culprit behind every disappearance to date.
Only then could Maleus breathe even a little easier. In his mind, Ailey Suarez was no longer a suspect. She was the perpetrator.
"Are we finished?"
"Yes. Well done."
Maleus brought his palms together again and released the magic.
That evening, after the noisy and discourteous old man had finally departed.
In the Holy Iron Hammer Knights' camp, Maleus picked up his utensils with a look of deep fatigue. A plain wooden bowl held a thin, watery porridge of oats, without a single garnish.
He could have rewarded himself with a proper feast after the day's ordeal. He chose not to.
Nor was the meal prepared as an act of self-mortification. It was entirely deliberate.
Paradoxically, the flavorless gruel brought Maleus peace of mind.
Restraint of hearing, sight, taste, smell, and touch.
That, he believed, was the path to drawing nearer to God.
Maleus pressed his palms together.
He shut out the sounds around him.
He closed his eyes.
He discarded his vision.
"Ah, Sir Garibaldi. If you can hear me, please answer."
And then—
A voice began to sound within the man's mind.
A beautiful voice laced with undisguised curiosity. This was the Gospel he had first heard as an infant, the very moment he received his baptism.
"Yes. Please speak."
Maleus wept tears of profound joy.
Whenever the voice of God filled his mind with warm light, he felt as though he had become the happiest being in all creation.
Fear and loathe those who call themselves gods.
He had not forgotten the verse written on the first page of Scripture. And yet Maleus believed the voice he heard now was the voice of God.
The figure in his mind never once called itself divine.
Whenever Maleus cried out the name of God, the voice would shudder and tell him to please shut up.
But it never denied it.
Maleus felt immense gratitude for having been made a special being who could hear the voice of God.
It allowed him to regard everything—Yohan's nagging, the long-unsolved trail of the witch—as trials sent down by the divine.
"What a trivial trial. I don't hand out stuff like that, you know?"
Thus did the Lord know all things.
The sensation of having his heart laid bare without needing to speak a word made Maleus feel like nothing more than a naked simpleton.
"That's disgusting—drop that mental image right now. Who on earth wants to see a middle-aged guy like you naked?"
"...I am deeply sorry."
"Sorry for what? It's my fault for packing this place full of weirdos."
A small sigh. The woman felt a headache coming on, courtesy of her own hipster tendencies.
It planted a certain misunderstanding in Maleus—and compelled him to immediately purge the blasphemous thoughts from his mind.
"Whatever. Just tell me about what happened today."
"As you command."
Wiping away his flowing tears with his sleeve, Maleus began to speak.