Chapter 182: Aftermath
Chapter 182: Aftermath
Outside the Mason Industries headquarters.
A single armored vehicle skidded to a halt in the center of the ruins—a ghastly landscape choked with the debris of countless explosions and piles of corpses.
Had he been watching the situation from afar? Or had he never once doubted Falkenrat’s victory?
The car door swung open, and Hector Mason stepped out.
"...What is the meaning of this?"
Hector’s face was already a mask of fury. His eyes were fixed not on the half-destroyed company building, but on the corpses of the executed Outcasts.
"Maximilian. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"
Veins bulged on Hector’s neck. I ignored him, wrapping my longsword in bandages before retrieving the blade and slinging it across my back.
Decapitation was too good for that bastard. He deserved a far more painful future.
"This was what His Majesty desired! Those bastards were supposed to be taken alive for experimentation!"
Hector spat the words, but honestly, I could barely hear him.
Just before the battle with the Outcasts, I had injected half a dose of a ‘Super Stimpak’ to prepare for any unforeseen variables.
"You have defied the solemn command of His Majesty the Emperor!"
The advantage of a Super Stimpak was the massive enhancement of one’s physical abilities, but its disadvantage lay in that very surge. The strain of managing my amplified body was overwhelming; my overheated brain cells flickered endlessly, vividly reviving old memories.
That was why I couldn't stop reminiscing about the Outcasts even as I was executing them.
"...Maximilian of Ebenholtz. This is high treason."
Before I knew it, I was standing directly in front of Hector, looking down at his diminutive frame.
"..."
I stared intently at his face, then let out a low, derisive laugh.
"You still don’t understand, do you?"
The veins in Hector’s eyes looked ready to burst. The man had already lost all reason.
"You’re the one who doesn’t understand!"
How pathetic—still barking without grasping the situation. But if he didn’t know, I would simply have to crush him in his ignorance.
I had already used a helicopter to evacuate the researchers from the roof of Mason Industries. I had perfectly secured not only the physical evidence but the human evidence as well.
"His Majesty—"
"—His Majesty."
Hector tried to invoke the Emperor’s name again, but I cut him off.
"...Haa."
It was just a hassle. I had no desire to waste words on a maggot like him. Long explanations were tedious. They were a pointless effort, and no fun at all.
Instead, I reached out and slapped him across the face.
"—Keuk!"
Hector Mason’s body was sent flying. A knight’s physical prowess was more than enough to shatter a normal person’s face with a mere slap. As he tumbled to the ground, the flesh of his cheek tore open, and his shattered teeth rolled across the asphalt.
"You... you bastard...!"
Hector scrambled backward, his face a bloody mess.
"You, keuk, son of a— keoheuk!"
He couldn't even form proper words. The whistling sound of air passing through his broken teeth was laughable. His secretary and bodyguards rushed over, but even they didn't dare raise a weapon against me.
"You bastard! You! You’re a traitor! His Majesty will—he’ll—!"
I sneered down at Hector as he spewed his nonsense from the dirt.
"That position suits you."
"What—what—!"
Ignoring his desperate cries, I turned and walked away.
It wasn't over yet. One person remained.
Hector, too, had already counted the number of bodies strewn across the ground.
Four out of five.
‘Filty’ was missing.
Both I and Hector Mason already knew where she would go.
*
The Underground City, Tavern Quanda.
Filty returned to their hideout and looked around the empty interior.
"..."
No one was there.
Not Master Quanda, who always greeted them with a generous laugh; not the boisterous customers who would clash their mugs together; not her comrades, who would gather around to tell her how much they enjoyed the comics she drew.
Now, they were all gone.
With a trembling hand, Filty picked up a page she had drawn.
[ Elze: Meden... you can stop now.... ]
[ Meden: ...... ]
She read those lines—their final moments—over and over again, her fingers stroking the images of those who would never return. Filty forced down the rising tide of emotion. She suppressed a grief so profound she could barely breathe.
CRASH!
Suddenly, the tavern door burst open as if it had been shattered. Filty flinched and turned toward the sound.
"Filty."
Men with their faces covered by masks stormed in. Likely Mason Industries’ private soldiers.
Filty looked at them with a half-resigned expression.
"Is that right? Filty..."
The soldier paused and picked up a piece of paper. He seemed to know nothing about them.
Filty answered for him.
"...I don’t have a last name."
Filty was just Filty. Meden was just Meden, Elze was just Elze, Kaden was just Kaden, and Pain was just Pain. They were the names they had given each other because they had no such thing as a family or a home.
"I see."
The soldiers drew their stun batons. They had come knowing she had no combat abilities.
However, she had a weapon of her own: a suicide grenade.
The more company I have on the way out, the better.
One step, two steps.
She clutched the grenade, waiting for them to draw closer. Just before they took their third step—
Shhhlick—
An unidentified silver trajectory shot past. A silent flash of light. The soldiers’ heads flew into the air in unison.
"Uh..."
Filty stared blankly ahead. As fountains of blood erupted and the men’s torsos collapsed, the shadow of a man appeared beyond them.
Filty’s hand went limp.
Fwshhh.
The comic pages she had been clutching spilled to the floor.
"Ah, no...!"
She scrambled to her knees, trying to gather the papers, but the blood-soaked pages kept slipping through her fingers.
Squish.
A blood-stained combat boot trampled carelessly on a page.
"Get up."
A voice like frost. Filty trembled as she raised her head.
"..."
It was him.
The blond knight who had sensed her observation and slaughtered all her comrades: Maximilian Ebenholtz.
"Filty of the Outcasts."
The enemy of her comrades was right before her eyes, close enough to touch. But there was nothing she could do. She couldn't even scratch him.
Even if I set off this grenade, I’d just be throwing my life away for nothing, right?
"Filty. Is that correct?"
At his dry question, Filty’s chapped lips moved as she managed a difficult reply.
"...That’s right."
Maximilian bent one knee and picked up a blood-soaked comic page from the floor.
[ Maximilian: Mason Industries will fall. ]
One corner of his mouth twisted as he read it.
[ Maximilian: Because I have obtained proof of the illegal human experiments they conducted under Imperial law. So that scum like you will never be created again. ]
"You possess a peculiar ability."
Thud.
He placed his longsword on the table. He set the stained comic page there as well and asked, "Tell me. Do you have any intention of resisting me?"
The man who had cut down all her comrades was asking such a question.
"..."
Deep resentment still flickered in Filty’s eyes. She recalled the final moments of her comrades that she had drawn.
[ Maximilian: Do you have any last words? ]
[ Meden: Ah. I do. I do. It’s a bit much to say this right after meeting you, but... Fuck... you! ]
[ Elze: Go fuck yourself, you goddamn slave of this shitty Empire! ]
The very next page showed the face of the knight, smiling as he looked at the two of them.
[ Maximilian: ...I see. ]
But when the knight had beheaded them, the expression Filty had depicted on his face... was by no means one of joy. If anything, he looked sad. Infinitely cold, yet imbued with a bottomless solitude.
"...What you said here."
Either way, Maximilian had killed her comrades. That alone made him Filty’s enemy. It was just that she still had one ‘wish’ left.
"Did you mean it?"
Filty held out the page.
[ Maximilian: Mason Industries will fall. I will bring them down. ]
Maximilian answered without a hint of hesitation.
"On my honor."
Filty drew in a sharp breath. If that was the case, then she still had a reason to live—just a little longer.
"What if I don’t resist you?"
Maximilian’s gaze tilted calmly.
"According to Imperial law, you are not a perpetrator directly involved in an act of terror. Therefore, your treatment falls under my jurisdiction as the knight who secured your person."
"..."
Filty clenched her fists. She thought for a long time, then let out a deep sigh and nodded. It was her consent.
Maximilian asked, "Are you alright with not being with them?"
"...Because I want to see them fall."
Filty had sorted out her priorities.
"Meden, Elze, Pain, Kaden..."
The knight did the knight’s job, and they had done theirs. As Outcasts, they had always aimed for a ‘greater cause’ that came before their own deaths.
"They would want to watch those bastards be destroyed."
A murderous intent laced her voice.
"That’s the only way... the only way..."
She couldn't bring herself to continue. An ocean of grief welled up in her heart. Tears surged and fell, plop, plop, into the pools of blood.
Maximilian watched her in silence.
*
Quanda Snowf, the man who had sold Elze’s plan to Mason Industries, left the Underground City and entered a vehicle.
On the promised day, at the promised time, he was on his way to the highest-level hospital in the Imperial Central District. In his arms, his young daughter was cradled, her breaths coming in ragged wheezes.
"Just a little... just a little longer..."
Mana Addiction.
A disease where one is born with abnormally small mana receptors, causing their blood vessels to burn away the more they breathe in atmospheric mana, eventually leading to death.
When he first heard the diagnosis, Quanda realized his daughter’s survival was impossible in the Underground City, where the air was thick with contaminated mana. But it was different on the surface. If she underwent surgery at a proper medical facility and continued to receive expensive prescriptions, she could live a full life.
In other words, if he just had enough money and access to a high-end hospital, he could save his child.
"Just hold on a little longer. Then you can live like a normal kid."
In truth, she had already received life-sustaining treatment from Mason Industries. The fact that his daughter was breathing now was thanks to them. Now, it was time for the surgery that would grant a complete cure...
"...?"
Quanda’s gaze fell outside the window. Suddenly, a sense of unease washed over him.
The car was going in the wrong direction.
They should have turned right at the last intersection. That was the way to the Central District, where the hospital was. But the driver was heading straight, toward the deserted outer roads to the west.
"Excuse me. I think you’ve taken a wrong turn..."
There was no answer. The driver and the man in the passenger seat merely glanced at the rearview mirror.
"Hey!" Quanda shouted urgently. "This isn’t the way!"
The men’s brows furrowed.
"You—who are you people?!"
"Ah, shut up."
The voice was laced with menace. The man in the passenger seat reached into his coat, and just as Quanda’s breathing grew ragged...
Screeeeeech—!
Someone appeared in the middle of the road.
The driver yanked the wheel. The car lurched violently and skidded to a halt.
"Ah, that son of a bitch..."
"...Should I take care of him?"
The driver and the passenger exchanged a look. The man in the passenger seat pulled something from his coat and stepped out of the car.
"Where—where are we?!"
Quanda took the opportunity to speak to the driver. The man looked back at him with an annoyed expression.
"Let’s just go quietly, shall we? We both know what’s going on."
The moment he snarled those words...
Shweeeek—!
A longsword was thrown from the darkness. It pierced the windshield and shattered the man’s skull. The sword then suddenly flew back through the air and into someone’s hand.
"..."
Quanda was speechless. The man who had gotten out of the car did not return, and the driver was already dead. Silence descended, broken only by the sound of his child’s fading breaths.
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps approached. Before Quanda could even collect his wits, the rear door clicked open.
"Quanda Snowf. Is that correct?"
"..."
Quanda stared at the man outside the door, his face pale with terror. Golden eyes that seemed to hold the moonlight met his.
An Imperial Knight—Maximilian Ebenholtz.
"Get out," he commanded.
The weight of his words pressed on Quanda’s eardrums, but he shook his head, clutching the child in his arms tighter.
"My daughter... my daughter is dying—"
"I know."
A gentle smile appeared on Maximilian’s lips. With a politeness completely different from what Quanda had imagined, the knight extended a hand.
"I have prepared a fitting gift for you, who made a difficult decision for the sake of the Empire."
*
The master of Mason Industries, Hector Mason, sent a direct report to the Imperial Palace.
He detailed every one of Maximilian Ebenholtz’s atrocities—acts tantamount to treason, in which he defied the Emperor’s solemn command and slaughtered all the important test subjects. He even added a complaint that Maximilian had struck him in the face, causing injuries that left him nearly paralyzed on one side.
The result of his petition, poured out with the desperation of a man coughing up blood, came swiftly.
"...So that’s what happened?"
Princess Justine’s secretary and closest aide, Estio, had come to the Mason estate in the western part of the Empire.
Hector Mason ground his teeth as he looked at him. "That’s right. That arrogant brat killed every last one of the precious test subjects His Majesty bestowed upon us."
Estio gave Hector a peculiar look. "So?"
"There is still hope. One of the test subjects is still alive, so—"
"And what if Maximilian tries to kill that last one as well?"
At Estio’s question, Hector’s pupils glinted like a viper’s. "That would be an undeniable, clear-cut act of treason against the Imperial Family."
"...Hmm."
Hector’s face seemed to suggest he desired that outcome more than anything. Estio fell into quiet thought.
"In any case, I will deliver this report to Her Highness the Princess."
"You must! You absolutely must deliver it!"
Estio slowly rose to his feet. Hector seethed, his eyes still filled with hatred.
The aftermath of this episode was far from over.