Chapter 183: Aftermath (2)
Chapter 183: Aftermath (2)
Drip, drip, drip…
On an afternoon bathed in brilliant sunlight, I accepted a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
In a private room at the Imperial Central Hospital, managed by the Bertem Family, Quanda Snowf sat with an anxious expression. The room’s actual occupant, however, was his young daughter, who lay fast asleep in the bed.
“The surgery was a success,” I said.
At my words, Quanda let out a sigh of relief so heavy it seemed he might collapse.
“Haaah…”
Watching him, I contemplated the strange nature of the Empire.
The nobles of the Imperial Palace treated the act of discarding someone after they had served their purpose as a matter of course. Was it because they were loath to part with a pittance? Or was it because they considered the life of a commoner less valuable than that of a fly?
Either way, it was an incredibly short-sighted way to operate.
“As long as she receives her medication consistently, she will live a long, full life.”
Those who betray their own groups, their nation, or even stab their comrades in the back must be given the treatment they deserve. Whatever their reasons, if they have been of use to the Empire, they must be rewarded without fail.
Only then will a person endlessly justify their choices and sink deeper into the mire.
“...Thank you, Sir Knight. Thank you so much.”
Quanda’s eyes reddened as he bowed his head again and again. Before he was the owner of a back-alley tavern, he had been a sommelier with an exceptional palate and sense of smell.
In the future before my return, he had been forgiven by the Outcasts, but he had lost his beloved daughter in exchange.
“As I said, this is your due reward.”
My reason for recruiting Quanda wasn’t just because he could discern the finest vintages in my personal collection of Lilac Vita.
It was for Elixirs.
He possessed a natural genius for analyzing and blending liquid components. The precise concoction of fluids mixed with mana and herbs would directly lead to an improvement in the performance of Stimpaks—the combat drugs that could turn the tide of a battlefield.
Julian had succeeded in Berkina. The ‘Black Poppies’ and other raw materials would soon pour out from the great farms he managed. I absolutely needed an expert who could refine them into perfect drugs.
I smiled.
“Mr. Quanda Snowf. You’re a pureblood Aranian, I see?”
I pulled a document from my coat and handed it to him. It was a certificate of the Snowf family’s lineage, officially issued by an Imperial office.
“If you stand with the Empire, your child will grow up ordinary and happy, without a single worry. On the surface, not underground.”
Taking the document, Quanda’s shoulders trembled as he bowed his head low.
“Raise your head.”
I looked out the hospital window at the clear sky and added impassively, “You’ve done the right thing as a parent.”
“—Ngh.”
Just then, his daughter, waking from the anesthesia, let out a soft moan and opened her eyes.
“Daddy…?”
Quanda rushed to the bedside and squeezed her hand tightly.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay. Everything… everything’s going to be okay now…”
I watched the father and daughter in silence.
For this child to continue living safely, for her to achieve the peaceful, natural death that all of humanity yearns for…
What we had to do was very clear.
*
I met with Princess Justine.
The location was that same secluded hideout. I had been summoned to the place where an Arcane passage connected directly to her wardrobe.
“...So you’re saying one test subject is still alive?”
“Yes.”
The princess glared at me coldly. The meaning behind her golden gaze remained ambiguous.
“I believe the Imperial Family gave you a direct order not to interfere in the affairs of Mason Industries.”
“Yes. I did not interfere. For one week, I simply infiltrated the laboratory and monitored them closely.”
“Are you trying to play word games with me?”
One of the princess’s eyebrows twitched. But I didn’t back down. I had a clear justification. I had physical evidence.
“To state the conclusion first, their research was impossible to replicate from the start.”
The Mana Engine had zero versatility. It was the height of inefficiency, killing tens of thousands just to find a handful of suitable subjects.
“Why did you feel the need to kill the test subjects? Was that not a defiance of the Imperial Family’s orders?”
“It was because they were uncontrollable. Falkenrat was defeated by them, and the Mason side lacked even the minimum capacity to handle them. I judged it better to kill them on the spot than to let them fall into the hands of an enemy nation or a revolutionary group to be used as an uncontrollable weapon.”
The princess still seemed to doubt me. I had already prepared my next words.
“Above all, Hector Mason was not a pureblood Aranian.”
At last, a strange light flickered in her eyes. More than anything else I had said, the princess reacted fiercely to that one sentence.
“His grandfather was a Mer, and his grandmother was of mixed Yedlem and Aran blood.”
I handed her the notebook containing Hector Mason’s family tree and photographs.
With his rotten personality, Hector could not possibly have treated his relatives well. My information network had located his old family; they, who had been robbed of their assets by Hector, were more than willing to provide testimony.
“His real name is Epen May. A few of his relatives were living in the East.”
The princess scanned the documents, the photos, and above all, the records of the relatives’ testimonies, murmuring under her breath.
“...Hector Mason is not a pureblood Aran.”
The Emperor’s logic was this: even the act of implanting impure mana circuits into a pureblood Aranian could be tolerated as a sacrifice for the greater good of the Empire, so long as the one leading and controlling it was a ‘pureblood Aranian.’ However, if Hector was not an Aranian, the entire premise was flawed.
It would become an unforgivable blasphemy—an inferior species daring to capture the Emperor’s subjects and use them as test subjects.
“Yes. But the facility known as T24 and the research resources they’ve accumulated are still valid.”
“And so?” the princess asked, raising her gaze to meet mine.
“We need research that targets the sub-species.”
The Izenheim. The ones we absolutely had to slaughter.
“All we know about them so far is that the ‘shape of their hearts’ is different.”
The corners of the princess’s mouth twitched minutely. But this was different from her usual sharpness. It was a faint satisfaction, a pleasure she was deliberately suppressing.
“Therefore, if we physically and magically dissect them, and systematically analyze them to know them better…”
I already knew the word she wanted to hear.
“The most efficient extermination will become possible.”
*
At that same moment, at the Sentinel Knights Headquarters, Vice-Commander Chiron convened an emergency meeting of the knights.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard the news about Maximilian,” Chiron began, his voice heavy.
Hector, the head of Mason Industries, had reported Maximilian to the Imperial Family. He had thrown a fit, calling it an act of treason for defying the Imperial order to halt the investigation, and the Imperial Family was now seriously reviewing the matter.
“I couldn’t sleep yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. I just couldn't.”
His anger was genuine.
The fact that a mere entrepreneur had dared to oppose a Sentinel Knight, and the news that the Imperial Family had tolerated the man’s overreach, filled Chiron with a feeling close to rage.
“We pursue what is right. And what Maximilian did was unequivocally right.”
Chiron slowly looked around at the faces of the knights gathered at the round table. Reynel, Zionne, Cliff, Tiana, Leon, Hannah… Knights from all factions and statuses had gathered here.
“A Sentinel is, after all, a Sentinel.”
It was what Maximilian himself had said not long ago, when he had rallied them as the Knight Order faced a crisis of division. Now, it was the Order’s turn to repay him.
“How dare he. How dare the head of a mere company lay a hand on a Sentinel Knight.”
The capital and scale of Mason Industries were among the most prominent in the Empire’s history, and in the western Empire, it possessed power and wealth that were nearly unrivaled.
But.
“The Sentinels are the Sword of the Empire. In contrast, they are nothing more than merchants with a bit of money.”
Every Sentinel needed to understand that clearly. As Maximilian had advocated, the Sentinels had to be aware of their own authority and their absolute power. And they had to know how to wield it at the most opportune time.
“Now, we will mobilize all the power we possess.”
Thump!
Chiron slammed his fist on the table and declared, “We will crush Mason.”
*
Hector Mason, the head of Mason Industries, attempted a counterattack by mobilizing the vast connections and capital he had painstakingly built in the western Empire.
However, every time he reached out, the powerful figures in the central government turned their backs on him, one by one. The ones who had confidently told him to ‘trust them’ at first now went silent.
It was no use emphasizing that this was a national project receiving the full support of the Imperial Family.
“These goddamn bastards…”
Hector gasped for breath, glaring at the man across from him.
Sitting there was a man with deep ties to Chief Secretary Grossman. A powerful central noble who had served as a sturdy lifeline connecting the Mason family to the Imperial Family, and a dear friend: Waldemar.
“Waldemar. I’ll write down a list of all these opportunistic bastards who betrayed me. Report them to the Imperial Palace and have them all sent away—to a concentration camp, a prison, I don’t care where.”
“Uh… well, um…”
Waldemar scratched his temple with a rather troubled expression.
“Hector. I’m saying this for your own good. The situation right now…”
“What situation! Didn’t you say His Majesty was furious too!”
“...Ah, well, he was. For a moment. I heard he raised his voice. His Majesty’s anger is a rare thing.”
‘For a moment.’
That phrase snagged in Hector’s ear.
“But why?”
The Emperor was a man who could obliterate a person’s existence with a single breath. It would have been more beneficial for him to use this opportunity to cut down the insolent sprout named Maximilian—if not execution, then exile or disciplinary action—to maintain the absolute authority of the Imperial Family.
“A man who defies you once will do it a second and a third time. His Majesty must know that well.”
“Well… ahem.”
Waldemar coughed and continued cautiously.
“There’s a… nasty rumor circulating in the Imperial Palace that you are not a pureblood Aranian.”
In that instant, Hector’s expression hardened like stone. It only lasted a moment before he forced a smile.
“Impossible. All my bloodline certifications are perfect, and the documents from the Imperial Central Office are flawless. It must be a fabrication by that brat, Maximilian. To dare forge an official document of the Empire, that bastard must truly want to be branded a traitor—”
“Do you, by any chance, know a man named ‘Epen May’?”
“...”
Hector was speechless. His pupils trembled uncontrollably.
“...Who’s that?”
To Hector’s brazen question, Waldemar just clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“Well, are you the son of a man named Epen May? He testified that you, Hector, stole all the family’s money and ran away long ago. Your old name was… Yujin May? Epen May?”
A name he had forgotten for a lifetime. A name he thought he had cleanly erased on several occasions. Had a trace of it still remained?
“Anyway. They’ve submitted evidence regarding your bloodline. Things like family photos from your childhood.”
Hector’s heart rate skyrocketed. A cold sweat broke out on his back. He could no longer maintain his composure.
“What…”
“Well, Hector. I’m speaking as your friend. An old friend. Though we can’t really be friends now, can we? Legally, it’s not possible.”
Hector stared at Waldemar with blank eyes.
“Anyway. As someone who was once your friend, I want to ask you something first.”
Waldemar—the man who had greedily accepted all sorts of bribes and valuables from him over the years. The man who had advanced to a key position in the central government with his money, his money.
“Hector. Who in the world do you think you are?”
And now, he was asking him this strange question with such a cold face.
“What on earth were you thinking, trying to go up against Ebenholtz?”
“...What?”
“Get a grip.”
Waldemar fastened the buckle of his suit.
“You know. You’re just…”
A thick sneer spread across his lips. Or perhaps it was a sliver of genuine pity—a shred of emotion for an old friend who, drunk on a fantasy, had forgotten his place and brought about his own ruin.
“A mere entrepreneur. From birth, from the very foundation you stand on, you are different from Maximilian.”
A tradition built over hundreds of years. A family that had risen to become one of the symbols of the Empire. Everyone in the Empire knew of their nobility. They acknowledged their authority.
The countless nobles who respected Ebenholtz looked down on the newly risen who tried to climb up from the ‘bottom’ and coveted their positions.
We acknowledge Ebenholtz, but not you.
Ebenholtz is noble, but you are base.
It was the perfectly natural order of aristocratic society.
“Hector… no, should I call you Mr. Epen?”
Even if Mason Industries had reigned at the top of the continental corporate world for decades and scattered mountains of money, it could not buy the weight of that history, that bloodline, that authority.
“That’s just how House Ebenholtz is.”
— That’s just how it is.
A truth that was clearly irrational, yet so very correct.
“They are the very ceiling of this nation called the Empire. Who dares to look beyond the ceiling?”
If the Emperor was the sky, they were the ceiling.
“Good luck. And thanks for everything.”
Waldemar stood up from his seat. Leaving the stunned Hector behind, he turned without a second thought and left the secret room.
“...”
A silent darkness descended. And in it, Hector simply sat alone, in solitude, for a very long time.