Chapter 22: In the End, It’s All About the People (3)
Chapter 22: In the End, It’s All About the People (3)
Inside the Warden’s office at Imperial 13th Prison, Warden Gunter took a call.
“...Yes. Knight Maximilian has arrived.”
Clutching the terminal with both hands, he reported the day’s events with practiced deference.
“It appears he intends to utilize the Limited Amnesty System. He is currently meeting with prisoners, including Number 330...”
His voice trailed off, cautious and thin. The response from the other end was short and cold.
— It is unavoidable.
The voice was low and heavy. The Warden reflexively hunched his shoulders. The person on the other end was a blade pressed against his throat, far more immediate than the distant Ebenholtz.
— Prepare to carry out the execution first thing tomorrow morning. A formal execution order will be issued by the Western Imperial Court.
“...Understood.”
Click. The call ended. The Warden let out a deep, shuddering sigh and sank into his chair.
*
I sat on a steel chair in the prison’s visiting room.
Tick. Tock.
I stared aimlessly at the analog clock hanging on the grayish-white wall.
Tick. Tock.
That sound. The movement of the second hand. Everything that marked the passage of time had been grating on my nerves for a while now.
Knock, knock.
The door opened. A guard bowed his head and spoke.
“Number 7301. Sending in Jin Maycop.”
The prisoners entered one by one.
The first was a thin young man. I glanced at his file.
[Jin Maycop. 27 years old. Death row inmate. Operated a small confectionery shop on the outskirts of the capital; poisoned eight travelers and robbed them of their valuables.]
“You got any candy? The food here is terrible.”
“...”
I stared at the man for a moment before waving my hand.
“Next.”
“Number 172. Sending in Gaius.”
The second was a man of massive build. His face was covered in a bushy mustache, and his body was riddled with scars.
I flipped the page.
[Inmate Information: Gaius Penn. 42 years old. Death row inmate. Operated the ‘Steel Fist’ mercenary group; after falling into financial ruin, frequently ambushed cargo vehicles and murdered approximately ten people.]
“...I’m curious, Sir Knight. Why would someone like you want to see a wretch like me?”
He tried to test me with a low, gravelly voice. I didn't care for his attempt to act clever.
“Next.”
“Number 370. Sending in Justih.”
“Next.”
“Number 997. Sending in Cain.”
“Next.”
After several more meaningless interviews, finally.
“Number 330. Schatz Heizen.”
That number was called.
Number 330 sat down in front of me, her restraints rattling.
“Good to see you.”
I was genuinely pleased, but she remained silent. She simply stared at me with eyes full of unwavering resolve.
“Schatz. That’s an unusual name.”
It was a unique name. There probably weren't many people with the same one.
Of course, even if it hadn't been unique, I would never have forgotten it.
[Case File: Schatz Heizen. 22 years old. Death row inmate. Murdered seven employees of Mason Industries during a mana rampage.]
Before my regression, she had been a pillar of the Revolutionary Group—a figure famous enough to have special features written about her in the newspapers.
“You killed seven people.”
I turned the cover of the case file. It contained the detailed progression of the incident, Schatz’s background, and other specifics.
“...”
I looked at her.
“...”
She still said nothing.
Her first impression was one of extreme stubbornness. She was a person of few words to begin with.
“Have you felt any remorse during your three years of imprisonment?”
“...”
I smirked, flipping through the pages of the file.
It seemed I would have to be the one to bring up the main point.
“Unlike the other bottom-feeders here, you received a high-level education. It was likely thanks to the efforts of your father, who rose from commoner status to become a researcher for a major corporation.”
For a split second, Schatz’s brow twitched.
“Your father recognized your talent early on and supported you. But—”
“Do not say another word.”
It seemed her father was her sore spot. I found it somewhat absurd, but at least she had finally opened her mouth.
“Your father died. The official cause of death was ‘overwork.’”
Schatz grit her teeth. Her mouth stopped at the start of a curse. She had barely managed to hold it back.
“You didn’t believe it, and you conducted your own investigation until...”
The file included a photo of Schatz holding a one-person protest in front of a certain company.
“This was the result.”
Tap.
I placed my finger on the final paragraph of the case file.
“Murdered seven citizens during a mana rampage.”
“...What is your business with me?”
Her voice was hoarse and strained, as if she hadn't spoken in a long time. I leaned back deeply into my chair.
“I’m looking for an investigator. A Knight’s work is quite complex; I need someone with sharp eyes and ears, even in the darkness.”
“And you chose me? Someone who murdered seven people?”
“I have a good eye for talent.”
Schatz let out a hollow laugh as if it were absurd, but this ‘information’ was my greatest weapon.
“...Then let me ask. Do you even know who my case is entangled with, acting like this?”
“We can discuss that later.”
The corners of Schatz’s mouth curled. It was a cold, mocking sneer.
“You’ll regret it later. A person like you can’t handle it.”
A person like me.
How amusing.
I smiled as I met her gaze.
“No. It’s exactly the opposite.”
I pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the table. It was a Limited Amnesty form.
“I am the one who is ‘unmanageable.’”
It was a document that even Knights found burdensome and thus used very rarely. At the top, the name of the Knight responsible for the pardoned individual was written.
[Maximilian Albrecht von Ebenholtz]
Her pupils trembled.
To reiterate, Ebenholtz was a name that appeared in Imperial textbooks. Any commoner with a decent education couldn't help but know it.
“This is an opportunity for you. An opportunity that will likely never come again.”
I held out a pen to her.
“...What happens if I sign?”
Schatz’s attitude had shifted slightly.
“It will be a limited amnesty. You will be able to leave this prison.”
“And after I am released, what happens then?”
“You’ll be put on a leash. All your actions will be under my control.”
I didn't take my eyes off her.
“And what do I gain from that—”
“An indefinite stay of execution. And.”
I added the condition she desired most.
“The chance to achieve what you want.”
*
Mason Industries.
A giant corporation based in the Western Empire, leading the way in magi-engineering technology.
They had once staked everything on a national project for the Imperial Family—the development of a ‘Mana Engine’ that artificially injected mana into the human body. Schatz’s father had been a core researcher.
However, during the project, her father realized the design of the ‘Mana Engine’ was flawed. He requested the company restart the project, but they naturally refused to give up. Instead, to ensure success, they pushed for human experimentation. The subjects were the homeless or demi-humans.
One day, shortly after discovering this, her father suddenly died.
The cause of death: overwork.
Schatz harbored doubts about her father’s sudden passing. She tracked Mason Industries alone and found numerous pieces of evidence to submit to the media, but every single one was thoroughly buried. She was crushed by the power of Mason Industries.
Instead, they came for her. They held a blade to her throat, demanding the ‘original’ her father had supposedly hidden somewhere.
Schatz didn't know what her father had hidden. But she loathed the deception of those who defiled her father’s name before her eyes, and she fought back against those trying to take her life.
That was how she killed seven people.
By the time she regained her senses, she had been arrested. From the hearing to the trial and sentencing, it was all over in just a month.
The sentence was death.
“...Number 330.”
Schatz snapped her eyes open. Her entire body was drenched in sweat.
“Come out.”
Clang. The door to the solitary cell opened, and the morning sunlight poured in.
Schatz silently followed the guard.
A death row inmate is not informed of their future schedule. That was the norm.
However, Schatz had signed the Limited Amnesty form. Therefore, that procedure should be underway.
—But.
The path was strange.
The corridor they were walking down was unfamiliar.
Just now, they should have turned right at the fork.
The exit was that way.
But this was a different path.
A path they shouldn't be taking.
The dreaded left turn she had imagined every morning when starting her routine.
The path leading to the execution chamber.
This isn't the way.
This isn't it.
Schatz abruptly stopped walking. The guards forcibly pulled her along.
“What is—”
Could it be?
A sense of foreboding flashed through her mind.
They had made the first move. Mason’s reach was faster than the Knight of Ebenholtz.
Her face turned pale.
“I...!”
Just as she was about to scream at the guards holding her arms.
“Shh.”
The guard on the left gave a low signal to be quiet. He even wore a faint smile as if to reassure her. The guard on the right was the same.
“Just follow us. You know what this means, right?”
“...”
Schatz calmed herself for the moment, and the guards indeed passed the execution chamber. They casually exited the prison and reached an empty lot behind it.
A black vehicle was waiting there.
“Get in. He’s waiting.”
The guard opened the rear door. Schatz climbed in, dazed.
The man was sitting in the seat next to her.
Blonde hair and golden eyes, the symbols of the Empire. Maximilian von Ebenholtz, whose features were as sharp and imposing as if carved with a chisel.
“What happened?”
“It seems your execution was finalized this morning.”
Maximilian smirked as he held up an ‘Execution Order.’
“However, I submitted the Limited Amnesty form at dawn.”
The car engine started, and Maximilian tore the order. Schatz watched blankly as the document was shredded into pieces.
The court order to execute her had been torn apart by the hands of a single man.
“In terms of timing, I have the upper hand, and the Western Court can’t override the Sentinels.”
“Then...”
“I saved you. That’s all you need to know.”
Maximilian quietly closed his eyes. It felt as though she shouldn't speak to him further.
Instead, Schatz looked out the window. The scenery of the prison was already receding, and soon, a new landscape appeared.
“...”
She silently pressed her eyes and nose against the car window. She watched the unfamiliar scenery slide past.
How many hours had passed like that?
“A car is following us.”
Schatz spoke softly. Maximilian gave a slight nod.
“Good instincts. No need to worry about it.”
In the meantime, the vehicle reached the outskirts of the Imperial Center.
Screech.
It stopped in an empty lot.
“Get out.”
“...”
Schatz stepped out obediently. The vehicle that had been following them stopped nearby. A door opened, and someone stepped out.
Schatz’s eyes widened.
It was the two guards who had released her and the Deputy Warden.
“...We meet again, Number 330.”
The Deputy Warden approached with a bitter smile. Schatz asked in surprise.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s simple. We decided to pick a side. We couldn't stay under that rotten bastard in that rotten prison forever.”
Wealth is just wealth. Power is just power. But honor merged with tradition, a prestigious lineage spanning half a millennium, is history itself. It is an object of constant reverence that naturally draws people in.
The Deputy Warden’s faction had approached Ebenholtz the moment Maximilian arrived at the prison. They had exposed every bit of Warden Gunter’s corruption.
“First, here are the belongings you had when you were incarcerated.”
The Deputy Warden handed a bag to Schatz.
“And this is a terminal you can use to communicate with the Knight.”
“...”
Taking the items, Schatz stared blankly at Maximilian.
“Train your body there until further instructions arrive.”
He pointed toward a lodging facility in the distance. A single building stood alone on the empty land.
“Because right now, your top priority is becoming strong.”
“Yes.”
Schatz started to head inside but hesitated.
“Sir Knight.”
She posed the question that still lingered to Maximilian, who was watching her.
“Why me, of all people?”
Maximilian seemed lost in thought for a moment, but soon a smile spread across his lips. He let out a breath that sounded like a sigh.
“No need for questions. Let’s leave the future buried for now.”
“...The future?”
The future. A future both brilliant and bleak, where all of humanity was destroyed by goddamn extra-dimensional beings after breaking free from the shackles of the Empire.
In that future, you killed my father.
“Yes.”
The person who killed the great Zebestian was you.
“It means don’t worry about trivial things and focus only on the present.”
There was no reason not to have someone like her.