Chapter 302
Chapter 302
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 302
Chapter Title: Shadowed Sky (7)
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Robert was spending an ordinary day, just like any other. Sorting through intelligence reports gathered from across the Empire, coordinating mission assignments for the Ironsides, and conducting background checks on great nobles where signs of rebellion or aristocratic crimes had surfaced.
It was an extremely hectic and profoundly secretive line of work. His vast desk was piled high with reports, yet they were sorted with near-obsessive precision, never appearing the least bit cluttered.
Today was no different. He lifted a report, read it slowly, dipped his quill in ink, and signed it with a flourish—every motion flawless, without the slightest deviation. The soft scrape of the nib across the paper.
-Drip.
"Damn."
In the midst of it, the quill's tip split, and a drop of ink burst forth. The corner of the report stained black. Robert grimaced and reached for a napkin. At that moment, someone knocked on the door.
"Who is it?"
"Your Highness. Viscount Jean d'Bumre."
"Enter."
Robert quickly wiped the spilled ink from the desk and steepled his fingers. The door opened, and a neatly dressed middle-aged man stepped in. Viscount Jean d'Bumre of the Tremulle family—a legal noble and longtime loyal steward serving as chamberlain.
"What is it?"
"One of our agents has gone missing."
"...Where? Kirzat?"
"No, Your Highness."
The Ironsides, who carried out infiltration and intelligence missions, always walked a razor's edge where death was a constant risk. Yet agents actually dying on duty was exceedingly rare. Pinning down an Ironside's identity was difficult enough, and even if uncovered, directly antagonizing the Empire was a daunting prospect.
Thus, an agent's disappearance during an operation was a major issue. Their cover being blown might spark political trouble, but outright harming them was uncommon.
"The agent dispatched to the Plains of the Pale Clans has vanished."
"The Plains of the Pale Clans... Chellini, was it?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Pay compensation to the agent's family. Did Chellini have a younger sibling?"
"Yes."
"If the sibling's still interested in magic, write a letter of recommendation for Filaineil University. Inform all agents of this incident."
Robert issued his orders without hesitation. Among all his intelligence operatives, there was none whose background and family history he didn't know inside out. The surest way to control subordinates was strict rewards and punishments paired with airtight security for their loved ones.
That aside... Robert let out a short sigh. Of all places, the Plains of the Pale Clans.
"Do you remember what Sir Cerned said?"
"The prophecy about someone named Kagan appearing?"
"Exactly."
At his words, Viscount d'Bumre snorted softly. Intelligence agents didn't believe in prophecies. They trusted only predictions backed by solid data. Among them, there was a tendency to distrust the 'prophecies' or 'oracles' often spouted by church folk or mages.
"At least don't show that attitude in front of me."
Robert frowned at the viscount's demeanor. The man startled, composing his expression. Robert clicked his tongue.
"You don't have to respect it, but you should respect the man who said it. Once you know his achievements, you won't dismiss it lightly. When someone like him speaks—even if he said the world ends tomorrow—it demands serious consideration."
Robert shook his head. That was the innate flaw of intelligence operatives. Those who wielded overwhelming information tended to look down on others.
Humility isn't a virtue. But arrogance is a definite vice. Arrogance inevitably breeds misjudgment, misjudgment leads to blunders, and blunders to defeat.
"My eyes were clouded; I spoke out of turn."
"Fine. Back to the matter at hand. The prophecy stated that a Kagan—later called Karadskarr—would appear. As a preemptive measure, we assassinated the one named in it."
"Three or more agents confirmed the death of the boy Turgjin. Intelligence reports that the Amar clan chief went mad with grief over his son's death."
"I'm not implying my subordinates filed false reports. But Sir Cerned suspected the assassination failed. I see it differently."
He trusted his subordinates—not their skills, but their honesty. Assassinations could fail, due to lack of ability or bad luck. No operation guaranteed 100% success.
But loyalty was beyond question. His top agents, the so-called Gray Circle, wouldn't betray him even at the cost of their lives.
Thus, with three of them reporting 'Amar Turgjin's death confirmed,' Robert had formed an entirely different hypothesis.
If Sir Cerned was right. If both 'the future Kagan, Karadskarr, did not die' and 'Amar Turgjin is dead' were true.
"Then either that infant Amar wasn't Karadskarr, or another Karadskarr... another Kagan has emerged. One or the other."
Karadskarr was an alias, meaning 'Scar of the World'—an ominous moniker. If another claimed it and rose to Kagan, the prophecy would still come true.
And with his agent dead, the hypothesis gained credence. Now it needed cross-verification.
"We have four agents in Kirzat now?"
"Yes, two of them stationed in cities adjacent to the Plains of the Pale Clans."
"Send the three not attached to the Sultan into the plains. Have them enter different regions—one to the Turgjin clan, the other two to survey the overall situation across the plains."
The Plains of the Pale Clans had been locked in endless civil wars since before history began. It was a fluid region shaped by countless nomadic tribes drawing ever-shifting borders.
Even the most up-to-date maps could become obsolete in a week. A single skirmish could decide a tribe's fate.
Until now, the Pale Clans had been a backwater not worth monitoring, mere bandits too timid to venture beyond the plains... but perhaps more precise observation was called for.
"I hope it's just a false alarm."
Muttering the same words as a certain lord on the opposite side of the continent, Earl Robert shook his head.
-Caw! Caw!
Seagulls screeched noisily beyond the open window, wheeling toward the harbor's depths. A sign of storms brewing far out at sea.
* * *
-Crackle!
Dry twigs snapped and crunched underfoot, echoing loudly. A group of men was climbing the mountainside. As early evening darkened the sky, they lit their torches.
"The path's treacherous. Trail's gone cold."
One man crouched to inspect the ground, then looked up. A lean middle-aged man with sharp features. He addressed another scanning the surroundings.
"Bring the witness forward."
"Mmph! Mmph!!"
The man nodded and dragged out a bound woman with a gag in her mouth. She grimaced, making muffled sounds, then was forced to her knees, gasping. He removed her gag.
"Where did they go?"
"This is a crime! Even for you people, abducting and tormenting civilians! And she's a holy knight!"
"She *was* a holy knight."
The man spoke coldly, drawing a dagger from his sleeve. Under the torchlight, the blade gleamed with a bluish sheen.
"Now she's a suspect. Witness, multiple testimonies claim you were closest to him during his activities. Depending on circumstances, you could be treated as the defendant. Heed that."
"Heed what? I'm a vice-professor at Filaineil University and an imperial court mage—"
"And we are the Scales of Justice. Speak the truth. Questions and claims are not yours to make; your defense holds only before the Hall of Justice."
"...You'll regret this."
"Our regrets concern only our failure to purge worldly evil."
"You should watch your words. I—"
The woman grumbled, shaking her head. Whatever the case, even for a trial of a former holy knight, some semblance of due process was needed. Ignorant of religious law as she was, she knew their proceedings weren't always unjust.
Resisting would only harm him in the end. He was innocent, and as the only civilian present, she had a duty to defend him.
'Captain...'
Thinking of her superior, who had vanished long ago, she bowed her head glumly. How had the Empire's glorious royal hunters, once bathed in honor, come to this...
"Witness, speak. Where do you think he's hiding?"
"The captain's a master of tracking and stealth. You won't catch him making all this noise! Why not just send a letter? Who knows, he might even reply if you're lucky!"
"Brothers, light up."
The man shook his head and spoke solemnly. The woman startled. Were they about to erect a pyre here? But the men simply advanced, torches raised.
"What are you—"
"If we burn the whole mountain, he'll show himself somewhere."
"B-but we don't even know if the captain's here... There are slash-and-burn villages on this mountain! Innocents will die!"
"Their innocence will be proven before Justice, and to spare one evildoer is to spill the blood of a hundred—that is the will of the Holy Pantheon. Lord, grant us your blessing."
"Holy Pantheon, grant your blessing."
The men began chanting prayers softly. The woman's face paled. They meant to torch the entire mountain! It was a remote foothill, a wild mountain ignored even by the local lord, but the hillside villages held at least twenty households of settlers!
"Will your innocence be proven before your god?"
"He's here."
"Captain!"
A low voice echoed from deep in the woods. The woman thought it sounded familiar yet somehow gloomy, growling. But it was welcome all the same.
"Seiri. It's been a while."
"Captain! Your leg...?"
A young man limped out from the forest shadows. He leaned on a cloth-wrapped staff like a cane as he approached the men.
"...From this moment, anything the defendant says or does may be used against him in court."
"Court? Spare me."
"The defendant no longer wears the robes of the priesthood. This procedure is at the behest of the archbishop of the church he once served. If you prefer a more 'summary' process, so be it."
"Typical pious intimidation. You hypocrites always play it that way."
The youth stepped fully into the torchlight. Deep shadows cloaked his face, but his eyes still burned like flames.
"Speak. What crime do I stand accused of? And what right do you have to judge me?"
"Defendant, Darian Shrike. Alias, the Emperor's Eye. Executionary Holy Knight of the Shilde Church. Chief Inquisitor of the Burning Eucharist Knights. Correct?"
"Yes. I am Darian Shrike."
"Does the defendant admit to the arson on May 17 in the imperial town of Hasen in the Frabang region, the indiscriminate assassination attempts on holy knights, and the murder of 43 victims, including 12 knights and 4 priests?"
"I admit it."
"Does the defendant admit to burning 11 homes and murdering 28 victims, including 19 knights and 2 priests, on May 22 in the small village of Barang in the Julira region?"
"Not the arson, but the murders—yes, mine."
"Afterward, until his last known movements, the defendant murdered 213 victims across 8 cities total, renounced his priesthood and requested excommunication before the true culprit was revealed, then vanished and hid in these mountains before approval. Correct?"
"...I admit it."
"Holy Pantheon, grant your blessing."
The man glared at Darian, slowly resting a hand on his sword hilt. He spoke each word deliberately, as if chewing it out.
"Per the plea of Archbishop Francisco of the Shilde Church in the Paltennoia diocese, you are granted a final defense."
"You... you all..."
Darian bared his teeth like a wounded beast, growling.
"You all, these past three months, under the banner of 'Crusade,' ignited 148 arsons, massacred 8,519 civilians, and committed... war crimes to match. Do you admit it?"
"..."
"Thousands of households destroyed by your war crimes, war orphans, starvation from ruined homes, poverty and famine in surrounding areas. The catastrophe you sowed—I grant you the chance to defend it. As always. To all of you, I always granted the chance to defend... to repent. Yes, to repent."
-Shing.
The man drew his longsword. The chill saint-metal blade gleamed blue under the rising moonlight.
"Holy Pantheon, grant your blessing. The defendant admits all crimes yet shows no remorse, with high risk of recidivism. I seek the death penalty."
"And I demand the same retribution from you. No remorse, high risk of recidivism!"
"I am of the Religiosa Heretica of St. Bartholomew Monastery, executing judgment by the authority granted by the Holy Pantheon!"
"And I am a son of man, punishing you by the virtues of humanity!"
-Clang!
The man could hold back no longer and swung. In that instant, Darian's staff blurred. The man's sword shattered in half and flew aside; the staff plunged into his chest.
No one there had followed Darian's movements. The men froze, staring at him.
-Shing...
At once, the Hereticas drew their longswords, aiming at Darian. He grimaced at the sight.
"Pray, priests. Beg your god fervently. Plead for forgiveness of your sins!"
Darian charged them, shouting.
"Once you're all forgiven before your god, I'll kill you all the same!"