Bait for the Shadows

Whoever supplied Imperial Consort Cleo with those dangerous, refined demonic energy products was someone who naturally harbored no goodwill toward me or the Castrein Duchy.

They possessed the means to craft items that even the Castrein family deemed dangerous, which meant they had secured a substantial stockpile of demonic beast carcasses to use as raw materials. Up to this point, my reasoning was entirely sound. Yet there remained one crucial detail that demanded verification, and the answer could only come from someone of the Castrein household. Fortunately, I was surrounded by them. The moment I asked, Debbie gave me an unequivocal answer.

"Ah, you're asking whether bottom-feeders who don't even register on our family's radar could produce an item on par with the trap used to ensnare Prince Brian in the Imperial Palace? Goodness, no. That's entirely impossible."

To commoners who knew nothing of the craft, the Castrein Duchy simply owned magic crystal mines from which they quarried precious stones. In reality, magic crystals were the cores of demonic beasts—substances that formed naturally within monstrous bodies.

Which raised a fundamental question: what, exactly, were the magic crystal mines belonging to the Castreins?

The principle was surprisingly simple. Long ago, across decades and centuries, countless demonic beast corpses had been dumped and piled high in one desolate location. Over ages of natural sedimentation, the residual demonic energy had compressed and crystallized, yielding dense deposits of magic crystals. That was the Castrein family's famed mine. To be precise, it was an ancient disposal ground for slaughtered monsters.

Even after their cores were gouged out, the rotting remains of demonic beasts still harbored a faint trace of latent power. For that very reason, the Castreins had rigorously dumped every single carcass into one strictly controlled abyss. Centuries passed, corpses layered upon corpses, and vast swathes of subterranean power congealed into the earth. That was the origin of their so-called mine.

It was a hoard maintained under the meticulous, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠relentless watch of the almighty Castrein Duchy. To prevent new monsters from gestating in the muck, they conducted periodic inspections, excavated the crystals, and strictly forbade any living soul from approaching the perimeter.

So where on earth had our enemies managed to find demonic beasts bearing such formidable cores, let alone harvest enough to manufacture refined weapons?

"...Unless they went through the black market, securing that kind of volume would have been impossible," I murmured, my eyes narrowing as I lost myself in thought.

Neither their supply line nor their distribution could possibly be legitimate.

Although the Castreins shouldered the defense of the north, demonic beasts were not entirely absent in the other provinces. There were plenty of mercenary bands who eked out a living hunting the scattered, weaker breeds roaming the frontiers. Even the Castreins occasionally hired such freelance blades when circumstances called for it. Naturally, it was impossible to catch every scoundrel who slipped a monster claw or a rogue crystal into their pocket on the battlefield.

Even so, the sheer volume scavenged through petty theft could never amount to much. If the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠black-market trade slipping beneath the Castrein family's notice were truly large enough to supply such dark alchemy, the duchy would have cracked down on it long ago.

Could they have smuggled the shortage from overseas? Highly doubtful. Monsters beyond the empire's borders were nowhere near as vicious or plentiful as the imperial breeds. From what I had heard, foreign beasts posed about as much of a threat as field mice or wild bats. Whether someone sought magic crystals or raw demonic energy, the quality of overseas specimens was far too abysmal to justify the enormous risk of smuggling.

That left only two possibilities: either they possessed their own secret method of breeding and procuring beasts, or they possessed enough astronomical wealth to sweep up contraband across the black markets of the entire empire right under the Castreins' noses—though even with bottomless pockets, securing that kind of inventory on demand was another matter entirely.

All signs pointed to a calculated operation orchestrated by an organized cabal with a brilliant mastermind at the helm.

Could an artifact lethal enough to infiltrate the Imperial Palace and bring the young Count of Cortez to death's door simply be rolling around in some back alley? If that were the case, the Castrein Duchy would have sniffed it out and eradicated the source ages ago. Even to an amateur like me, crafting such an abomination was not something achieved on a shoestring budget. To secretly brew such dark relics, smuggle them into the heart of the imperial court, and deliberately target a prominent noble closely tied to the empire's dominant house...

None of this was the work of a petty rogue acting on a whim. It demanded a grand, terrible purpose.

Originally, I had assumed all I needed to do was keep Prince Brian and Imperial Consort Cleo in check. In the original novel, they were the prime instigators of the civil war. Once Prince Adrian claimed the throne, the war drew to a close, the realm found its footing, and everyone walked away into their happily ever after.

Yet lately, a chilling suspicion had begun to gnaw at me.

Was this really a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠problem that would magically vanish the moment I broke my engagement with the Castrein family and washed my hands of them? Could it really be that simple?

Was it pure coincidence that I had bound myself to that holy sword, wielded the Power of Light, and awakened memories of a past life?

If the original story had truly ended with Titania, that petty villainess, slinking off into obscurity while the Castrein family won their hard-earned peace, then why was I here living through this right now?

...Wait.

A sudden blur washed over my vision, and I blinked rapidly. Without warning, a vivid mirage flickered across the empty air before me.

I saw a pair of hands.

The fingers were straight and slender, yet the fingertips were in absolute ruins. The nails were split, jagged, and cracked to the quick. It was a pair of hands encrusted with grit, dried blood, fresh scrapes, and cold sweat—and yet, they felt hauntingly, intimately familiar.

Those hands were gripping a sword.

They clutched the hilt with such ferocious intensity that pale veins bulged starkly beneath the paper-thin skin.

I recognized that blade. It was a weapon I knew better than anyone.

At the tip of the brilliantly gleaming edge, a white flame rolled and billowed like thick smoke. It was a heatless, chilling blaze that looked incapable of burning a single hair, tinged at its absolute rim with the faintest whisper of crimson.

...What cannot be done?

What do you mean by that?

The voice had sounded utterly desolate. It was steeped in colors of emotion too heavy for words, sending a freezing pang through my chest the moment it reached my ears. Dominating that sound was an unbearable resignation, bone-deep exhaustion, and beneath it all, a sliver of desperate hope so agonizingly worn that it felt closer to hatred.

It was an uncanny, terrifying sensation.

To suddenly see hallucinations out of thin air—ordinarily, my first reaction would have been to wonder if I needed to brew some restorative herbal tonic. Yet something deep within whispered instinctively to my soul.

You must remember this.

This is something you are meant to know.

It was as though someone were illustrating an unspeakable truth onto flashcards, painting them shade by shade, and laying them out before me one by one—waiting patiently for a young child to grasp the drawings and decipher the words.

Just as my breath caught and my entire body locked in place, an agitated, bubbly voice chimed directly into my mind.

Wh-what?!

I snapped out of the trance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.

Looking toward the central platform, I saw a masked auctioneer holding an ornate velvet tray, projecting his voice in an exaggerated, theatrical flourish.

"A very warm welcome to all the distinguished ladies, gentlemen, and honored guests gracing us with their presence today!"

The underground market where Phlux had suffered his near-fatal accident was long gone, sealed away by the authorities. The den we had infiltrated today was its replacement—reputed to be the largest and most secretive black market currently operating in the shadows of the capital.

Smuggled goods, monster byproducts, illicit slaves, forbidden artifacts—it sold them all. The location and access ciphers changed for every single gathering, held erratically once every month or two. Introducing a stolen imperial relic into an auction this discreet, complete with carefully cultivated whispers, would have been outright impossible without the underground network of Hecate's Tavern.

To both the court and the public, the credit for slaying the demonic beasts at the Imperial Palace had been attributed entirely to the holy sword's divine power.

It was only natural. If a frail princess who had never held a blade in her life suddenly cleaved through a horde of monsters overnight, anyone with half a brain would assume the weapon was doing all the heavy lifting.

Furthermore, I had used that very same sword to cleanse the corruption consuming Phlux.

I had no way of knowing how far our enemies' intelligence network reached. But Phlux had blatantly paraded himself into the temple looking hale and hearty. If they knew he was supposed to be rotting to death from demonic energy—if they had been watching us, or keeping tabs on the young count—they would inevitably be gripped by suspicion.

How on earth did he survive?

And these very enemies were refining monster corpses to fuel their shadowy ambitions. Whether they were artificially spawning demonic beasts or siphoning carcasses from the fringes of the Castrein territory, the fact remained that they relied heavily on demonic matter. If such people were suddenly presented with an opportunity to acquire a miraculous blade capable of letting a slip of a girl butcher demonic beasts and purge demonic corruption...

If I were the enemy, I wouldn't let this chance slip through my fingers. No matter how suspicious it looks.

Granted, the whole setup reeked of a trap. An unidentified thief had brazenly stolen the holy sword that the imperial princess guarded with her life, set fire to a temple in the process, and then casually dumped the priceless artifact onto a black market auction block for all to see.

Wary of an ambush, they might not reveal their true colors out in the open.

Even so, they won't be able to ignore it.

A predatory gleam flared in my eyes as I fixed my gaze unblinkingly upon the stage.