Baisman Violet
Silk robe draped over her head. Long, flowing brown hair spilling from beneath the hood. A bearing close to nobility, with emerald eyes that screamed ambition.
Isaac had noticed her even before she set foot in the garden. The amount of mana she carried, and its very nature, felt somehow off.
"What the hell? So you were the one who raided the House of Mercy, young master?"
"That's how it turned out."
Isaac shifted his gaze from the woman to Pallichi.
"Well, shit."
Pallichi scratched his head awkwardly. He still served under the marquis, but clashing with Isaac was the last thing he wanted.
"Here to take me out?" Isaac asked.
"Hm, one of our quick-footed mercs did call for backup, saying there were intruders at the House of Mercy. Marquis's orders—couldn't exactly ignore 'em."
"Wanna give it a shot?"
"Ahem. Tough with that monster holding the line."
Pallichi fiddled with his well-groomed beard as he glanced at Carlson.
"Where's Gerald?" Carlson asked.
"Been holed up in the brothels ever since you yanked his nails. Probably drowned in booze since leaving Goethe Manor. Why, you worried?"
"As if."
"Kid's got a good heart. Dresses up in women's clothes, does his makeup, acts like a total lunatic—but he protects those whores for pennies."
"Is that so."
Carlson merely nodded faintly.
"But why's the nun director all swollen up like that, unrecognizable? And what's with this freaky thing?"
The nun director's face was so puffy it was hard to make out her features, and the glass orb inside the golden birdcage. Pallichi alternated glances between the two, then fixed on the boy's neck inside the orb.
Curiosity mingled with disgust—some expression like that crossed his face.
"Pallichi."
Suddenly, the woman who had been silently observing spoke up.
"Ah, Madam Chairman. Look at me, lost in thought."
Pallichi finally tore his eyes from the glass orb.
"This is Violet, head of our Baisman and committee member of the Republican Revolutionaries. She was just asking me to arrange a meeting with you soon, young master—and here we are."
Pallichi made the introduction with a flourish.
"An honor to meet you, young master. I'm Violet, who runs Baisman."
Violet gathered the hem of her robe at thigh level and lifted it slightly. She slid her right foot behind her left and bent her knees gracefully. Had she been wearing a full skirt, it would have been the perfect curtsy of a noble lady.
"A bit too refined for a gang boss," Isaac said with a hollow chuckle.
"Names and labels trap meaning and breed prejudice."
"That prejudice is right sometimes."
"What do you mean?"
Violet narrowed her eyes.
"Baisman means 'the wise one' in the ancient tongue. In common speech, it's sage, virtuous man, gentleman, archbishop, whatever."
"And?"
"Guys who name their gang after words like that are one of two: brimming with massive delusions of grandeur, or starry-eyed idealists with ideas way above their station. My bias leans toward the latter. Am I wrong?"
"……."
Violet stared at Isaac, her eyes widening slightly. Irritating, but sharp insight. Unexpected. Not only had he parsed the ancient language but grasped its implications. She hadn't imagined his learning ran this deep. All she'd heard was that his unique constitution kept him from fulfilling his role as heir.
"Told you. Goethe's firstborn ain't just some family disgrace," Pallichi whispered, amused by her reaction.
Violet shot him a glare before speaking again.
"You know this is an orphanage built by Marquis Dietrich, right?"
"Didn't. Now I do."
Isaac's reply was curt.
"And you know we're in his employ."
"What're you getting at?"
"You know Goethe forbids any commercial activity outright, or meddling in the city's trade."
"Yeah. But this doesn't look like trade."
"This place elevated Bernsi's reputation and supplied relics and goods to the old church. Raiding it is an attack on the old faith—and a challenge to the royals. Won't look good for Goethe either."
"Worried about Goethe right now?"
Isaac snorted at her logic. Breaking the alliance of the marquis, Baisman, and Mayor Baris. Blocking the marquis from seizing Bernsi's autonomy to avert the city's tragedy. Securing freedom from royal shield taxes, permission for trade and military buildup. Family independence.
All pieces connected for Isaac, who knew the future. To Violet, ignorant of it, the raid must seem utter madness.
"I just can't understand it. Pallichi said you were... wise."
Violet glanced at Pallichi as she spoke.
"Ahem."
Pallichi cleared his throat. "Wise" was the sanitized version—he'd called Isaac "sly as a fox."
"What if my meddling wasn't trade, but stopping a crime?"
"Pardon?"
"They even tried drugging and killing the lord's son."
"……What do you mean?"
"You know what goes on here?"
"It's an orphanage, so……."
Violet trailed off. The marquis had told her to stay out of orphanage matters—use other mercs, no prying, or else. She hadn't wanted to know about the House of Mercy.
But the glass orb on the floor nagged at her. Golden birdcage, glass sphere within, boy's neck inside. Worst assumptions surfaced, and she prayed they were wrong.
"Follow me."
Isaac said. Violet flinched at his voice—more like a venomous old man's than a child's.
Following Mayor Baris's death, the city plunged into chaos once more.
A massive wolf bounding across rooftops. Boys pouring into the streets at midnight—half of them stark naked. Then flames erupting from the House of Mercy at Saint Ursula.
Off-duty guards mobilized fully, joined by vigilantes and citizens. They doused the orphanage flames and debated what to do with the children.
The shocking revelation: among dozens of kids, a few weren't orphans. Some from merchant families, even near-nobles.
Questions demanded answers, but those running the place were gone. Only mercenaries sprawled in the garden—all long dead. Even the non-fatally wounded had their throats slit extra.
Suspicious events piled up, but no one knew the truth.
Before dawn, the city council convened and voted: they'd hire experts for investigation; guards focus on cleanup. Warrants issued for the missing nun director and mercenary captain.
"How did things spiral this far?"
The decision reached the guards, but the council chamber doors stayed shut. Five great merchant houses—called merchant nobles—and the marquis remained inside.
Founders of Bernsi. Grown with the city, scheming in shadows, each dominating a slice of the black market.
"No leads on them yet?"
"Sorcerer controlling a giant wolf, most like."
"Heard northern border tribes beyond have druids who tame beasts."
"But why would a druid do this?"
"Marquis, speak up."
The large round table held six chairs: for the five houses and the marquis. One empty now—Mayor Baris's.
"Really not Isaac von Goethe? Note said so, didn't it?"
"If 'He' finds out……."
BAM!
The marquis slammed the table.
"Watch your words."
His low growl drew all eyes.
"No mentioning 'Him'—any form. You trying to get us all killed with that tongue, Rikel?"
The marquis spoke without looking. "He" meant the Second Prince—no leaks allowed from here.
"……My apologies."
Rikel, head of one great house, bowed to the marquis, barely twenty years his senior.
"Forget the orphanage. Replace the kids, find new artists. The prince ain't your worry. Priority: seal Hindina and her merc captain's mouths, uncover who's pulling strings from the shadows."
The marquis explained calmly. Yes—all replaceable with money. He had plenty: bought status, the prince's favor, the city.
Just kick this pebble at his feet, and the rest falls into place. Big gains always have hurdles.
"When do you plan to see the count? Already delayed a week."
As houses voiced anxieties, silent Benders spoke. Dwarf mayor, hunchbacked from birth defect. His caravan stuck to legit trade among great houses, matching their profits.
"This risks his suspicion. Or he uses the upcoming Goethe tourney to stall, and yearly inspection's toast."
Benders was right. Marquis Dietrich should've met Count Goethe already—cite Bishop Lebonius's disappearance for Bernsi autonomy.
He didn't grasp full context, but publicizing as inspector would force papal probe. Fatal for border-guarding Goethe—court factions could spin it as bishop murder or blasphemy.
Marquis chose silence over scandal, demanding autonomy as price. If all went to plan.
But now? Caution ruled. If Baris's assassination to orphanage raid was Count's orders? If he knew orphanage horrors, marquis-prince ties?
Autonomy chance vanishes.
Who's toying with the city from shadows? Count? Third party? What do they want?
No moves till identities clear. But can't stall count meeting forever.
Time war. Know foe to counter.
Marquis needed their identities yesterday. Otherwise, just dragged along.
"Send word to Baldarin's emissary: dinner invite. Quietly."
The marquis spoke after brooding.
Costly method he hated—but no alternatives.
"Baldarin's mayor's furious over last smuggling blind eye. Even as inspector, won't bite easy. What's the pretext?"
A house head asked.
"Tell him he gets what he wants. He'll come."
Then orders to the houses:
"Muster forces. As many as possible."