A Face Not His Own
Boske's body jerked like a wooden puppet. Even now, he was straining with every fiber of his being to defy Shaka's commands.
"Who sent you?"
Boske clamped his mouth shut. A civil conversation didn't seem to be in the cards. Shaka could control his body, but she couldn't dominate his mind.
"He won't talk while he's lucid. Want me to pick apart his brain for you?"
"You can do that?"
"Yes, though there'd be some lingering side effects."
"What kind of side effects?"
"Can't promise anything. The human brain is complicated. His personality might shift a little, or he could end up half-paralyzed..."
"Denied."
"He was trying to kill himself anyway. I doubt anyone would care if we broke one more thing in him."
"He's already broken. You'd know that yourself if your telepathy actually worked on him."
Shaka muttered a sheepish so you noticed and looked away.
According to the documents Viscount Verden had handed over, Boske was just another victim of Count Abaro. Years of personality erosion, all in the name of awakening an Awoken Ability.
"Boske. Tell me who sent you."
"......"
"Do that much for me, and I swear I'll free everyone who's suffered under the Count."
Boske's gaze wavered, trembling like something about to snap.
"Your tragedy should never be repeated. I promise you on the honor of Esterzy. Count Abaro's atrocities end here."
"......"
Boske held his silence. I waited with patience until he was ready to speak.
"...Received orders..."
At last, his lips parted.
"Mission failed... eliminate Labo..."
His language centers had collapsed so completely that all he could manage was stringing words together.
"...from Abaro."
But the meaning came through loud and clear.
"Thank you."
I smiled coldly.
Boske had given me exactly what I wanted: confirmation that Count Abaro was behind this whole affair.
Having died once before, I'd established a few principles for living. Be generous. But show no mercy to anyone who tries to take your life.
Count Abaro had plenty of chances. If he'd accepted his courtroom defeat gracefully and stepped back, he would have had any number of opportunities ahead of him. Instead, he'd chosen to skip the self-reflection and go straight for my throat.
Now it was time to make him pay for that choice. In the worst way I could imagine.
Count Abaro had been in a foul mood lately. Ever since that insolent brat Iden had landed a blow on him, nothing had gone his way.
"I'm terribly sorry, I've been so busy lately..."
People were endlessly fickle. When he'd been riding high, they'd fawned over him like old friends; the moment his fortunes turned, they couldn't even manage a courtesy call.
Since Labo's arrest red-handed for attempted assassination, the Count had been steadily isolating. When even Boske—the man he'd sent to silence Labo—went dark, Count Abaro's anxiety reached its peak.
Did I truly underestimate that boy?
The Count replayed the trial in his mind. The bribed officers swept away, the witnesses and jurors swapped out—nothing about it had been ordinary. But he'd chalked it all up to the exceptional talents of Iden's inner circle. Treasurer Opils and Lucian of the Gray Trading Company were more than capable of pulling off that much.
But the Labo affair was different.
Labo was a weapon Count Abaro had poured his heart and soul into forging. He'd been raised for one purpose alone: to trigger the effect of the Gesture of Death set bonus. Not once had a weapon forged by the Count ever failed.
The fact that Iden was still alive and well meant the boy's personal cunning far exceeded what was publicly known.
...That crafty bastard.
The Count ground his teeth.
I thought the eldest was the most underhanded, but this one's no better than his brother.
But there was no need to despair. If Iden tried to pin this on him through Labo and Boske, he could simply deny everything. He'd already planted plenty of fabricated evidence that the two had gone rogue out of greed. Besides, neither of them could string a sentence together properly. And since their minds were completely subservient to the Count, he could make them perjure themselves however he pleased if it came to court.
What was actually giving him a headache wasn't this knight business—it was something else entirely.
"Public opinion is turning against you, my lord."
Viscount Verden approached and spoke.
"Do you have any means of reversing this?"
Count Abaro stared blankly at Verden's face.
Viscount Verden had once been hailed as Marbel's most loyal retainer. But the moment Prince Chris's faction gained the upper hand, he'd cut Marbel loose faster than light. That bat should have been the first to abandon the council, yet here he was still circling at the Count's side. It was deeply suspicious.
Could he be Iden's double agent?
The possibility was real enough. Without a traitor on the inside, there was no way things could have spiraled this badly.
"Do you have any clever ideas?"
"I... I'm not sure."
Viscount Verden evaded the question.
Suspicious, as expected. This didn't feel like the usual Verden. But if pressed to say exactly what was different, the Count would have struggled to put his finger on it. Count Abaro had never been one to pay much attention to others—least of all those beneath his station.
"If you have nothing, what am I supposed to do? That hotheaded brat is throwing his weight around. For now, I need to keep a low profile."
Count Abaro made his decision.
"I should return to my domain. Best to lie low for a while."
"Then... allow me one final word of counsel before you depart."
Viscount Verden lowered his voice. Count Abaro leaned in toward the viscount's slight frame.
"Prince Iden's people have been acting strangely. If you intend to leave the capital, pack up and depart as quickly and quietly as possible."
"Strange how?"
"They seem convinced you orchestrated the assassination. But they don't appear to be preparing any legal response."
The Count quietly revised his assessment of Viscount Verden. Perhaps the man was somewhat trustworthy after all.
"I appreciate it. I'll take your advice."
The Count strode over and threw on his coat, pulling his hat low.
"Leaving already?"
"Your words convinced me that I must."
He'd been planning to leave regardless of Verden's advice. But now he felt certain of it. If Iden wanted revenge, the only sensible move was to ride for his domain immediately.
His domain held a trump card he'd been saving. Originally prepared to kill the Duke, but desperate times called for desperate measures. With that weapon, he could counter whatever 'illegal response' Iden had in store.
"I leave the committee to you."
"Send word when you return."
The Count swept out of the mansion like a gust of wind, Black Swan knights in tow. The knights wore hooded robes to conceal their affiliation.
Viscount Verden watched quietly from the terrace as Count Abaro fled into the night. When the Count finally vanished from sight, Verden let out a soft sigh.
Abaro would never reach his domain. Perhaps not forever, but his journey was certainly about to become very, very long.
Viscount Verden drew a yellow slip of paper from his breast pocket. Crude red squiggles were scrawled across its surface. With trembling hands, he raised the yellow talisman before his face and murmured the incantation.
"Face-Shifting."
By feel alone, nothing seemed to have changed. Verden returned to his room and found a mirror. Reflected in the full-length glass was not his slight frame, but the imposing figure of Count Abaro.
Before the mirror, Verden tried mimicking Count Abaro's expressions.
"Hahaha."
The awkward laugh filled the silent room. And it wasn't just the laugh that was off—the disguise itself was sloppy in places. Anyone with a keen eye could have spotted the differences from the real Count Abaro without much trouble.
"Face-Shifting."
But with each repetition, the transformation grew more refined. His acting became increasingly natural, until soon he was nearly indistinguishable from the real Count Abaro.
"......Good enough."
The fake Count Abaro clenched his fist as he studied his reflection.
"This should satisfy Lord Iden."
A youthful smile, utterly at odds with his imposing appearance, crept across his lips.
The next day, the fake Count Abaro used his authority as chairman to convene a full session of the council. With Abaro's reputation already in the gutter, barely half the seats were filled. He didn't care.
Still wearing Abaro's face, he stood before the council members and declared:
"The Count's house has changed its position. We hereby declare our full support for Prince Iden."
"Pardon? What do you mean, all of a sudden?"
"You mean to betray Prince Chris?"
"Sudden or not, my mind is made up. You would all do well to remember that."
The fake Count matched the original in every particular—the verbal tics, the imperious tone, even the gestures punctuated with hands and feet. The impression was so precise that one would have sworn he'd spent years studying Count Abaro at close range.
"What happens to Ravenschade then?"
"What happens? It's finished. There's no saving it."
"My lord!"
"What on earth are you saying!"
"We lost in court. What exactly do you expect me to do about it? Let's bury the past and focus on the future."
"What future do we even have?"
"Speaking of the future—as of this moment, I'm stepping down as chairman. Discuss the council's future without me."
"Chairman!"
"And... the final motion I'll put before you is the dissolution of this council. Count my vote as yes. The rest of you can settle it among yourselves."
The fake Count kept dropping bombshells without pause. Outrage erupted from every corner, but he paid it no mind. Whatever else, watching the councilmen flounder was thoroughly entertaining.
Once the meeting broke up, the fake Count headed for the Duke's residence. From the entrance onward, he grew naturally deferential.
"Abaro."
"Come in."
The fake Count stepped into the Duke's study. Thanks to the assassination attempt, the lord-proxy's workspace had been relocated here. Iden was there.
A beauty beyond approach. And within it, a power that defied all measure. The fake Count regarded Iden with deep reverence.
"I've handled everything as you instructed."
"How does it feel?"
Iden asked with a grin.
"I couldn't say, my lord."
The fake Count bowed respectfully.
"...Though it was rather satisfying."
"Glad to hear it."
Iden smiled.
"Your transformation art is coming along nicely, too."
"That's... thanks to your excellent teaching..."
"By the way, your head's a bit small. The real Count's was much bigger."
"Ah, my apologies."
The fake Count scratched the side of his head. At the same moment, the transformation dissolved. Where the fake Count had stood, a blue-haired boy now stood shyly.
"...Master."
The boy looked uncharacteristically embarrassed as he said the word Master. Iden watched him with quiet warmth.
"Well done, Laszlo."
Those two words carried many layers of meaning. Laszlo turned them over in his mind before answering quietly.
"It was something I had to do."
Laszlo had helped bring down his own house. It was nothing anyone could call natural, and nothing easily done. But he'd found the courage. To bury his scarred past, and to focus on his future as Iden's one and only disciple.
"You know this isn't over yet?"
"Yes, Master."
Laszlo nodded with resolve. The Count's house still held many slaves waiting to be freed. And the only thing that could free them was a single word from 'Count Abaro' himself.