How Did You Pull It Off...
“...which is why I was able to use that method.”
He fiddled idly with the teacup he'd long since drained. Seolhwa's lips grew parched.
Moderation was key in everything. He couldn't lie outright, nor could he be certain this man was someone he could trust with the unvarnished truth. Had the bait he'd tossed out—meant to draw them in and let them sink their teeth into it—been too obvious? And just how much did they already know about him? This was an intelligence war where he was at a crippling disadvantage. On top of that, this place was practically Jepeto's home turf.
But... if the information I poured money into acquiring is accurate.
Jepeto Cervantes. During the last war, he'd been the supreme commander of the northern forces, dubbed the empire's fang—a man whose unmatched martial prowess, charisma in leading troops, and strategic genius knew no equal, or so the tales went. After the expansion wars ended, his merits earned him a non-hereditary duke's title, but he'd grown sick of life in the capital and vanished without a trace.
Up to that point, he sounded like a storybook hero, a true general straight out of legend. But Jepeto Cervantes had another side—one most people never knew about....
“You mean that method actually worked?”
“The towering authority of the Academy made it all too easy to turn against them.”
Doubt flickered and faded in the eyes of the old man who had once dominated the northern continent with overwhelming force and command. His lips twitched as if he were on the verge of blurting out a declaration that half the truth in Seolhwa's lies was falsehood after all.
“Kuhahahaha! Kekhughkghuk.”
The booming laughter shattered the silence, startling Seolhwa mid-preparation for his next line. It wasn't just hearty—it carried something almost like the ecstasy of a devout believer, something profound and inexplicable.
The side of Jepeto that the world didn't know... He was a man starved for fresh, intense thrills, to an obsessive degree.
“Well, ahem! The more titles a man piles before his name, the lighter his heart gets. Makes 'em easy to rattle, y'know....”
His excuse had landed, at least somewhat. Jepeto tossed Seolhwa's application papers aside like trash.
“You were 'kinda' honest, so I'll be 'kinda' honest right back with you, Vice Warden.”
Crunching the scattered lies underfoot, Jepeto strode to the window.
A brief silence fell. Just as the illusion of snow piling silently outside began to play tricks on his ears—
“Do you know what kind of people end up imprisoned here? In Utopia?”
“Heinous criminals deemed worthy of punishments harsher than death.”
“Hm... half right. Want a hint? There's a 'condition' for coming to Utopia.”
A 'condition'?
Status or rank? No. This wasn't the type to dance around something so trivial. Besides, the crimes that landed people in Utopia weren't the sort forgiven by mere pedigree.
Wealth? Massive donations might buy leniency from Gold Mountain, but not in the empire's courts.
Eloquent arguments that swayed judges? Stunning beauty? Unrivaled strength? Connections reaching the imperial court?
I haven't got a clue....
“That's the 'I have no idea' face. Or is that acting too?”
“No way. I really don't know.”
“Your actions just now were the answer.”
“Pardon?”
“You 'gave up' on finding the answer, didn't you?”
“I suppose so.”
Jepeto, gazing out the window, turned with a mischievous grin.
“The condition for Utopia? It's 'turning yourself in.' Giving up the denial of your crimes.”
With theatrical flair, Jepeto spread his arms wide, as if delivering a play's grand finale.
“Utopia is where those who surrender get the chance to be forgotten by the world!”
The silent snowfall outside the window tapered off. A hot hiss leaked from the teapot the secretary had left behind.
“So you came here to be forgotten too, Warden?”
“Heavens, no. I'm here to gawk at these double-edged lunatics.”
Now looking like a child brimming with curiosity, Jepeto grabbed Seolhwa's shoulders and shook them.
“You think the bastards who shook the empire—no, the world—would just roll over and turn themselves in? Fat chance! Everyone who walks in here on their own two feet has schemes to walk right back out.”
“And you're here to stop that....”
“You dodging the obvious on purpose? Tsk tsk. Naturally, I'm all for it. I encourage escapes—take applications regularly, even.”
Even more unhinged than I'd imagined.
Thrill-seeker or not, he'd heard the rumors, but this was beyond expectation....
“Sadly, since I took over, only one prisoner tried an 'unauthorized' breakout. I'll explain that later—focus on your story now. Where were we?”
For that moment, Jepeto looked every bit the elder he was.
“Right. So, what do you hope to gain here?”
“I...”
Jepeto's face lit up like a kid unwrapping Christmas gifts twice over at Seolhwa's reply.
“How was the vice warden?”
“What is there to make of him? Empire bureaucrats are all the same.”
As Seolhwa departed, the secretary tidied the teacups and scattered papers before asking.
“You talked with him quite a while for that.”
“Just caught up on capital gossip.”
“Didn't you leave because you hated the capital?”
“Ahem....”
The secretary resumed cleaning, a faint tease in her demeanor at having ribbed her boss just right. Jepeto watched her silently, his gaze drifting to the seat Seolhwa had occupied, replaying their conversation in his mind.
Beyond my expectations... kehkehkeh.
Just as life in Utopia was growing stale, this tantalizing spice had drifted in. Thinking of it alone whisked him back to the battlefield.
The acrid stench after flame-enchanted cannons shredded men like paper dolls. The ragged breaths of soldiers discarding weapons, sprinting blindly for survival as formations crumbled. The thunderous hoofbeats of pursuing cavalry....
Overwhelming victories, grueling stalemates of attrition, delaying actions in dire straits, ambushes hanging by a thread—each had its symphony.
The ever-shifting sounds of the battlefield were an endless spring, an oasis in a stale existence.
Then the wars ended.
Life back in the capital was tedium incarnate, unimaginable boredom. With his ducal title, everyone who approached droned the same platitudes. He'd laughed it off at first, but even that had limits.
Stay among those gray drones much longer, and he'd turn into a halfwit himself.
Can he get what he wants here? Seolhwa Romanov. No, not Romanov....
Just as Seolhwa hadn't spilled everything to Jepeto, neither had Jepeto bared all to him.
Your true surname isn't Romanov....
“Warden.”
“Hm?”
“Wasn't eavesdropping, but that prisoner who tried an unauthorized escape...?”
“Aye. Told him I'd let him go if he just asked, but the fool snuck out anyway.”
Jepeto's expression was that of a father imagining his stubborn youngest.
The secretary poured fresh tea and asked.
“What happened to him?”
“Blinded and deafened, he froze to death. Found him that way.”
“Pardon?”
“Before you came on, lass.”
“Huff! Huff... Finally, escape!”
The man, wrapped head to toe in black winter gear, ran frantically. Even as his breath clawed at his throat, he couldn't stop—an ant scurrying across the white expanse.
'Apply and they'll let you out'? Who'd believe that crap?
The new warden had gathered the prisoners, grinning ear to ear.
“Anyone who asks, I'll send packing!”
Naturally, no one bought it. Some jeered it was a ploy to weed out dissidents.
And to Hans, the escapee now crossing Utopia's grounds, it sounded like opportunity.
Utopia hadn't seen a new warden in at least forty years—not until the old one retired from age. With the boss changed after decades, chaos was inevitable. In a wasteland this barren, it was the perfect chance to bolt.
Should be around here....
According to the map he'd bribed a guard for with his scraped-together coin, an abandoned outpost lay ahead.
'Grab the reindeer stashed there, and escaping this white hell is no dream!'
But no matter how far he trudged, mile after mile, even as sweat slicked his soles amid the blizzard, no outpost appeared. Not even a twig.
“Shall we subdue him, Warden Cervantes?”
“Nah. Just keep the directional barrier up.”
The guard peering through binoculars nodded. At his gesture, hands near the massive barrier mana stone glowed brightly. A shimmering veil like summer haze descended over Hans, still lost in the snowfields.
“Why won't they listen when I say just ask? Shame, real shame. Gutsy, but dumb—body pays for a thick skull.”
The guard beside Jepeto—who sighed genuinely—swallowed hard.
Hans reaching that outpost? Not a chance.
Thud.
Back in his room, Seolhwa collapsed onto the bed like a marionette with cut strings.
Exhausting.
Life at the Academy flashed through his mind in an instant. Even now, countless youths were vomiting blood and grinding bones to pass through the empire's gateway.
If only I'd climbed the ranks slowly, without these extreme measures....
A frail, waterlogged-cotton weakness weighed on his mind. He tried shaking it off by force, but it clung.
Tell someone not to think of an elephant—what pops up? More elephants.
Better to let the fantasies sprawl unchecked.
If I'd taken Teacher's debt note—no, letter of intro—to finance, pulled every string from that academy friend for cushy postings, lined up the ladder that way... Or joined the knights? Nah, the emperor favors domestic affairs over war now—rotten rope there. Propaganda ministry? I'm good with words, but too exposed....
Endless what-ifs snaked like thorny vines across his vision. Sensing no need to resist, Seolhwa slipped into deep sleep.
Thus, the first night in paradise faded away.