The Emperor's Children (3)

Truthfully, I had no intention of carrying out that mission with any real seriousness.

Assassinating a count.

Ah, not that I meant I couldn't do it. I had already verified once whether I was capable of carrying out that mission or not.

Taking a carriage the emperor had lent me out to the count's territory, and even infiltrating the count's mansion itself, had been entirely feasible.

Of course, that didn't mean I succeeded on the first try. Being a count's mansion, there were an endless number of guards, and the count himself was a thoroughly meticulous character, so the mansion itself had been crawling with servants and security personnel.

But no matter how thorough the security, gaps inevitably existed.

Above all, this setting still lacked anything like CCTV. It had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an Analytical Engine and a Difference Engine, steam-powered contraptions that resembled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠computers, and mechanical calculators existed too, as did cameras and printers, but all these technologies were fundamentally based on 'analog' principles.

A Difference Engine could store numbers and letters, but instead of a storage device made of semiconductors, the information was recorded as 'physical shapes' within a device intricately composed of countless large and small gears. It was easiest to think of an expensive analog wristwatch. The data sat as 'forms' within the configurations of complex gears endlessly driven by a steam engine, and when recalled, other gears were applied against it to 'output' onto 'paper'.

Naturally, it forced a constant input of coal or Mana Stones, demanded attention to the wear of every single component, and its size was incomparably larger than the modern computers I knew. Even a Difference Engine that could store at best a few images was roughly the size of three grand pianos stacked together.

Of course, storing images was far too inefficient a use for the device anyway, so it was usually employed to find solutions to complex calculations. If it stored numbers instead of images, it could be made to remember far more. The time required to output was also drastically reduced.

Even so, compared to human calculation, its sole advantages amounted to being 'a little faster and a little more accurate,' so unless a place truly needed to calculate results urgently, or needed results down to many decimal places, they simply hired a 'Human Computer,' a professional mathematician.

On top of that, according to the lore, the Analytical Engine, whose performance matched that of the 386 or 486 computers, was nowhere near the size of a grand piano. It required an entire building, and hundreds of mechanics had to remain on standby at all times to handle inevitable gear failures. It was at least smaller than a library, but considering the cost, simply building a library might have been more efficient.

It was said that a miniaturized state-of-the-art Analytical Engine was housed inside the Aerial Battleship Dreadnought flying over the imperial capital Rondarium, but being miniaturized, its functionality was compromised to a degree, and dozens of Human Computers remained on permanent standby to assist the engine's calculations.

Cameras existed, but moving pictures had not yet been invented. The film we'd usually picture when thinking of an 'analog camera' hadn't been developed here. This world's 'film' was not a flimsy strip but a broad glass plate, and naturally, the higher the camera's resolution, the larger the glass plate required. The risk of breakage rose proportionally with it.

At the point when the main story was set to begin, film roughly the size of the 35mm film we knew was supposed to be released, but perhaps because it was still before the main story began, I had yet to see it.

...... Good grief, the lore really was meticulous in the oddest corners.

In any case, the point was that this was a world where overtechnology and a genuine 19th-century atmosphere were thoroughly mixed.

As I had confirmed over dozens of times when I was caught, this House Crowfield was organizing its security solely with manpower, without any Difference Engine for crime prevention.

And as long as humans stood guard, breakthroughs always existed.

I rewound time forty-six times and succeeded in reaching the count's side twice.

I attempted thirty-four times and succeeded in creating a situation where I could shoot the traveling count in the head three times.

I succeeded in planting a bomb on the count's carriage two times out of thirty-seven attempts.

Lastly, I succeeded once in disguising myself as a newly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hired maid and slipping poison into the count's food. I attempted this method five times in total and succeeded only on the final attempt.

And I confirmed that this last method's efficiency was abysmal and decided to discard it. Each infiltration took a minimum of one to two weeks, yet the success rate was also poor. It had succeeded only that single last time. Even that one success was the result of repeatedly rewinding time in small increments throughout. It meant that the times I fully rewound alone numbered five, but in truth, the ability itself had been used more often than in any other attempt.

Considering the time needed to escape, and the possibility of someone later remembering my face, the second method had been the most suitable. Simply shooting from afar and vanishing.

Naturally, that didn't mean I had truly killed him. I had only weighed the potential for success; the count was not yet dead.

"...... Hm."

I settled into a spot up in a tree and sank into thought as I watched the procession of the count's carriage pass by through binoculars.

I knew the name 'Crowfield.' Fitting for a name that sounded ominous from the first utterance, the count was a man of deeply gloomy disposition. He sported a Kaiser Mustache with both ends curled upward, and his complexion was nearly pallid, almost white.

Well, to be honest, that appearance was something I was seeing for the first time. I remembered it only because it was a name I had heard in the game.

Mia Crowfield.

She was one of the heroines. A heroine whose description noted a somewhat unfortunate aura with lank, drooping hair, but a face so astonishingly beautiful that she was an incredible beauty once the bangs half-covering her face were pushed aside.

The game's early parts stated that she lost her father three years before the main story began due to the emperor's schemes...... but the actual setting was that Count Crowfield had, in truth, been perpetrating all manner of filthy deeds behind the scenes.

The 'important figures' among the characters in the noble class to which the protagonist belonged each possessed a tragic backstory, and this Mia Crowfield was one of them.

At home, a dignified yet affectionate father. But behind the scenes, a man deeply involved in the trafficking of commoners, prostitution, and the opium trade.

Mia Crowfield's story consisted of learning the truth about her father, whom she had believed was merely a sacrifice in a power struggle, then apologizing to the commoner-class heroine, accepting her past, and overcoming it.

"...... But I never imagined that eliminating that Crowfield would fall to me."

I let out a light sigh.

The character called the emperor fundamentally believed that everything he did was for the sake of the empire. Because he loved the empire so deeply, he was determined to make everything outside it 'his own,' sacrifice it, and use the fruits of that sacrifice for the empire. Compared to reality, he was a textbook imperialist.

However, his love for the empire was genuine, so his intent to uproot the opium trade and human trafficking that had taken root within this empire was also sincere. He cared nothing for what became of other nations and was prepared to sacrifice everything in the world solely for the empire.

Of course, there were numerous logical holes in his reasoning. Well, what villain in any world didn't have them? If there were no flaws in a villain's logic to begin with, they wouldn't be a villain but a righteous character.

So, honestly, before I knew this name Crowfield, I hadn't entertained the thought that I would 'definitely eliminate him.'

The problem was—

"......."

I put the binoculars back to my eyes and looked at the count's carriage.

Through the lenses painstakingly ground by the empire's finest artisans, the black carriage carrying the count was clearly visible.

While it was undoubtedly a high-quality carriage made of fairly expensive wood, it was different from the carriage the count usually rode.

The splendid carriage the count normally used was parked in front of a different inn. The count had switched carriages twice from that one before finally heading toward his destination.

And that destination was a brothel located in a secluded corner of the county.

For reference, the term 'brothel' was simply a designation I had arbitrarily assigned.

The name actually affixed to the front of that building was 'orphanage.'

Of those forty-six attempts where I had tried to evade or neutralize all of the count's escorts and approach him directly, twelve had taken place at this brothel.

And once, I had even succeeded in approaching right next to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠count and pressing a Wexler revolver to his head.

Thanks to that, I knew quite well what sort of things transpired inside that building.

The name 'brothel' suited that building far more certainly than the name 'orphanage.'

A foul stench that stabbed at the nose.

The scent of opium that muddled the mind.

Screams and moans. The voices of children crying out to be saved.

Ah, and I forgot to mention it, but during those twelve times I entered that brothel, I had actually combed through its interior thoroughly.

And I was able to obtain a list of clients, a list of the children who had been used up, the price of their lives, the names of organization members, and such.

When a .45-caliber bullet lodged in his leg, the count had wailed and spilled everything he knew.

That brothel 'imported' children from 'an orphanage in the capital' and, according to need, 'processed' that 'raw material.'

"Do you think making this one brothel disappear will root out this situation? An organization like this is merely one gathering of petty criminals! If you wish to make those who gnaw at the empire vanish, you must join hands with the great players! I, spare me, I beg you. I will do anything for His Majesty. I will confess every piece of intelligence I know......"

"...... If that's the case, allow me to ask one thing. The carriage you arrived in. What of its coachman? Is he a member of this organization?"

"Y-Yes. He is. To ensure no client information leaks, highly loyal members must be used at every stage of the process......"

That was what I directly heard from the count last time.

Of course, the count of this moment would not even dream that he had ever said such things.

There was not a single innocent person in the carriage the count was riding. None of them were bound together merely by money; they were entangled through drugs and prostitution. They could not carelessly open their mouths or walk away, not simply because of money, but because they were bound by the very act of using drugs and violating children. The moment they tried, the evidence that had already been prepared would be exposed to the world.

Naturally, members were not gathered through blackmail either. Someone who might be overcome by a sense of guilt would have been impossible to tether in that fashion in the first place.

Unsurprisingly, the majority of the members who sustained the organization were criminals who had already drifted in and out of prison several times.

And even in a country where human rights awareness was this faint, laying hands on children was considered a transgression infinitely close to the ultimate evil.

...... Actually, thinking about it, it was a strange thing. No one batted an eye when a ten-year-old child got their hand crushed in a press while working in a factory, yet they cared so deeply about caging and violating those same children. No matter how many times I looked at it, I truly couldn't understand this world's concept of 'good.'

Well, that was a separate matter.

Anyway, to summarize,

That count, and the organization members driving that carriage.

They were the sort whose deaths wouldn't matter one bit.

Far off in the distance, the carriage gradually began to slow as it neared the brothel.

I took a pocket watch out of my pocket and looked at it.

A spring-wound clock had its limits in accuracy, but still, I could roughly estimate at about what time the bomb would detonate—

Boom!

—as I had done.

I raised the binoculars toward the source of the thunderous noise and observed the situation.

Roughly half the carriage had vanished without a trace.

The man who had been seated at the coachman's seat was writhing on the ground with his legs gone, and the large bruiser who had boarded the carriage as the count's bodyguard had his arm blown off on one side and had collapsed after climbing out the opposite door.

The other organization members who had been following behind in carriages scrambled to get down—

Then a series of successive explosions followed and swept them all away.

The procession following behind the count's carriage was also entirely blown far away by the chain of explosions. For the count's own carriage, I had carefully positioned the bomb with the count's seat in mind, but for those trailing carriages, I had paid no such attention, so the locations of the explosions varied. There was one whose coachman's seat blew out, some blew out on the left side opposite the count's carriage, or there were some that looked relatively intact from the outside.

Of course, even for the intact carriage, the fact that its windows had burst outward from within suggested there were no survivors inside.

Several people could be seen whose torsos had flown in a different direction than their limbs.

...... Humans aside, some of the horses had also been blown apart, and a few surviving horses thrashed wildly, spooked by the thunderous noise, which caused problems for other organization members rushing over afterward. All I felt toward the innocent horses was regret.

The count would likely be unrecoverable, body and all.

It was the eighth attempt and the third success.

"......."

This was not the first time I had killed a person.

Though it wasn't...... honestly, the feeling was not pleasant.

"Urgh."

I suppressed the churning in my stomach as best I could and climbed down from the tree.

I changed out of my soiled clothes, roughly crammed them into a travel bag, and closed it.

I needed to escape quickly before the chaos within the county fully subsided.