Chop Off a Wrist
What on earth just happened? Where did that man go?
Wimark scanned his surroundings frantically from where he lay sprawled on the ground. But there was not a trace of Rix to be found.
"Unhand me! I won't go near the holy relic — just let me go already!"
The knights still had him locked in a firm grip. He thrashed and twisted, trying to break free, but their hold was so solid that his struggles amounted to little more than pathetic flailing.
"You might do something reckless. We cannot release you."
"Do you even know who I am? I am the Imperial Prophet! The head of House Lakatus!"
"And what of it? Right now, you are nothing more than a suspect who tried to damage a holy relic."
"Ghh…!"
His body was still pressed flat against the dirt. They were treating him like a common thief caught red-handed — a humiliation he had never once endured in his entire life.
"Khh…!"
Wimark's eyes grew damp. His emotions surged so violently that tears threatened to spill over. The first feeling that hit him was rage — fury at being seized by knights and branded a criminal. It was a raw, searing anger he had never known before.
But something far more intense swallowed that rage whole.
This is so unfair!
A wave of injustice crashed over him like a tsunami, dwarfing even his anger.
Where did that man who appeared in front of me disappear to? If it weren't for him, I never would have suffered this disgrace!
He burned with resentment toward the mysterious stranger who had become the root of all this misery.
Why was this tournament even held in the first place? Of all times — right when I'd bought up real estate for the Central Library!
A tournament like this had never been held before. Even setting that aside — if it had simply been held after the Central Library was built, everything would have worked out. Once the library went up, the value of the surrounding property would have skyrocketed several times over.
And yet, by some cruel coincidence, the tournament had opened before construction even began. Holding it at a time like this… that alone was galling enough to choke on.
But the most infuriating part of all—
The real culprit behind everything was those eight straight days of torrential rain on the Emperor's hunting dates. Who could have imagined something so absurd would actually happen…
The odds were about the same as getting struck by lightning on a clear day. It felt as though the gods themselves were toying with him.
It was so, so unfair.
Still sprawled on the ground, thoroughly cowed, Wimark finally spoke.
"…Could you at least let me stand up?"
He pleaded with the knights holding him down. He no longer even had the energy to resist.
"Cause any more trouble and we'll put you right back on the ground."
Clank.
The knights hauled Wimark to his feet, their armor clattering as they moved.
"Trying to touch a holy relic! A thrashing would be too good for the likes of him!"
"That Imperial Prophet business has got to be a lie! There's no way someone that important would get eliminated in the first round of the finals!"
"Punish the shameless impostor posing as the Imperial Prophet!!"
The spectators chimed in one after another. In the blink of an eye, even Wimark's title as Imperial Prophet had come under suspicion.
Worthless commoner trash. Hah… I'll hold my tongue for now.
He was already being painted as a criminal. Losing his temper here would only be throwing bait to a school of hungry fish. Wimark clamped his mouth shut.
The noisy crowd gradually quieted. After a short while, the chaotic atmosphere of the examination grounds settled into something resembling order.
"It seems the site has been more or less cleared. We will now resume the tournament!"
The guide called out as he looked over the remaining participants.
"Those of you who selected the correct answer and passed should remain near the Capital for the second round of the finals, which will be held in two days."
"What about those who failed?"
"A modest prize has been prepared, including travel expenses. Simply collect your prize money and you may return home."
At the mention of prize money, the faces of the eliminated contestants brightened at once.
"Oh-ho. So the trip to the Capital wasn't a complete waste after all."
"Well, at least I didn't throw my money away for nothing!"
The cost of a round trip to the Capital was no small burden for commoners. The moment they heard about the prize money, the sting of elimination vanished without a trace.
"The first round of examinations is now concluded. You may all leave!"
The guide announced the end of the proceedings. Immediately, knights and guards packed the holy relic back into its chest and carried it away. The remaining remains were collected one by one as well.
The successful candidates left the examination grounds with bright faces. The eliminated ones, equally cheerful, headed off to collect their prize money. The throngs of spectators who had packed the area around the grounds melted away like a receding tide.
In the middle of the empty examination grounds, only Wimark remained, still held fast by the knights, standing there blankly.
"Surely this is enough. You can let me go now."
"What nonsense is that? You are a criminal suspect. You will be interrogated by the Constable."
"The Constable? Hmm… very well."
"Not even a hint of resistance. Have you admitted your guilt?"
"Think whatever you like. Just shut up and take me to the Constable already."
"Strange fellow."
The knights gripped Wimark by both arms and dragged him off to the Constable.
"Constable, sir. This is the criminal who caused a disturbance at today's Prophet Tournament. The suspect attempted to seize a holy relic."
"I've already heard the news. Thank you for bringing him in. You've done well."
"We'll take our leave, then."
The two knights handed Wimark over to the Constable and departed.
"I will interrogate this criminal personally. Everyone else, clear out."
"Yes, sir!"
The Constable's subordinates filed out as well. Only Wimark and the Constable remained.
"Constable Rauf! How long has it been!"
"Hahaha! Grand Prophet Wimark — what brings a man like you to a place like this!"
The Constable's stern expression lit up in an instant. Rauf was an old friend of Wimark's.
"I caused a bit of a scene, you see. Think you could quietly sweep this under the rug? I'll make it well worth your while."
"What are friends for, after all? I'll do everything I can to cover for you, so don't you worry."
"Heh heh! Much obliged."
"Though… as the Imperial Prophet, you must be sitting on some fine information, no? Duke Wimark — between friends, you can share a tip or two, can't you?"
"Of course. As it happens, I've got an excellent piece of information for you. I'll lay it all out in detail."
Wimark told the Constable about the plans to construct the Central Library — where it was going to be built, and how the value of the surrounding real estate was going to explode.
I may have been eliminated from the finals, but I haven't completely fallen yet.
Wimark allowed himself a satisfied grin.
I made it through to the finals, so the Emperor can't simply cast me aside. That means I can still insert myself into the Central Library construction plans. Whatever money I've lost, I can recover it all through real estate.
He hadn't won, but he had advanced to the finals. He had caused a scene on the grounds, but with a friend in the Constable's office, he would walk away unscathed.
All things considered, the match-fixing was well worth it. Not a bad trade at all.
Wimark was thoroughly pleased with his plan.
On the way back after finishing the first round of the finals, I left the grounds early to avoid the Imperial Prophet's gaze.
That bastard's face was a sight to behold.
The way he'd frantically searched for me in a panic had been downright hilarious. Watching a criminal go down in flames was more entertaining than any amusement I could name.
I was heading back to my lodgings in high spirits when—
"My lord. Where are you off to in such a hurry?"
I turned at the voice behind me. There stood Wangcho, the Beggar King.
"Wangcho? What brings you here?"
Wangcho had no name. Well — his parents had given him one, but he'd discarded it the day they abandoned him. Even when introducing himself at the Prophet Tournament, he'd simply called himself "Wangcho." The guides called him that too.
"You and I are fellow finalists, are we not? How about we enjoy ourselves a little tonight?"
"Enjoy ourselves?"
"Just a drink, my lord. Nothing more."
I had nothing better to do — and I was curious how Wangcho had managed to pass the first round. I accepted the invitation.
"All right. Let's go."
"Excellent! I'll take you to a place I know well!"
"…Aren't you from the East? This is the Capital. You have a regular haunt here?"
"Haha! Everyone's got their secrets, don't they?"
Following Wangcho's lead, we entered a tavern. We claimed a table and ordered food and drinks.
Back when he'd been in the East, Wangcho had reeked. But the moment he advanced to the finals, the smell had vanished as if by magic, and even his clothes looked reasonably presentable. He still looked more or less like a beggar, of course — but at least no one would throw him out on sight.
We ate, drank, and talked.
"Mind if I ask how you passed the examination?"
"Ask away, my lord. The method was simple. I watched the Saintess's reactions."
"Her reactions?"
"The Saintess herself said she already knew the answer, didn't she? So there was only one thing for me to do — stick close to the person who knows. Same as always."
Wangcho explained how he'd passed. By carefully observing the way the Saintess looked at each set of remains, he'd noticed her gaze shift ever so slightly for just one of them — and he'd been a hundred percent certain that was the holy relic.
His instincts are ridiculously sharp.
I'd watched the Saintess too, and I hadn't caught so much as a flicker of change in her eyes. This man was no ordinary operator.
So this is the foundation that made him the Beggar King.
Wangcho was a man who had survived on pure street smarts. His instincts might well rank among the sharpest in the entire Empire.
"By the way, my lord. There's something I'd like to ask."
"Go ahead."
"Why did you eliminate that Imperial Prophet bastard?"
"…"
I hadn't expected him to catch even that. I'd been careful to keep it hidden from everyone else — but apparently that meant nothing to Wangcho.
"No need to worry, my lord. No one else would have noticed. Just me."
"…Well, that's a relief, at least."
There was no real reason to hide it. I explained to Wangcho that the Imperial Prophet had fixed the match, and that was why I'd knocked him out.
"Whoa. What a rotten piece of work!"
"I didn't do it for any grand reason. He just rubbed me the wrong way, so I messed with him."
"Don't say that! A match-fixer deserves to be punished! You mess with a gambling table, you get your wrist chopped off!"
Wangcho knocked back his drink, clearly worked up.
"My lord. I can't stand it. Your punishment was far too light. I'd like to personally expose that insolent bastard's crimes — would that be all right with you?"
"Of course it's fine, but… you don't have any evidence, do you?"
"Hahaha! Who do you think I am? I'm Wangcho — Wangcho!"
He thumped his chest with both fists, radiating confidence.
"Let's chop off a wrist."
Wangcho grinned, sly and wicked.