Chapter 7. Our Killer Should Not Be Touched Carelessly (2)

Aeternum Academy.

As in any novel of this kind, it was the Empire's foremost educational institution—and the stage where every conceivable incident took place. Honestly speaking, I couldn't fathom how the security of the Empire's finest academy could possibly be so lax, but then again, every story needs its convenient devices and its stage.

At any rate, that wasn't my point. My point was that, befitting the Empire's premier academy, it boasted an enormous campus and breathtaking architecture—and that was why I'd started talking about it at all.

Professor Elia led me outside, and the moment we stepped out the doors, a sprawling garden filled my entire view. It was still a slightly chilly spring, yet every variety of flower imaginable was blooming in radiant color.

The weather wasn't right for it, nor was the season—so how on earth were they already greeting us in full bloom? A sweet fragrance brushed past my nose.

"It never stops feeling like a marvel, does it? I just love that with magic, flowers can bloom in full glory no matter the season. Come to think of it, Professor, you used to stroll the gardens quite often yourself."

"Yes, indeed. Walking through scenery like this, one can't help but feel one's spirits lift."

Of course, the one who'd strolled these gardens back then hadn't been me—it had been the murderer, Niger. What had been going through his mind as he wandered among the flowers, I had no way of knowing. This was from before the novel even began, after all; a murderer's innermost thoughts lay well beyond my reach.

Still, if I were forced to imagine it, I'd guess he was walking off the unpleasant residue left behind after a kill. Of course, if a walk could actually wash away the unease of murder, that itself would be a far more genuine kind of madness.

And so we wandered through the garden, breathing in the blossoms crowding around us, while I offered agreeable murmurs to everything Elia said. She, for whatever reason, seemed to be in wonderful spirits—smiling again and again, her head turning toward me every few steps.

"You're smiling more than usual today. I take it something pleasant must have happened."

That was the first remark I'd offered of my own accord. At the entrance ceremony, on the stairs, and now even here in the garden, I had done nothing but answer her words—until this question slipped out of its own accord.

At my question, Elia's eyes went round as saucers as she stared at me. Like someone witnessing an astonishing spectacle, her mouth hung open, and she could only sputter without producing a single word.

"Was it... truly so strange for me to speak to you first?"

"Ah... w-well, this is the first time in three years that you've initiated a conversation with me outside of work, Professor."

"...."

Niger, what on earth kind of life have you been living?

The man would graciously deign to intone something like "Repent through death" in that demented voice whenever he committed murder, yet he had never once struck up a conversation with a colleague? It defied belief.

"Ah, um... I suppose I must have been terribly inattentive all this time. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠truly believed I was taking Lord Elohim's teachings to heart, but it seems I still fall short. I apologize."

"No, no, that isn't why I said it. I only meant that you seem to be in good spirits since the break—you've been smiling far more than you used to, and it suits you."

I suspect that had less to do with anything and more to do with the fact that we weren't the same person. As dissolute as I might have been in my laughing and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grinning, just how utterly humorless must Niger have been?

He could surely have managed at least a perfunctory smile, for heaven's sake.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. It's only the first day of the semester, of course, but you're ever so much kinder than last term. It almost feels as though you're a different person."

A twitch—

I clenched my fists and kept smiling. I had to pour every ounce of strength I had into not letting my body tremble at Professor Elia's words.

Come to think of it, Elia was an extremist of the "looks above all" persuasion.

She gravitated toward the handsome and beautiful even when no romantic feeling was involved, and within the academy, Niger possessed looks that stood unrivaled. Having worked alongside him as fellow professors for the past three years, Elia was precisely the person most likely to notice any change in him.

"...I'm glad it comes across that way. I suppose it's thanks to having grasped, at least in part, the teachings Lord Elohim has bestowed upon me."

"Ahaha... the Lord certainly imparts His lessons in a great many areas, doesn't He..."

Elia let out an awkward laugh at my answer, and I simply sold Elohim's name to conceal what lay beneath it.

Some time passed in that fashion. Elia and I were still strolling the garden.

Whatever she had so much to talk about, she kept striking up conversation with me, and I nodded along, dutifully supplying my answers.

That is, until someone else came walking toward us.

"Oh, if it isn't Professor Elia and Professor Niger. It's been far too long, heh heh."

A man well into middle age. A neatly tailored suit, immaculately combed hair, and round spectacles on a face radiating refined dignity. He looked like a man of some consequence.

"Ah, Professor Prodi. It has been a while. I didn't see you at the entrance ceremony, so I didn't get the chance to greet you."

"Heh heh, personal matters kept me away until after the ceremony. And what brings the two of you to be taking a stroll together, of all things?"

Yes—Professor Prodi.

The name had surfaced in my mind the moment Elia spoke it. And he was, unmistakably, the first person Niger murdered once the main storyline began.

He was fairly popular with the students and widely reputed to deliver excellent lectures, yet before the semester was a month old, he had gone missing.

And only days after his disappearance, as I recalled, he'd been found beaten to a pulp in some secluded alley, alongside a handful of other criminals.

"Professor Niger was worn out from all his enthusiastic new students, you see, so I suggested he take a walk with me."

"Ah, the freshmen certainly are passionate, aren't they. And Professor Elia, as ever, shows such thoughtful consideration, heh heh. Well, having paid my respects to you both, I suppose I ought to be off—I'm due to see the Chairman."

Even as I sank into my thoughts, the two of them kept up their conversation, and Professor Prodi extended his hand, saying how good it was to see us after so long.

He shook hands with Elia first, and then reached out toward me.

And I, too, intended to smile and return the greeting.

Thump—

I would have—if my heart hadn't begun pounding like a mad thing from the very instant our hands met.

Thump—

"Heh heh, Professor Niger, ever the man of few words. I've always thought—that's precisely what makes you so very admirab—"

I wanted to answer his praise. I truly did.

But my hand was trembling more and more, and my eyes kept aching. The emotions that had been so calm only moments ago were surging violently now. My heart thrashed harder still.

My breath grew ragged, and cruel thoughts came crowding in. Scenes of tearing Professor Prodi's limbs from his body, of smashing his skull to pieces, flooded my mind. I imagined his death in such vivid, graphic detail that it might have been real.

I wanted to hear him scream. I wanted that cry—so thrilling to even imagine—wailing in agony.

Yes.

It seemed I wanted to kill this man. Right now. Here.

"Professor Niger...? You're— you're gripping rather hard...! Ugh—ughk!"

My breath came faster, and the emotions kept boiling over.

Seething within me was the urge to kill—to tear out that throat mid-scream.

"Professor Niger...! Aagh—Professor, Profes-sooor...!!"

Wouldn't it be fine to simply kill him here and now? Let's kill him.

Strangling a thing like this on the spot would be a service to the world.

Just as I began to squeeze down on his hand with everything I had—

"P-Professor Niger! What on earth has gotten into you!"

My name, and hands seizing my shoulders—my eyes snapped open at the touch. Elia was staring at me with trembling eyes, visibly shaken by what I'd done.

It was as though someone had flung a bucket of cold water over a mind that had sunk so deep it had been devoured entirely. And so I looked at her—the woman who kept pulling me back.

"Professor, quickly—let go, let go of his hand first!"

"...I beg your pardon?"

Only then did I look down at my hand—and found Professor Prodi's, half crushed to a pulp, still clasped within it, while Prodi himself shook like a madman, consumed by agony.

"...Ah."

I let go.

Without even understanding what I had done, I merely looked back and forth between my own hand and his, hanging limp the moment it was released.

What in the world—

"P-Professor, first things first—we need to treat him, right away."

"...Yes. I am truly sorry."

I raised the hand I had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dropped and reached toward him again. At the sight of my approaching hand, he flinched and recoiled, and I bit down hard on my lip. I could hardly believe what I had done.

Only then did it come—a fear greater than any guilt, crashing over me from behind.

It was what I had done, and yet it was not what I had done.

The hand that had wrought this was unquestionably mine—and yet it was just as unquestionably not.

I realigned the twisted bones, rejoined them properly, and poured Heal over his ruined hand. Even as the pain receded, he was still shaking uncontrollably, and I bowed my head once more.

Then, to salvage the situation I had created by crushing a fellow professor's hand on academy grounds, I knew I would have to spit out some manner of excuse.

And so I recited two more invocations.

"...I offer you my sincerest apologies. I sensed a certain... wicked aura about you, Professor, and it seems I briefly lost consciousness without meaning to. I have thus performed a Purification along with a Blessing upon you, though I imagine that alone will hardly suffice."

Whether it was truly a wicked aura, I couldn't say. What I did know was that the cold, settled bloodlust that had washed over me the instant our hands touched had been like that. It wasn't my emotion—yet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it was negative enough to drown me as if it were.

If I hadn't released his hand and put distance between us, I would have wanted to kill him all over again.

"N-no, please, don't apologize... To think you sensed a wicked aura from me... Ah. Of— of course you would have! Professor Niger, you are, after all, a devoted priest of the Church.... Well then, I—I really must be going."

At my apology, he waved it off with a strained smile and scurried away as fast as his legs could carry him. I watched his retreating back—even at the very end, an unmistakable terror he couldn't hide behind his smile was aimed squarely at me.

And long after he had vanished from sight, I still had to keep my hands hidden behind my back.

Because they were still trembling—unable, even now, to contain the emotions roiling inside them.

That was how the walk with Elia had ended.

I was the one who had caused the incident, yet it was Elia who spent the whole time fussing over me. I managed a brittle smile, told her I ought to head home early for the day, and filed for sick leave.

I did tell the students—including Lutz—to spend the time talking freely among themselves and head home when the hour came. How grateful I was for the students who worried over me when they saw my face had gone stiff; the queasiness churning in my gut felt like it settled, just a little.

And so I returned home.

The most urgent matter, above all else, was a conversation with Niger. I hurriedly scribbled a note.

That I had nearly killed Professor Prodi on academy grounds today. That I had been unable to restrain myself. That I wanted to know whether this sort of behavior was something he, Niger, had wrought.

There was so much I wanted to know. I crammed every ounce of feeling I had into the note, writing it out like a grievance, and closed my eyes.

Then I slept, woke, and read the note he had left behind.

Niger wanted a murder.