A Secret Request
Targeting Bolston itself?
This was no backwater border town — it was a metropolis that dwarfed the capitals of most minor nations. I couldn't make sense of the Count's words at all.
"I don't know the details, but aren't the cultists far too few in number to occupy Bolston? How would they even manage it?"
"The danger to Bolston doesn't necessarily mean a physical subjugation. Use a little more imagination. What would you say the cultists are best at?"
"...Human sacrifice, wouldn't you say?"
"Exactly. Their specialty."
"You don't mean..."
Was he suggesting they intended to turn all of Bolston into an offering through some grand ritual?
The horrific rites I'd witnessed on the road from Pioneer Village to Bolston came flooding back — the cultists in the midst of their gruesome ceremony. Peeling the skin from living human beings, skewering them through the anus on stakes, desperate to wring out every last drop of agony. A scene straight out of hell.
That tableau, distilled from the very worst of human malice, retained its full repulsiveness even within the borders of imagination.
The Count nodded, paying no mind to my twisted expression.
"That's right. If the cultists have their sights set on Bolston specifically... that could well be their purpose."
"I'm no expert, but wouldn't it take considerable preparation to turn the entire city into that kind of hell?"
Even with an unidentified entity known as the Evil God pulling the strings, there had to be rules of some sort governing the relationship between cultists and their god.
If they could simply offer up millions of people to their deity with no preparation at all, the cult would never have been driven into the shadows the way it is now.
The Count agreed.
"Quite so. Offering up an entire city demands a price to match — a great formation laid across all of Bolston, say. But if they were pulling off something like that, there's no way it would escape my notice."
"...And yet you remain suspicious."
"Mm. If you know your goal, mankind's great advantage is that the means can always be arranged somehow. Wouldn't you agree?"
Fair enough.
In a world where psychic energy ran wild, there was nothing dumber than clinging to common sense.
Those in power had a duty to prepare for every contingency.
The Count continued.
"I've rambled long enough. Now, on to my request. In two days' time, a commission for sewer maintenance will be posted at the Guild. Take it, and I'll see that your compensation leaves nothing to be desired."
"Dad, honestly. If you put it like that, what will the people listening think?"
"...It's merely a precaution for every eventuality. It isn't a dangerous commission, so rest easy."
"I'll be moving with them too, so it's no empty promise."
"The young lady? In the sewers?"
Catherine cut in, heading off the Count, who had been delivering his terms in the tone of a man announcing there was no room for refusal.
I had no idea what the actual commission entailed, but if he was willing to attach his treasured daughter to it, it surely couldn't be all that dangerous.
And the man was famously generous with rewards, besides...
I ran the numbers, and accepted the Count's request without protest.
"Deal. Give me the details. The sewer patrol is just the shell. What you'll actually be doing is..."
After the Count had said his piece and departed, we put our heads together to discuss the commission.
Though if you asked Lena, she seemed far more interested in the free meals than in anything else.
"I'm so excited! We get to visit actual ruins!"
"The exploration's already been done, you know."
"Still! It's a place I've only ever heard about!"
The hidden commission the Count had laid out was to guard the ruins lying beneath the sewers.
According to him, they predated even the founding of Bolston Castle, and only a tiny handful of people — a select few of the Count's own bloodline — were permitted to enter.
"Intriguing. It seems the ruins' power is still running... The Count apparently believes the cultists might set their sights on that place."
"Didn't he say everything worth taking was salvaged ages ago?"
"Perhaps. People of this era still know so little about ruins. Either way, we've stumbled into a golden opportunity. If the ruins are intact, we can extract information from them."
"There might even be the locations of other ruins in there... And it doesn't sound dangerous, so that's a plus."
However you looked at it, the fact that the Count had insisted on assigning Catherine as our guide — supposedly just so she could grant us access — made it obvious he rated the risk of intruders in the ruins as low.
A contingency, nothing more.
As Bolston's supreme authority, he had countless matters demanding his attention; the ruins were but one entry on that list.
The reason he'd dragged his busy self all the way here in person, of course, was his beloved daughter.
"And he's entrusting that daughter to us. Our party must have quite the reputation. Staying active in Bolston long-term is looking more and more attractive."
"Apparently being chummy with the Fist King counts as bonus points. I found that hilarious, honestly."
Thanks to Harrington, Henry, and Catherine, the Count had judged our party to be among the most trustworthy of those currently operating in Bolston.
Amusingly enough, the fact that we were something like disciples of the Fist King — who stood in open hostility with the Guild's upper echelons — had also factored heavily into his calculus.
But somehow the information had already leaked; it had only been a few hours since my conversation with Kaya, and the Count already knew?
His intelligence network was anything but ordinary.
"Anyway... I really hope this commission turns out to be the safe one..."
"It's a ruin that no one but authorized personnel can even enter. I'd say we're fine."
"Hmm... Still can't shake the unease, though."
The same vague disquiet I'd felt during the dungeon incident was coiling around me again.
Something was going to happen. I could feel it!
Full preparation was non-negotiable.
"Shall we go sweet-talk Kaya Unni?"
"How, exactly?"
"With your body, Mister."
"...Don't say it like that. Well... it's not a bad idea, though."
The Fist King was the kind of woman who would camp out in the ruins for twenty-four hours a day if it meant she could keep studying my body.
Still, using her too brazenly might backfire. I'd have to ask delicately.
Noah, who had been listening to my exchange with Lena, made a strange face.
"...I'd heard the rumors, but she really is a very strange person."
"She's eccentric in many ways."
Since the Count had lent us a magic tool granting access to the secret passage, we returned to the inn outside the walls to gather our things.
You should have seen how the innkeeper mourned the loss of his long-term guests — he looked ready to clutch our trouser legs and refuse to let go.
Be that as it may, this time we passed through the Inner Castle's gate through proper channels, and apparently word had gotten there ahead of us, because not a single inspection stopped us as we sailed smoothly into the Inner Castle.
And then we arrived at the modest mansion that was now ours...
"A pleasure to meet you. I am Maria, the head maid appointed to manage this residence."
"Welcome home, Master!"
There they were, greeting us at the front gate: a stern-faced middle-aged woman and a dozen or so maids whose girlish freshness radiated off them in waves.
So this was the staff dispatched by the Count's administrative office.
Free labor that cost not a single coin in upkeep — hard to complain about... except these were hardly people we could trust completely.
Any one of them could turn out to be a spy. Better watch our mouths around them.
Then again, I hardly counted as some half-noble revolutionary with a grudge against the aristocracy, so there shouldn't be any problems in practice.
If this was all the price of receiving a mansion, it was more than worth absorbing.
I wrapped up my calculations and shook the head maid's hand.
"A pleasure. Though forgive me — I'm a little unclear on one thing. Is there no butler?"
"Please, speak down to us, I beg you. Unless the master's authority is preserved, managing the staff below becomes impossible."
"Ahem! Well... very well."
"May I... as well?"
"Of course, my lady."
Lena and I awkwardly obliged the head maid's request.
Come to think of it, I'd rarely met anyone I was expected to speak down to so openly, which was probably why it felt so strange.
Maria opened the mansion's door herself and ushered us inside as she spoke.
"A butler was deemed unsuited to your mastership's particular line of work, and was therefore excluded."
"Unsuited, how?"
"Yes. A butler's role is ordinarily to manage the household's assets, or to serve as an intermediary in dealings with other families, and so..."
"Ah. Say no more. I understand."
We didn't own vineyards or any other assets held in kind, nor were we in any position to be languidly accepting invitations from other noble houses — so no butler was needed for now. Got it.
Unruffled by my having cut her off mid-sentence, Maria continued in her measured tone.
"I will handle most matters myself, so you needn't worry. Should you require a butler later, I will personally request the personnel."
"Thank you."
"Think nothing of it... Now then, allow me to give you the tour. On the first floor there is a small banquet hall, and..."
Under the head maid's guidance, we explored the mansion from corner to corner.
The maids who had trailed behind us quietly dispersed and set to work on chores throughout the house.
We'd been living out of cramped inn rooms, and now suddenly we had a mansion that belonged in a movie. It still didn't quite feel real.
"Whoa! This bed is enormous! All three of us could sleep in it!"
"This room would serve admirably as a laboratory."
Meanwhile, Noah and Lena were adapting to the place remarkably well.
Somewhere deep within the Count's family mansion, at the very heart of the Inner Castle.
The Count's party, having returned through the secret passage, was conversing over a light meal unworthy of nobility — just enough to quiet their rumbling stomachs.
The Count turned to the middle-aged knight who had guarded him in silence and asked for his impressions.
"Sir Gail. What did you make of them? You've said nothing, which suggests you came away with a rather favorable impression."
"...Not bad. He precisely sensed exactly how far my mana perception extended. His companions' mana reserves are respectable as well... and the party leader in particular, mana-wise, is nearly at Master rank."
"Is that all?"
"Without crossing blades, I cannot judge anything further. But considering he's killed a Bishop, he must have two or three trump cards up his sleeve. Among figures whose full strength remains unknown, he is the finest option available. And he has a healer, above all."
"How pedantic of you. This is precisely why I like you, Sir Gail."
The Count smiled broadly and bit into the sandwich in his hand.
And yet, even as he did, his other hand held a sheaf of documents covered in dense, cramped writing.
Squeezing every drop from his time, moment by moment.
Catherine couldn't help but worry for her father.
"Dad... You should just rest, at a time like this."
"I'm afraid I can't. The glorious life of a nobleman isn't simply handed down — one must discharge the duties that match it. Besides, it isn't always like this, is it?"
"The others go too far as well. Here you are, working yourself to the bone, and they just bellow about subjugating the cultists without a thought..."
"Hmph. You must understand their position too. When you were kidnapped, I confess I considered turning the entire North upside down myself."
The Count kept displaying his artistry — dining, conversing, and reviewing documents all at once.
In the end, Catherine gave up on dissuading him and simply picked up a few of the papers stacked beside him instead.
The naturalness of her movements made it plain this was far from the first time.
The knight, ignorant in the ways of clerical work, scratched his head and addressed the Count.
"But my lord, is it truly necessary to defend the ruins underground? No matter how I consider it, I can't imagine those cultist dogs setting their sights on such a place... Would it not be wiser to further fortify the defense of the Suppression Device?"
"There's a legend."
"My lord?"
"The Arcana Heart. You've heard of it, surely?"
The Count's signature conversational style: lopping off everything before and after the point.
But the knight, who had attended his lord for so long that he'd grown fluent in the man's ways, grasped his meaning at once.
He was aghast.
"The Heart of God...! Surely you don't mean it lies within the ruins?"
"Merely a legend. We've combed those ruins generation after generation and never found it. But... as you well know, ruins show their entrails to no one lacking proper command authority. What actually lies within them, only God Himself could say."
"Would ignorant earthworms like those cultists have the knowledge to explore ruins at all?"
"There is intelligence that Mordoc's Archbishop is on the move. And not only that — the followers of Medius have joined him, or so I hear. The possibility cannot be dismissed."
"Pain and Mystery, cooperating? I've never heard of evil gods working together."
"Which is precisely how much is at stake. The devotees of Mystery are masters of magic; who knows what bizarre methods they might bring to bear."
The Count muttered, his brow furrowed deep.
For cultists to join hands and conspire within his own territory... men like these deserved to be drawn and quartered, and it would still be too merciful.
What in the world were they after?
The artifacts and relics the House of the Count had amassed over countless years?
Or a plot to destroy the Suppression Device and sow chaos across the land?
Or else...
"If the cultists were to lay hands on the Arcana Heart..."
"Something of that caliber would more than suffice as a power source for any ritual they cared to perform. Mind you, the odds are vanishingly small. Unqualified persons cannot set so much as a foot in the ruins, and the chance of stumbling upon a legendary artifact that has evaded discovery for centuries is smaller still. And did you imagine we would simply stand by and watch them tear Bolston apart?"
The Count spoke idly, turning another page of his documents.
Yet the knight fixed his attention not on that uncertain word "possibility," but on the bare fact that the meticulous Count himself had moved in person.
"So the possibility exists after all. Ah! Which is why you chose the young lady herself — rather than some cousin of the collateral line — to enter the ruins..."
"That's right. I carry the family Blood most strongly of anyone alive. If, by some remote chance, the cultists do manage to extract the Arcana Heart, I may be able to bring it under control. I could even send a signal to Father."
"Hmm... I would rather nothing of the sort ever come to pass. I'd sooner die than watch those dogs defile the deepest reaches of Bolston."
"We are counting on you, Sir Gail."
"Yes, my lady!"
At Catherine's charge, the loyal knight steeled himself: he would see those cultist dogs annihilated, without fail.
But the future is known to no one.
Not to a single soul standing in that room.