Chapter 8: A Blade Lurks Beneath the Throat Julian oversaw the aftermath of the summary execution. The decapitated child's corpse lay abandoned in the park, and the virus within my body silently absorbed a small fragment of him.
I didn't understand the mechanics, but I felt my mana core expand ever so slightly.
"..."
I looked at Julian. With his composed expression, it was clear he had intended to let the child go. He was a man who, both then and now, constantly agonized over what was 'right.'
Click. Click.
Before long, several reporters rushed over and began snapping photos of the scene. Julian made no move to stop them.
"Good work, sir. The forensics team will provide the detailed results. Loyalty."
The police pushed the reporters back as they recovered the body, leaving Julian and me alone. We seemed to be gauging each other, but there was no avoiding the situation.
It was a night with a chilling breeze. We were in a back alley where the lights of the capital did not reach. We walked side by side down a path where the gaslights flickered dimly.
"You did a good deed on your first day."
Julian broke the awkward silence.
"Yes. Thanks to you."
Julian was a pure-blooded Aranian. Radiant blonde hair and sharp golden eyes. Every gesture he made was aristocratic to the bone.
That was why he had become my mentor, and in truth, he was my spiritual guide.
Facing his strength, I had realized my own frailty. That was why I had harbored such petty jealousy toward him. Julian was a man who possessed everything I lacked.
"How do you feel? It must have been quite underwhelming for a first mission."
"I'm fine. It was a job worth doing."
However, Julian was a man far too good for this rotten Empire.
And the Empire did not need a man like Julian.
I remembered looking at him after he had been sentenced to death. Having lost everything, he had looked at me with a full smile and spoken.
…Max. I would have rather died by your hand.
"Good work today."
Julian's voice broke my reverie.
"You'll likely have to attend a committee meeting tomorrow. Summary judgments undergo a post-execution review. You knew that, right?"
I would probably be subjected to an internal investigation. It would be a nuisance, but it wouldn't last more than a day or two.
"…Yes. I don't mind."
* * *
It was already dawn by the time I arrived at the Knights' headquarters. I returned to my office and drafted the report. Drawing on my memories from before the regression, I recorded the details of the incident in a professional format.
The final paragraph of the report read as follows:
'—Since the circumstances of the suspect murdering a noble were clear, a summary judgment was executed on-site in accordance with Imperial law.'
A knight is a prosecutor, a judge, and an executioner all at once. It means holding a status where accidentally killing a few commoners can be brushed off as self-defense.
Of course, as the Empire was a thorough bureaucracy, even summary judgments required a post-review process.
On the morning I submitted the report to my superiors, I received notice to appear before the review committee.
The room was cold and static.
Two high-ranking knights sat across the table. One was a woman with a sharp impression, and the other was a man with a blunt expression.
"The report is well-written and clean."
The woman said, setting the file down with a thud.
"Forensics confirmed that the victim's blood and mana traces were clearly detected on the corpse of the child you disposed of. With this much evidence, there's no need to speculate on other circumstances."
She closed the file. Then, resting her chin on her hand, she stared at me intently. It was a probing gaze.
"But you've already killed two people. You didn't seem like this kind of character back at Empire Point. I was a professor there at the time; didn't we see each other a few times?"
"…Yes. I remember."
Her name was Adria von Hardenberg.
There was no way I wouldn't know her. She sat before me now as a high-ranking knight, but behind that facade, she was a traitor to the Empire.
Code name: 'Blue Owl.' A noble-born mole who had served as a core executive of the Revolutionary Group for decades.
To me, she was an existence more dangerous than the Empire itself.
The feeling was likely mutual.
Because one day, I would be the one to take her head.
"You might be referred to a Grand Jury. There's been a formal complaint."
"A complaint?"
"Yeah. You killed a fifteen-year-old and an eleven-year-old."
Adria gave a faint smile.
"It's the perfect bait for reporters. 'The Cold-Blooded Ebenholtz's Excessive Suppression.' Those bastards always shout about the pen being mightier than the sword, but they don't give a damn about the weight behind that pen."
She pointed a finger at me.
"Of course, if you want, I can squash it. The Grand Jury is just a formality anyway—"
"No."
I refused.
"I acted correctly; why should I squash it? Please proceed according to the formal procedure."
Adria's eyes widened slightly.
"…Understood. I'll let you know when the schedule is set."
The male knight, who had remained silent until then, let out a short chuckle.
"Aren't you curious? About who filed the complaint against you."
In principle, the identity of the complainant should be confidential. But such principles were never upheld in the Empire.
"It's this guy."
He slid a photograph and a document toward me.
His name was Alphonse von Stauffen. A man born into a respectable noble family who had willingly descended into the depths, armed only with his pen. He was a journalist who exposed the injustices of the Empire.
"I see."
"A familiar face?"
I hid my expression.
I knew him.
Even in this bleak era, there were occasionally righteous people like him. Some held pens, while others held swords.
But their righteousness was ultimately incorrect. The righteousness they championed had led the world to ruin.
"No. It's the first time I've heard the name."
I stood up from my seat.
Suddenly, a voice drifted toward me.
"I'm curious."
Adria said, watching me with her chin still resting on her hand. Her voice was languid, but a sharp blade was hidden within it. At least, that was how it felt to me.
"What will an Ebenholtz do to him?"
It was a testing remark. Before answering, I thought of my father.
Zebestian.
The Revolutionary Group had respected my father. They had decapitated him and hung his head on the central thoroughfare, but even that was an expression of awe. It was an act of trying to forget their fear because they were so afraid of him.
Zebestian had staked his life to protect his convictions. Conviction was a value that precious.
"Suppressing an individual's convictions with force is not the Ebenholtz way."
Small-minded people who waver in pursuit of their own interests eventually disappear, covered in disgrace and filth.
However, those who have spent their entire lives defending their convictions deserve respect, even if they are enemies.
"Hmm."
Adria's eyes wavered minutely.
With just one call to Engie, Alphonse would be found as a corpse tomorrow morning. Perhaps Alphonse himself was prepared for such an end.
That was how troublesome bastards called martyrs were created.
"I'm curious then. What is the Ebenholtz way?"
"It is to let them realize it naturally."
Killing Alphonse would only damage my image. It would only heighten Adria's vigilance. In many ways, it was a calculation that yielded no profit.
For my sake, I needed a thorough calculation of gains and losses. At the very least, I had to appear as a 'rational' noble.
"In the first place, nothing changes just because a mere reporter scribbles a few lines. The Empire's society isn't malleable enough to be stained by mere ink."
I looked at Adria.
"I executed a criminal who murdered a noble on the spot. No matter how much they wield their pens, that fact does not change."
I stood up. I had no more business here.
"Then, excuse me."
* * *
As soon as I left the Knights' headquarters, I got straight into my car. My destination was a nearby autopsy room.
[Imperial Eton Forensic Institute]
The space reeked of disinfectant. I opened the door to one of the autopsy rooms. A small form covered by a white cloth lay on a steel table.
The coroner turned to look at me as he pulled off his gloves.
"What are the autopsy results?"
"Ah, yes. As you suspected, it is a Demi-human."
"Is it an Izenheim?"
"Izenheim… I'm not sure. Could be an Edlem, or an Elina half-blood. It's too young to make a definitive identification."
The gray-haired coroner removed his mask. Deep fatigue was etched into his face like wrinkles.
"It's certain that it isn't of Aran blood. The peculiar mana reaction detected in the body confirms that as well…"
'Aran' was not exactly a race. It was a term the people of the Empire used to refer to themselves as superior.
"You're saying you can't distinguish them?"
"Yes. Usually, in such young specimens, their traits haven't fully manifested yet. Still, the structure of the mana circuit is definitely that of a Demi-human."
Demi-human. At some point, the Empire had stopped calling them a 'race.' It was a stigma labeling them as a species inferior to humans. It was a device to socially and academically justify the Empire's discriminatory policies.
"You've achieved a great feat on your very first mission. Congratulations, Sir Maximilian."
The coroner offered a ritualistic compliment.
I raised my head and looked at him. At the word 'congratulations,' I found myself gritting my teeth. The coroner flinched and took a step back.
"…I merely performed the duty given to me as a knight. There is no reason to be praised."
"Ah, yes."
The coroner cleared his throat awkwardly. I turned around and left the autopsy room.
...
"Why is that kid so terrifying?"
After the knight left, the coroner was honestly flustered.
Maximilian von Ebenholtz. A young knight who had just turned twenty. Public opinion mostly labeled him as frail and incompetent—some even went as far as calling him a 'tainted bloodline' who brought shame to the Ebenholtz family—but it seemed blood was blood after all.
He actually resembled a young Zebestian. He was like a sharp blade, a far cry from the rumors.
"Well, I suppose a soft-hearted fellow wouldn't have killed a kid like this."
The coroner shifted his gaze to the dead child. The severed neck had been crudely stitched back together with thick wire.
"..."
He stared blankly at the child and let out a sigh he didn't even realize he was holding.
This child had, of course, killed a noble. However, the child's body was covered in 'unspeakable wounds' that he must have suffered at the hands of that very noble.
"Sometimes… I wonder if this is truly the right path."
Forty years had passed since he began serving as a coroner loyal to the Empire. He had performed his duties while maintaining his own sense of integrity, but it seemed he had simply grown old.
Sympathy and pity welled up from deep within his heart.
"Rest in peace. The next life will be better for you."
He quietly brushed his hand over the child's eyes to close them.
He placed the corpse into the freezer and turned off the lights.
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