Chapter 4: The Method An adult knight, on the verge of joining the Sentinels, had killed a cadet.
The perpetrator was the eldest son of the Ebenholtz family. The victim was a cadet with neither connections nor status.
It was an incident that could have been buried without a second thought, but several media outlets—those claiming to be the conscience of the Empire—latched onto the story.
"Does this make any sense?! Does being an Ebenholtz mean you can just kill people whenever you want?"
They swarmed the main gate of the Saheran Police Station. The Chief waved a dismissive hand, ordering his officers to hold them back.
"I told you, there's a reason for everything, so just go back—"
"What reason! What reason could possibly be grave enough to justify killing a fifteen-year-old cadet?"
"They sure have a lot to say..."
The Chief clicked his tongue. A subordinate approached and whispered something into his ear. The Chief's eyes widened.
"...Is that true?"
"Yes. He seems quite certain about it..."
"I see."
The Chief looked back at the reporters, clicking his tongue in pity.
"A public autopsy has been scheduled, so come watch it then."
An autopsy was the only way to distinguish between races. If the deceased cadet was a member of a minority race and not a true Imperial, as the eldest son claimed, it would be more than enough grounds for summary judgment.
In this context, 'enough' meant 'according to Imperial law.'
"A public autopsy?"
"They're doing it in public?"
The reporters looked at each other, bewildered.
An autopsy was a given, of course. Even for an Ebenholtz, it was an unavoidable process. However, a public autopsy was difficult to manipulate; if there were any hidden shames, they would inevitably be exposed.
"It's happening at 8:00 PM tonight at the Eton Coroner's Office, so you'd better move fast."
The Chief disappeared into the station. The reporters buzzed for a moment before rushing to their vehicles. Shouts of "See you at Eton!" echoed through the air.
* * *
8:00 PM.
"...The autopsy is complete."
The coroner placed the deceased's heart onto a tray. Numerous people watched from behind the reinforced glass.
"The results of the analysis."
It was a transparent, public procedure. A crowd of reporters had gathered, and even the political rivals of the Ebenholtz family were in attendance. If this boy turned out to be a wronged, pure-blooded Imperial, Maximilian would be prosecuted.
"The deceased, known as 'Jacob Mack,' is not an Imperial."
A commotion broke out.
When a heart is analyzed through magic, the differences between races are distinct. This is especially true for the hearts of the five major races: the Dromon, descendants of dwarves; the Elina, descendants of elves; the Yeken, descendants of beastmen; and the Izenheim and Edlem.
The Empire classified them not as races, but as 'Demi-humans.'
"Jacob Mack is presumed to be either Izenheim or Elina."
Only Imperials were permitted to enter Empire Point. To falsify one's identity was a crime punishable by death under Imperial law.
Therefore, Maximilian von Ebenholtz had delivered a rightful judgment.
Some reporters left quickly, while others stood dazed as if they couldn't comprehend the result. The Ebenholtz vassals breathed sighs of relief.
"...Was there any manipulation?"
On the other hand, the Ebenholtz rivals looked disappointed.
"No. One of the coroners is our man."
"Tsk."
Maximilian, the eldest son of Ebenholtz, had shot and killed an Izenheim disguised as an Imperial. Furthermore, the deceased had been an outstanding cadet, a squire whose appointment as a knight was all but guaranteed.
It was a clear military achievement—rooting out a spy who had nearly infiltrated the heart of the Empire.
"The brat was careless for someone who'd made it to cadet status."
Ken, the second son of the Bertem family, found himself blaming the dead boy.
A vassal beside him added sycophantically, "He probably never imagined he'd get caught by someone like Maximilian."
"Ha. Perhaps."
Maximilian was a notorious half-wit in aristocratic circles. His appearance was more Imperial than anyone else's, earning him the envy of many nobles, but that was all he had going for him.
"He stumbled his way into catching a rat."
"Indeed, sir."
"Let's head back."
"Yes, sir."
Reporters who still held onto their consciences grabbed the coroner to ask, "...Is he truly not an Imperial?"
"If you're that suspicious, see for yourself."
The medical examiner pointed to the heart on the tray.
Mana remains in a dead body for quite a long time, and the estimated time of death can be calculated based on its quantity. This meant it was impossible to swap the heart.
"Hah..."
A reporter looked at the face of the boy lying on the steel table of the autopsy room. He wasn't an Imperial, but he was a boy who hadn't even lost his baby fat yet. His peaceful expression felt strangely cozy, which only made it sadder.
It didn't feel right.
Grit.
Alphonse, the reporter, clenched his teeth.
* * *
I sat with my eyes closed.
I wasn't in a cell.
Rather, it was the cadets who were trapped behind bars.
"...Wow. He hid it so cleverly inside this novel. You really are amazing, sir."
Instead of being interrogated, I was receiving praise from the detectives. A man with a mustache held a book page up to my face.
"Unfortunately, it doesn't look like he wrote down the location of the hideout. I suppose that's their rule."
"Release those boys. They are ordinary cadets."
I gestured toward the cell. The three cadets still looked like walking corpses. It seemed they still couldn't believe the death of the friend they had spent years with, and they were paralyzed by fear.
"No, we still have to investigate them just in case. Their ideologies might be tainted."
"...If you investigate them, what happens to them?"
"Ah, please speak comfortably, Sir Knight. I am Detective Georges."
I immediately switched my tone.
"What will happen to them?"
"Well, obviously, since one of their classmates was a Demi-human, their futures are ruined. As they should be."
"..."
It was wrong.
The Empire's persecution of minority races was clearly wrong.
Except for exactly one race.
The Izenheim.
They weren't just a race; they were a species, an extraterrestrial clan that didn't even qualify as Demi-humans.
Therefore, as long as they weren't Izenheim, it was fine. And these cadets were not Izenheim.
I was certain because 'it' inside my body didn't react.
"...Let them go."
"Now, hold on. Even so—"
"I said it's fine. I won't say it twice."
"Uh... yes, sir. Hey, open it up!"
Clang. The bars slid open. The three remaining cadets trudged out.
"You punks. You should pick your friends better."
Detective Georges smacked each of them on the crown of their heads with a file folder as they exited.
"Get lost. And thank Lord Ebenholtz on your way out."
"..."
"..."
"..."
The cadets glanced at me and bowed their heads in silence.
As they walked past, I asked them, "Were you close?"
The question had to take that form. I didn't know what else to put into my words.
"...No," one of them answered. It was a girl. Was her name 'Hannah'?
It was a good answer.
I signaled to the detective.
"Put that in the report. They weren't close."
"...Ah, yes, sir."
Georges added a sentence to the record, and I turned away. Now that the autopsy results were out, I intended to head back soon.
That was when Hannah grabbed my sleeve.
"There must have been a better way. Surely."
"Is she crazy?!"
The detective's face contorted like a demon's, and the other cadets tried to pull her back, asking if she'd lost her mind.
"..."
I stopped the detective from striking Hannah. Instead, I looked into her eyes. I stared into pupils seized by a sense of justice. Looking at her, I thought of the ruined world. I recalled Edmond, who had withered away like a candle. I remembered the grotesque Dimension Eaters that had lunged at me.
I spat out the core of those memories, forged from both the future and the present.
"This is the way."
* * *
The Ebenholtz Estate.
"Here is the autopsy report."
Zebestian was not a man who expected much from small things. In fact, he didn't expect much from big things either.
It had been a long time since he had stopped expecting anything at all.
However, this time, it wasn't a small thing.
The initial report had been strange.
Max was not the kind of person who killed easily. On the contrary, he was the type who couldn't kill. He was a weakling who still couldn't forget the dog he raised when he was eight.
And yet, that boy had killed a fifteen-year-old cadet. He had taken the head with a single stroke.
That alone was shocking enough, but the victim turned out to be a minority race.
An insolent Demi-human who dared to infiltrate the Empire's own Empire Point.
"How amusing."
For now, however, it seemed better to believe it was a coincidence. Expectation only leads to disappointment, and Max was a child who had never done anything but disappoint.
"When is the Sentinel induction ceremony?"
"It is next week. Will you be attending?"
The Sentinel induction ceremony was a significant event even within the Empire, as it was a gathering of the realm's greatest talents.
"No."
Maximilian was far from the greatest. There was no reason for him to go and become a topic of conversation or an object of ridicule for the nobles he loathed.
Of course, there had been no solicitation for Maximilian's admission, but the personnel department wouldn't have been able to ignore the name Ebenholtz.
"I have other plans that day anyway."
For Zebestian, who had always walked the path of success, his son had become a scar.
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