Chapter 23: What It Means to Be Different A dilapidated underground warehouse in the Genen Autonomous Region.
Investigator Zendo had arrived alone, answering a mysterious summons.
"······."
Silence filled the space. Zendo's heart hammered heavily against his ribs. He felt as if he had placed his own neck upon a guillotine.
His counterpart was a heavyweight far beyond his estimation—someone who could discard him in an instant if he proved disappointing.
"You've arrived."
A figure emerged from the deep shadows of the warehouse. Zendo turned his gaze toward the voice.
A man with a dry, expressionless face stood there.
"Yes. What is it you wanted to······"
"I have something to deliver. Open them."
The man pointed to a stack of crates in a corner of the warehouse. Zendo approached hesitantly and lifted a lid.
"······W-what is all this?"
The crates were filled with cutting-edge investigative equipment that autonomous region investigators could only dream of: the latest mana trackers, micro-transmitters, long-range eavesdropping devices, and more. There were even state-of-the-art mana rifles.
"These are supplies provided by the Knight."
"Excuse me?"
"Use them as you see fit to aid your investigation."
"······."
As Zendo stood there dazed, Dieter handed him a single check.
"This is for operational expenses. I will not ask how it is spent, but use it properly. Corruption always comes to light eventually."
Zendo looked at the check. There were many zeros following the initial digit. Ebenholtz's signature was clearly visible. His mind went blank, unable to process the situation.
"The Knight's message is written on the back. I shall take my leave."
"······A-ah, goodbye."
Zendo watched the man, Dieter, walk away before flipping the check over. A sentence was written there in elegant cursive.
[ Keep this in mind. If you are so desperate for results that you lash out at anyone, you won't even reach the feet of the Revolutionary Group. You and I may share the same goal. ]
Zendo's eyes widened. He spun around toward the exit, but Dieter was already gone.
* * *
A Knight's duties are vast and varied, but the most critical among them concerns 'special criminals.'
Ordinary criminals can be handled by the police. Even those who know a bit of mana can easily be turned into Swiss cheese thanks to the advancement of firearms.
However, Knights deal with those beyond that level.
Those professionally trained in mana, or those who have surpassed human limits through some other means.
Because of this, a Knight must be an expert in mana above all others, and it is also the Knight's role to analyze evidence from mana-related incidents.
"······."
I pressed my fingers against my temples as I looked at the mountain of documents on my desk. My head throbbed, but I picked up a page regardless.
[Case Number 1038077-C0-23: Request for Mana Trace Analysis regarding the Murder of a Noble on the Outskirts of the Capital]
A photograph was attached to the case file. It was a picture taken after restoring the traces of mana.
"Traces······."
After mana is used, it inevitably leaves behind something called a 'trace.' The special solutions used in investigations activate these traces, making them visible to the naked eye.
This phenomenon is called an 'Active Residual Trace,' and it serves as crucial evidence in tracking mana criminals. This is because the properties, characteristics, traits, and patterns of mana differ for every individual.
There are all sorts of people in this world. It isn't just Izenheim. There are those who abuse the mana they worked so hard to learn, criminal organizations, and those at the bottom of society who wield mana as a weapon just to survive.
Since one of a Knight's primary duties is to apprehend such individuals, Active Residual Trace analysis is a core part of the Knights' curriculum.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it one of the most important subjects.
"······This is driving me crazy."
I had been a failure in that field. I lacked talent to begin with, but these complex and multifaceted Active Residual Traces were especially dizzying.
The technique required gathering fragments of mana—scattered more haphazardly than bloodstains—to reconstruct the scene.
A person lacking patience and riddled with an inferiority complex was bound to loathe this kind of analysis and memorization.
"Whew······."
I had to break free from that past.
I stared intently at the crime scene photo.
How did the analysis go again? It had been a required subject since my student days, so I had memories of doing it a few times, but I couldn't even grasp the basics.
Thump.
That was when the virus inside me reacted. Suddenly, my vision tinted blue. Simultaneously, the distorted traces near the fatal wound on the corpse in the photo began to move. As if time were rewinding, the form of the mana came to life atop the photograph. The flow and patterns unfolded in three dimensions.
The situation was reconstructed upon my retinas.
"······The hand."
The culprit had concentrated mana in their palm and detonated it all at once. The mass of mana exploded the moment it touched the victim's body, leaving behind an irregular scattering.
The property of the mana was 'Divergent.'
Furthermore, the density was extremely high.
This meant the suspect was a veteran who had honed their mana for a long time and used their hands as a medium. Moreover, the method of mana manifestation felt familiar, as if I had seen it somewhere before. A group of people who disciplined themselves and practiced asceticism.
A Monk.
I typed up the report on the computer.
[Case Number 1038077-C0-23: Analysis Report]
[Analyst: Maximilian von Ebenholtz]
[The suspect uses a method of concentrating mana in the palm and detonating it. The property of the mana is 'Divergent,' and based on the level of control and density, they are presumed to be highly skilled. I recommend investigating monasteries not far from the scene······.]
"······You're good at this."
I praised the virus. I didn't know its true identity, but at the very least, it seemed to have a profound understanding of mana.
There was still a lot of paperwork left.
[Case Number 1038179-C0-19: Serial Killings of Mercenaries in the Back Alleys of District 23]
The virus easily reassembled the Active Residual Traces and projected them onto my retinas, and I analyzed the scene based on that information.
[Case Number 1038179-C0-19 Analysis Report]
[Analyst: Maximilian von Ebenholtz]
[The suspect ejects mana in a sophisticated shape······]
Tick.
[Case Number 1038352-C1-25: Analysis Report]
[Analyst: Maximilian von Ebenholtz]
[The suspect······]
Tick.
[Case Number 1038995-C1-59: Analysis Report]
[Case Number 1038995-C1-93: Analysis Report]
[Case Number 1038995-C1-99: Analysis Report]
Tick.
I looked at the clock. I had started work at 8:00 AM, and it was now noon. In four hours, I had cleared a week's worth of paperwork.
Knock, knock.
Someone knocked on my office door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Julian entered.
"What brings you here, Knight Julian?"
Julian took a slow look around my office.
"You don't decorate, I see."
He seemed surprised. Well, before the regression, I had made a complete mess of my office. I'd decorate it in a Northern Tundra style, then switch to a Southern Resort style the moment I got bored······.
"How is the 'Head-Eater' case going?"
"Yes. I've identified the culprit."
"Impressive."
Julian didn't show much of a reaction. He might have thought I was bluffing, or he might have taken it seriously.
I could never quite read him.
Julian spoke.
"There is a place we need to go. Change into civilian clothes and follow me."
"Understood."
We met in the parking lot dressed in civilian attire. Coincidentally, our fashion choices were similar in color. Julian wore a black leather jacket, and I wore a black coat. We both hid our conspicuous blonde hair under hats.
"We're taking the car."
"Yes."
There were separate vehicles for Knights on duty. We could have taken horses if we wanted, but they were too eye-catching in this day and age.
Out of habit, I climbed into the passenger seat. Seeing how natural I was, Julian paused just as he reached for the driver's side door.
"······."
He stared at me intently.
"?"
I blinked, only realizing my mistake a moment later.
"Ah."
I moved to the driver's seat.
"It shows in moments like this."
Julian climbed into the passenger seat.
"To District 43."
"Yes."
I gave a bitter smile and stepped on the accelerator. Vrooooom—! The output of the Knight-exclusive vehicle was excellent.
"Is it just the two of us?"
"Yes."
Knights are elite forces; each one is equivalent to at least a company. This meant two Knights were equal to hundreds of soldiers or police.
We arrived at the slums of District 43, on the outer edge of the Imperial Capital's center.
"Let's get out."
"Yes."
We stepped out of the car and walked along the street. Before long, a foul stench wafted toward us. Filth clung to every corner of the road like a living organism, and shapes that could have been people or corpses lay strewn about.
"There is a drug cartel operating out of this area."
"That seems to be your specialty, Knight Julian."
"It just turned out that way."
Julian's voice was flat, as always. He maintained a constant tone, but there was a deep sense of fatigue underlying it.
Sir······ Sir······.
Just a penny······ Please, just a penny······.
I'm hungry······.
Begging voices drifted from the streets. There were children. There were the elderly. All of them had lost their vitality to hunger, or their faces were wasted by drugs.
District 43 was always like this. It was the worst slum in the Empire, adjacent to the Underground City.
"Whenever I come here, I sometimes think this."
Julian suddenly spoke.
"Where did things go wrong for them, and from when?"
He looked ahead. His gaze was not distracted by the vagrants.
"How did they end up living like this?"
I knew why Julian had brought me here. He wanted to show me something. Likely, the reality of people who were completely alienated from the world of the nobility.
"They could have been one of us, and we could have been one of them."
Julian was a man of firm convictions. He was a solid human being. I would never be able to persuade him, but I would respect even that aspect of him.
Julian stopped near a derelict building.
"Maximilian. What do you think?"
I answered him.
"I don't think anything of it."
Julian silently asked for the meaning behind my words.
"I don't have time to worry about those at the bottom. To begin with, no world can ever eliminate hunger and evil. Trying to account for every single one of them is like trying to count grains of sand while walking along a beach."
The consciousness I held as a noble······.
Such things had already been shattered before the regression. I was not a chosen human, and Ebenholtz was not a noble family.
"We have a goal. We must move toward it."
However, I now had a purpose.
It was the grand ambition to survive, and the great cause of preventing destruction.
"If we worry about the trivial, the world will perish, Knight Julian."
A faint smile spread across Julian's lips. Did he like my answer?
Probably not.
I had said the exact opposite of his convictions.
However, Julian did not judge others lightly. He did not try to force them to change. He simply accepted them as they were.
"I see. That is one way to look at it."
Julian gestured toward something with his eyes.
"Prepare yourself, Maximilian."
"Yes, Knight Julian."
I called out to him. Julian looked back at me, his hand resting on his waist.
"You may call me Max."
Julian was a true noble. A man born into a high-ranking family among the nobility, who had only ever walked the elite path.
Even so, he looked down from the top to consider those below and agonized endlessly. He established convictions different from his own life, and at the most decisive moment, he threw himself into what he believed was 'right.'
His unwavering goodness was the decisive reason I was able to break free from the Empire's brainwashing.
—And that was how the world had ended.
"······Max."
Julian spoke my name as he drew his weapon. It was a broadsword whose blade had become quite thin from having cut down so many things.
"Now, draw your sword."
I nodded and drew my sword. Julian pointed to a wall far from the building's entrance.
A Knight is a force stronger than most tanks. There was no need to enter through the front door.
"Let's go."
"Yes."
Following Julian's command, I swung my longsword.
Slice—!
As I carved through the building's wall, a thought occurred to me.
Will I, one day, be able to cut Julian down?
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