Chapter 98: Mistaken for a Suspicious Professor (4) |
# Aftermath of the Count Russell Family Brothers' Joint Accidental Death Incident
*
Rustle.
I folded the newspaper in half the moment I read the headline.
'Doesn't sit right with me.'
Along with the headline I'd just folded away, unsettling rumors had been circulating through the Academy of late.
Specifically, the rumor that I was the mastermind behind the Russell family tragedy.
It wasn't a situation I found particularly agreeable.
"You seem displeased."
Perisia set a cup of tea on the desk before me.
Unlike when she was in the capital, she was wearing her secretary suit instead of her military uniform.
"Is it the Academy's rumors that displease you, my lord?"
"Do you have some unique magic for reading minds?"
"No. It's the result of a year spent observing you in order to stand in for your position, my lord."
She set down her own cup and took the seat across from me.
"Which part of the rumors displeases you?"
"You speak as though you might actually change them."
"The impression people have of Lord Yulian directly reflects the impression they have of Black Magic Defense Arts. Given that Black Magic Defense Arts is currently the military's most cherished project, we can't afford for that impression to sour this early. So if false rumors are spreading, we would need to intervene."
The elven woman waved her teacup lightly beneath her nose as she spoke.
"However, as no errors have been found in the current rumors, we have not intervened."
"Surely there is an error."
The rumors circulating about me through the Academy were utterly preposterous.
"Isn't it a bit much to say I can kill someone with nothing but a letter, if I put my mind to it?"
Naturally, this was a false rumor.
It wasn't as though I were some Moriarty.
How could a single letter determine the life and death of another person?
I was, at the end of the day, a 21st-century trauma surgeon—admittedly a somewhat unusual one, but a trauma surgeon nonetheless.
I possessed no such talent, and frankly, a person capable of such a thing shouldn't exist in the world to begin with.
"I won't deny that my letters played a decisive role in this incident—but the claim that it was intentional seems like something of a mischaracterization."
I had a rough idea of how things had ended up this way, of course.
The damnable Power of Misunderstanding.
Every so often, it was all well and good—until it pushed things in a direction I hadn't wanted.
This was one of those times.
Perisia, however, appeared to see it differently.
"I reviewed the letters myself. Wasn't it intentional from the moment you wrote them?"
She tilted her head.
"I assumed you'd planned it from the moment you approached Young Master Russell. Was it not because of Lady Charlotte that you took an interest?"
"No."
The Russell affair was a coincidence.
"I only spoke to him because, during class, his fingernails showed all the hallmarks of chronic arsenic poisoning."
The fact that he'd had an unpleasant incident with Charlotte was something I learned only afterward.
"It happened that Young Master Russell brought up his father, so I invited him to dinner to get a sense of his home environment."
"I heard about the dinner as well. You asked him about his family members' digestive symptoms."
"You remember."
Over the dinner I had personally prepared, I asked Young Master Russell about his family's digestion.
To which he answered:
—"My father and mother have trouble with digestion."
The moment I heard that, I changed course.
—"I understand you have siblings."
—"Yes. Two older brothers."
—"And do either of them experience digestive symptoms?"
—"Hmm. I don't see them often since they're busy, and we rarely eat together."
The moment he said that, I immediately became suspicious of the two brothers.
If every member of the family showed signs of poisoning, it was an accident.
But if two people alone were spared—that was no accident.
After confirming that the couple's bedroom was not decorated in green, I was half-certain.
That one of the two brothers was the culprit.
"At the time, I had narrowed the suspects down to the eldest and second son. Arsenic is notorious enough to be called Inheritance Powder—it's a poison commonly used for parricide."
Arsenic's infamy was just as high in this world as in my previous life.
Being a superhuman didn't make one immune to poison.
Administered slowly over a long period, even a superhuman couldn't avoid the inevitable.
And arsenic, in particular, was favored for its difficulty of detection—slipped into wine, most commonly.
"So I sent letters to the count's household through Young Master Russell."
The contents were straightforward.
The count's family is currently in danger.
Someone appears to be targeting the family head for poisoning using arsenic.
Remove all green-colored objects from the house as quickly as possible, and test the wine by feeding it to a rat.
A parcel containing tools and methods for tracking arsenic will be sent shortly.
Finally, this letter must be shared with all members of the family.
That was the gist of it.
"The culprit had been secretly poisoning the family over decades for the sake of inheritance. When all that effort was on the verge of being undone, there was no chance they would simply sit still."
"No matter how I look at it, you deliberately agitated the culprit to provoke them into acting."
I shook my head.
Words are words—the difference between a and the can change everything.
"Please hear me out. While Young Master Russell was sending the letter to his family, I dispatched a separate urgent letter to the family head in secret."
The letter sent to the family head alone informed him that, on the day the panicked culprit attempted to poison the family with arsenic,
he should drink the antidote prepared according to the recipe I had enclosed.
"The culprit would push themselves to poison the family head no matter what. But if it kept failing time and again, being discovered would become inevitable. In the meantime, the family head was to hold out using the antidote, and share it with those he trusted."
The scenario where the two sons killed each other—that was not my intention.
I had considered the possibility, of course.
But lacking any evidence, it had remained nothing more than a vague conjecture.
And since that part of it was ultimately for the family head to decide, I left the rest in his hands.
"I merely gave the family head the choice of who to protect and who not to. The final decision to cast his two sons outside the fence was the family head's own."
I still remember the contents of the letter.
"The letter I sent to the family head contained only methods for saving lives. There was not a single line instructing him to suspect anyone."
So this was a coincidence.
It was never my intention. That's what I'm saying.
"And the investigative authorities closed the case as cleared of suspicion due to insufficient evidence, did they not?"
"..."
Perisia's brow furrowed slightly.
She had the look of someone with quite a lot more to say.
"If that is what you say, my lord... very well. Let us call it that."
It was Perisia who looked away first.
But there was still one matter left to address.
So what was going to happen to my image?
"So then—what becomes of the rumors surrounding me?"
"As it happens, there is something I needed to discuss with you on that subject, my lord. The military and the department to which I belong have proposed taking advantage of this situation."
"This incident, you mean?"
"Yes. They intend to publicly promote the fact that you were the first to identify the traces of black magic involved in this case, and to present you with a commendation."
"A commendation..."
That was quite a sensible approach.
If a commendation were used to layer a new image over the current one, there was a good chance the negative impressions would be substantially diluted.
Though there was one thing that nagged at me.
"Isn't a commendation a bit excessive for just this one case?"
"In truth, the commendation is only the beginning. The military and the department I belong to are currently considering a plan to publicize Lord Yulian's name every time a similar incident arises in the future."
"My name?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"The military appears intent on making Lord Yulian the absolute natural enemy of all black magicians."
As expected.
The military wouldn't give anything away for no reason.
For the world to change, it always needs a hero.
They wanted to make me that hero—that much seemed clear.
"There is a reason behind it. The Black Magic Defense Arts course you currently teach is undeniably a necessary field of study. The Empire has already acknowledged that, and the military has committed to seeing it through. But the problem is obvious."
She lightly traced the rim of her teacup with a finger.
"Teaching defensive techniques necessarily means teaching the structure of offensive ones as well, to some degree. When enough students gather, at least one of them will inevitably try to misuse that knowledge. Whether out of curiosity, a lust for power, a grudge—or simply plain foolishness."
I couldn't argue with that.
To teach someone how to block a blade, you have to show them how a blade moves.
To neutralize a poison, you have to understand how it acts.
Black Magic Defense Arts is no different.
In learning to resist the darkness, one comes to understand the ways of the darkness.
The problem is that some among those who learn those ways will inevitably want to put what they've learned to use.
"And that is why a deterrent is necessary."
That was why they wanted to make me into exactly that.
Big Brother to black magicians? Or the designated enforcer assigned to them?
Either way, they wanted to plant in the hearts of black sorcerers—and students taking the course—a fear that so long as I existed, using black magic in secret was impossible.
Heard plainly, it was a rather exhilarating proposition.
A goal worth pursuing, for a protagonist.
There was one problem, however.
"But doesn't that also make me a great deal more dangerous?"
Until the image of an absolute natural enemy was established—
I would have to weather challenge after challenge.
After all, who can say how strong a fortress is until it's been besieged?
To build that image, I would need to be entangled with black sorcerers frequently.
Until when?
Until the day they tuck their tails and flee of their own accord.
It was madness. It was dangerous.
And Perisia, it seemed, understood that danger well enough.
"Yes. I understand why you'd be uneasy. It would be shameless of us to demand Lord Yulian's sacrifice with nothing to offer in return. To that end, 'our side' has prepared several forms of compensation."
She drew a list of compensations from within her coat.
...
The list went on without end.
"This is..."
"Compensation we've prepared. And this is only for the current incident—additional compensation is expected to be added each time Lord Yulian becomes entangled with a black sorcerer going forward."
"..."
Every single item was extraordinary.
But among all those compensations, one stood out above the rest.
"...This one?"
"Ah—it feels a bit awkward to present something like this as compensation."
"No."
I thought of my parents' grave.
The two of them, who had gone missing on the southern front and come home after seven years.
They now rested in the graves set aside for the Nihilrit family's retainers.
In life, they had been healers—so there was no family grave to speak of, and their estate had not been large.
In such cases, burial in the communal cemetery of Civitas Square was the norm.
But the head of the Nihilrit family could not abide the thought of his friend—and his adopted son's biological father—being laid to rest in Civitas Square.
It was a place where gravediggers sold bodies on a whim, and the concern was that, however unlikely, those remains might one day find their way into the hands of a black sorcerer.
Yet it was equally impossible to inter outsiders in the Nihilrit family's own graves.
After much compromise, my biological parents came to be buried in the retainers' graves on the outskirts of Sanctum Hill.
But now...
"A grave for persons of national merit?"
"Yes. You have become a figure of great importance to our Empire. Given the Perception Alteration measures in place, the likelihood of black sorcerers identifying you is low—but even the slightest chance cannot be ignored. And..."
Perisia let her voice trail off.
"...I too have no wish to see my clan's benefactors dishonored."
"Pardon?"
"The South is the homeland of us elves. A forest that once held the World Tree stands within the Demonic Realm there. When elves come of age, it is our tradition to pass beyond that wall and seek the traces of that World Tree. A great many young elves lose their lives in the course of it. The liberation of the Southern Front has long been a cherished desire of our people."
Perisia traced the rim of her teacup with her finger.
"And twenty years ago, the Schnabel couple saved the lives of many elves on the Southern Front. Even as most healers withdrew to the rear, they remained to the very end alongside my clan."
"..."
"And their son cured the fever that had tormented elves in the South more than anything else. The dreadful sickness once known as the Curse of the Forest—it's been called Malaria for quite some time now."
A faint smile.
Perisia smiled.
"The relocation of the graves was pushed through by my department's authority. It is a small thing, but I hope it is to your liking."
"...Thank you."
"If anything, I must apologize. That this is only possible now."
She set her empty cup on the tray.
"Of course, even after accepting these compensations, you are not obligated to receive the commendation. We respect Lord Yulian's wishes."
"No—I'll accept the commendation."
They were showing this much sincerity.
How could I fail to meet their expectations?
Going unrecognized was impossible to begin with.
In part because I was the protagonist of a misunderstanding genre, and in part because of everything I'd done up to this point.
So I calculated that it was better to take everything being offered and step forward without reservation.
"The award ceremony will take place at the Academy in one week."
The Academy was also a military academy.
There was nothing at all strange about a professor receiving a military commendation here.
"Before then, how does your schedule look, Lord Yulian?"
"Come to think of it—I only have one class a week."
Black Magic Defense Arts was originally four sessions per week.
One session for each year—first through fourth.
But at the moment, I wasn't teaching the second years.
As the course had only been created this year, there was no way to teach second years who hadn't taken the first-year foundational material.
And naturally, the years above them weren't being taught either.
So the course came to just one session per week.
"The infirmary is being built next year, so you should have considerable time to spare this year."
The original plan had been to see patients and supervise practical training as Director Schun during the hours between lectures.
But as the infirmary wasn't finished yet—
I had far too much free time.
"Until next week, will it be research?"
"No."
I shook my head.
"Perisia—would it be possible for you to disguise yourself as me starting now?"
"I've observed you long enough that it should be possible. Is there something you need to attend to in the capital?"
"Well, it's just..."
The mention of the grave relocation had brought it to mind.
"Before the relocation, I thought I'd take the opportunity—long overdue—to visit my parents' grave."
***
That night.
Far from the Academy, on the outskirts of the capital.
H-Sector—where every criminal and exile gathered.
From the abandoned quarry located there, troubling sounds rang out.
Gurgle— crack, crack.
A place untouched by the gas lamps of the city, beyond the reach of chimney soot.
Lit only by the smog-blurred full moon, at the center of the open quarry—
several men were crawling across the dirt floor.
No—even crawling was perhaps no longer an accurate description.
"H-hiiIIIk—!"
A man's arm bloated from within like a pudding as he screamed.
Something viscous—too thick to be called a thread, too slick to be called flesh—erupted outward.
If one were to describe it at all, it was something closest to a tentacle.
An unclean lifeform, born from the man's right arm, tore itself from his body and began crawling across the ground.
"H... hi, ugh... ugh, ugh..."
Another man was already coming apart at the mouth.
His lips stretched, and the stretched lips transformed into a single black cord, which coiled around his own throat.
Wherever one looked within the quarry, the same sight unfolded—innumerable tentacle-like things, violating the men strewn across the ground.
At the heart of that pandemonium—
one man cried out.
"S-Seeker...! Why are you attacking us? Is this the Elders' will? If this is about the failure with the Russell family—isn't this punishment too severe?"
Where the man's cry was directed, a figure stood, gazing up at the full moon without end.
A priest, trailing a black and fraying robe along the ground, scripture wrapped in leather held reverently in his hands.
The narrow-eyed priest turned his gaze from the moon to the man crawling on the ground below.
"What do you mean?"
"We carried out everything the Elders commanded. We were only told to infiltrate the Russell estate as dependents and assist the two brothers! To seize control of the count's household—that was the goal!"
"That is indeed what the Elders ordered."
"Then why are you purging us?! If not for Yulian—we would have succeeded! Even the Elders agreed to overlook that part..."
"Ah. You've misunderstood."
The narrow-eyed priest scratched his cheek.
"This isn't a purge."
"What?"
"It's more of a... personal research project? A ritual? Ah. I suppose 'prayer' would be the more fitting word."
"What kind of mad—"
The man couldn't finish his sentence.
Not that it mattered.
The narrow-eyed priest shifted his gaze back to the moonlight and murmured.
"Without blasphemy, there is no awe. Without darkness, there is no light."
He then addressed the figures who had once crawled across the floor—now nothing more than husks of tentacles.
"You are at this moment partaking in the glory of joining the steepest slope on the path to enlightenment. Should you not be grateful?"
His voice, as he spoke, was steeped in ecstasy.
And there, at the heart of the writhing tentacles—
the priest cried out toward the moon.
"O Moon Goddess. Beneath this bright full moon, your faithful servant has so desecrated your creations."
Something bubbled in the dirt.
An indescribable wet, viscous sound overlapped with the priest's voice and spread through the quarry.
"On this night of the full moon—the night you called for the most profound piety. And on this very site where your temple once stood! Beneath your light, I have desecrated you so!"
He took one step forward.
"Come—deliver divine punishment upon this wretched servant!"
...
Silence fell.
A long, long silence.
The wet, clinging sound of the last two men losing the final shape of humanity dissolved gently along the still grain of that silence.
From somewhere far off, beneath the shade of some nameless blade of grass, a cricket cried out.
Chirp. Chirp.
Chirp. Chirp.
Silence again.
The Seeker slowly lowered both hands.
He stared at the lines of his palms.
The moonlight twisted once across them.
He exhaled.
And then—
Crack.
He brought the scripture he held down hard upon a passing tentacle.
That alone was enough. Every tentacle that had filled the quarry burst apart with a death scream.
"—HiiiIIIK!"
"..."
The Seeker cradled the scripture to his chest and slowly raised his head once more toward the full moon.
"O gods. It seems even this degree of blasphemy is still not enough for you."
Chirp.
"But I will not give up. On that day—the day that most faithful couple died so wretchedly—a question took root in my faith in you. Until I have received your answer, this seeking shall not cease."
His gaze remained nailed to the full moon.
"Whether through your mercy or through your fury, I will hear your response—no matter what it takes."
His hand tightened around the scripture clasped to his chest.
The leather cover crumpled slightly within his grip.
"What sin did those martyrs—so faithful, so noble in their piety—commit, that they should be violated in such a swamp? What kind of world demands that of them?"
