Chapter 64

Demons

At daybreak—

Isaac, Carlson, Violet, and Pallich arrived at the Randolph Inn, dragging along the bound head nun.
They all looked like rain-soaked crows.
Exhausted. Worn down.

Mrs. Randolph, who had been dozing with her chin resting on the table, jolted upright the moment she saw Isaac.

“Young master… was it perhaps you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s chaos. The House of Mercy burned down, and boys are running through the streets—”

Isaac glanced sideways at his companions.
It had been Violet who set the fire.
Saying she couldn’t tolerate leaving such a horrific place in the city, she burned everything—from the underground to the building itself.

From what he had heard, Vice Man was supposed to be a cold, ruthless criminal organization—
but apparently, that wasn’t entirely true.

“…Mm. I can’t explain everything, but yes, something like that.”
“Thank you… thank you so much.”

Mrs. Randolph clutched Isaac’s hand and burst into tears.
Her eyes were already swollen, yet the tears kept flowing without stopping.
Anyone seeing her would think the Randolph siblings had died, not returned alive.

“The children?”
“They seem shaken, but nothing too serious. We washed them and put them to bed. It looks like they hadn’t slept properly for two days.”
“That would make sense.”

Isaac muttered.

Locked inside cramped iron cages, forced to inhale drugs, trembling in fear—
there was no way they could have slept.

“How can I ever repay this kindness…? Should I prepare a meal?”
“No. No one here has much of an appetite.”

Isaac answered on behalf of the group.
Pallich avoided Mrs. Randolph’s gaze, and Violet kept her head lowered.

They had been on the same side as the marquis.
Even if they hadn’t known, because of his operations, this young woman had nearly lost her children.
Not only orphans from the slums—children who had loving parents had been kidnapped and killed simply for being beautiful.

Shock. Shame. Guilt.
Their faces showed a tangled mess of emotions.

To Isaac, that reaction wasn’t unwelcome.
At least it meant they still had some humanity left.

“But… she looks like a nun…”

Mrs. Randolph trailed off as she looked at the head nun.

The disheveled woman had her arms bound behind her back, a gag in her mouth.
She was in terrible condition.
Though she had regained consciousness, she grimaced in pain.
Cold sweat covered her face, and her complexion was pale, almost bluish—as if poisoned.

“Don’t worry about her. She deserves this treatment. More importantly, we have something urgent to discuss among ourselves. Could we borrow a room?”
“Ah—please take the room at the far end on the right on the second floor. It’s the largest.”
“Thank you.”

Isaac headed upstairs first.

Violet and Pallich, escorting the nun, followed behind.

“Thank you, Carlson.”

As Carlson climbed the stairs, Mrs. Randolph suddenly spoke.

“Ma’am… I merely followed the young master’s orders.”
“Even so. I’ve heard from Randolph what a skilled swordsman you are. Without you, the young master would have struggled.”

Though she hadn’t witnessed anything, she spoke as if she knew.

Carlson bowed his head silently and continued upstairs.

***

The four had agreed to continue their discussion in a quiet place.
But even after entering the spacious inn room, none of them spoke.

They simply took their seats—on the bed, on chairs—each lost in silence.

At the orphanage, Isaac had led them underground.
He showed them everything—the display of glass spheres, even beyond the iron door.

Pallich and Carlson remained composed,
but Violet had vomited everything she had eaten the day before.

At that time, Isaac had given her a choice:
Would she continue with the marquis… or stand with Goethe?

Violet had asked for time.

“…Will you answer now?”

At last, Isaac broke the silence.

“I… didn’t know. I knew that human trafficking happens in the slums, but at the very least… at the very least, there’s a rule never to touch children.”
“That’s not what I asked.”

Violet kept her eyes fixed on the floor, unmoving.

She wasn’t ignorant.
Life was an endless cycle of desire and suffering, and those trapped within it often became cruel.

That was why she had long since abandoned any ideals of doing good.
She had taken pride in choosing what she believed to be the lesser evil.

Joining hands with the marquis had been that choice—
or so she had believed.

But what she saw at the House of Mercy was something entirely different.

“You seem deep in thought. Well, take your time. Let’s hear from the other side first.”

Isaac removed the gag from the head nun.

“Feeling like talking now?”

“B-bastard… demon spawn… pig… you’ll rot in hell… leper… monster…”

The head nun muttered wildly.
Her jaw trembled, her lips turned blue.
Her condition was clearly deteriorating.

“Yeah. You’re upset because I beat you, huh? But if you don’t answer, you’ll feel even worse.”

Isaac drew a dagger and pressed it against her cheek.

“The swelling will go down with time. The bruises will fade. Even the cuts will heal. But if I carve you up… those scars will stay on your face forever.”

“…Young master, I understand you’re angry, but—no.”

Pallich tried to stop him but, after meeting Isaac’s eyes, stepped back.

Isaac wasn’t in a state where he could be restrained.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you? You value beauty, right?”

Isaac pressed the blade harder against her cheek.

It would cut soon. Blood would flow.

The nun’s face twisted in fear—
but something about it felt off.
It wasn’t just fear of the dagger.

“Young master,” Carlson called out.

“What happens when the artist who creates beauty has a hideous face?”
“Young master.”
“You’ll end up uglier than the men you despised.”
“Young master!”

“…Do you want to do it instead?”

Isaac snapped.

Carlson met his furious gaze calmly.

“There’s no need for that.”
“What do you mean, no need? We need to find out why the marquis built that orphanage.”
“Yes. We do. But torture isn’t necessary.”
“Why? Torturing an old woman goes against your chivalry?”
“That’s not it.”

Despite Isaac’s sharp tone, Carlson remained composed.

“Then what?”
“That woman is addicted to powder. Her withdrawal symptoms are getting worse.”

“…Powder?”

Isaac looked at the nun.

Powder—a type of drug made from low-grade mana stones with no commercial value.
It created a euphoric sensation, as if entering a new realm, which is why even some mages became dependent on it.

“Yes.”

“M-monster… stay away… please… d-don’t come…”

The nun trembled pitifully, trying to crawl away from Isaac.
She pressed herself into the corner, curled up tightly.

It was the same—

the same as the children locked in the underground cages.

The reason they were so terrified was also withdrawal from powder.

On the surface, they used mental magic, drugs, and suggestion.
Underground, they induced withdrawal symptoms so the children wouldn’t even think of escaping.

That was the “secret” behind keeping so many children in the orphanage.

“Ahhh! Bugs—bugs are eating me! Get them off, get them off! Save me!”

The nun writhed and rolled across the floor.

But no one in the room showed sympathy.
They either watched coldly or ignored her entirely.

“I brought some powder. This should be enough.”

Carlson took out a folded square of fiber paper from his coat.
When he unfolded it, a fine blue powder appeared.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“You’ll see.”

It wasn’t much—just a handful.
Carlson pinched a small amount between his fingers and sprinkled it onto the floor.

The nun instantly threw herself down and inhaled through her nose.

“Cough—! Cough—!”

But only dust entered her nose, and she coughed violently before licking the floor in desperation.

“More… more… more…”

She clung to Carlson’s leg.

Carlson sprinkled another pinch.

Again, she licked the floor.

“More… give me more…”
“Answer, and you’ll get more.”

Carlson said this while giving Isaac a glance.

“The glass spheres in the basement—who funded them? Who buys them?”

At Isaac’s question, the nun’s eyes shook violently.

Her gaze, however, remained fixed on the paper in Carlson’s hand—
on the neatly piled powder resting atop it.

“Ugh—!”

Having lost all reason, she lunged forward—but Carlson kicked her away.

“Th-the marquis told me… that they were… a very… important person.”

“If you don’t answer, I suppose I’ll have to throw the rest away.”

Carlson opened the second-floor window and lightly shook the fiber paper.
The powder slipped out and scattered into the air beyond the window.

“N-no, no, don’t!”
“Answer.”

“I—I don’t really know.”
“Only half left now.”
“I don’t know much, but…”

“A ‘very important person’?”

The nun’s eyes remained fixed on the powder.

“Who is it?”
“U-unfortunately, the marquis… d-didn’t tell me.”
“You must have some idea.”
“…I-if the marquis calls them important… it’s o-obvious.”
“Royalty?”
“Wh-what else… could it be?”
“Why would royalty have such disgusting tastes?”
“Well… people of noble b-birth… appreciate b-beauty… N-now give it to me.”

Isaac tightened his grip on the dagger.

From the future he knew, the identity of that royal was obvious.

‘The Second Prince…’

Based on what he had heard from Jonas in his previous life, there was only one possible figure.

This was enough.
He had learned everything he needed from the nun.

“Carlson. How long does it take for withdrawal symptoms to set in?”
“It depends on the dosage.”
“What about after an hour?”
“This should be sufficient. She’s already craving it because her intake isn’t enough.”

Carlson divided the powder on the paper into two.

“Then give her just that much.”

“Understood.”

Carlson threw half of it out the window again.

“W-what are you doing!?”

The nun screamed as she watched the powder scatter outside—but her shock didn’t last long.

“As promised.”

Carlson placed the paper on the floor, and the nun pounced on it, greedily inhaling the powder through her nose.

“If she needs to be dealt with, I’ll do it.”

Carlson spoke while watching Isaac, whose hand gripped the dagger so tightly it had gone pale.

“No. I won’t. At least—not with my own hands.”

Isaac withdrew the dagger.

***

Faint sunlight shattered across the cold stone ground.
A gloomy morning.

At the center of the square, a criminal was bound to a wooden post.
Her head and hands were fixed in place, unable to move, while thick ropes wrapped tightly from her waist down to her feet.

“S-save me… please… I… I…”

The criminal hung her head, her face frozen in terror.

What she saw was nothing short of hell.
The world was burning.
Strange insects crawled all over her body, eating away at her flesh.

The people passing by had horns growing from their heads.
Their skin was red, their fangs grotesque.

Everything in her vision shimmered like a mirage and was engulfed in flames.

“This woman’s name is Hindi! She impersonated the head nun of the House of Mercy of Saint Ursus and abducted boys! Furthermore! She used them for her own satisfaction and offered them as sacrifices to demons! When her crimes were about to be exposed, she set fire to the place and tried to flee the city!”

A guard shouted at the top of his lungs.

“This woman’s name is Hindi! She impersonated the head nun of the House of Mercy of Saint Ursus—!”

As one guard shouted, another repeated the same words.
They alternated, echoing the accusations.

“…Will that be enough?”

Watching from a distance, Pallich muttered.

It was less a question for someone else than one directed at himself.

…

The act of cutting off boys’ heads to make glass spheres had been described in vague terms.

[“She used them for her own satisfaction and offered them as sacrifices to demons.”]

Depending on how one heard it, it could be interpreted as something even more brutal and grotesque.

“Young lord, why didn’t you state it exactly as it was? You collected all the glass spheres, didn’t you? If you presented them as evidence, you could fully expose her crimes. You could even wipe out the marquis’s influence in the city.”

Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Pallich asked Isaac.

Before Violet burned down the House of Mercy, they had loaded all the glass spheres that could serve as evidence onto a carriage.
They had also secured ledgers written in code—bearing the marquis’s seal.

If those were made public, the very foundation of this atrocity could be uprooted.

Yet Isaac chose not to do so.

“Its too soon. Goethe doesn’t have the strength to handle it yet.”

“…Strength?”

“The one the marquis called ‘important.’ I think I know who it is. Goethe is still too weak to face him.”

“Then…?”

“We pretend not to know. His filthy hobby… his shame. If we expose it, he’ll do anything to cover it up. And the marquis still has things he needs to do for Goethe.”

“…Even if I ask, you won’t explain, will you?”

Isaac answered with silence.

“…Hah.”

Pallich let out a sigh.
Partly because of Isaac’s cryptic words—
and partly because the end awaiting the nun, Hindi, that mage mercenary, was all too obvious.

“My child—where is my child!?”
“Give Hagen back! Hagen never came home!”

Furious women surged forward.
Each of them held a blade.

The guards did not stop them.
Just as Isaac had instructed, after handing them generous silver coins.

“D-don’t come! Demons! Ugly wretches! Monsters! Stay back!”

The nun was soon surrounded by the women, screaming in terror.

“At least those women must have considered the missing children as family. But there’s no guarantee that all those disappearances were Hindi’s doing, is there? What do you think, Commissioner?”

Pallich asked.

But neither Violet, nor Isaac, nor Carlson answered.

“…Ah.”

As if realizing something from their silence, Pallich let out a quiet sigh.

From the beginning, it didn’t matter.

By then, Hindi’s screams had already stopped.

Blood seeped along the cracks of the stone pavement in the square.
It glimmered faintly in the broken sunlight.

It was a cold morning.