Internal Crackdown (3)

It looked like a dagger would fly out of Azadine’s coat at any moment and pierce Giacomo’s skull.

Even if it were something as light as a coin, if Azadine threw it with that grotesque strength of his, he could easily crack a human skull.

But what Azadine pulled out was a vial. Inside was a test batch of the Elemental Wailing cure—something Giacomo claimed he had made.

“Giacomo, even after you entrusted yourself to me, you never came to take this medicine back. Patients with Elemental Wailing are appearing, and you didn’t even test it.”

“Pardon?”

“Now that I’ve guaranteed your safety, shouldn’t you be refining this medicine closer to completion all the more? I secured you a research facility not only to turn a profit, but because I wanted you to make this Elemental Wailing medicine more reliable. Yet you never even came to retrieve it from me.”

“Ah, th-that’s….”

Giacomo flushed red all the way up to the shaved part of his scalp.

Back when he handed over that vial, Giacomo had believed he didn’t have much time left to live.

Giving Azadine the antidote had only been a childish way to substitute for the bare minimum of atonement toward a daughter who might already be dead.

If he truly wanted to save his daughter, then now that he was alive, he should have improved that medicine.

But Giacomo—while volunteering for the very same alchemy-slave path he had stormed away from, just to prove his usefulness in a new organization—had not even thought about improving the drug.

In the end, his daughter’s illness—his love for his daughter—had been nothing more than an excuse.

An excuse to give “justification” to a sudden impulse.

Because they saw that all too clearly, old hands like Rijen and Kallan had looked at Giacomo with contempt, like he was an insect.

And Azadine, too, had seen straight through Giacomo’s shallow intentions.

Realizing he had been stripped bare and thrown before everyone’s eyes, Giacomo bowed his head in shame.

“I was wrong, Captain. I said something stupid. I withdraw what I said about leaving.”

“Hm? Have you come to your senses now?”

“What a stupid move—especially for a mage.”

Rijen and Kallan didn’t look pleased, but they seemed willing to accept Giacomo’s apology.

Even Bernard only let out a sigh and held his tongue, so it looked like this would end here.

“What are you talking about? Of course you need to find out whether your daughter is alive.”

But what Azadine said next was nothing like what anyone expected.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not going to tell me you truly had no concern for your daughter’s well-being, are you?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t even know myself whether that was sincere.”

“Sure. There are plenty of blood relatives in this world who are worse than enemies. But Giacomo.”

“Yes.”

“If you deny the affection you have for your own blood just because you’re confused, you’ll regret it. That kind of bond isn’t always a volcano, blazing at full strength. Sometimes it grows so faint it feels like it’s not even there, and you yourself forget it exists… but once you lose it, you can’t take it back. You don’t just lose your daughter. You lose your humanity—part of your soul—forever.”

Azadine’s words carried a deep, bitter remorse.

‘What kind of life did he live, to say something like this while he’s still such a young human…?’

Kallan shuddered as he realized Azadine wasn’t speaking empty words—this was wisdom carved from experience.

Before being exiled here, Kallan had committed many crimes.

Crimes born from failing to overcome momentary impulses piled up one by one, until Kallan lost his humanity, lost his soul, and ended up here as an outlaw. Of course, he still took pride in having kept to a certain line—but if he had crossed even that line, he would have lost far more pieces of his soul.

“…….”

Kallan wasn’t the only one who felt it; everyone fell quiet.

“Giacomo. I will find your daughter. To be honest, I can’t be sure whether she’s alive or dead yet—but if that’s the case, I’ll at least make certain you learn which it is. So your job is to improve the medicine. And recently, patients with Elemental Wailing have appeared nearby, so you’ll have a chance to test it.”

“B-but that medicine contains angel’s blood.”

Giacomo panicked.

When he made it, the environment had been so desperate that he had moved with the mindset that he had to do something, anything.

Now that he thought about it, it was a drug made by him—an ordinary talent, not a genius like Bernard.

It might be a foolish concoction that wasted precious angel’s blood for nothing.

“Once it’s used, we can’t make more.”

“If you have angel’s blood, can’t you make it again?”

“That’s true, but… where are we supposed to get angel’s blood?”

“There’s an angel’s-blood expert, isn’t there?”

“Who?”

“Sir Sork.”

This time, Rijen objected.

“Captain! Are you out of your mind? You’re saying you’ll challenge Sir Sork again over a guy like this? Then the chain of command—”

“The chain of command will get blurred?”

Azadine gave a bitter smile. Was this even an organization old and grand enough to be talking about “chain of command”?

Still, he couldn’t ignore the position of Rijen and Kallan, who had to keep outlaws in line.

“Relax. I’m not overreaching. This will benefit us, and I have the power.”

Azadine put on a show of confidence, acting like this wouldn’t be difficult for him.

“…Well, if that’s what the captain says—the man who subdued the Chadra Five Ogres in an instant.”

Rijen accepted Azadine’s bravado.

Just then, the meeting room door flew open.

“Captain! It’s bad.”

Sir Selim, the minotaur, called out to Azadine.

“What is it?”

“Sir Azadine—one of your subordinates has betrayed you!”

“Subordinates?”

“Comek!”

The moment they heard Selim, Kallan and Rijen immediately knew who the traitor was.

The moment Sir Ject released Chashan’s gang, they went to retrieve the money and drugs they had hidden, planning to use them to hire the Cell Sword Guild.

But the Cell Sword Guild’s response was lukewarm.

“You’re saying you want to fight Sir Azadine? The guy who faced the Fimbulhorde leader and came back alive?”

“No, listen, Chashan. I’m saying this because we’re both dwarves—aren’t you messing with someone you really shouldn’t?”

“Sounds like suicide.”

Azadine’s reputation for wiping out the Chadra Five Ogres in an instant was soaring through the sky.

No matter how mercenary the Cell Sword Guild was, once they heard they were being hired to fight Azadine, everyone just shook their heads.

“Damn it. Then we’ll pick the junkies. Addicts would stab their own parents for drugs.”

“…But.”

Chashan’s brothers—the dwarven sorcerers—were hesitating, too.

Sure, drug addicts would charge even into a hell demon if you gave them drugs, but that didn’t mean they’d be useful. You couldn’t trust an addict’s capability that much.

“We don’t have to fight him head-on. There are plenty of ways—assassination, poisoning. Why is everyone so scared? What’s so special about the Fimbulhorde?”

“The half-vampire Niselda, the minotaur Selim, and the Wild Druid Sedrin all swore loyalty to him. And if you tell assassins you want to kill a Messenger-Clan member, they all just shake their heads, too.”

There was no way ordinary assassins could handle the Messenger Clan, already famous as assassins themselves.

“Tch. These bastards just take money and—”

Even meeting with the Cell Sword Guild and assassins cost operating funds. While this dragged on, Chashan’s gang was burning through their resources and growing weaker.

Then someone approached Chashan first: Comek, one of Vermilion Fortress’s squad leaders, along with his subordinates.

“Azadine? That soulless blasphemer is acting tough, but he has an absolute weakness.”

Comek came in person with his men and boasted to Chashan.

“He’s using undead in the cinnabar mine. If we report this to the King’s Church inquisitors, won’t we be able to ruin him?”

“He’s using undead in the cinnabar mine?”

But Chashan and his brothers’ faces darkened as they heard it.

‘We can make undead, sure, but beyond having them attack someone nearby, we can’t do much.’

‘If he can make them work a mine, that means he’s an absurdly skilled mage.’

‘Only orcs can do necromancy that delicate.’

After hearing Comek’s accusation, they realized Azadine was a far greater mage than they’d expected—and someone who wouldn’t hesitate to use any means necessary.

“Proof?”

“If we go to the mine right now, that should be enough. But while we’re going to check, he’ll find out.”

“So unless we report to the inquisitor right now, we won’t be able to secure evidence. Is that it?”

“Yes!”

“Then you report him to the inquisitor. Of course, I’ll pay you. Fifty gold coins up front. Another fifty if it turns out he really was operating the mine with undead labor. And another fifty if Azadine gets completely driven out because of it.”

“That’s not all. After we report him, you have to protect us. I’d like you to arrange a refuge.”

“That’s welcome on our end, too.”

If Comek was playing games and ran off, Chashan’s gang—already like a kite with its string cut—would lose face completely.

And yet the other side was volunteering to put themselves neatly in their grasp.

‘So Azadine really is that frightening.’

‘Is this okay? Are we plucking the whiskers of a sleeping lion?’

Watching how afraid Comek was, Chashan’s brothers felt uneasy.

But the water had already been spilled. With their farm lost, they couldn’t survive unless they settled things with Azadine somehow.

Azadine used undead to mine cinnabar at Vermilion Fortress.

Comek reported exactly that to Sir Ject and accused Azadine. Dark magic—especially necromancy—was the worst kind of magic, strictly forbidden by both the King’s Church and the Rescue Knights Order.

If it was true that Azadine used necromancy in private, his punishment was banishment at minimum—and usually execution.

“If this is true, it’s a good chance to recover the True New-King Scripture. We bring down Azadine and reclaim the copy of the True New-King Scripture he has. And we should confiscate every last magic book he’s carrying, too.”

Sir Ject headed to Vermilion Fortress with his subordinates and Comek in tow.

They prepared three fast horses per man and rode like a courier corps, arriving at Vermilion Fortress—where they found Azadine already back at the fortress.

“Sir Ject. What brings you here?”

“Sir Azadine. A report has come in accusing you of using dark magic.”

“Hm?”

Azadine looked at Comek, hiding behind Ject. Comek trembled with anxiety as he felt Azadine’s gaze pin him in place.

‘I-it’ll be fine, right? Once Sir Ject learns he’s using undead, he’ll execute him on the spot. A dead man can’t get back at me.’

Comek felt like his heart would leap out of his chest from fear. Then Azadine smiled.

“By any chance, was there also an accusation that I’m of the Messenger Clan?”