Translator: KJ

Patter....... patter.......

The Robrus Northern Prison, where an ominous sleet trickled down. The warden's office, utterly cut off from the outside world.

Warden Petrin glared at Maxim─Yelena in disguise─who sat across the desk.

"......So the Party's central command has me in its sights."

A deep crease furrowed the warden's brow, but he soon let out a hollow laugh and asked.

"On what grounds are you spouting this garbage? Do you even know who I work for?"

"It's simple."

Yelena leaned back languidly against the chair.

"Where was your grandfather from, Warden?"

In that instant, the warden's face hardened. The immigrants who had crossed into the East decades ago, fleeing the Empire's oppression. The warden's grandfather, too, had been an Imperial who settled in Robrus amid that tide.

"......That's right. My grandfather was from the Empire. That was decades ago, nearly a hundred years now. And you're saying that's grounds for purging me?"

Yelena nodded.

Just as the Empire hunted down and killed Subspecies, the Eastern Alliance was, in truth, no different. The Premier's Great Purge would snuff out millions of lives.

"You know how it is. These days, even the smallest connection to the Empire is enough to get a man dragged off to a Labor Reeducation Camp. Do you really think you'd be an exception, Warden?"

The warden struggled to keep his composure, but the fingertips resting on the desk trembled faintly.

"And so. You're saying you can defend me?"

At the question, Yelena twisted up the corner of her mouth.

"Think of it as taking out the barest minimum of insurance. In an age like this, a personal lawyer might not be optional anymore."

"......."

The warden glared at Yelena.

Tap. Tap. He drummed his fingers on the desk, then pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips.

Yelena leaned forward and flicked a lighter. Flick. Hiss. Her flame touched the warden's cigarette.

The warden let out a short snicker.

"......Fine. Let's say I do need you. What is it you're after?"

"One of the East's many Labor Reeducation Camps, perhaps two. I want to be the master of such a place."

The warden's eyes went round. For a while he said nothing, then sucked in a startled breath.

"Ha!"

An incredulous laugh filled the warden's office.

"Quite the lofty dream, isn't it?"

"It's been my dream for a long time. To build my own domain in some barren, freezing place, free from anyone's interference...... well, something like that."

"I could throw you behind bars this very second for an ambition like that."

The warden's warning blended into the cigarette smoke.

"You're welcome to."

Yelena smiled.

The warden waved a hand as if she weren't worth the trouble, but she had something to lean on.

Because soon, before long, 'he' would be arriving at this place......

* * *

The Empire's oppression crushes any human who defies the regime.

Forbidden books. Forbidden theories. Forbidden ideologies. The people who could not endure that suffocating tyranny and turned their backs on their homeland are beyond counting. This is true not only of the Pure Aran the Empire holds sacred, but of the other persecuted races and Subspecies as well.

Naturally, the Empire moved to stop their emigration. It levied a tax called the Imperial Defection Tax, and against those who were openly anti-establishment, it imposed an Exit Ban.

And yet, those who, to survive, or to chase after their own convictions, fled beyond the Empire to the West, to Canilan, and to here, the Eastern Robrus. The ones who proclaimed themselves the 'Imperial Communist Party', who followed and exalted the system of the East......

Thump──

The Balshor Theater. Right now, a performance by the National Ballet Company was in full swing.

Dancers in pure-white ballet costumes leapt, slicing gracefully through the air, and alighted as lightly as feathers. It was a delicate, dynamic art sculpted by the human body.

And yet, behind those flowing motions, a killing intent lay tucked away. The fact that some of the dancers performing on the stage were 'Adversaries' was common knowledge, made public after the fall of the Empire.

Thump──

My heart pulsed.

There is a great deal of Ezenheim in this place.

Thump──

For the record, Zerov was not here.

He's probably gone off to discuss my proposal.

Thump──

I sat alone in the VVIP balcony seat, dissecting the dancers' movements as if to take them apart. The precisely controlled expansion and contraction of muscle, and through those minute gaps, the soft flow of Mana seeping in.

Honestly, this is the first ballet performance I've seen in my life.

But as I watch th⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌eir perfectly controlled movements, the way to graft them onto my own sword and bearing comes to me with the most effortless ease.

As the next House Head of Ebenholtz, I must one day perfect a swordsmanship of my own.

The ultimate essence pursued by the secret arts of Ebenholtz is─ an elegance without a single flaw. A precision that, never going against the flow of nature, severs the enemy's breath along the most beautiful arc.

Thump──

Taking into my eyes the lines they traced across the stage, I focused on my own thoughts.

.......

Before I knew it, the ballet performance had ended.

Guided by the theater's director, I made my way backstage, to the waiting room. I exchanged light greetings with the sweat-soaked dancers.

──Thump.

Among them, of course, was Ezenheim mixed in. Each time I smiled and clasped the creatures' hands, murderous intent rose in me, but for now there was nothing to be done. I simply maintained the bearing of a noble.

Afterward, Zerov, who had stepped away, returned.

His expression was even harder than when I had first put the proposal to him. He led me into a private meeting room sealed with soundproofing magic.

─Scratch. Ssss-crackle!

The moment he sat down, Zerov struck a match and lit his cigarette.

Sssssss.......

Acrid smoke curled upward. Robrus tobacco didn't smell particularly good. Coarse, bitter, vile. A low-grade stench no one would care to breathe in.

Zerov fixed his gaze on me and slowly opened his mouth.

"Lord Ebenholtz. At present, our Labor Reeducation Camps hold a great many immigrants who once came over from the Empire."

It was the opening I had expected.

"From the Empire's standpoint, they'd be Reactionaries, thorns in its side, wouldn't they?"

"You could say that."

At my answer, Zerov's eyes curved sharply.

The Eastern Alliance does not trust the Empire's immigrants. Because of Premier Varmil's paranoid suspicion—or at least, what appears to be such—anyone branded with the label of 'immigrant', intellectual or laborer alike, is being dragged off in the bitter winds of the Great Purge.

"So then. In exchange for handing them over to the Empire."

Zerov leaned over the table and got to the heart of the matter.

"The bloodline of the old monarchy and the remnants of the nobility, who fled to the Empire during the Eastern revolution of the past."

Robrus had originally been a monarchy. When Varmil rose to power through a bloody revolution, there were power-holders of the old era who escaped execution by seeking asylum in the Empire.

"A fair number of them are still alive and breathing in the Empire's heartland."

Zerov's deal.

We'll hand over the Empire's anti-establishment figures, so you give up Robrus's anti-establishment figures.

"Very good. That's reasonable."

I nodded with a smile.

Handing the remnants of a fallen kingdom over to the East and reclaiming the Empire's own people seems, in terms of both principle and practical gain, like a fairly decent bargain.

"However."

I laced my fingers together and looked Zerov straight in the eye.

"There is one more person I want, personally."

"......Personally, you say?"

"Yes. The terrorist who once masterminded the bombing of the Empire's Central Station."

My voice cut through the stale air of the chamber.

"It seems that traitor's descendant fled to Robrus and has been living here under a laundered identity."

Zerov's brow tightened. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.

"And who would that be?"

With a generous smile, I named the very place toward which Yelena had headed.

"Petrin Miller. I'm told he's currently serving as warden of the Robrus Northern Prison."

In that instant, Zerov's face wavered.

Zerov Nikolai. Even as he hungered to be Varmil's second-in-command and purged all manner of people in the Great Purge, he kept a third-generation Imperial as his own right-hand man.

That was the very reason I 'deliberately' proposed this particular deal to him.

* * *

......The rumor was relayed in an instant. The deal with Maximilian spread through the Party as an open secret. At the various Labor Reeducation Camps of Robrus, laborers of Imperial origin were being sorted out, and at the Party's center, a meeting was convened.

"Petrin Markovich Miller. Northern Prison Warden. Descendant of an Imperial immigrant."

The round table of the Party Central Committee. 'Geor Goda', Zerov's bitter rival, set down a sheaf of documents with a sharp slap and sneered.

"I never trusted the bastard to begin with. An Imperial mongrel bastard down to his very roots, after all."

The condition of Maximilian's deal was Petrin, warden of the Robrus Northern Prison.

"......."

Suppressing his boiling anger, Zerov glared at Geor. Petrin was Zerov's right-hand man. After all, he was the source of the 'Kickback' money that flowed into Zerov's secret vault.

"And as it happens, a whole list of reactionary charges has just been filed against him."

A report had come up from one of Geor's own direct subordinates.

A blatant political maneuver to sever Zerov's funding and rein in his power.

"......Is there really any need to hand a capable warden over to those Imperial bastards? We could just toss them any old nobody and be done with it."

Zerov countered as gently as he could manage, but Geor snorted as if he'd been waiting for it.

"That Imperial knight bastard has gone and named him specifically, so what would you have us do? If we want back the old-era remnants they're holding, we'll have to show some fitting good faith in return."

Heh-heh-heh. A snake-like sneer slithered up from the base of Geor's throat.

"Or what, Commissar Zerov. Do you mean to dare defy the will of His Excellency the great Premier?"

The will of the Premier. At those words, Zerov's jaw twitched as if in a spasm.

"Commissar Zerov. Think carefully. You can't very well let yourself rot away too, clutching a hunk of meat that's already dead, now can you."

Geor shook his head from side to side, feigning regret.

"Ah, I'll be off then. I'v⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌e got another appointment......."

And with that, he rose and left the meeting room ahead of the others.

──Grrrnch.

Zerov ground his teeth, glaring murderously at Geor's retreating back.

.......

Yelena knew the man called Zerov.

She knew every one of his hidden webs of power, the entire roster of his confidants.

And so, naturally, she could not help but know that Warden Petrin, too, was one of Zerov's confidants.

Because she was no fool.

Her own Yumanov Family had been wiped out to the last by those people, but back in those days, her guard against political rivals had been without a single gap.

"......."

Yelena gazed quietly at Warden Petrin, seated across from her.

His full name was Petrin Markovich Miller. The surname 'Miller' was a Robrus-style alteration of the Imperial 'Müller'.

"Well now, just the other day you were acting like you'd toss me in prison on the spot. Why the sudden summons?"

Last week, Ye⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌lena had been thrown out with nothing but a single business card left behind.

"......."

Today, Warden Petrin had summoned her himself.

"What's the matter, did you come down with some grave illness?"

Despite her sarcasm, Petrin struggled to keep his composure, but his face was already pale, as though he'd gone several nights without sleep.

"Warden. Can you not hear me, by any chance?"

"Shut your mouth."

"Ah, yes."

"......I've verified every bit of your identity."

Fwssh!

Petrin flung a bundle of documents onto the desk. They were forged papers that Maximilian's spies had prepared to perfection.

Date of birth, of course, but also place of birth, university graduation certificate, bar license, even the most trivial movements, every last bit of it.

No doubt they had stolen some real person's identity wholesale and pasted it over hers.

"But here's the thing, lawyer. What you babbled at me a few days ago was wrong."

"Wrong, you say?"

"It's true that bastard Ivan reported me to the Party. But what's bearing down on me right now...... what I'm facing isn't some petty rat's accusation. It's something far, far bigger......."

Petrin let out a heavy sigh and stopped speaking. The two hands he'd rested on the table were trembling. To keep them from being seen, he lowered them out of sight.

"Some...... goddamn tank of a man suddenly showed up."

A tank.

Yelena's eyebrow twitched at the rather weighty word.

"......A tank?"

At that, in the rough accent peculiar to the East, Petrin ground out a man's name as if chewing it to pieces.

"Maximilian Ebenholtz."

The moment the name she'd been waiting for came out, Yelena swallowed a laugh inside.

Instead, she feigned shock, her eyes flying wide, performing a look of astonishment.

"Maximilian...... you mean that knight from the Empire?"

"That's right. That mad Human Butcher, the very one."

Petrin bit down hard on his lip.

"The goddamn bastard came all the way to the East and still means to slaughter us......"

His cheek quivered. Yelena watched him steadily.

All of it was exactly as Yelena had foreseen.

The reason she had gone so far as to risk her life and crawl all the way into this Northern Prison.

The reason she had set the meeting place here and approached this man, Zerov's confidant.

Every last one of those intentions, from beginning to end, was─

Bang─!

The iron door of the warden's office flew open and a subordinate came rushing in.

"W-Warden! People from the Party center have arrived! And......."

Gulp- a dry swallow forced its way down.

The terrified voice continued.

"They say the Empire's Knight Maximilian is with them."

This, precisely, was what had been planned from the very start.

Something Maximilian and Yelena had quietly orchestrated together─ a collaboration.

"......."

Petrin, gone deathly pale, shot up from his seat. With bloodshot eyes he glared at Yelena and growled.

"I'm going to introduce you to them as my lawyer."

He seized Yelena by the collar in an iron grip and hauled her to her feet.

"And if you fail to defend me."

As far as Yelena herself was concerned...... well. What good a mere lawyer would be in front of Maximilian, a power player of the Empire, and the Party cadres of Robrus.

"Then you, too, will die here with me today."

It didn't matter.

The situation was already unfolding exactly according to the script as arranged.

"Let's go, then."

"......Follo⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌w me."

──Trudge. Trudge.

Petrin stumbled again and again, as if the strength had drained from his legs. Yelena followed behind him, drawing a deep breath.

──Trudge. Trudge.

'From here on, I will save Petrin from Maximilian's threat, and Petrin will come to trust me.'

──Tr⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌‌udge. Trudge.

'That, right there, is the new starting point for 'us'.'

~~~

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