Translator: KJ

Maximilian's operations officer, Hans Wenzel.

He had disguised his identity as the lawyer 'Tho⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌mas Iduna'. A law office had sprung up in the Empire's 23rd District, its interior meticulously furnished as well.

Clients came and went regularly enough. Most were Maximilian's informants, but a few were ordinary people who had genuinely come seeking legal counsel.

In the midst of all this, Hans had lately sensed the presence of Georgen agents trailing him.

But he did not shrink from it. If anything, he moved all the more openly, as if to make a point of it.

He visited the site where「Alchemia」had been destroyed, gathered numerous testimonies in Niko Weber's hometown, and wrote letters petitioning the upper echelons of the Empire, including the Imperial Guard─that is, the imperial palace as well.

As a result, a response to his request for a meeting finally arrived.

It was a formal invitation from Georgen's Deputy Director, Valerian.

“Hoo.......”

One last check before setting out for Georgen headquarters.

Standing before the mirror, Hans recited the Imperial Citizenship Law and the criminal-law provisions relevant to the case. He rattled off every last one, not a single word out of place.

“......Done.”

Nodding in satisfaction, he smoothed the lines of his suit. He tucked an emergency pager into his breast pocket. He put on his shoes.

And as a well-groomed lawyer, he stepped out of the office.

.......

Georgen's headquarters had been an act of plunder from the very moment of its founding. The site was a trade facility once wrested by force from some wealthy Merin businessman and then remodeled.

The buildings, refashioned to the Imperial Guard's taste, were defined by two things, 'right angles' and 'height'.

The iron bars rose as if to pierce the sky, and every wall was sheared perfectly straight, radiating an oppressive, excessive weight.

“......Hmm.”

Deputy Director Valerian's office was more of the same, only more so. The room was cold, as though it held a chill within it, and the classical music drifting from the gramophone lent the air a needless bleakness.

Only Valerian's own expression was full of life.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Thomas Iduna. I am Valerian von Taxis.”

Having checked the lawyer's credentials, he smiled brightly and extended a hand.

Taxis, one of the Empire's most distinguished houses. He was a man who knew better than anyone the sort of intimidation his smile brought to bear on the person facing him.

“Yes. I'm Thomas, the lawyer.”

Hans took the hand and answered flatly. Valerian seemed to find his composure irritating, but gave no sign of it as he asked,

“So you wish to defend a terrorist that Georgen itself hunted down. That takes no small amount of courage.”

“Because before Mr. Niko Weber is a terrorist, he is a pure-blooded Aran.”

“Mmm~”

Valerian raised an eyebrow.

“So Georgen's methods of investigation are flawed...... or so it sounds.”

“Not in the least. This is a matter of the Empire's law and its justice. Since any Aran is entitled to the assistance of counsel, I hereby request a formal meeting with Niko Weber.”

Georgen was the hand and foot of the Imperial Guard, an institution that could seize and imprison any noble at all on the pretext of 'ideological screening'.

That a mere lawyer would come walking into so severe a place of his own accord and lecture them on rights.......

Valerian tucked the anger rising within him away behind his smile.

“Well then. Yes. I shall be only too glad to show you the way.”

“Thank you.”

Tap, tap. Valerian rapped the table twice with his fingers. The door opened and Georgen's police officers came in.

“Oh, and one more thing. Before you go, just in case, let me offer you two choices.”

“......Choices?”

“Yes. Either you go down the basement stairs just as you are and meet Niko Weber.”

Valerian's eyes, watching Hans, curved into crescents.

“Or you set down those papers, even now, and walk out of this building.”

All at once, the smile in his eyes settled into something cold.

“As for which path is the right one for your own sake, I'll leave that to your intelligence.”

“.......”

Valerian gazed steadily at Hans. Hans looked back at Valerian just the same. Rather than avoiding his gaze, he even smiled.

Valerian was the heir to the Taxis Family, a distinguished house based at the very center of the Empire. A man who had walked the Imperial Guard's elite track and claimed the Deputy Director's seat of a newly born institution.

By rank alone, the difference between them was surely as vast as heaven and earth.

And yet──

Why is it?

He wasn't afraid of him at all.

“I'll go down to the basement.”

And so, as counsel, he did not bend his resolve.

“.......”

Valerian gave the officers a look, and Hans set off walking alongside them.

“Follow me.”

──Thud. Thud.

He descended the endlessly winding spiral staircase.

──Thud. Thud.

The air grew damper by the step, and the light thinned to a faint glow.

──Thud. Thud.

Deep. Deep as a pit. Could anyone who once set foot in this place ever walk back out on their own two feet?

──Thud. Thud.

At last, the underground detention block. To the guard standing at the end of the long corridor, Hans submitted his notice of counsel's visit.

The guard worked his lips in a menacing way, as if he might spit, but opened the door without a word.

──Creeeeak

He walked a little further down the dark corridor and came to a stop before an iron cell.

“Mr. Niko Weber?”

Inside was Niko Weber, beaten to a pulp. Having taken in his condition through the bars, Hans turned to the officers and spoke.

“Get him out of there. Not in a place like this, I want him to meet with his counsel somewhere lawful and proper, as the law guarantees.”

“......Hey, mister lawyer. I don't believe this.”

One of the officers let out a dry laugh and took off his cap.

“You. You do actually know where you are, right?”

“I know exactly where I am. That's why I'm saying it.”

For an instant the officer's temple twitched. With the look of a man swallowing his anger, he signaled the guard with his eyes.

──Clang.

The cell door opened.

“Niko. Let's get you out of here first. Come on......”

Hans himself lifted Niko Weber to his feet.

* * *

I am a very wealthy man, yet even I cannot peer into the whole of this vast Empire. I cannot screen every ideology and every act of corruption. It is a physical impossibility.

Murky filth is bound to course through the veins of the golem that is the Empire, and all I do is press a finger to the pulse wherever I need it.

There was corruption at the chemical firm「Alchemia」. It was corruption of a distinctly imperial kind.

The kind of problem that becomes a problem when someone makes it one, and stays no problem when no one does.

In these times, with war looming, practically every enterprise in the Empire is exactly like that.

In the end it comes down to who makes an issue of it, and how.

The scheme was intricate.「Alchemia」purchased Mana Stones with tax support from the Ministry of Defense. On the books, they bought uniform Mana Stones produced in the Empire's interior or in the Western Kingdom, and drew the tax refunds and subsidies back in as cash.

The reality was different.

The bastards smuggled in cheap Mana Stones from the Eastern Alliance.

Eastern Mana Stones hold their Mana unevenly, but they're serviceable enough. They aren't so low-grade as to come out defective.

「Alchemia」 laundered the origin of these stones as Western-made, and cunningly masked the imperfections of Mana that arose during processing with chemical additives, keeping up the deception all the while.

The margins produced along the way passed through a string of shell companies, part of it paid up in tribute to the Imperial Guard, and part of it, no doubt, flowing into Viktor Haim's vault.

“......A cunning bastard.”

But no matter how loosely I try to string this pile of documents together, the name 'Viktor Haim' lingers as nothing more than a faint afterimage.

A thoroughness so complete that, without my memories from before the Regression, not even Dieter could have gotten so much as a lead on him.

In place of any paper trail, the bastards run a network this vast on nothing but faith in their own 'kind'.

It is one of Ezenheim's greatest weapons.

People cannot bring themselves to trust people, but Ezenheim will always trust Ezenheim.

“Get all of this to Hans.”

I set the fragments of truth in order.

“Yes, Sir.”

Under the lawyer's name, we dig up the corruption and send Anonymous Petitions to the upper ranks of the Imperial Guard and here and there throughout the imperial palace.

I can roughly guess how Georgen will react once they take the bait.

If I had to put a name to it, it's a sting operation.

An operation to seize hold of the Imperial Guard's slackened leash and rescue Niko, the hero who did something great for all of humankind.

Otherwise known as「Saving Commoner Niko」 [TL: riffs on the Korean title of the film "Saving Private Ryan."]

“Also, Sir. The analysis results have come back.”

The administrative officer held out another report. It was a compositional analysis of the Ezenheim Altar found at「Alchemia」.

“......Nothing?”

“Yes, Sir. That's correct.”

The Sentinel Mage Tower had run the analysis itself, and there was nothing.

No data had been detected.

“.......”

I stared blankly down at the empty figures.

The Virus had reacted, plainly, and yet the Empire's finest forensic instruments stayed silent.

Which means it isn't Mana.

And if it isn't Mana, then where in the world does the bastards' malice seep out from, and from where does it come flooding in?

Every marvel, every technology in this world that we know of should stem from the circulation of Mana.

“......It isn't Mana.”

I repeated it quietly to myself, but no answer came easily.

* * *

Niko Weber's counsel, Thomas Iduna.

A letter drawn up in his name was delivered to the upper ranks of the Imperial Guard.

An Anonymous Petition, urging a full investigation into the acts of corruption the chemical firm「Alchemia」had carried out and into the company's owner of unclear identity, and demanding the release of the detained Niko Weber.

“......Yes, Lieutenant General.”

'Heinrich', the Director of the political police Georgen, took a call that had come from somewhere deep within the Imperial Guard.

As he held the receiver, his expression stayed hard throughout.

“Understood. I'll carry it out just as instructed.”

Hanging up, Heinrich let out a hollow laugh. He swept his hair back as if he couldn't quite believe it.

“.......”

He sank into thought for a moment, then promptly rang Deputy Director Valerian on the internal line.

.......

Deputy Director Valerian took Director Heinrich's call.

“Yes, Director. I'll see to it accordingly.”

The instant the line went dead, he dialed somewhere else.

“Valerian speaking.”

He leaned back against the window frame at an angle. Taking in the view outside, he went on in a low voice.

“About the Niko Weber matter. The trial preparations are all finished without a hitch, I trust? Ah~ yes. Nothing much, only that the higher-ups want the terrorist dealt with quickly...... Ah~ yes, yes.”

A firm answer came from the other end.

The moment the prisoner was handed over from Georgen to the court, two days at the very most. A single day at the fastest, and the death sentence would be sealed.

“Then I'll leave it in your hands...... Ah, of course. Once this is all safely wrapped up, I'll be sure to tell my father especially of Your Honor's efforts. Indeed, is Your Honor not the steadfast pillar that upholds the Empire's judicial system?”

After trading those and other little courtesies, click.

He set the receiver down.

“Nnngh~”

Valerian stretched himself out wide, looking thoroughly satisfied.

“......Some little gnat of a bastard, buzzing about and being a goddamn nuisance~”

He hummed the words as though they were a song.

.......

The Empire. Imperial Guard headquarters.

Whirrrr── Whirrrr──

Hans waited blankly, the cool air of the window-mounted cooling unit washing over him. Seated in a chair outside the office, he had already been kept waiting a full two hours.

“Um, Attorney Thomas?”

“Ah, yes.”

The secretary had called out his false name.

“He's ready to see you now.”

“Yes.”

Following the secretary's lead, Hans stepped into the office.

Deep inside th⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌e room, beyond a needlessly large desk.

One of the Empire's heavyweights revealed himself.

Scritch- scritch-

Lieutenant General Martin Himmler, master of the Martin Foundation and a central pillar of the Imperial Guard.

Signing some document, he spoke without so much as glancing at Hans.

“Sit.”

“......Yes.”

Hans had served in the Knights and dealt with any number of high-ranking figures, but never before had he faced a general of the Imperial Guard at such close range.

“Thank you.”

Hans took the seat across from him and kept a courteous bearing.

“It's an honor to be received by you in person, Lord Himmler.”

“Spare me the pleasantries. State your business.”

Scritch- scritch-

To the man whose attention remained fixed on his papers, Hans spoke calmly.

“Have you read the letter and the evidence I sent?”

The scratching died awa⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌y.

Martin's fountain pen had gone still. He raised his head and looked at Hans. His gaze had settled into something ice-cold.

“What evidence would that be?”

“Alchemia has embezzled the Empire's taxes and smuggled in low-grade Eastern Mana Stones, defrauding the very Emp-”

“Hahaha.”

He cut Hans off with a hearty burst of laughter.

“Amusing.”

He set the fountain pen down entirely. The neatly rested nib pointed straight at Hans's heart.

“Things like the ones you've brought here amount to no problem at all in this place.”

“......What do you mean by that?”

Hans asked back, feigning bewilderment. Martin took off his glasses to clean them and replied languidly.

“It means, quite literally, that it's no problem at all. I understand that sense of justice you carry. Very fitting for a young man of the law. But the Empire does not turn on any one person's justice. It moves by one thing alone, the 'will of the Empire'.”

Martin settled the glasses back onto his face.

“Alchemia's corruption? Laundered Mana Stones? Even supposing such things did happen, the Empire has already turned a blind eye to them. It was what the Empire wanted. For the sake of a far greater cause still to come, one must sometimes forge steel even out of murky filth.”

Martin Himmler's gaze bored into Hans.

The logic of the strong alone, one that rose above any reading of the law.

......No. Sophistry.

“Alchemia was a company our Empire needed. A company that served its purpose. There is only one problem here, and that is the criminal who dared to bomb the place and throw order into disarray.”

Martin sank deep into his chair and smiled.

“Think about it. How do you suppose a mere lawyer like yourself gets to sit here alone with me right now?”

“That......”

“It's bec⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌ause you are an Aran.”

“.......”

Hans held his silence.

“It's because you are the very Aran you cry out for so loudly that I'm showing you mercy.”

At the sight of Martin like this, all at once.

'that person' whom he faced day after day came to mind.

The authority the man before him gave off seemed, at a glance, immense.......

Yet set beside 'that person', it was endlessly ugly.

A face long like some sausage. A bloated nose. Eyes murky as a fish's. A shabbily grown mustache.

“Give up the defense and go home quietly.”

However hard he strained to carry weight, no weight would settle on him.

“Go back down to your hometown and live out your days helping fellow Arans with their petty little legal squabbles.”

Set against the weight he felt at 'that person's' side, it was endlessly light.

“After all, just because they're all Arans, it doesn't make them all the same kind of man.”

Perfectly true.

Just as, to one who has looked upon the sun itself, the flicker of a candle poses no threat at all.

Hans shook his head.

“......I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I must stand in that courtroom, together with my client, Niko Weber.”

Martin's eyes narrowed.

“.......”

With expressionless eyes, he studied Hans for a long while. From that gaze, a faint malice seeped out.

“Very well.”

As if his interest had cooled, he let out a sigh and shook his head.

“If that is your choice, I'll respect it. To think, so foolish as this...... Off you go.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Hans left the office. Martin glared after his retreating figure, then picked up the telephone.

“......The man leaving right n⁠⁠⁠‌‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌‌⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠‍⁠‌‌⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠‌⁠⁠⁠⁠‌‌⁠‌‌‌⁠⁠‌‌⁠⁠‌⁠⁠‌ow.”

Martin's mouth clamped shut. Cobweb-like fine wrinkles rose across his long jaw.

“Deal with him.”

~~~

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