Chapter 222: The Fruit of Evil Karma (4)

Spencer glanced at Curtis Pershing, Vice-Captain of the Eighth Squad, who was sitting next to him.

Sorcerer Barry, whom they had been questioning until moments ago, had been politely asked to return to his solitary cell. Apparently, realizing what the array Spencer showed him at the end was, he began to feel sick. Furthermore, Spencer pressed him at the end. Tricking him into thinking he had to testify to his "innocence" to convince the higher-ups, he managed to improve Barry's mood slightly, and the mage went back to his cell ordering them arrogantly to "hurry up."

"He was a loose-lipped man."

Sorcerer Barry seemed to believe without a doubt that he would be acquitted and released, but unfortunately, such a future would not visit him. He wouldn't face the death penalty, but starting with embezzlement, he had dipped his hands into various fraudulent activities.

The clincher was this teleportation circle. In this interrogation, it became clear that while he had no awareness of assassinating the Crown Prince, he had developed the formula recognizing it was a request for a personal teleportation circle.

If he were a Ninth Rank Sorcerer, it might be one thing, but Barry was a Second Rank Sorcerer. He was in a position to guide lower-ranking sorcerers and be a model. For a mage in such a position to be involved in the development of a teleportation circle and then neglect to check if it was registered was a major problem in itself.

And the array shown at the end was also a problem.

"I didn't think he would have forgotten the existence of that teleportation circle, though."

Curtis muttered with an exasperated look. Spencer nodded in agreement.

The second array was the one rigged into the teleportation circle that triggered Ben Draco's suspension. At the time, confusion was rampant as hands were tied cleaning up after the monster attack (Stampede). Taking advantage of that opportunity, Bergson had arranged everything to frame Ben Draco.

However, continuing the investigation in secret afterward, the teleportation circle Spencer now held was discovered. They had investigated far enough to know that this array was fused into the teleportation circle to make it look as if Ben Draco had tampered with it.

It was known that multiple sorcerers were deeply involved in that plan. And it was viewed as almost certain that Barry was one of the ringleaders. However, a confession couldn't be expected, and evidence was insufficient—until now.

"It helped that he cracked so easily. With this, we can settle things regarding Sorcerer Barry. It seems he was committing fraud and crimes without much guilt."

Tampering with a teleportation circle was one thing, but falsifying its effects to pin a crime on another person was also a serious offense.

At the very least, his magic would be sealed for life, his title as a sorcerer stripped, his assets confiscated, and he would be exiled.

"Indeed. There was a tendency for that in the preliminary investigation, but since he was convinced everything he did was correct, I think the angle of proving his innocence was effective."

"That was certainly true."

Agreeing with Curtis's words, Spencer checked the contents of the report Curtis had written. Sorcerer Barry had told them quite a lot under the pretext of clearing his name.

The magic array drawn in the documents at hand was an imitation with measures taken so no effect would appear. Originally, it was discovered by Danhill Calvert, Captain of the Royal Knight Order's Second Squad.

Apparently, there was no mistake that this magic array was led by Bergson and made in the Ministry of Magic. But strangely, this magic array was not registered with the Ministry. And the merchants the Second Squad captured were not connected to nobles. If, as Sorcerer Barry testified, physically disabled persons wished to rush to the Royal Capital and requested the creation of a teleportation circle, it should have been a guarantor-backed envoy bringing in that magic array, not a mere merchant.

Curtis tilted his head slightly.

"Captain Danhill said he obtained his sister's cooperation to discover the magic array in question. Does that mean... teleportation circles were being used around Earl Hindman?"

Earl Hindman was the husband of Danhill Calvert's older sister, Virginia, and managed a small territory in the northern region. Spencer did not answer immediately, muttering as if deep in thought.

"The Eighth Squad hasn't grasped any information, is that right?"

"—It is shameful due to our lack of ability."

At Spencer's words, Curtis made a bitter face. But Spencer wasn't blaming Curtis.

"The Captain is Marquess Scone's son, so it's hard to move; it can't be helped. Besides, the northern lords are insular, so I know investigation is difficult."

"However, I wonder if there were other methods—"

Spencer waved one hand to silence Curtis, who tried to continue words resembling repentance. Don't worry about it, he lifted the corners of his mouth.

"In any case, we just have to investigate which of the northern lords are traitors. At the very least, whether there is anyone with rebellious intent is the key. Investigate the lords, and even if they don't have that intent, investigate the people around them. Fortunately or unfortunately, this teleportation circle will undoubtedly be a catalyst."

Saying this, Spencer lightly tapped the documents at hand. Curtis nodded deeply.

From the testimony of the merchants captured by the Second Squad, there was no mistake that northern lords were involved. The merchants' testimony was vague, but sneaking into the Royal Capital holding the "Investiture Ceremony" with hidden teleportation circles could only be thought of as plotting something untoward.

Considering the timing, they should investigate assuming there was malice toward Crown Prince Riley. Above all, the Grand Duke's faction nobles had tried to assassinate Riley numerous times.

"I will investigate the relationship between the northern lords and Bergson as well."

"Ah, I'm counting on you."

They had already determined that Bergson had privatized the Ministry, using mages as he pleased to line his own pockets. Looking at this case, it was clear he had made mages cooperate without revealing the full picture of the plan. Being close with Earl Melers, the possibility that he knew he would be playing a part in the assassination of the Crown Prince was high. From the fact that he plotted the King's assassination and placed a long-term cursing spell, Bergson would likely cooperate in the Crown Prince's assassination without guilt.

Spencer smiled at Curtis, who was enthusiastic about finding the connection on the honor of the Eighth Squad.

****

Dragged out of the Throne Room, Ministry of Magic Director Nicolas Bergson sat on a small bunk in a dim, gloomy cell, shrinking his body. The narrow underground cell was made of stone, and if he strained his ears, he could hear the sound of water dripping in the distance. The wind that blew through occasionally seemed to amplify the dread.

Moreover, the cell had only a simple bunk and a hole for relieving oneself.

"I'm being treated just like a criminal!"

Bergson shouted with veins popping on his forehead. However, the knights who brought Bergson had already locked up and left. Even if he complained, there was no one to listen.

He was confined in the dungeon near the Royal Knight Order's barracks. If it were a high-ranking noble, even a criminal would be confined in a reasonably furnished room. However, Bergson, originally of commoner birth, was brought to the same place as common criminals. Although he complained, the knights who interrogated him paid Bergson no mind at all.

"Unforgivable—I won't forgive this, treating me with such disdain."

Though he chanted curses, real magic and curses couldn't be used at all because of the magic-sealing shackles. Originally, his ability in magic and curses was only slightly above the average mage. No matter how much he resisted, he could only glare resentfully at the magic-sealing shackles.

After being dragged from the Throne Room, Bergson was interrogated at the Royal Knight Order's barracks. A total of three knights took turns interrogating him in pairs. The content asked was monotonous, focused only on whether Bergson placed the curse on the King by his own decision or if he was asked by someone. Even if the phrasing changed, the intent remained the same. And Bergson never tried to open his mouth to those questions.

"Who would tell the likes of you lowly commoners?"

Bergson placing the curse on the King was, of course, not his own decision. But the person who proposed the talk to him had already passed away.

Even if Bergson spoke that person's name, Bergson's death sentence was almost certain. When he asked if his crime would disappear if there was a mastermind and he revealed their name, the knight handling the interrogation had the gall to ridicule Bergson. He said such a thing was impossible.

In that case, it was better to act suggestively and not confess the mastermind. The knights must have been strictly ordered to extract the mastermind's name. Then, hiding the name of the person who requested the King's assassination must be the only way to prolong his life.

If his life was prolonged, he might be able to escape this cell, slip through the eyes of the Knight Order, flee to a neighboring country, and build a fortune again.

Guu, his stomach growled. Bergson grimaced bitterly.

"Totally infuriating. I have contributed to the country as Ministry Director for so long, yet there is a lack of respect for me."

Thanks to the interrogation, Bergson hadn't even had lunch. He was told he could eat if he spoke the mastermind's name, but Bergson's pride would not allow him to be thought of as someone who would open his mouth for food. That would be like proclaiming himself to be on the same level as a hungry brat from the slums.

However, even though today's interrogation ended and he was put in the cell, the meal served was terribly meager.

Hard bread and nearly tasteless medicinal soup alone wouldn't fill his stomach. For Bergson, who usually ate his fill of well-spiced meat dishes, the dinner served was no longer something he could call a meal.

Letting out an irritated sigh, Bergson unconsciously rubbed his belly. His fat-swollen belly jiggled. Feeling the cold, Bergson pulled the worn, dirty blanket close. He wrapped it around his body, but it wasn't enough to stave off the cold felt in the stone dungeon.

Due to the cold and hunger, Bergson couldn't sleep. The built-in bunk was hard and cold to begin with. For a commoner, it might just be a bit uncomfortable, but for Bergson, accustomed to luxury, it was nothing but torture.

"Are you telling me to sleep in a place like this!"

Giving in to his irritation, he slammed his hand against the bunk. But only his hand hurt, increasing his annoyance.

"It can't be helped. Even if I'm told it's just for one night, the very fact of being shoved into a place like this is displeasing."

Groaning low, Bergson stood up from the bunk and stood near the iron bars. Grasping the bars with both hands, he glared at the corridor outside the cell. But the dungeon was terribly dark. Candles lit by magic were scattered about, but they couldn't possibly illuminate the entire corridor.

"Hey! Someone, is anyone there!"

Bergson shouted. He had assumed a guard would be there, but there was no reaction even after waiting a while.

Only then did Bergson feel something was wrong. Being the dungeon in the Royal Knight Order's barracks, it was strange that there were no guards or sentries.

"—Why?"

Bergson tilted his head, wondering what on earth had happened. However, there was no rational thought in his head.

"Could it be, Earl Melers' arrangement—?"

Bergson smirked. If his deduction was correct, Earl Melers must have arranged things to save Bergson.

When he was being condemned by the Crown Prince in the Throne Room, Earl Melers never tried to meet Bergson's eyes. He was angry at the time, but thinking about it now, it was natural.

"It was almost certain I would be found guilty then—in that case, it would be less dangerous to not object at the time, let Their Highnesses lower their guard, and come to save me afterward."

But in that case, there should be someone coming to unlock the cell. Bergson fidgeted and sat back on the bunk. If Earl Melers' messenger was really coming, it was better to appear composed rather than show he was waiting impatiently.

Though he thought that, the flow of time afterward was so slow that even a few moments felt like hours.

And how much time passed—Bergson, who was dozing off, woke up to the sound of footsteps on the stone pavement. The sound echoing high in the dungeon approached at a steady pace.

"Here at last."

Bergson let out a sigh of relief. But he didn't want it known that he was relieved. putting on a stern face as best he could, he glared at the figure standing before the cell.

"Who goes there?"

Just in case, he challenged the figure. In the dark dungeon, he couldn't make out the new arrival's face. The clothes worn were those of a servant working in the palace, but all he could tell was the build. But knowing that much was enough.

Not a guard, not a sentry, and not a knight. There was no reason for a servant working in the palace to come to the dungeon. In other words, that person was proof backing Bergson's deduction.

"Good grief, can't you even speak?"

Bergson spat irritably. Believing the person was of lower status than himself, he decided to take an arrogant attitude.

Standing up roughly from the bunk, he approached as if to glare up at the man slightly taller than himself.

"You are a messenger from Earl Melers, aren't you? I am the Ministry of Magic Director. Normally, the likes of you wouldn't even be permitted to call out to—"

To call out to me, Bergson tried to say, but his mouth froze open in a circle.

The figure wearing the clothes of a palace servant hid half his face with a black mask. However, staring at that face up close, Bergson recognized it.

"Wouldn't even be permitted to call out to you, was it?"

There was no fear in the voice of the man asking back leisurely. Rather, it was a voice accustomed to intimidating others.

"No—that is, well—"

Bergson scrambled to think of an excuse, but due to the magnitude of the shock he received, he couldn't form any words.

Feeling a different kind of fear from what he felt in the Throne Room, Bergson gasped softly.

"I shall praise you for not mentioning that person's name. Though, even if you couldn't bear the interrogation and tried to speak it, it wouldn't have been granted."

"S-Surely not!"

Bergson shook his head desperately. I am innocent, he wanted to claim.

It wasn't calculation or anything, purely out of thought for him that I didn't speak his name—he wanted to claim that, but the masked man permitted no lies.

And finally, Bergson realized. As he understood the man's words, the blood drained from him. It was a wonder he could stand; Bergson's body was trembling minutely.

"W—Wait, surely that—'even if you wanted to speak, you couldn't have' means..."

"Oh, you hadn't realized?"

The masked man raised his voice as if genuinely surprised. However, he immediately floated a smile on his lips.

"Indeed, a caster of your level wouldn't even be able to judge if that spell had vanished or persisted. No, inferring from your state, did you perhaps think the spell vanished the moment you heard of that person's obituary?"

Bergson opened and closed his mouth meaninglessly. He wanted to say something, but no voice came out at all. Bergson learned for the first time that when feeling true terror, a person cannot even move their limbs properly.

"It hasn't vanished. Neither he nor I would make such a mistake."

Unlike you, the masked man sneered viscously.

"Your mistake was being too greedy. Had you known your place and lived modestly, perhaps a minimum level of happiness might have been promised."

At the whispering voice, Bergson realized his blunder. And he understood his misunderstanding.

The masked man watching Bergson through the iron bars had certainly not come here to save Bergson. Rather, the opposite. He came to this dungeon—to seal his mouth.

With his cheeks twitching, Bergson shouted, his voice cracking.

"Someone! Someone, there's an intruder! Come here! Won't someone come!!"

Bergson's desperate screams only echoed emptily in the dungeon. Watching that spectacle leisurely, the masked man laughed, shook his head, and sighed theatrically.

"Even if you raise your voice, help isn't coming. If there were guards or sentries, I couldn't be here either. Can you not even realize something of that level?"

Ah, because you don't understand even that level, you've invited this current situation, the masked man muttered in an exasperated voice. Then, he took one step away from the iron bars.

"Hypothesizing about the past cannot change the present, but—if you had checked your own neck at an early stage, perhaps you wouldn't have thought to take careless actions."

Saying that, the masked man lightly tapped the back of his own neck. Then, he lifted the corners of his mouth elegantly.

Bergson, staring blankly at the scene, slowly lifted his right hand with the magic-sealing shackle. Touching the nape of his neck with a trembling hand, it felt terribly hot.

"To the traitor, a purge"

Instantly, Bergson felt a piercing pain in his neck.

"A—Ahhh!?"

Unable to withstand the intense pain running through his spine, he dropped his knees to the stone pavement. The impact was more severe than when he was forced to his knees in the Throne Room, but the pain spreading from his neck to his whole body was stronger, so he didn't even mind his bleeding knees.

"Guh—ah, ee!"

Rolling his whole body onto the stone floor, he desperately pressed his neck. But the pain, far from subsiding, only got worse. At first, only the back of his neck hurt, but before he knew it, the intense pain spread to his throat as well. Scratching with both hands, blood flowed from his neck.

Looking down at Bergson's fat body writhing in pain, the masked man gave a small snort.

"You should just suffer and writhe like that as you head to the netherworld. That suits you."

Throwing those words away, the masked man turned on his heel.

"Wai—!!"

The moment he tried to stop him, severe pain piercing his body caused his whole body to convulse. Leaking fluids from every orifice in pure agony, Bergson writhed in suffering.

He was released from the torture that lasted forever only when the night passed and the sun revealed its form—the guard who came with breakfast discovered Nicolas Bergson, dead with an expression of agony on his face in the dungeon. 

---

Toc

Chapter 223