SOTBW - 93

“What will you do if I refuse?”

“…I’d rather not use my sword aura on my beloved disciple.”

At Taylor’s remark, the knights observing the situation stepped back. No matter how old and frail he might be, Taylor was still a Swordmaster. If he used his sword aura against Maximón, this entire area would be reduced to rubble. However, Maximón showed no intention of being dragged away by the guard captain.

Taylor let out a deep sigh, steadied his legs to keep himself from wavering, and wrapped his sword in an aura. Maximón, without fully unsheathing his own blade, quietly watched Taylor. Both of them were serious—master and disciple were truly prepared to cross swords with one another.

A chilling tension hung in the air.

Just then, a knight standing in the corner, trying to get a better view of the situation, accidentally stepped on some piled-up snow and fell. The loud noise caused everyone to turn their heads. Without a word, Maximón slid the sword he had been about to draw back into its scabbard.

A visibly anxious Olkoni cried out, “Dame Elderkerth!” and rushed forward.

The sword aura gathered on Taylor’s blade dissipated like scattered snowflakes. Olkoni barely managed to catch Taylor, who was staggering to the side. Bright red blood, thick and heavy like raindrops, dripped to the ground from Taylor’s nose. Breathing laboriously, Taylor pinched his nose to stop the bleeding.

Maximón glanced down at his fallen master before casting an inscrutable gaze at the guard captain. His moss-like eyes briefly reflected sorrow and gloom. After glancing at Taylor again, Maximón brushed aside the guards’ spears with the back of his hand.

“Let’s head to the courthouse.”

________________________________________

Maximón opened his eyes slowly, snapping out of his recollection. He hadn’t expected to be treated well, but he at least thought the questioning would take place in a proper room. Instead, they had thrown him into the underground prison, the worst part of the Noctis courthouse. The absurdity of the situation made Maximón chuckle dryly.

Admittedly, he hadn’t anticipated Nedden’s death. It was more likely that the one controlling Nedden had decided to cut their losses. But if that was their plan, why choose Nedden? Noctis Fortress was full of noble-born knights and knight commanders. There were plenty of minor noble knights with little significance.

Even if Nedden wasn’t close to inheriting his family’s title, he was still a member of the prestigious Armunzen duchy. Whoever had orchestrated this must have had a good reason for targeting Nedden—he wasn’t someone to be discarded so easily.

Or was it all planned from the start to put me in this predicament?

Witnesses claimed to have seen Maximón leaving Nedden’s residence, and several soldiers were reportedly injured trying to apprehend him there. If the fake Zelter could transform into others, it was possible they had deliberately taken on Maximón’s form to show themselves publicly.

If that were true, it explained some things—but it also raised several questions. Why attempt to kidnap Najane? Why bother transforming into the fake Zelter and intentionally revealing themselves? If they had remained hidden, Maximón wouldn’t even have noticed their existence.

As he calmly analyzed the situation, Maximón suddenly thought of Najane, who was likely waiting for him back at the residence. With a loud thud, he slammed the back of his head against the wall. By now, news of his situation must have reached Najane. What was she thinking, hearing that Nedden had been killed by him? Did she believe it? Or did she doubt it?

He didn’t care about anyone else’s thoughts. Whether the accusation was true or not, all he wanted was for Najane to trust him. As he imagined her reaction, Maximón clenched his teeth and glared at the filthy wall. If this incident cost him her trust again, he wouldn’t let the Noctis courthouse off easily. He would abandon his position as knight commander and leave Noctis with Najane.

His anger boiled over, leaving his head ice-cold. Foolish, idiotic bastards. If he had truly killed Nedden, there was no way he would have fumbled against some soldiers and run away.

Maximón briefly considered tearing apart the prison’s iron gates and escaping but soon found himself thinking of a way to use this situation to his advantage.

Perhaps he could use this as leverage to threaten his resignation from the knight commander’s post...

________________________________________

Najane stared at the Noctis courthouse with a tense expression. It was her first time here. The courthouse was far larger than she had expected, and the number of people bustling about inside exceeded her imagination.

As soon as Gwyneth stepped down from the carriage, she strode straight into the courthouse’s main building. A guard tried to stop her, but upon recognizing the archbishop’s face, he quickly stepped aside. Entering the main hall, Gwyneth turned to Jacob and Belshua.

“Your name is Jacob, correct? You should meet with the Colnux knights. They’ve likely come here to file petitions. What concerns me is their claim of having witnesses. As one of Maximón’s closest confidants, it may be uncomfortable for you to confront them, but you must verify the truth of their testimony.”

“Understood. Leave it to me.”

Jacob did not hesitate and set out to find the knights of Colnux.

Gwyneth watched Jacob’s retreating figure, then glanced at Belshua.

“Nathan’s corpse should be placed in the basement of the magistrate’s office. His severed limbs will need to be stitched together... Go check the body and join Jacob. I must meet with the Chief of Noctis. Najane, you shall come with me.”

Without looking back, Gwyneth ascended the stairs. Najane, after glancing at Belshua, followed her.

Belshua watched the two as they disappeared into the upstairs corridor, then turned around. It was his first time at the magistrate’s office, but he knew where to go to find the basement. This place, full of the living, only sharpened the distinct smell of death.

Belshua left the hall without hesitation and stepped outside. If there was a basement for storing bodies, surely the entrance would not be within the building. He headed toward the faint, chilly scent of blood, eventually finding a heavy iron door near the crematorium.

Opening the door revealed a staircase leading underground. As he descended the icy steps, sunlight streamed through a slanted, uneven ceiling.

There, two executioners were tending to a body on a long, flat stone table. Belshua made his footsteps deliberately audible. One of the executioners flinched and turned to look at him.

Only then could Belshua see Nathan, who had been obscured by the bulk of the executioners. His head lay encased in ice, and his limbs, as if cleanly severed by a guillotine, displayed unnervingly smooth cuts. Belshua’s eyes narrowed slightly at the sight.

Nathan’s end was so horrific that even an enemy might find it tragic. But Belshua, with a calm expression, approached the body.

“…Are you by chance a member of the Colnux Knights?” one of the executioners asked.

Belshua gave a half-hearted nod while inspecting the corpse. The two executioners were stitching up wounds on the limbs one by one. They likely had no idea what those wounds truly were.

The scars etched into the limbs were letters—an ancient language, forming a message. Belshua furrowed his brows, reading the tightly inscribed characters as if they had been carved with a narrow blade. After fully deciphering the text on Nathan’s body, Belshua let out a short, bitter laugh.

It had been a mystery from the start. Maximón, regardless of his identity, was a Bastronian who was not fluent in Schnellian. Why, then, had someone sent him a letter written in an ancient language, using aristocratic terms long forgotten by most? Even if it was perfectly composed, Belshua was the only person in the region who could speak ancient languages as if they were his mother tongue.

Could Kieron have been unaware of this? That snake-like man, so cunning, surely couldn’t have missed such a detail. No, the letter wasn’t meant for Maximón from the beginning.

It was for Belshua—or rather, Mahilen.

“To the one condemned to witness the end,

You will watch my sister’s suicide once again.”

Belshua felt the blood in his veins turn cold. What gave Kieron such confidence in his predictions? Staring at the wounds as though he might tear them apart with his gaze, Belshua finally averted his eyes.

Najane would not die. Not like this. She wouldn’t leave in such a hollow way. He didn’t even hope for her to call him by his real name. All he wanted was for everything to align with Sylin’s will. That was all Belshua desired, and for that, he was willing to do anything.

The relic that Aron had created was perfect. With it, Belshua had witnessed the one he loved reincarnate and die countless times, and the fate revealed by the relic had never strayed. Kieron’s existence wasn’t even entirely certain, so there was no reason to let these words unsettle him.

Yet Belshua’s eyes wavered in disarray, betraying his inner turmoil.

Najane committing suicide?

Losing her like that, once again?

He had finally found solace in the knowledge that he would no longer have to watch her die…

No. Now that she had met Maximón, no matter what happened… no matter what…

Unable to suppress his fury, Belshua slammed his fist onto the table. The stone table, meticulously crafted, cracked with a sharp noise. The startled executioners instinctively stepped back.

Belshua’s eyes briefly transformed into those of a reptile before quickly reverting to their original state. Running a hand through his hair, he looked at the executioners, who now regarded him as if he were a monster. From one corner of the basement, water began to boil, as if it sought to melt the ice.

“With that, you won’t be able to retrieve the head. You’d better ask Bishop Spello for help. Her flames might be able to melt that ice.”

With a hardened expression, Belshua left the basement. He didn’t know what methods Kieron might use, but before he lost Najane, just like Sylin, he had to find the magic stone Aron had hidden as soon as possible.

Belshua’s eyes were clouded with despair and fear, like a ship sinking in a storm. The thought of keeping his distance from Najane had long been forgotten.