Chapter 024: The Night of Resistance (2)
I entered the building under a menacing escort.
The interior exuded the atmosphere of a dark, secretive chamber.
The cold air was thick with the acrid smell of metal.
“Come in. I’ve been waiting.”
Roxley, seated on a leather sofa in the lobby, stood up to greet me personally.
In the shadowed corners, his subordinates stood like statues, waiting.
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
Each of Roxley’s steps echoed with a heavy metallic sound.
He was clad in suffocatingly heavy plate armor, polished to a dazzling sheen that covered him up to his chin.
I shook his outstretched hand but couldn’t help commenting first.
“Preparing to fight me, are you?”
“Hahaha! A jest. I have my reasons today. Sit, for now.”
It looked like even holding his head up was a struggle.
The armor left no gaps at the joints, exposing only his face and smooth scalp.
Sssshhh.
Roxley’s son, who had escorted me, poured wine with one hand tucked behind his back.
He distributed glasses to me and his father in turn before quietly stepping back.
As I swirled my glass, Roxley, who had taken a sip first, gestured invitingly.
The father and son were mimicking Imperial etiquette quite convincingly.
The taste… well, mediocre.
When I set my glass down, Roxley leaned back loosely on the sofa.
The sound of the fine leather creasing was oddly pleasant.
“It should suit your palate. That’s Imperial wine. A rare gift from Miss Jewelina. This Kingdom’s lands rarely produce wine. So uncouth. Tsk.”
This time, Roxley stroked the armrests of the sofa with both hands.
“This demonic beast leather sofa was also a gift from Miss Jewelina. For my birthday last year. Heh, she remembered something I mentioned in passing… Anyway, I adore it. Take a look at that, too.”
He pointed somewhere high on the wall.
Following his finger, I saw a taxidermied creature—part boar, part wolf, part demonic beast—with its maw gaping wide.
It blended so well with the grim indoor atmosphere that it felt entirely natural.
“Purchased at a high price from an auction in the Imperial capital, I’m told. I marvel at it every time. Yet, it’s also a pity. Why can’t the Kingdom’s artists create such masterpieces? Why do they all lack the spirit of craftsmanship…? What do you think?”
“Seems you have a taste for Imperial culture.”
“You think that’s all?”
Roxley smirked, clearing his throat. What was he up to?
Suddenly, he started tapping a rhythm.
“Sst, tat-tat— Sst, tat-tat—”
“……”
“O Archangel Michael, protect us in battle—”
The Hymn of Saint Michael.
An Imperial traditional song no Imperial citizen could fail to recognize.
Hearing my homeland’s song in this foreign land didn’t stir any deep emotion; the clumsy pitch and accent made it painful to endure.
Worse, Roxley was so immersed, furrowing his brow, that interrupting him was impossible.
To top it off, his son joined in, adding harmony.
“With the power of Lord Asriel—”
“Cast them into hell—”
Was this what a pig’s squeal sounded like?
I hid my true feelings and clapped for the father and son.
“Splendid.”
“Thank you. I’m embarrassed. It’s a song that’s hard to pull away from once you’re caught up. I hope I didn’t make a fool of myself.”
“How did you learn that song?”
“I studied it. I can’t forget the resonance I felt when I first heard it. Tears welled up unbidden.”
“……”
The Empire and Jewel had crafted a monstrosity here.
I didn’t know their purpose in buttering this man up, but if this knight survived until war broke out, he’d surely emerge not as a Langster Faction loyalist but as a fervent Imperialist.
“Ahem, ahem. I’ve prattled on too much. So, what brings an Imperial lord like you here alone?”
No need to delay.
I got to the point.
“I’m curious about the whereabouts of the Imperials taken during this tribute. Can you tell me?”
“…The whereabouts of the Imperials?”
Roxley frowned, glancing briefly at his son standing behind him.
After a quick exchange of looks, they focused back on me.
“Did Miss Jewelina tell you to find out?”
“Would that change your answer?”
I employed Jewel’s signature tactic—answering a question with a question—and took a sip of wine.
Ugh, I forgot. Cheap taste. Roxley scratched under his eye awkwardly.
“No, it’s just… unexpected, I suppose. Miss Jewelina has never asked about this before.”
“She hasn’t?”
“May I ask what your exact relationship with Miss Jewelina is?”
He pointed at his chin, indicating me, as if to confirm my identity again.
I grabbed a handful of my overgrown left hair, which I hadn’t trimmed lately, and swept it back to reveal my Outer Hoop.
“With your deep appreciation for Imperial culture, I trust you’ll recognize it. Fundamentally, there’s a gap in status between Jewelina and me. I’d prefer you avoid probing too deeply. Understand me as someone dispatched from the homeland to temporarily oversee the trading company.”
“A young man… with a bright future ahead.”
“I won’t deny it.”
Well, I could manage this level of improvisation.
My goal was clear, so being brazen wasn’t hard.
Roxley gave a satisfied smile and rose from the sofa.
“Shall we talk while we walk?”
His tone and actions grew more courteous.
In that moment, I felt grateful to Jewel.
Without her, I wouldn’t have been seasoned in these matters. …I’ve gotten quite thick-skinned myself.
* * *
“Useful women or obedient men were kept or sold as needed. The rest were taken by the transporters, as planned.”
Roxley and I walked side by side through a corridor designed like a secret passage within the building.
Paintings in frames lined both walls along the long hallway.
“Transporters?”
“Ah, their term. The ones who deliver offerings to the factions. Cleanly, without a trace.”
The dimly lit corridor was illuminated only by lights highlighting the paintings. Shadows fell over Roxley’s grinning face.
“Can you tell me which faction?”
“Transporters can’t be tracked.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re the shadows of grand wizards. They exist in the world, yet they don’t.”
His resonant voice and footsteps echoed in my ears.
He was confessing so readily that it didn’t seem like he was lying.
“Have you always handled people this way?”
“Yes. Usually, more are handed over to the transporters.”
“…What do you gain from this?”
Halt.
Roxley stopped walking.
I stopped too, and so did his son, trailing a few steps behind.
“You ask as if it’s news.”
Roxley’s gaze was directed at me—or rather, at a frame on the wall beside me.
Unusually large compared to the others, it contained a painting with a familiar religious style.
“The Blood Devil. The Empire’s sacred demon.”
Despite the yellowed, aged canvas, the red hues remained vivid.
Staring into the demon’s glowing pupils, which seemed ready to ignite, I spoke.
“A demon, sacred? That’s quite a wordplay.”
“Heh. Oral legends are a matter of interpretation. You asked what I gain?”
Roxley’s fingertips traced the frame. His shadowed face bore a vile smile.
“Opportunity. The chance to bask in glory in my time and have my life’s path judged by posterity.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not something to say in front of you, my lord… but soon, great chaos will descend on this land, won’t it? The Empire’s tidal wave will erode the Kingdom’s many cliffs.”
“……”
“I don’t want to be a cliff exposed above the sea but a hidden reef below. Someday, far in the future, I wish to be the foundation of an island that rises again… a reef.”
“So, you’ll side with the Empire to survive and plan for the future?”
“Let’s say I’ve earned the right to stand before history’s judgment.”
He spoke of betraying his country with such elegance.
Well, this type wasn’t unfamiliar. I recalled the various human archetypes born of war.
‘Does he know a war is coming soon?’
Jewel hadn’t explicitly mentioned war either.
Of course, she never said it outright, but her actions always hinted at the Empire’s invasion of the Kingdom.
‘War doesn’t erupt overnight out of nowhere.’
By now, some nobles in the Kingdom’s west might have caught wind of it.
But this was Conwell, in the east, the opposite side of the war’s outbreak.
‘How should I interpret this traitor’s foresight?’
But first… let’s be honest.
The root of all this is clearly the Imperial Court.
I neither deny nor pretend to ignore this fact.
It’s just… an Imperial warrior, an Imperial noble, the Benkou family of the Empire.
I’ve never once imagined ‘myself’ outside the Empire’s shadow.
To go further, to raise a sword against the Empire?
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Damn it, again… my heart races.
‘You knew you’d have to choose eventually.’
When was it? When I returned to the Kingdom? No. From the moment I regressed.
—Foolish swordsman, this is chivalry. The true path a swordsman must walk.
—You’re a star, little one. That’s how you live. As someone who shines brightly.
—I don’t forget kindness. Even if it means turning my back on the world.
…Pathetic. I decided long ago.
Don’t act like a fool again, Bihen.
“…My lord? Why are you suddenly smiling?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Hm, well… When you return to the homeland, I trust you’ll remember my loyalty and true intentions toward the Empire.”
Roxley bowed slightly.
His puffed cheeks and protruding eyelids were the epitome of a man brimming with ambition.
I barely restrained the urge to punch his jaw.
After all, this toad-like man had, in his way, sparked an awakening in me.
As they say, even dog dung has its medicinal use.
‘Still, since I’ve come this far, I’d like to leave with something.’
I looked at Roxley with newfound interest.
“A pity, Sir Roxley. Intentions aren’t everything, are they? Without pinpointing the exact whereabouts of the offerings, I fear our superiors might question your usefulness. From their perspective, wouldn’t you agree?”
I thought it was a sharp point. Who knew I had such a strategist’s flair? I was secretly impressed with myself…
“……”
Did I really strike a nerve? Roxley’s eyes darted like a dog desperate to relieve itself.
“…As it happens, I had a request for you, my lord.”
“A request?”
“More like a token of my sincerity. This way, please.”
Roxley’s pace quickened.
Half-expecting, half-dreading what bizarre thing he’d show next, I followed.
Clang, clang, clang, clang.
Was this place a mansion or a hideout?
It was impossibly vast.
Unlike its exterior, the interior was a labyrinth of narrow passages and stairways that seemed endless.
We walked corridors, descended stairs… Until I realized we were underground.
I glared at Roxley’s back. I sensed multiple presences.
“Where are we?”
“Our family calls it the Canchester Underground Prison.”
“Underground prison?”
“Yes. A place for those too shameful to be judged by Conwell’s lord but too troublesome to ignore. I use my authority as Canchester’s administrative knight.”
As my eyes adjusted to the dark, the silhouettes of iron bars emerged.
So did the shapes of people sprawled beyond them.
“…Are these Imperials?”
“Of course not. The Imperials we keep are treated with care.”
“Then who are these people?”
Roxley stopped midway, gripped the bars of one cell, and peered inside. A person sat huddled
in the corner.
“This one’s name is Gaff. Canchester’s most skilled blacksmith, or so they say.”
I widened my eyes and looked again.
The man’s sturdy frame suggested strength, but he was in a pitiful, broken state.
‘The blacksmith Janson was looking for.’
I asked casually, “And?”
“They’re no match for Imperial craftsmen, but they’re decent enough. Take them with you. All the blacksmiths here… consider it my small gesture of goodwill.”
How should I react? If I were truly a covert Imperial overseer, that is.
“These are specially selected. For the grand event tonight.”
In the darkness, the gleaming surface of Roxley’s plate armor illuminated his smirk. It reeked of malice.