Chapter 15
“If my senior is put in danger, I’ll step in. For someone like me, who has no real power, that would obviously be reckless and dangerous. And when that happens, you’ll find yourselves extremely annoyed.”
“……”
“So if you don’t want that, make sure you protect me and my senior properly, in advance.”
Amazing.
Did she just step forward for my sake?
Baemi was startled too, flicking its tongue rapidly. Its black eyes blinked.
“If additional fees are needed, I’ll pay them. Would about a thousand Kalan be enough?”
Deport frowned.
“Watch your insolence. I am not some mercenary who fights for money. Very well. I will protect you—both you, junior, and this cute little snake.”
As he said that, Deport reached out to touch Baemi’s head. Baemi’s head whipped around faster.
It’s going to bite!
I hurriedly grabbed its wing. Baemi thrashed and hissed angrily.
Irix said flatly,
“Deport. That thing bites.”
“Even if it bites, what of—”
“But if it bites you, you die.”
Irix drew a finger across his throat.
“Just—gurgle.”
I saw it. Deport’s pupils shook.
He glanced at me, seeking confirmation, but I just sat there with a vacant expression. From now on, I’d decided that whenever I didn’t know what to do, I would simply put on a dazed face.
Unable to tell whether to believe me or not, Deport eventually lowered his hand.
“Very well. I’ll take it to mean it’s a sensitive creature, so I’ll be careful. It would be troublesome if something expensive died, after all.”
Anerika, standing behind Deport, laughed. Maymon just blinked his large eyes, clearly not understanding what was going on.
I leaned back against the couch and looked at Maymon. That upright young man was, in fact, the most important person here.
His story begins like this.
‘Irix, what happened to Maymon, who went to save you?’
‘I killed him. Instantly and cleanly, without pain—so offer your condolences.’
Maymon was an unfortunate boy.
Abandoned at birth, he grew up with the street as his cradle, surviving by following vagrants and beggars.
Duke Verkart discovered the boy’s hidden talent and took him in.
While passing through an alley in the slums, the duke happened to notice Maymon using his special ability.
Maymon’s ability was spontaneous combustion. Flames simply flared up from his body. Because of his gentle nature, he had never hurt anyone with it; at most, he used it to warm himself when it was cold.
“That seems fairly useful.”
Saying so, the duke approached Maymon, stood before him, and said:
“I am Duke Verkart. Come with me. I will raise you, feed you, and educate you. All you need to do is grow into something useful.”
That very day, Maymon—once a street urchin from the slums—became a member of the duke’s sponsored “legion” and enrolled in the academy. A child who had been begging just yesterday became a student at the empire’s most prestigious institution.
Maymon lived in a clean private dormitory funded by the duke, and once a month he was invited to the duke’s mansion for dinner.
Each time they met, the duke lavished him with praise and sent gifts and spending money through his aides.
After studying diligently and graduating early, Maymon entered the Camellia Order as a trainee. If he worked hard for just one year, he would become a full member and serve the empire. He intended to work hard and live up to the duke’s expectations.
But before long, the duke personally visited Maymon’s lodgings.
“I have an urgent favor to ask of you, Maymon. Go and protect my son.”
The duke continued,
“There are people in the Order who have long been targeting my son. They call him a ‘vessel,’ or something of the sort. They’ve been trying to take him away, treating an innocent child like an object.”
Kind-hearted Maymon was truly worried. To someone from the slums like him, the Order was a cruel group. What he didn’t know was that the Order would never treat Irix, the duke’s son, the same way they treated people from the slums.
“Irix is the precious legacy my wife left behind. He is my only family, my hope—my most beloved existence in this world.”
It was all lies, but Maymon didn’t know what the relationship between the Verkart father and son was really like.
He had spent his entire time at the academy studying and had never interacted with other legions.
“So please, Maymon. Protect my son.”
In the end, Maymon failed. Irix vanished without a trace.
To atone for his failure, Maymon began searching for Irix himself, using every method he knew. After relentless effort, he finally succeeded in finding him.
At the time, Irix was in a secret monastery of the Order. Maymon infiltrated the place and met him—but Irix had already fallen. He refused Maymon’s plea to leave together.
“I’m not going.”
“His Grace worries about you every day and grieves for you. You must return. I’ll help you.”
I could imagine Irix’s expression without even seeing it.
“No. I’m not going. I have things to do. You go back.”
“Please trust me. I’ll get you out safely. I’ll reunite you with the duke.”
And then—
Maymon was killed by Irix.
Maymon’s story comes up later, but in chronological terms, he was Irix’s first challenger—and his first defeat.
Why had Maymon been so desperate to find Irix?
The duke’s order was only to protect Irix from the Order. He had never been told to bring him back. Though he failed, it should have ended there. There was no need for Maymon to make amends.
And yet, Maymon searched for him.
He wanted to return his benefactor’s most precious treasure to his arms. To Maymon, the duke was no different from a god.
How tragic.
The duke thought of his son as nothing more than a tool.
He would have been pleased if Maymon had brought him back—anyone is happy when a lost possession is returned.
But that was all.
The joy and happiness Maymon wanted to give the duke would never have existed.
Just then, a sound reached my ears.
Flap, flap—
A familiar noise made me look out the window. As expected, paper-crane drones filled the sky, flying like a school of sardines.
From not far away came a desperate scream.
“It wasn’t me! I—I’m truly devout…! Ah, please forgive me! I was wrong!”
Beyond the window, a man was seen dangling, captured by the paper birds.
The man clung desperately to a train door handle.
The birds tore him free. His body was slashed here and there by their wings, blood spilling.
The bloodied man wailed,
“Please, spare me!”
A person wearing a white mask appeared before him, moving smoothly like a gigantic, ominous bird.
“Please forgive me! I—”
At a gesture from the white mask, a huge birdcage floated up. The birds shoved the man inside. Several people were already imprisoned within the cage.
The white-masked figure who had confined the man unfurled a rolled sheet of paper. Among the many names written on it, one began to smoke and vanished.
Deport said,
“An inquisitor. They’ve come to arrest cultists.”
Who was he talking to? Me?
“You must have seen this often, Maymon. You’re from Shadow Alley.”
Ah. Maymon.
“Yes. Very often.”
Maymon’s voice was calm and quiet. His eyes were clear.
“So I thought it was something that happened everywhere.”
Shadow Alley, where Maymon was born and raised, was one of the slums on the outskirts of the capital.
There, inspections and arrests by the Order were frequent. Under the pretense of ‘purification,’ inquisitors were regularly sent into the slums, dragging people away.
Even if they arrested the wrong person, there were no consequences, and no proper verification was ever done.
Others— even people within the slums themselves—considered those taken away to be trash that needed to be disposed of, and thought the inquisitors were doing a good job.
Those captured were unable to pay donations and were all sentenced to forced labor. In harsh conditions with meager food, they worked without pay. Those who returned after their term hid the fact that they had ever been there, because once you were taken once, it became easier to be taken again. Some people spent decades in forced labor, one term after another.
People were dragged out one after another and locked inside a floating prison. Soon, the aerial prison was packed tight like a chicken coop.
Each time someone was taken away, another name disappeared from the list the inquisitor held. Quite a few names still remained.
Were all the people on that list aboard this train?
If so, then the higher-ups of the cult were unimaginably stupid.
It wasn’t just putting all the eggs in one basket—it was like loading dozens of baskets onto a single truck.
From beside me came a loud shout, brimming with rage.
