Chapter 395

“What exactly are you doing? Sneaking around my room like a rat.”

“…….”

Turning a crisis into an opportunity was always satisfying.

What was the last thing I’d heard before this? Just the dull tap of a hand landing on my shoulder. I turned around slowly. Seeing Helga Brandt’s expressionless face, I let the corner of my mouth curl upward.

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Going through the bookshelves in my room, apparently. I was always proud of the German blood I inherited from my father, but to find out the first German I’ve met in ages has kleptomania… That’s more disappointing than I can say.”

“Kleptomania? And disappointing?”

I set the file back onto the shelf with a loud thud and stepped toward him. His brown bangs brushed against my forehead. We stood there like lunatics for several long moments, yet he never blinked once. Like a predator, he stared straight at me. I watched his pupils widen before speaking flatly.

“Sorry. I didn’t know this was your room. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure where I was.”

“Then how did you get in here?”

“How do you think?”

Answering a question with another, I watched his gaze slowly travel across my face. I ignored his scrutiny, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Go on. Guess.”

“You must have moved one of the room’s candleholders.”

Helga Brandt answered without a hint of emotion.

Let’s think about this for a moment. How on earth did I get here from the vigilante headquarters?

This wasn’t a room you entered ‘through a door.’ The pitch-black wooden door embedded in the marble wall, like a patch of darkness, had never once opened. That meant I hadn’t been given a chance to hide or escape. I’d entered this place using the exact same method Pleroma used to access their hidden space. Naturally, anyone following me would most likely come in the same way. Which also meant that if anything happened, I wouldn’t have time to run. Anyone could have predicted that long beforehand. Mecklenburg would’ve reached the same conclusion if he’d been the one to come here.

And that meant only one thing. I’d already prepared what I was going to say.

“That’s right. It actually worked.”

“…….”

Whatever had struck him as odd about my words, Helga Brandt fixed me with his reddish-brown eyes, staring straight into mine.

I needed to stay in character with someone like him.

For a second I considered lightly brushing the ends of his hair the way I had with Ludovica, only to realize his hair was far too short. Instead, I idly toyed with the lapel of his jacket. Anyone else would have wondered what I was doing to their clothes, but Helga Brandt never took his eyes off me. The muscles around his eyelids gradually tensed.

Good. He cared less about what I was doing than about what I’d just said. His expression said he was already weighing how to deal with me if anything went wrong. Raising the end of my sentence ever so slightly, I whispered, “I came here because I wanted to know more about you, but the atmosphere’s gotten pretty awkward.”

“‘It actually worked.’ What exactly did you mean by that?”

“Is that really the important part? Want me to explain?”

“If you don’t explain how you got here, you’ll be expelled.”

Expelled, is it. If that’s what he wanted me to look at, I’d play along. My eyes drifted to the gleaming vigilante badge pinned to his jacket. Noticing where I was looking, he abruptly changed the subject.

“This is new. I never knew someone could get drunk off a few glasses of kvass.”

No. You knew.

Noble New Humans don’t serve drinks like kvass—the sort of thing commoners drink—at their parties. Seeing kvass here was like serving homemade village cider at a noble banquet. Of course, not every noble was wealthy, and someone who had to personally run a vigilante committee probably wasn’t rolling in money, so I couldn’t jump to conclusions.

However, the decisive factor was that there was champagne present. Not Russian sparkling wine—champagne. Imported from France’s Champagne region. People willing to import champagne had no reason to serve homemade kvass alongside it. Which meant…

“Drunk? I’m perfectly sober.”

“The fact that you made it all the way in here says otherwise.”

“Maybe. But… I just wanted to try something. I didn’t expect it to upset you this much, though. My apologies.”

“…….”

“To be more specific, I wanted to know who you really are.”

Once again, let me make this clear. Helga Brandt wanted me to get drunk. He wanted me to unknowingly reveal what I knew—whether by glancing around too much, slipping away to snoop through the house, or showing the slightest suspicious reaction when he struck up a conversation and tried to steer it somewhere useful.

In other words, from the moment he wrote that invitation, he had been waiting for this exact moment—for me to expose my true intentions.

And I, in turn, realized what he was after the moment Helga Brandt invited us to the vigilante headquarters. Then I became certain after noticing that the crystal-clear, tea-colored kvass, without a trace of foam, was being served in goblets that were normally used as water glasses. Which meant he’d been watching me from the moment he invited me.

So then.

As I’d already concluded, what did the fact that I knew all this imply?

There was no need to improvise. Everything was unfolding exactly as planned. That was true even when he followed me here, grabbed my shoulder, and demanded to know what I was doing.

Helga Brandt stared straight into my eyes without blinking once, even during the brief moment I blinked. The atmosphere had become awkward enough to make me want to punch a hole through the wall. Instead, I did what drunk people do best and abruptly changed the subject.

“By the way, I asked whether it was alcohol, and they told me it wasn’t.”

It would’ve made no sense for someone who doesn’t drink to carry around a glass without first knowing what was in it. Naturally, I’d asked the waiter whether it contained alcohol before taking it. Even though I’d phrased it in a way that invited him to ask again, Helga Brandt understood exactly what I meant.

“Around here, drinks like that aren’t really considered alcohol. It’s just something to freshen your palate—even kids drink it.”

“Then the kids around here must have quite the tolerance for alcohol. I drank it because I thought it was just something to freshen your palate. There wasn’t even any water. And you already knew I don’t drink.”

“My apologies for not having water brought out. We Russians drink vodka like water, you see—we don’t actually drink water.”

“That sounds about as ridiculous as saying Germans drink beer like water. Ah, hold on.”

His hand moved to his holster. A moment later he had my wand out, casually waved it in front of me, then locked it away in his desk drawer.

Considering I’d been prepared for anything from mana restraints to a sleeping drug, I wasn’t even sure whether I ought to thank him for handling it this mildly. All I could really do was narrow my eyes and smile.

Helga Brandt took a cigar case from his desk and leaned against the bookshelf in front of me again.

‘I’ve been seeing a lot of people smoking these lately.’

The cigar reminded me of Mecklenburg. I couldn’t help wondering what that idiot was up to.

Just before Helga snapped the case shut, I caught a glimpse inside. Five thick black cigars. Three wrapped with red bands, two with plain gold ones. The bands were different colors, but the cigars themselves were identical in shape and color, as though they’d all come from the same manufacturer.

Helga clipped the tip off with a cigar cutter and lit a torch. He slowly rotated the cut end over the flame, taking a few light draws to get it burning. I watched the whole process with growing boredom.

“You seem to have plenty of time on your hands. Last time we met, you were smoking cigarettes. Looks like you’ve got the leisure for cigars now.”

“Cigars take a while to light. I don’t smoke them outside.”

Unlike the easygoing smile he’d worn usually, Helga Brandt answered flatly.

Right, it probably took a while. That’s why a certain crown prince I knew always had his attendants light them for him. Resting my chin on my hand, I let out a slow breath and glanced around the room. A priest’s robe hung from the coat rack. Oddly enough, it wasn’t Catholic—it was an Orthodox cassock. There were Catholics in Russia too, but I supposed he was trying to blend in with the region’s dominant religion.

Clack.

As soon as I started looking around the room, Helga snapped the silver torch shut. Apparently the cigar had caught, because he held the torch out toward me.

“And as you said, I do have the luxury of taking my time now. Want one?”

‘Taking my time.’ A nice phrase. Everyone wishes they had it.

People also have a habit of hiding what they lack behind its opposite, then making a show of that instead. I watched the way Helga Brandt’s expression softened for the briefest moment—almost unnaturally so. After a short silence, I shook my head.

“I told you, I don’t smoke.”

“You drank the kvass.”

“Want me to throw it back up?”

“No.”

His face turned serious, and he let out a slow breath.

“‘It actually worked.’ What exactly did you mean by that? And ‘I just wanted to try something’? Did someone tell you a room would appear if you moved the candlesticks?”

Shall I pick up where my thoughts left off?

We had both arrived here exactly as we’d intended, and both of us were acting. The one thing he hadn’t accounted for was this: he’d probably expected me to get drunk, act careless, snoop around, or start fishing for information by questioning people. But he never would have imagined I’d pinpoint the location of his office in less than five minutes.

Naturally. I’d learned it in the real world.

That was what was making him anxious. When, where, and how had Emil Abel learned about his office? Thinking of what lay behind that expression, I finally spoke.

“Honestly, I’m the one who’s confused. Aren’t you the one who created this situation?”

“…….”

The atmosphere froze solid. Helga Brandt didn’t even breathe. He simply stared into my eyes. Slowly, he tilted his head and let out a measured breath. Smoke drifted into my lungs. My gaze fell to the cigar in his hand.

“That’s strong.”

Without answering, he smiled faintly, grabbed me by the shoulder, and stomped his foot.

Bang—!

The room where I’d moved the candlesticks reappeared. We stepped out of it and found ourselves on the third-floor landing overlooking the main hall. A mage in uniform spotted Helga Brandt and hurried over.

“Captain. Where have you—”

Helga Brandt raised a hand sharply. The subordinate looked back and forth between the two of us, then quietly backed away in confusion. With a flick of his finger, Helga drew a wine glass up from a tray on the first floor.

Cigars and wine. He really did indulge in everything.

I knew it could all be an act—or perhaps a deliberate attempt to ease the tension by steering the conversation elsewhere. Wearing the same easy smile that always seemed oddly out of place for someone raised in Russia, Helga looked at me.

“Go on, then. Why do you think I orchestrated all this?”

“Someone’s been sending me anonymous letters. Every day, I’d find one tucked into my window or slipped under my door. They contained information only someone from the vigilante committee could have known, so naturally I assumed you were behind them. I only realized just now that you weren’t. Though to be honest, I’m still having a hard time believing it.”

Internal conflict—and identifying the people with Special Abilities within the Kaluga branch of the Russian Pleroma.

It was a way to kill two birds with one stone.

And then there was his age. Twenty-six. Talent might matter more than seniority, but even so, Mecklenburg and I had both found it surprising that someone so young was leading a regional vigilante committee.

This wasn’t a special organization like the Catacombs. Comparing him to someone like Max Richthofen—who became vice captain of the Catacomb vigilantes while still in high school—wouldn’t make sense. Max had been an Imperial Academy student, which alone made him an exceptional case. A normal regional vigilante committee should be judged by normal standards.

The instant he noticed our reaction, a trace of bitterness crossed his face. That told me two things: either this organization wasn’t entirely free from seniority, or he himself believed his youth was holding back his career. Knowing where someone’s insecurities lie makes writing the next part of the script much easier. Helga shook his head.

“The letter said that if you moved the candlesticks, you’d learn something about me?”

“Yes.”

I looked away before continuing.

“I was simply curious. You smile at me far more often than I’d expect from someone raised in Russia.”

“…….”

No matter what I said, his attention remained fixed on the letter. There was no hard evidence to back it up—only testimony that might not even be true. But people with too much to lose, people constantly crushed beneath the weight of their own name, can never afford to ignore something like that. Even if they’re naturally suspicious. It was like standing before a pitch-black swamp and being told you had no choice but to cross it.

Helga Brandt let out another hearty laugh—still strangely unlike someone raised in Russia—then, with only the faintest trace of chill left in his voice, put on a warm, composed smile.

“May I see the original letter?”

“I was told to burn it as soon as I’d read it, so I did.”

“…….”

“But the sender was using stationery used by the vigilantes. It could’ve been a forgery, sure, but you can understand why I had no choice but to believe it.”

Helga Brandt rolled the smoke around in his mouth for a long moment before finally exhaling. Then he looked at me and smiled.

“Very well.”

“‘Very well’? Wasn’t that information I wasn’t supposed to know? I can only apologize for acting on what was written in the letter…”

“No, it wasn’t that sensitive. Still… it seems I may have enemies within my own ranks.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me. At the same time, he also couldn’t bring himself to dismiss my story until proof surfaced that it was false. Two opposing thoughts coexisted inside him.

That exchange told me something simple. I’d wondered whether Helga Brandt alone was with Pleroma. He wasn’t. At least two members of the vigilante committee—or perhaps the entire organization—were genuine Pleroma.

From this point on, Helga Brandt would tighten security. He’d probably relocate his office and start testing whether his own subordinates could be trusted. At the same time, if he had plans he’d kept hidden from them—or plans that would become impossible to carry out if someone staged a coup within the organization—he would likely move to finish them as quickly as possible.

‘Let’s see how you play this.’

Time was precious, so whatever decision he made next would only work in my favor. No matter how shocking it was, I was confident I could take it in stride.

Now, about that “German” mentioned in the letter. Judging by how he’d been approaching me—and by the wording of that letter—he had no intention of letting me out of his sight. Yuri Alekseyev was Russian. The “German” could only mean Mecklenburg and me—Emil Abel and Clemens Schmidt.

One of us, or perhaps both of us, was Declinatio.

I still didn’t know what that “declension” actually referred to, but whatever his plan was, it didn’t seem like he intended to throw me away just yet. Whether I listened to what he had to say or dug into what he was really thinking, I was bound to learn something.

‘I’d rather he just said it outright.’

Leaning against the railing, I watched his face. Sensing my gaze, Helga Brandt smiled faintly.

“The truth is, I’m thinking of choosing a successor soon.”

“Isn’t that a little early? You’re only twenty-six.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Well, that depends. I’d only understand talking about a successor if you were at least in your forties.”

He was a New Human, wasn’t he? There was no reason for him to live by an Old Human’s timeline. Even choosing a successor at a hundred wouldn’t be unusual. To any other New Human, what Helga Brandt had just said would sound completely absurd.

‘Is he planning to adopt Ismailov?’

Or one of the other orphans listed in those files.

“There’s a reason I need to start thinking about a successor now.”

“And what’s that?”

Helga Brandt stayed silent. Only after the clock struck the hour a few minutes later did he finally speak.

“I don’t know what the meaning of life is.”

“…….”

That came out of nowhere.

Still, his acting wasn’t bad. I said nothing. He kept his eyes on the enormous clock inside the headquarters building.

“So perhaps things would be different if I had someone I wanted to protect.”

“Then you could protect me.”

“You’re far too strong for that. Besides, you’ll be returning to Germany.”

Fair enough. I couldn’t argue with that, so I nodded. Letting out a long breath, Helga Brandt spoke calmly.

“Earlier, you asked why I didn’t act like a typical Russian.”

“I did. But why bring that up now?”

Helga Brandt looked me straight in the eyes before saying, in complete seriousness, “I want to create a person using half my mana… and half of yours.”