Chapter 20

Although it was well past noon, the streets were unusually dark. The overcast weather persisted. Glancing up at the sky, heavy with rain that could fall at any moment, Zekart quickened his pace. The streets, still carrying the scent of rain, were filled with cold, damp air.

Someone blocked his path just before he turned a corner.

“Hold on, there will be an inspection. May I see your identification?”

The man in a dark uniform was a Stiftz officer. The suddenness of the request didn’t faze Zekart, who calmly pulled out his ID and handed it over.

The officer’s expression stiffened instantly upon verifying Zekart’s identity.

“I didn’t realize you were the Inspector.”

Zekart nodded with a dry expression as the man, overly upright, saluted him. Then, with a gesture that said he could proceed, Zekart moved on. The officer, still tense, turned and disappeared around the corner.

Zekart put his official ID back into his coat pocket. At first glance, it could have seemed forged, but it was genuine—issued directly by the Hasmal government.

Most members of the actual organization held an additional identity affiliated with a government department. It was a matter of convenience. Often, missions required access to public secrets, and a hastily made ID wouldn’t suffice. So the government provided one in advance. (Zekart found it absurd that Rachel had been granted a clerical rank in the Papal office.) Though they were given this status, they didn’t actually show up for regular work, since it was justified as a long-term assignment or a temporary dispatch.

“Sometimes, it feels like we exist for the government,” Zekart mused, faintly speculating about the organization he belonged to. Of course, he couldn’t be entirely sure, especially considering that one of his recent targets had been a pro-government figure.

After some distance, Zekart reached a long barricade across the street. A Stiftz officer guarding the area briefly stopped him. With a mildly annoyed expression, Zekart retrieved his ID and handed it over again. In hindsight, he thought he should have worn a Stiftz uniform—it might have made things simpler.

“How did the Inspector get here…?”

A Stiftz officer, seemingly the area supervisor, ran up to him. The senior officer, who had been told to wait at the auditorium for the funeral, seemed uneasy about this unannounced visit.

Zekart responded not with an answer but with a question of his own.

“Does it start from here?”

“Yes, that’s correct. The procession starts here. From here, it will pass the central plaza and the Chief Inspector’s residence before arriving at City Hall.”

Behind him, Zekart glimpsed the funeral vehicles, dozens of escort vehicles, and Stiftz officers lined up in anticipation.

After a few questions and answers, Zekart turned away. He was only here to observe the atmosphere. Standing slightly away from the crowd, he habitually pulled out a cigarette.

This was originally Marcus’s job: scouting and gathering information. The problem was that Marcus hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning—hungover. Not by choice, he was on a forced hiatus since his missions had been temporarily suspended. Every day lately had been a wild night of drinking, taking advantage of what he considered a rare opportunity. According to Rachel, he returned to the hideout drunk every day.

This morning, Marcus was supposed to observe Hermann Miller’s funeral procession and the surrounding atmosphere, but he couldn’t wake up due to his hangover. So Zekart had to step in.

‘How does it feel to attend the funeral of someone you killed?’

Rachel’s teasing remark came to mind. Zekart flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground. The wet earth swallowed the flame instantly.

The funeral procession began moving.

Following the designated route, the procession reached the auditorium where the funeral would take place after sunset. The crowd trailing the vehicles grew more somber. When the massive coffin was brought into the hall, muffled sobs were audible. The Stiftz officers were frustrated that the perpetrator hadn’t been caught despite their full efforts.

Zekart recalled Hermann Miller pleading before his death. The man, who had created a concentration camp and taken tens of thousands of lives in Berg, looked utterly pathetic when facing his own mortality. Even Zekart, usually indifferent to assassinations, had felt the man’s murderous intent.

Blending into the crowd, Zekart shook off his thoughts and left. He had no intention of watching a four-hour funeral to the end. The procession would be grand, solemn, and strict, much like the funerals of high-ranking officials he had seen before.

As he turned with a dry expression, cold raindrops began falling. Along with the rain, an ominous sound of an explosion echoed.

KWA-KWANG!

Zekart froze in his tracks. Clenching his jaw, he stared toward the source of the explosion beyond the auditorium. Dark smoke and flickering flames danced above his black eyes.

No…

A line of unease flashed through his mind.

The courtyard descended into chaos in an instant. The frightened crowd scattered wildly, and Stiftz officers poured out from the auditorium entrance like ants fleeing their nest. Armed with guns and swords, they ran in perfect formation toward the back gate where the explosion had occurred.

The rain fell harder. Zekart stood motionless in the soaking downpour. Steam from his body rose around him in the cold air.

KWA-KWA-KWA-KWANG!

Another explosion thundered, louder and closer than the first, nearly deafening. Screams pierced the ears of everyone nearby, disoriented by the chaos.

Zekart watched the auditorium, now engulfed in flames.

Rustle. Something crumbled—he realized it was the cookie he had eaten earlier, unbearably sweet, a reminder of the peace he had once brought to a woman.

His mind began to heat up.

SWOOSH—

Edith, having just left the clock tower, dashed into the rain without hesitation. The giant Berg flag on the tower flapped, soaked by the rain. The chill seeped into her body, making her jaw shiver as her teeth clicked together.

She pressed against the building walls. Unlike the crowded auditorium, this area was deserted. Her anxiety made it difficult to run freely. Disguised as a family member of a Stiftz official to enter City Hall, she could not afford to be discovered here. Every step was accompanied by the sound of her dry throat swallowing.

Through the rain, the gold eye-shaped marker in the distance fixed on a corner of a building. Once she reached it, she would be at the entrance toward the auditorium. If she could blend into the panicked crowd, she would be more than halfway there. Despite her efforts to stay calm, her steps quickened. Water splashed and rebounded from the ground, deafening her ears. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice someone approaching from behind.

“Stop!”

A man’s voice cut through the rain and reached her ears. Frozen like a statue, Edith halted. Her white breath, fogging around her mouth, vanished instantly.

“Turn this way.”

Edith hesitated but turned. She knew she had to remain calm, but her trembling hands clenched the wet hem of her dress. She realized there were not one but two people: a man and a woman—Stiftz officers and a middle-aged woman. Edith’s eyes darted. The man’s dark uniform caught her attention, and her gaze lingered briefly on the gun at his side. The man signaled to the woman.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am.”

The woman’s narrowed eyes fixed on Edith.

Frightened by the explosions, she had run the wrong way and forgotten what to say next.

“I saw her clearly. She went into the clock tower and came out.”

Edith could hear only that much. Without time to think, her body turned and she ran. Splashing cold water from the puddles, her white breath blurred her vision.

Then—

BANG!

A sharp gunshot rang out.