Chapter 43
The situation in Hasmal had changed drastically. What had been precarious escalated when Glissen finally declared its involvement. Their justification was that, as a member of the international community, they could no longer ignore Hasmal’s continued invasions and the massacres that occurred along the way. However, they drew the line at direct combat and limited their support to supplies.
Even that small action caused unrest among the people of Hasmal. They knew, even if only vaguely, that the war had become prolonged, and resources—both firepower and other war materials—were running low. Glissen stated that for now, their support would be limited to supplies, but if Hasmal continued its aggression, large-scale troop deployment could follow. Anxiety spread: were they heading toward defeat?
The only relief for the Hasmal people was that Perel Monti, the main force behind the Berg resistance, and Crown Prince Bariel had been captured recently.
“The new chief is really capable. It’s no wonder he rose to that position at his age.”
“Yeah. I heard he tracked Perel Monti all the way to Glissen and captured him. That’s why Glissen is claiming illegal abduction.”
“Even for Glissen, Crown Prince Bariel is an important figure. Whoever holds him would have the advantage over Berg if the war ends, right?”
“Even aside from that, it’s useful for negotiations. They could demand strategic territory in exchange for Bariel.”
“This is serious. If Glissen fully intervenes…”
Wherever two or more gathered, worries and opinions rose like smoke. Some, however, saw a faintly encouraging side—the war might finally end, in some way.
It was a confusing time, and the chaos spread even into the mysterious “organization” whose name wasn’t publicly known.
“Long time no see.”
Marcus appeared near the end of the workday. Erich, who was thought to have left, came along. Zekart met him with a cold expression. It was the first time since that day he faced Marcus directly.
“Whoa, I came to deliver something. Not that I particularly want to see your face.”
Marcus had been removed from his position as Inspector Stifts. He had forced access to Edit’s private room by using the rank, even bringing in outsiders, without Zekart’s permission. Now, he was paying the price for taking responsibility.
“From now on, if you have anything to deliver, go through Erich.”
“That works. He’s your new partner anyway. Don’t you even think about your old partner?”
Marcus’s pale-blue eyes smiled faintly, but the air between them instantly turned tense. Erich, caught in the middle, grew even more uncomfortable.
“I’ll bring some drinks.”
Erich hesitated, then left the room.
Once alone, Marcus leaned back deep into the sofa, resting his leg on the table, a clear smile on his face.
“So, you managed to complete the mission?”
“……”
“After all that delay.”
He was referring to the target, Perel Monti. He was now under custody, and after a sham trial, a death sentence would likely follow. Even if Crown Prince Bariel was useful, keeping Perel Monti alive would only create further chaos. Surely, the same fate awaited the Schultz couple, who had already begun trial proceedings.
“Ah, was there another reason for the delay?”
A sudden, faintly sinister laugh filled the air. It was Zekart’s.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t the reason you’re doing this obvious?”
“……What?”
“You’re not doing this out of loyalty to the organization, right? If you were, you would’ve reported it to the superiors instead of provoking with these low acts.”
Marcus’s white teeth retracted inside his lips, and his face flushed slightly. Zekart’s suspicion was confirmed.
“Does Rachel know?”
Asking Marcus about Edit, Zekart poured whiskey from the bottle on his desk, setting a full glass in front of him. Marcus didn’t answer, unwilling to speak about their relationship, but asked a different question instead.
“How long do you think I’ll tolerate your pointless venting?”
It was more a chilling warning than a question. Marcus’s pupils twitched slightly under Zekart’s intimidation—a familiar look of fear, the same he had seen in his targets.
“Bitter taste of me, huh?”
The warning was no empty threat. For Zekart, killing Marcus or Rachel wouldn’t be difficult. He had once infiltrated a mansion with hundreds of guards and killed Herman Miller without hesitation.
“Drink.”
Zekart confirmed his point, and Marcus reluctantly picked up the glass. The overflowing whiskey soaked his hands, a deliberate humiliation from Zekart. Marcus gritted his teeth.
Erich returned with three glasses of soda with lemon juice just as Marcus finished the drink.
“Ah, Marcus, couldn’t wait for me to bring it?”
Erich lightly teased, trying to ease the cold tension, though it had little effect.
The three sat around the table in silence.
“Get to the point.”
Zekart calmly sipped his soda. Droplets formed on the glass, chilling his fingertips. The other two glasses remained untouched.
Marcus’s slightly hoarse voice broke the quiet.
“All individual missions are temporarily suspended. Stop executing your current tasks and wait. χ seems deeply involved in the war.”
“For example?”
“Assassinating key enemy figures tied to the war, I guess.”
Zekart considered this. If missions were suspended, the war’s outcome must be very important to the organization. While it operated in Hasmal, its goals often diverged from the Hasmal government’s interests.
“Understood.”
Zekart quickly concluded, uninterested. As he prepared to leave, Marcus stopped him, handing a small envelope.
[From χ.]
Zekart frowned as he read the typed note at the envelope’s edge.
“Suspending missions, you say?”
“I don’t know. χ said so.”
Annoyed, Zekart put the envelope in his coat. Target confirmation was only possible alone.
“I’ll leave. Anything else, I’ll pass through Erich.”
With their business concluded, the three went to their separate positions: Marcus and Erich to the hideout, Zekart to the mansion where Edit stayed.
What a strange dream, Edit thought.
When she opened her eyes, a familiar face was right in front of her. Though the person had already left, warmth filled her body, as if the face itself transmitted it.
If it were a dream, shouldn’t it be impossible? But maybe it could be.
She gathered courage and reached out, wondering if she could touch him.
Her white, delicate hand trembled more as it approached him. Finally, it brushed over the bangs covering his forehead.
Even in a dream, she could touch him.
A slightly overwhelmed feeling washed over her, and she quietly whispered his name.
“Mac… my Mac.”
For a moment, a thought flickered: could it be someone else resembling him? But no one else could have such a calm, peaceful face.
Carefully, she traced his hair, forehead, and nose. Her fingers trembled with each new touch.
It was then that his closed eyes reacted. Beneath long, straight lashes, his dark eyes slowly opened.
Black, beautiful eyes.
Maximilian’s eyes.
