Chapter 214: One Step (3) Part 2

In the heart of the city stood a modest two-story building—its first floor a shop, and its second a place of residence. It was the place where the rotund man, who called himself Jack, had led us.

"This is the place, Professor," Jack said.

"I'll go in first," I replied.

"Yes, of course!

Hahaha...

"

I examined the building’s exterior as I made my way around it. Rather than stepping inside, I took a narrow passage leading to the back. Beyond it lay a small, overgrown yard—an old, tattered doll abandoned in the grass, a ball rolling, and an aging dog plodding after it.

"

Huff

,

huff

—"

The dog gave up on the ball and made its way toward me instead. It seemed fond of people, yet the weight of age had worn it down—each breath slow and strained.

At that moment...

“Relin~ You need to fetch the ball...

Gasp

.”

A child's soft, sweet voice caught my attention, and I turned toward it. The child standing there froze in surprise as our eyes met. There was nothing remarkable about the child—perhaps, in time, the child would grow into beauty, but for now, merely a child, charming in the way all children are at that age.

However, the child’s face was pale and drawn. Perhaps it was the medals cluttered across my uniform—or merely the sight of a face far too familiar.

"Does this dog belong to you?" I asked.

The child, damp with cold sweat, stammered, “N-No, sir... It... it’s the landlord’s...”

"Is this where you live?"

“I...”

"Is Relin the dog's name?"

“... Yes, sir.”

"The name fits well. It’ll fit even better once it puts on some weight," I said, looking at the child.

The child, small enough to barely reach my chest, held a single book tightly in the arms.

Then, I added, "Do you like books?"

“... Sorry?

Oh...

yes, sir...”

"Do you know who I am?"

“... Yes, sir.”

I gave a slight nod.

The child trembled, wide eyes glazed with fear. It was not a look of will, but of paralysis—frozen and unable to turn away.

"How many people live here?"

“... Sorry?”

"How many live here?" I asked once more, my eyes on the child.

“... Five, six...” the child muttered, mouthing the words.

"Give me an honest answer," I said.

Tears welled in the child’s eyes, legs shaking beneath. Sweat had already drenched the bangs—it was summer for the child alone.

“Eight... teen...”

"Nineteen people, crammed into a space this small."

The child was likely one of the Scarletborn, though the reason for stepping outside was unclear. Perhaps the child was worried about the aging dog, nearing its final days, or maybe the child simply believed no one would come asking questions here.

Whatever the case, the child bore no signs of the Altar’s indoctrination—neither the traces of its magic nor the weight of its doctrines and chants.

... If even the slightest mark of the Altar had existed, would I have taken the child's life?

I thought.

"Nineteen people," I muttered, raising my eyes to the building—far too cramped for so many to live within.

"N-No, that's not right... Not nineteen—nine. Just nine."

I watched as the child hurriedly corrected the words, a quiet scoff escaping me. At the sound, the child’s shoulders gave a startled flinch.

"What book do you have there?" I asked.

“... Sorry?

Oh

, it’s... a diary.”

“A diary,” I said, stepping back, knowing that getting any closer would only heighten the child's fear. Then, using

Telekinesis

, I returned the ball and placed a book in the child's arms. "Take this.”

“

Oh

.”

"You seem to have a talent for magic."

“... Sorry?”

Talent was plain to see with

Sharp Eyesight

, a basic application of the attribute, and this child's magical talent was undeniable. More than anything, the fact that they kept a diary hinted at a named character with a purpose and motive of their own.

"Go inside. There will be a blood test soon, so it's best to stay out of sight for a while. You'd be better off disappearing somewhere underground."

“... Sorry?”

I turned away without another word. Though I could feel the child's eyes on me, I did not look back.

"

Oh

, Professor. Has it been confirmed?" Jack asked, waddling into the alley.

I nodded.

“... Then, Professor, you must have seen those hiding here like rats. They are definitely Scarletborn—”

“And how did you know?” I interrupted.

“Pardon me?”

"Being so certain about the Scarletborn based on their appearance is quite the gamble to make. Did someone tell you?"

“... N-No, Professor. It’s just... isn’t it suspicious? Why would they be hiding—”

"How did you know they were hiding?"

The news of Bethan's invention of Blood Magic had yet to reach the public. As a result, the only way for ordinary people to distinguish a Scarletborn was through the unreliable method of appearance. However, Yukline’s reputation was not something lightly disregarded, yet Jack had still sought me out, undeterred by the uncertainty.

“I... I,

umm...

”

I studied his face—his expression, the subtle movement of his pupils and irises.

"I discovered through my own investigation... I'm certain they're Scarletborn. Didn't they look the part, Professor?" Jack added.

Jack was lying through his teeth.

“Is that so,” I said.

“Yes, Professor!”

"Is that a revolver?" I asked, gesturing toward the holster at his hip.

"Pardon me?

Oh

, yes, Professor. I used to dabble in a bit of vigilantism,

hahaha

."

With

Telekinesis

, I drew the revolver from his waist and flipped open the cylinder. The chamber was loaded with live rounds.

Clack—

"What is it you hope to gain by reporting the Scarletborn?" I asked, pulling back the hammer of his revolver.

"Pardon me?

Oh

, well...

ahem

. It’s not that I expected anything in return, Professor... I merely did it for the sake of public safety. But, truth be told, I am currently running for the position of the city's vigilante leader..."

I scanned my surroundings. With Jack having stepped further into the alley, there were no wandering eyes to witness us.

“Jack, was it?”

“Yes, Professor.”

"Let me ask you one thing," I said, weaving

Silence

over the area to ensure no sound would escape. "Do you worship the Altar? Did they feed you this information?"

"

Haha...

Professor, how could that be possible?" Jack replied with a forced laugh, but for a brief moment, his pupils trembled violently before he quickly denied it.

But his body betrayed him. Jack hadn’t even questioned what the Altar was, leaving no room for doubt. Without hesitation, I pulled the trigger. The gunshot rang out in the silence, and the bullet found its mark between his brows. The heavy frame of the man thudded against the wall before crumpling forward, dead before he could utter a final sound.

"Worthless rat," I muttered, setting the revolver down beside the corpse.

As the filth had been dealt with—it was time to leave. But before I did, I turned for one last glance.

***

Elesol stood there, lips parted in a daze. Still reeling from the confusion, she struggled to piece together what she had just witnessed from afar.

Through the information from some rotund informant, Deculein arrived at a house sheltering several Scarletborn children. There, he met a child—dusky-skinned and freckled, bearing just enough of the Scarletborn’s characteristics. To most, they would pass unnoticed, but if Bethan were to see them, a Scarletborn inspection would be inevitable.

However, whether Deculein believed the child wasn’t a Scarletborn or had let the child go to draw out a greater target remained unclear. Instead of taking action, he merely exchanged a few words and left behind a book as a gift. In the end, it was the informant, Jack, who met his end by Deculein’s hand.

Elesol’s fingers moved on their own, forming instinctive gestures—an unconscious habit, like a whisper slipping into a sign language, as if she were murmuring to herself.

At that moment...

"What are you doing here?" Ellie asked, appearing beside Elesol and placing a hand on her shoulder.

Elesol flinched like a startled cat.

“It’s me,” Ellie added with a bright smile.

Elesol narrowed her eyes and began to sign, moving her fingers.

—

Are you out of your mind? Where have you been all this time?

"I went to bring the children."

—

Children.

Elesol furrowed her brows.

Ellie smiled brightly and said, “Yes, the children.”

—

From where.

"Where else? From Vahalla, of course."

—

Vahalla.

“Yes, Vahalla.”

Then, Elesol’s furrowed brow deepened, spreading across her entire face.

—

There couldn't be any children left to bring—Deculein killed them all.

"No, not a single one," Ellie said, shaking her head. "The children are alive—though they did end up swallowing quite a bit of dirt."

Once again, Ellie’s words were difficult for Elesol to comprehend. If she had seen the total bombardment that shook the earth, wrought by Deculein, even a passing stranger would have assumed the children buried underground were dead.

—

How.

"Because the Professor always keeps his word."

—

Explain.

"The Professor said the children were innocent—nothing more, nothing less. And so, there was no reason to kill them—because they had done nothing wrong."

At that, Elesol fell still, lowering her hands as she turned her head. Deculein was already gone, leaving behind only Jack’s dead body on the ground. Without a word, she raised a finger toward it.

—

Ellie. Take care of that body.

“There is a body?”

—

Yes.

“Where is...

Oh

. Okay.”

Using

Stride

, Ellie closed the distance in an instant, ready to dispose of the body. But just as she reached for it, her eyes landed on a slip of paper at Jack’s feet.

“...

Oh

.”

Ellie blinked as her eyes settled on the single line written on the slip of paper.

“

Oh...

?”

A strange warmth welled in her chest, and a dampness gathered around her eyes—like the sting of slicing an onion wrong or when a bit of garlic found its way into her eye while cooking.

But there are no onions here, no garlic either,

Ellie thought.

Ellie, I still remember your name.

“... What is this?”

The note was undoubtedly left by Deculein, yet whenever she found herself pulled into his orbit, Ellie could never quite understand why. Perhaps she never would.

“What is going on?”

Ellie had lived too long without ever understanding emotions—only imitating them, their meaning always distant, never quite reaching her...