IWIAHC Chapter 29

Back when Julius Scheiwartz and Aiden Casimir were still masters of their own bodies.

The imperial palace was majestic no matter where one looked, but among its halls, the Sapphire Palace—where audiences with the Emperor were held—commanded such authority that a commoner setting foot within would find their legs giving out beneath them.

A vassal pushed through the crowd that had gathered tightly to catch even a moment's glimpse of the Emperor. He delivered his news with the clarity of someone bearing tremendously joyful tidings, ensuring all could hear.

"Your Majesty, Duke Casimir has sent word by courier that he has eradicated the Solmonite faction and captured their cult leader alive."

"Aiden has done it again."

Julius manufactured a cheerful expression.

"Prepare a banquet. We must celebrate our dear friend's victory."

The flawless performance deceived everyone present. Within Julius, however, jealousy and shame festered and rotted.

'So much for the heretics' supposedly ineffable mystic arts. Nothing special after all.'

Julius observed the courtiers who had turned jubilant and were now chattering away.

They traced back through Aiden Casimir's dusty old achievements, working themselves into a fervor of admiration over what an extraordinary man he was.

Family, honor, wealth, appearance—lacking in not a single aspect, the pride of the empire had now gained the additional reputation of being God's apostle who had vanquished wicked heretics.

His insides twisting with the feeling, Julius rose from his seat. As if on cue, the hallucination spoke to him.

—Be grateful that he deigns to associate with you.'

'Of course, Your Majesty.'

Julius muttered inwardly as he left the audience chamber.

—Without him, the empire would have collapsed ages ago. How fortunate to have someone cleaning up after a worthless fool.'

Though many years had passed since his father's death, Julius still remembered his words with vivid clarity.

'Can you not resemble even half of Duke Casimir! To remain always at his side learning and yet gain so little—it is lamentable.'

The late Emperor and the previous Duke Casimir had been true friends. When the late Duke passed away at a young age and the Duchess followed shortly after, the late Emperor brought their young son—who had only just learned to walk—to the imperial palace and raised him like his own child.

Thanks to this, Julius and Aiden had been together from a very young age. Just as his father doted on Aiden, Julius regarded him as a brother.

That affection twisted starting around age ten, when the late Emperor's comparisons began.

In truth, Julius Scheiwartz was no dullard. The tragedy, however, lay in the fact that he excelled at nothing when measured against Aiden Casimir.

The blatant favoritism, the reproaches, the disapproving glances—Julius felt them against his very skin.

On days when Aiden distinguished himself, Julius would spend the evening with his heart in his throat, waiting for night to fall. The drunken late Emperor would inevitably appear at his door.

'You're just sleeping! You can't follow even half of Aiden's example, yet you sleep soundly without a care!'

Julius touched his cheek with one hand. Though it made no sense, his cheek felt hot and stinging.

Looking back now, the late Emperor's assessment seemed valid. Despite every effort Julius had made, he couldn't eradicate the heretics—yet once they fell into Aiden's hands, the matter resolved itself so easily.

Julius had done everything possible to subdue the heretics, but it hadn't been enough. He couldn't halt Solmonism's expansion, couldn't capture the cult leader.

Worse still, when rumors about the "Day of Rest" began circulating and the atmosphere grew ominous, Julius had no choice but to borrow Aiden's hand. And naturally, Aiden completed the task triumphantly.

Why couldn't Julius Scheiwartz fulfill the Emperor's duties perfectly on his own? If the task were something no one else could accomplish, there would be no shame in it...

More than incompetence, it was the sense of inferiority that tormented him.

Several days later, the cult leader was escorted to the imperial dungeon beneath the palace. After considerable internal conflict, Julius descended to the prison.

The underground dungeon was damp and musty. Added to the scorched smell of torches was the stench of filth that shook the air.

The reason he'd bothered coming down to such an unpleasant place was that he wanted to see the face of this supposedly remarkable cult leader.

Also... he had a question.

The cult leader knelt on the hard stone floor, unable to move, his wrist and ankle restraints fixed to the wall.

His head, which had been hanging downward, lifted at the sound of someone's presence.

He was an elderly man whose mobility appeared limited by age. His skin was deeply wrinkled, and one eye was covered by an opaque film that made it grayish-white.

His ash-gray hair was disheveled, and his black robes had grown shabby during transport. He looked simultaneously like a most wise prophet and a cunning sorcerer.

He recognized Julius's identity and spoke.

"An honor, noble one... To meet you... As it should be."

The cult leader spoke very slowly, taking sufficient time with each syllable. However, he couldn't fully correct the word order peculiar to the Solmon people, resulting in sentences that felt awkward somehow.

"If freely manipulating souls can't even protect your own neck, isn't it a rather useless ability?"

"It is enough... For me, for the noble one."

The cult leader maintained an equanimity unbefitting someone facing death. He gazed quietly into Julius's eyes.

Julius turned his head away from that penetrating stare and mulled over the cult leader's words. Temptation caressed his heart.

He dismissed the guards and soldiers.

"I have a question."

"I shall answer."

"The Day of Rest. Is it real?"

The Day of Rest was, supposedly, the day when the gates of heaven opened to the "Land of Rest."

Solmonism taught that if one performed the ritual on the day when five special stars aligned in a row, one could depart for that radiant place free of suffering and trials.

The yearning for paradise had spread rapidly, centered among the lower classes, with a mass suicide of at least a hundred people anticipated. This was the decisive reason Julius had borrowed Aiden's hand.

If the search had dragged on any longer, the Day of Rest would arrive. Counting from today, fewer than several days remained.

While Julius couldn't understand the common people who'd fallen for such absurd deception, he was curious whether it might actually be true.

—To waste your attention on such useless things—that's why you're inferior to Aiden. Why haven't you cut that bastard's head off immediately? Even when fed directly, you can't swallow—you deficient fool!

The hallucination rang in his ears.

The late Emperor had never actually said such things. Unable to distinguish whether it was imagination or self-reproach, Julius bit his lip at the censure.

"Of course. We endure hardship... Only for that day..."

Julius opened his mouth to ask his second question, then closed it. A foul stench seemed to rise from his throat. Disgusting jealousy that anyone would smell the moment he spoke the words.

The cult leader's eyes curved subtly.

"If you have hair, nails, something touched by saliva... I can guide a soul."

He behaved as if he knew exactly what Julius was thinking.

Julius didn't bother denying it. The situation was unfolding on its own. He was merely riding the current.

"What do you want in exchange?"

The cult leader shook his head. His emaciated body swayed with the motion, and the restraints made an ominous sound.

"What I desire... will be accomplished on its own."

The cult leader was so absorbed in his role that he didn't even beg for his life. Excessive arrogance was no different from foolishness.

'Whether the ritual succeeds or fails, I'll kill you before you can lift a finger.'

Julius thought coldly. There was no reason to let live someone who knew his weakness.

Come to think of it, this truly was the perfect opportunity. Even Aiden, who defeated assassins and withstood poison, wouldn't know how to protect his soul.

Aiden had provided so much assistance. He was a loyal retainer, the nation's problem-solver, a collaborator.

At the same time, Aiden was the seed of Julius's shame and self-loathing, a subordinate more revered than the Emperor himself, his father's true son.

All that remained for Julius, ruined by his inferiority complex and sense of defeat, was stale hatred.

'Helping him reach the Land of Rest—as a friend, that's not such a terrible thing to do.'

Bearing a cold smile, Julius left the underground dungeon.

Preparations came easily. Julius personally commanded that the banquet's guest of honor be treated with the utmost care. Aiden noticed nothing amiss.

When the late Emperor was alive, Aiden had stayed at the imperial palace more frequently than at the Casimir estate whenever he remained in the capital. He'd truly behaved as though he were part of the imperial family...

Just as Julius had easily obtained hair and nail clippings, acquiring something touched by saliva proved equally simple. He merely had a trusted aide retrieve the tableware Aiden had used.

Julius placed the materials in a small case, which the chamberlain brought him, for safekeeping.

It was certainly behavior that should have aroused suspicion, but the chamberlain acted as if he'd forgotten how to ask questions, and Julius settled accounts by looking after one or two conveniences for his wise subordinate.

The celebratory banquet was magnificent. Everyone treated Aiden with great hospitality.

When the banquet ended, Julius clapped his departing friend's shoulder while thinking only of plunging a dagger into that soul.

And so, several days later, when Aiden had traveled far enough that the imperial palace bore no suspicion for his death, on the night when the five great stars aligned for the first time in ninety-nine years—

Julius descended to the musty underground dungeon carrying the small case and remained alone with the prisoner. The stated purpose was to offer the condemned a chance at repentance.

With his own hands, he released the cult leader's restraints.