The Unyielding Logic

Martin slowly exhaled, the information from the documents he had just read flashing through his mind.

‘A hot-headed youth with a sense of justice, perhaps?’

“Iordera, you only perceive the significance of this plan to me, but are you blind to everything else?” he declared, rising to his feet, his square-jawed face radiating a righteous indignation.

“Your perspective is far too narrow!”

Iordera’s brow furrowed.

“You only see the personal benefits this matter brings me; are you truly blind to anything else?” Martin exclaimed, gesticulating wildly, his emotions running high.

“While the two great families have ushered in economic prosperity for the city, they have simultaneously rendered it increasingly avaricious.

“Juneburg is transforming into a cold, unfeeling city!”

“Yet recently, in the face of adversity, the people of Juneburg have united with unprecedented solidarity to overcome their hardships,” Martin asserted, clenching his large hands, his words resonating with conviction.

“Is this rediscovered spirit not far more worthy of attention than my own personal gains or losses?”

Iordera scoffed derisively.

“What foolishness are you spouting… what idiotic nonsense?”

Martin froze for a moment.

He had just delivered such an impassioned speech; anyone else, even if unconvinced, would surely have been stunned into silence for a few minutes.

‘Why would this young girl immediately resort to insults? Could the information be flawed?’

“How one’s life unfolds is a matter of individual choice, and a few complaints certainly don’t signify a desire to revert to the past,” Iordera stated calmly.

“Moreover, no matter what you say, it cannot conceal the fact that you have disregarded human lives.

“Sophistry holds no sway with me.”

Martin was utterly astonished; this young girl before him, despite her tender age, possessed such mature and flawless logic.

“Very well,” he conceded, settling back into his seat and shifting his approach.

“Then let us discuss your friends, specifically those alchemical artisans.”

As expected, Iordera grew tense.

“I can exonerate them, devising other solutions,” Martin offered.

“As a condition, will you spare me this time?”

Iordera clenched her small fists, forcing out a few words with difficulty.

“What about the others?”

Martin paused, bewildered.

“What others?”

“The other innocent common folk who perished because of your plan.”

Martin was so taken aback by her words that he remained speechless for a long moment, nearly choking on his own saliva.

“Cough, cough, they are already dead.

“What more do you expect from me?

“Do you truly demand that I atone?”

“Their lives are lost; should you not atone?” Iordera asserted, having made her decision.

“Do you imagine you can escape unscathed and continue as the esteemed Lord of this city?

“That is utterly impossible.”

Martin chuckled, amused.

“My dear child, to demand my life after all these concessions, isn’t that a touch too greedy?”

“Not necessarily your life,” Iordera gritted out.

“If you can atone for your transgressions through other means.”

She certainly desired Martin’s demise, yet that was clearly an unrealistic prospect.

Martin, surprisingly, relaxed at this point.

He turned to pour himself a cup of tea, cradling it in his hands.

“Your demands are so troublesome; what makes you believe I would agree to them?”

“Because your life is now in my hands,” Iordera declared, her eyes gleaming fiercely.

“Should I choose to act.”

Despite the naked threat, Martin remained utterly unconcerned.

After taking two sips of tea, he slowly turned to regard her.

“Iordera, do you know, I actually admire you greatly.” He surveyed the young girl from head to toe.

“Beautiful, intelligent, and exceptionally powerful.

“It is merely a pity that, at times, you seem to lose some of that cleverness.”

Iordera flinched, then threatened, “It seems I must make you suffer a little.”

“Ah, well, never mind,” Martin said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Go ahead and strike.”

‘Strike?’

Just as Iordera prepared to move, a sharp pain lanced through her chest.

A silver gleam pierced her from back to front.

[Alert, alert, sub-core region under attack…]

As the sword light withdrew, her petite form collapsed to the ground, utterly motionless.

Martin approached, looking down at her, and clucked his tongue.

“Such a pretty little face, what a pity she’s so naive, and a fool when she’s determined.” he instructed.

“Have someone dispose of her, toss her into the backyard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Additionally, make a trip to the two great families; ensure they present themselves tomorrow morning.”

“As you command.”

****

In the backyard of the Lord’s mansion, a dull thud echoed, startling the few guards on duty.

“Hiss, you scared me to death! What was that?”

“Probably something thrown from above, and it seems it came from the Lord’s chambers.”

“Shh, keep your voice down. As long as it didn’t hit us, it’s fine.”

As they whispered amongst themselves, they failed to notice a subtle shift in the shadows on the ground.

A moment later, the object that had been thrown from above also vanished without a trace.

Clack, clack, clack.

The mithril boots struck the ground, emitting a muffled sound.

Sir Olcott entered the deepest reaches of Prison Zero, gently setting down the girl he carried on his shoulder.

“The person you requested, I have brought her back,” he announced to the young woman in the cell.

“However, she is already dead.”

“Dead?” Hecate let out a light laugh.

“Far from it.

“These are but minor injuries; she will be on her feet by nightfall.”

Sir Olcott couldn’t help but glance sideways, realizing that this young jailer he had recruited possessed a rather extraordinary identity.

Still, it was of no consequence to him.

“Since you have fulfilled your task, it is time for me to honor my word,” Hecate stated.

“Bring me paper and a pen.”

Sir Olcott, having anticipated this, produced the items from his person and handed them over.

Hecate glanced at the pen in his hand, a frown creasing her brow.

“With an instrument like this, do you intend to leave behind evidence?”

“I…”

“Use a pencil instead.”

Sir Olcott realized she was right; his status as a Royal Knight, making a deal with a witch, would spell ruin if discovered.

“But I don’t have a pencil,” he admitted helplessly.

“You know my position; it’s hardly convenient for me to procure such an item… Wait a moment.”

He himself had never bought one, but a pencil, it seemed, he did possess.

Sir Olcott left the cell, returned to his room, retrieved a gift box, and took out the pencil from within.

It was a present from the young jailer, given to him in gratitude for his generous offer to let her “slack off” at work.

“Here, the pencil you requested.”

Hecate took the pencil and paper, uncapped the pencil, and swiftly wrote for a while.

Then, she replaced the cap and returned both the paper and pencil to Sir Olcott.

Sir Olcott retrieved the items, then glanced at Iordera on the ground.

“And her? Are we just leaving her here?”

“Of course. Where else would you possibly take her?” Hecate replied, as if stating the obvious.

“You may return now; there’s no need for you to linger as a third wheel.”

‘Well, wasn’t that something? Directly chasing the warden out of his own prison.’

Sir Olcott, being amenable, simply turned and departed, for he had already obtained what he desired.

Hecate gazed tenderly at Iordera, who lay like a corpse on the ground, and began to hum a cheerful tune.