■ Reconstruction of the Incident □
About an hour after the high-level meeting had ended, I finally managed to slip out of the audience chamber and sighed in relief.
“Phew, I thought my heart was going to stop.”
Though I appeared calm on the outside, I wasn’t expecting them to suddenly ask for my opinion, so my heart was pounding.
I somehow got through it by using my wits, but the plan is still more theoretical than practical.
Going forward, there was a need to refine and make it more concrete.
“You’ve worked hard. Caldlasth. I’m not good at these kinds of things…”
“Ahh, Lady Ozma, you’ve worked hard as well. You must be tired; please go rest.”
Ozma, who had accompanied me, seemed quite exhausted, likely from expending her mental energy.
So, I sent her back to her room first and decided to meet with Barnett, who had received instructions from the Demon King.
Creeeak!
“Ah! Of course she’s still here!”
Right at that moment, the door to the audience chamber, which had been firmly closed, opened slightly, and a witch with red hair poked her head out.
“It’s been a while! Caldlasth!”
Even though it had been about two months since we last saw each other, Dorothea’s face hadn’t changed much from when we parted ways.
If anything, the only difference was that, unlike her usual habit of walking around half-dressed, she was wearing a soft-looking black coat, likely because this was a formal occasion.
Still, the lining was red, fitting her image perfectly.
“Dorothea.”
As I greeted her warmly, Ozma, standing beside me, narrowed her eyes and asked,
“Caldlasth, what kind of relationship do you have with Dorothea?”
“Uh, well…”
“Friends!”
Dorothea confidently declared as she boldly hugged my side.
The overt physical contact made Ozma’s eyebrows twitch, but Dorothea, pretending nothing was wrong, rubbed her face against my back.
“H-Hey, aren’t you a bit too close for just friends?”
“That’s because we’re sex friends!”
“Kyaah! What are you saying?!”
I hastily covered Dorothea’s mouth, realizing too late that she doesn’t know the difference between appropriate and inappropriate speech, but the damage was already done.
“S-Sex friends.”
Ozma, who had been a virgin until just a few days ago, froze with a shocked expression, muttering under her breath at the unexpected word.
Regardless, Dorothea, spotting Camilla waiting in the hallway for me, waved enthusiastically.
“It’s been a while, Camilla.”
Camilla bowed politely with her hands clasped together.
“It’s been a while, Lady Dorothea.”
The two of them, having shared a bedpost in the past, maintained a fairly close relationship.
Eventually, after regaining her composure, Ozma looked at me expectantly, hoping for an explanation, and I scratched my head before deciding to tell the truth.
“First, what Dorothea said is true. While I was on the eastern front, we drank together one night and had a small incident. Since then, we’ve enjoyed each other’s company.”
“…Well, fine. It’s better to be honest than to lie.”
Surprisingly, Ozma took it rather coolly.
“Are you really okay with this? You seemed quite shocked earlier.”
To which Ozma nodded, acknowledging the truth.
“I admit it was shocking, but it’s common knowledge that if a man has ability, keeping multiple concubines isn’t an issue. I never expected you to love me exclusively anyway. Talented men naturally attract women.”
She acted surprisingly calm as she glanced at Dorothea.
“I’ll leave it in your hands from now on.”
This comment, seemingly meant to provoke Ozma, left Dorothea momentarily flustered as she awkwardly nodded.
“Yes, yes sir.”
After exchanging pleasantries, Ozma left, claiming she would return to rest.
Left alone, Dorothea watched Ozma’s retreating figure with a bewildered look before turning to glare at me and asking,
“How exactly did you manage to charm that princess?”
“I don’t know.” After a brief exchange, Dorothea, stating she still had business to attend to, returned inside the audience chamber, and I headed outside the castle to find Barnett.
Unlike the dragon village where identities must remain hidden, here in the Demon King’s Castle, there was no need to wear masks, making activities much easier.
As always, Barnett, along with the Death Knights, was tirelessly guarding the castle day and night. Spotting me, she waved happily and approached.
“Caldlasth, I was just waiting for you.”
“Did the Demon King tell you about it?”
Barnett nodded affirmatively.
“We’re going down to the dungeon to check the scene where the hero was killed. I’ve already arranged it with the guards.”
She jingled the bunch of keys she pulled from her waist, looking subtly pleased at the opportunity to skip her guard duty legally.
“In that case, could you guide me like last time?”
“Of course, just follow me.”
With that confident declaration, Barnett started leading the way.
This was my second visit to the underground dungeon of the Demon King’s Castle.
The first time, I went to extract information from a warrior regarding the eastern front and to confirm the hero’s condition. This time, however, we were confirming the hero’s death.
We passed the first and second floors of the prison, continuing down a hidden staircase behind the walls.
Apart from the torches lit at regular intervals, the spiral staircase descending endlessly into the darkness was pitch black.
After descending for about ten minutes, light finally began to appear.
Upon reaching the bottom and looking around, the entrance to the third floor was illuminated like broad daylight by luminous stones embedded in the ceiling.
We cautiously stepped into the corridor.
“…”
There weren’t many changes compared to the last time I was here.
The stone walls and floors lacked any aesthetic appeal whatsoever.
Iron bars lined the cells, known for their mana-blocking properties.
Prisoners lay listlessly in their cells, having seemingly lost all hope.
Amidst this dreary scenery, there was one cell whose bars were significantly bent.
I realized I recognized this spot.
Indeed, if my memory served me correctly, the prisoner confined in this cell was the ‘cleric.’
I hesitantly asked Barnett, who stood beside me,
“By any chance, was the hero killed by the cleric, who was part of my party?”
Barnett looked puzzled and replied,
“Yes, that’s correct. Is this the first time you’re hearing this?”
“Yeah.”
Honestly, it was completely unexpected.
It would have been more believable if a member of the demon tribe with a grudge against the hero had committed the act.
But the idea that the same cleric who couldn’t even kill an ant had both murdered the hero and then taken their own life was absurd.
“Witnesses? Were there any witnesses?”
At this, Barnett shook her head with a troubled expression.
“The incident happened during the early morning hours when the guards were off-duty. The other prisoners were all deeply asleep.”
“But surely at least one person must have seen something. A witness to the event.”
Barnett, appearing uneasy, absentmindedly rubbed her neck before quietly informing me,
“Well, there actually was one. But the problem is that the witness is from the same hero party.”
Barnett pointed to a specific cell with her finger.
Inside was the warrior I had seen months ago, full of vitality, now reduced to a gaunt and worn-out figure.
Her tear-streaked eyes suggested she had cried herself to sleep.
I frowned and reiterated,
“No other witnesses?”
Barnett shrugged and pointed to the sage imprisoned next to the cleric.
“This one might have seen something.”
The sage’s cell, walls and floor alike, was covered in graffiti.
The purple-cloaked sage was curled up, using it as a blanket, and sleeping soundly, looking marginally better off than the warrior.
I alternated my gaze between the warrior and the sage before deciding to question the latter, who seemed to be in a slightly better state.
“Should we wake him?”
“If you wouldn’t mind, that’d be helpful.”
Upon receiving my request, Barnett opened the cell door and entered, shaking the sleeping sage’s shoulder.
“Mmm…”
The sage mumbled incoherently in their sleep, shifting their small body.
Their once-luminous blue hair had dulled due to dust.
Finally, the sage’s eyes fluttered open.
“Kyaa…!”
Spotting the headless Barnett, they attempted to scream but were quickly silenced by the black gauntlet covering her mouth.
The sage blinked rapidly, terrified.
Nevertheless, Barnett, holding the sage’s thin wrists like a hunter trapping a rabbit, gestured towards me beyond the bars.
Only then did the sage seem to notice me standing there, their pupils contracting sharply.
I directly questioned the sage,
“On the day the hero died, what happened here?”
