Chapter 62 - Covered in Ashes (6)
A day at House Krieger begins before the sun even rises.
Having had sufficient sleep, Haires woke at his designated time, washed up quickly, shaved, and changed his clothes.
Since winter nights were long, even after Haires had finished all his preparations and stepped out of his room, the Eastern Sky was only faintly growing lighter, and the sun had yet to rise.
"..."
Before leaving his room, Haires gazed in silence at one side of the oversized bed—at the lonely pillow left without its owner.
Soon, without saying a word, he quietly exited the room.
"Good morning, Father."
"Good morning, Ernest."
Out in the hallway, Haires was preparing breakfast when, not long after, Ernest also came out.
It had already been five days since Ernest returned home.
Still, Haires found himself not quite used to having Ernest back in the house.
"The wind is really strong today."
But seeing his son wander around the house, lighting candles and brightening up each room, made him feel, once again, that this was, in fact, their normal life—and brought him a measure of comfort.
"Yes, it's very cold now, so make sure to dress warmly when you go out."
"Okay. You should dress warmly too, Father."
"Yes, I will."
Today, Ernest had plans to meet the other First-Year Cadets and would be heading out before lunch.
Haires was also thinking of going to the marketplace around that time to buy groceries and firewood.
The father and son sat across from each other, quietly finishing their meal, and even tidied up together.
Then, as usual, Haires sat beside his son and, in a gentle, low voice, patiently began to teach him.
In truth, as an educator, Haires was, at best, a subpar teacher.
To be honest, it wouldn't be wrong to call him irresponsible and indifferent as a teacher.
Despite having remarkable academic knowledge in a wide range of fields, Haires's teaching merely consisted of reciting information, which was rather disappointing.
Even so, the reason Ernest had been able to develop his scholarly abilities so well was simply because he himself was exceptional.
Haires knew this, too, but since Ernest kept up just fine, he made no further effort.
And so, by any measure, he was clearly an irresponsible and indifferent teacher.
As lunchtime approached, Ernest's lessons came to an end.
"I'll come home for dinner."
"It's fine if you eat with your friends."
"No, I'd like to have dinner with you at home, Father."
"…Alright. I'll have it ready."
"See you this evening."
"Yes, see you tonight."
Haires saw Ernest off first Ernest walked down the snowy street with a light step.
Partway along, he turned back, waved with a smile at Haires, and kept going.
Haires, wearing a faint, hazy smile, waved back at his son.
"..."
Once Ernest had completely disappeared from view, Haires's expression slowly faded away.
The face of the man, with hollow cheeks and deeply shadowed eyes, now looked coldly frozen—as if the warm, fatherly smile he'd shown his son had never existed at all.
Haires walked quietly down the street, his footsteps as light and insubstantial as if he were floating—like a shadow with no weight.
Even though the sun hung in the sky, the streets remained locked in winter's chill, the snow refusing to melt.
Haires seemed, in some strange way, both out of place and yet perfectly at home here, like a being born from snow and shadow.
Wordlessly, Haires made his way toward the marketplace.
'I'll have to buy a bit more than usual.'
His son, back from a year at the Military Academy, had grown much taller and, along with that, his appetite had clearly increased—far more than Haires had expected.
He'd need to buy more groceries than before.
'And since one of Ernest's friends might visit, I should get a new chair too.'
It would be best to buy a chair ahead of time, just in case one of Ernest's friends dropped by.
No matter how friendly they were, he didn't want them using Mia's chair.
He figured one would probably be enough.
…No, just in case, maybe two… or should he buy three?
There was extra space in the storage room, so it would be fine.
Haires's own chair was so old now that it felt a bit risky to use.
It might be a good idea to have some new chairs custom-made so they wouldn't look out of place next to Mia's.
Or maybe, after all this time, it would be nice to make them himself.
'When the weather warms up, maybe I'll build one together with Ernest…'
Haires imagined making chairs with his son, who would be turning fifteen next year and officially becoming an adult. The dark, frozen expression on Haires's face softened just a little in the brightness of the noon sun.
For now, he decided he'd just buy two chairs to tide them over.
He shouldn't buy too many, since he was planning to make more with Ernest later.
As for groceries, he should buy as much as he could reasonably carry.
Ernest was already eating nearly as much as he was, and his friends probably would too.
Haires knew very well how much boys that age could eat.
He'd been the same way as a child, and so had all his brothers—those now lost, every one, during the Mihahil Empire's conquest wars.
"..."
Lost in painful memories, Haires suddenly stopped in the street.
He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to endure the present.
What hurt him most was the image of his wife, swaying gently as she cooked, even as lightning flashed outside that rainy day.
"…If only our son could have tasted the food you made for him…"
Haires whispered, his voice barely more than ragged breath.
"Mia…"
He wondered if the reason he could recall those memories now—memories so painful they used to take his breath away—was because he no longer loved her.
But seeing how vivid that day remained in his mind, the memory of two shy children grumbling and yet holding hands tightly as they walked together, it probably wasn't that.
Mia, who had walked beside him since childhood, left him long ago.
Even so, Haires was no longer truly alone.
Maybe, as he relives the comfort his wife once offered in the midst of that storm, and as he sees the boy turning back holding a candle lit against the dark, it's those new presences that allow him to look back despite how much it still hurts.
"Hoo…"
Haires let out a long breath through his teeth.
Like a puff of cigarette smoke—something he'd quit when he started raising Ernest—it drifted away, pale and fading, then disappeared.
Realizing he'd been standing in the middle of the street for far too long, Haires started once again toward the marketplace.
"Mr. Krieger, you're here early today."
As Haires headed to buy meat at the butcher shop, the Butcher Shop Owner greeted him with a big smile—the same man he'd traded with for years.
Even though it was the middle of the day, his face was flushed bright red from drinking heavily, using the cold as an excuse.
"My son eats a lot more these days," Haires said.
"Oh! That's right! Ernest is back, isn't he?"
The Butcher Shop Owner beamed.
"That adorable little boy of yours, ha ha ha. Yes, that's right. He'll be an adult soon. Time really does fly."
Though he was rambling drunkenly, the Butcher Shop Owner's hands moved skillfully as he started cutting the meat.
Without Haires even having to ask, he sliced up a far larger portion than usual, preparing it neatly for eating and handing it over, all packaged up.
Haires watched quietly, then took out money and handed it to him, even though the Butcher Shop Owner hadn't named a price. The man accepted it wordlessly.
No merchant in this marketplace ever complained about the amount Haires paid.
He was known to calculate costs more accurately than the shop owners themselves.
They simply accepted what he gave, no questions asked.
"Mr. Krieger, you should bring Ernest along one of these days. Once he graduates, it'll be hard to see him around, and I'd at least like to say hello."
The Butcher Shop Owner was very fond of Ernest.
In fact, most people here felt the same way, and much of that was thanks to Haires.
He often helped the local merchants by calculating their taxes for them, or reading and writing on their behalf.
Among commoners, even just being literate earned respect—but someone like Haires, who also helped with taxes, was practically revered.
Before he came along, people had no choice but to pay the Tax Collector whatever was demanded.
But after Haires started helping, they only had to pay exactly what they owed, saving a lot of money in the process.
To them, the tax collectors were scoundrels who deserved to have their heads bashed in, but Haires—who helped them pay less—was nothing short of a godsend.
"Ernest has been busy these days, spending time with friends. But if he has time later, I'll bring him by."
"That's wonderful to hear. I'm relieved. Those young noblemen…."
The Butcher Shop Owner chuckled as he spoke, then suddenly jumped and clapped a hand over his mouth.
A careless word could mean the end for his whole family.
No matter how well Haires had blended into their daily lives, the Krieger family was still a noble house by inheritance.
"It's fine. I've worried about the same thing myself."
"…Ah, yes. Thank you."
The Butcher Shop Owner, who seemed to have sobered up completely, forced an awkward smile, his face pale. Just as Haires was about to leave with the meat, the owner suddenly called out to him in surprise.
"Oh! Mr. Krieger, um, have you, by any chance, met them?"
Haires looked into his eyes.
For a fleeting moment, Haires's deep, dark eyes flickered.
Met them?
Met who?
With just that offhand remark, Haires realized at once that someone he didn't know had been asking around the marketplace about him.
Judging by the Butcher Shop Owner's attitude, he also understood that, to the average person, this stranger didn't seem all that dangerous.
He didn't seem worried about Haires at all.
In a fleeting instant, countless thoughts flashed through Haires's mind, but he spoke in a calm voice nonetheless.
"Who are you referring to?"
"Oh, well…"
The Butcher Shop Owner sighed, sounding regretful.
"This morning, a little girl came by early and asked for House Krieger."
All the suspects Haires had considered started to fade from his mind. But there were still many possible people, and even organizations, left.
"She was just a small child, but she was wearing a Military Academy cadet uniform."
When the Butcher Shop Owner gestured to show the girl's height, Haires could almost be certain of her identity.
"Was she Aeblonian?"
"Yes, so you already knew."
Haires paused for a brief moment.
He realized the girl must be Marie Fiders, the Aeblonian Baltracher Cadet who relied on Ernest, and felt a little uneasy.
"She's a friend of Ernest's?"
"I've heard about her."
Haires hid his feelings and remained composed.
"You really didn't see her? She looked… her condition was pretty bad."
"What do you mean?"
"...It looked like she was about to freeze to death. That is... ah, well..."
After speaking, the Butcher Shop Owner faltered and started to ramble, flustered. It was because he realized she might be a friend of Ernest's. If he'd thought of that in the morning, he would have helped Marie. But at that time, he'd already been drunk and wasn't able to make even that most basic, rational decision.
Haires listened to him quietly for a moment and then nodded slowly.
"When was this?"
"In the morning... that is... um... It was not long after sunrise, I think."
"Did she head toward my house?"
"Yes, yes. I did see her going that way... but then I went back into the shop, so I didn't see what happened after."
"All right. I'll go look for her."
"...I'm sorry."
"It's all right. This isn't your responsibility. I'll come by later to pick this up."
"Yes..."
Haires decided to postpone his plans to buy groceries and a chair, leaving even the meat he purchased at the butcher shop as he strode out into the street.
The truth was, Haires was not in favor of Marie getting any closer to Ernest—especially not to the point where she would try to visit his home like this.
Still, Haires resolved that, first and foremost, he needed to find Marie and ensure her safety.
It was obvious that if anything truly happened to her—if she froze to death out here—it would have a terrible effect on Ernest.
"Excuse me."
"Oh, Mr. Krieger. Have you run out of candles already?"
"I still have some left. I'll come get more another time. I came today to ask you something."
"Yes, what is it?"
"Have you, by chance, seen an Aeblonian girl about this tall, dressed in a Military Academy cadet uniform?"
"Ah..."
"Yes, I saw her this morning. She went that way."
"Thank you."
Haires made full use of the influence he had developed within the marketplace, and he was able to track Marie without much difficulty. Many people spoke with apparent concern for Marie. They said she looked as if she could die at any moment. Yet not a single one of them—not even one—offered the smallest act of kindness to the little girl freezing to death.
"No, I haven't seen her."
He continued asking around until he started hearing from people who hadn't seen her.
To be thorough, he even double-checked with the nearby merchants, considering the possibility that he and Marie might have narrowly missed each other.
Before long, he learned exactly when and where Marie had disappeared.
When Haires realized that Marie had vanished at a particular alley, he also realized just how troublesome this had become.
Ernest was extremely intelligent and could glean a staggering amount of information from the smallest clue.
In fact, it was Haires himself who had trained him that way.
It was strange for Marie to be in Grimman at all.
The discrimination against Aeblonian people in Grimman was beyond imagination. There was no way Marie's home could be located here. Even so, she turned down the support offered by the Military Academy and chose to stay in Grimman instead of returning to her hometown.
Many people had seen Marie searching for the House of Krieger, and there was no knowing how Ernest might hear about this. Ernest knew that Marie relied on him. He would quickly catch on to the fact that she had wandered the bitterly cold streets of Grimman in search of him, just to lean on him.
If, come spring, when everyone returned to the Military Academy, Ernest were to learn that Marie had died or gone missing, he would no doubt be filled with regret.
Even if that hadn't been Ernest's intention, the truth remained: Marie had come to rely on him, and it was that very dependence that had led to her death or disappearance.
And Haires, who already had a good idea of what had happened to the suddenly vanished Marie, also knew that she would never come back alive. For a girl said to be dying of the cold, there was no reason for her to head into a shadowy, dark alley, away from the sunlit streets and not even in the direction of the Krieger house.
This movement surely hadn't been of Marie's own will.
The odds that Marie had been abducted were extremely high.
She was a Baltracher Cadet of Aeblonian origin.
It likely wasn't a ransom they were after—it was probably something even more malicious.
Armed with everything Ernest had told him about Marie, and the facts of what had just happened, Haires understood the situation with chilling clarity—perhaps even more so than Marie herself did in that moment. And he couldn't help but worry.
"Huu…"
After a moment, Haires let out a long sigh and stepped into the alley.
He could still picture his son smiling and waving just moments ago, but he couldn't turn back now.
Put another way, if Ernest weren't involved in all of this, Haires wouldn't have paid Marie the slightest attention. Whether an unknown girl lived or died was none of his concern.
As he went deeper into the alley, Haires quietly darted his eyes around, taking stock of his surroundings.
Immersed in those painfully familiar sensations, a wave of self-loathing washed over him.
Knock knock knock.
He hadn't gone far when he stopped at an old, ramshackle door and knocked.
But there was no reply.
"I know you're in there," Haires said in a low voice, pressing himself against the wall instead of standing directly in front of the door.
Cold air whistled easily through the poorly fitting frame.
"I have some questions for you. It would be best if you cooperate—for your own sake."
Anyone who knew what kind of man Haires was would be startled the moment they heard his voice. His tone was surprisingly gentle, and his manner of speaking was refined—exceedingly polite, even. Yet, there wasn't a trace of consideration in it.
It was a command so forceful and unmistakable that the idea of refusal wasn't even on the table.
Creak...
The door opened very slowly and carefully. As Haires listened for any sounds, he wedged his foot into the narrow gap and then flung the door open all at once.
"Mmph…!"
Before the startled man inside could react, Haires covered his mouth tightly with his large gloved hand and pushed him inside.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
"Gah!"
After stepping inside and shutting the door, Haires finally released the face he had been gripping so roughly.
The shabby-looking man stumbled back in haste, but he didn't even dare to scream or resist.
"This morning, you must have seen a red-haired girl in a Cadet Uniform out front."
With clear disgust, Haires carefully removed the glove he had used to grab the man's face, making sure it didn't touch his body, and tossed it aside. Every movement was the picture of a noble—acting with utmost reluctance, as if forced into this situation against his will.
"Tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out."
"…S-sir…"
"Enough."
As the man tried to stammer out some kind of excuse, Haires elegantly raised his right hand—still gloved—and cut him off.
"Your circumstances are not my concern. I'll say it again. Tell me everything you know."
Haires hadn't barged into this house without reason. He was certain this man knew something about Marie.
The snow outside the door remained undisturbed.
The man hadn't stepped outside all day.
The old door, which didn't fit well with the wall, let in the wind easily and carried sound just as well.
Haires's low voice could be heard perfectly throughout the house.
More importantly, Haires had heard the man's very cautious footsteps. As Haires passed by the door, the footsteps that had been shuffling inside suddenly grew faint.
And the reason this highly suspicious nobleman's words had prompted the man to open the door was because he could guess that refusing would lead to serious trouble.
A Baltracher Cadet at the Imperial Military Academy, protected by the authority of His Majesty the Emperor, was now in jeopardy. If, in this situation, a noble—who had no reason to be here—visited alone and caught you feigning ignorance? If you die cleanly, consider it a blessing. One wrong move, and you could be charged with something terrifying like treason.
"I-I heard something… in the morning… So I peeked through the crack in the door a little…"
The man began speaking in a frightened whisper, trembling with fear.
Haires had hoped his guess was wrong, but unfortunately—as always—he was never mistaken.
***
"You crazy bastard!"
"Agh! Argh!"
"Why would you bring a cadet here?"
"P-please! Spare me! Please, let me live!"
"Spare you? Thanks to you, we're all as good as dead now!"
"Aaaagh!"
John, still fuming even after he had stomped on the wrist of his deranged subordinate who'd brought a Baltracher Cadet from the Imperial Military Academy—crushing it completely—grabbed a bare candlestick left on the table and smashed it down hard on the man's head.
Thud!
Blood splattered, the man convulsed, and then fell still.
John, his eyes bloodshot after killing his subordinate, swept his gaze around the room now shrouded in silence.
Everyone was so terrified that they could barely breathe.
"Damn it…"
Cursing under his breath, John ripped off his hat and threw it aside. His bald head, drenched in sweat from his boiling rage, turned a burning red, steam practically rising from it.
"Should we… put her back where we found her…?"
"You didn't just pick up someone who'd passed out—how could you drag someone in here who was wide awake?"
"I-I'm so sorry…"
John bitterly regretted ever hiring these idiots, all because he was short on manpower. He was, in a way… a merchant. He procured goods locally, then sold them to whoever wanted them. In other words, John was a human trafficker operating in the Outer Fortress district of Grimman—specifically, in the slums—kidnapping children under the age of ten and selling them.
Children younger than ten hadn't yet taken the Balt Aptitude Test, so if you got lucky, you could hit the jackpot. Baltrachers were officially property only permitted to the Empire, but there was no shortage of people desiring that incredible power.
Even if the child didn't have Balt aptitude, you could just sell them as an ordinary slave.
Every child kidnapped was money in the bank. It was a business with nothing to lose.
Naturally, everyone in this line of work was desperate to find children with Balt aptitude. Because it brought in money. Lots of it.
But even so, John had never imagined that some insane bastard would actually kidnap a cadet with Level 2 or higher aptitude—someone who had entered the Imperial Military Academy and registered as part of the military.
There was only one way to resolve this cleanly: deal with the Baltracher Cadet without getting caught, silence everyone involved, and leave Grimman for good. He'd have to abandon everything he'd built up operating in Grimman's slums, but he'd saved up plenty over the years, and more importantly—anything was better than losing his life.
Maybe this was his chance to retire for good, buy a little farm in some quiet village. Of course, the slaves would do all the actual work.
Making his decision quickly, John glanced around at the others, who were all watching him for cues.
"No witnesses, right?"
"Yes, yes. Of course, there weren't any."
"Good. Then for now, just keep an eye on the Baltracher in here. I'll handle the cleanup myself."
"Yes, sir!"
While they stayed here, John planned to bring in some of his most trusted men—those who'd worked under him the longest—and kill everyone present. Naturally, he'd quietly get rid of Marie too, either by burning her body or chopping it up and burying it somewhere. Sure, selling her would make some money, but if someone tracked her down, it'd be his head rolling the moment he slipped up.
Trying to keep calm, John opened the door and left the room.
Thud!
"Ugh!"
That was the end of it. A hammer struck the back of John's head, and with a single scream, he collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. John's neatly bald head was now caved in where his skull had been shattered.
Step. Step.
Haires entered the room with an expressionless face, casting a glance over the three men staring at him in a daze.
Click.
Haires reached his gloved left hand behind him and closed the door. The commotion passed in a flash. There were a few dull thuds, a single choked death rattle, and then silence.
Click.
The door opened again, and only a gloved hand quietly reached out, grabbing the collapsed John by the ankle and dragging him into the room. A moment later, Haires emerged, still immaculate from head to toe, his appearance completely undisturbed.
The only difference from before he'd entered was that Haires had taken off his gloves and discarded the hammer. Still, his hands weren't empty: he now carried something in both arms, wrapped thoroughly in cloth.
Stepping over the corpse sprawled in the cramped space that hardly deserved to be called a living room, Haires ignored another body slumped by the door and kicked it open. Kicking a door open wasn't something he would normally do, but this was hardly a normal situation.
By the time Haires realized Marie was there, killed the seven men involved, and rescued her, the sun was still high overhead. And just like a ghost, as if he had never been there at all, he vanished.
Not long after, a fire broke out in the building where John's gang had been. The people living nearby, startled, came running out of their houses. But rather than worrying about the burning building itself, they began frantically pouring the unfrozen water they kept inside and scooping up the snow piled on the streets, splashing it all over their own walls to keep the fire from spreading to their homes. No one cared about someone else's house going up in flames; trying to put out the fire by going inside would only mean throwing away their lives. Protecting their own homes was what mattered most.
Fortunately, the fire didn't spread far. The building's exterior walls were made of stone, and there was little wooden furniture or anything else inside to fuel the flames.
Once the fire was out, there was a brief investigation. But nobody paid much attention, and since no one was keen to poke around the charred remains for bodies or wounds, it was eventually chalked up to a fire caused by drunkards knocking over a brazier, and the matter was closed without further inquiry.
Likewise, the body that would be discovered much later in a shabby house at the entrance to the alley would simply be considered another drunk who'd passed out and frozen to death on the floor, and likely wouldn't be investigated at all.
Such things were common enough every winter.