Chapter 147

Prince Merrick’s steps at last carried him to the great cathedral.

The massive front gates were flung wide open as though to welcome their procession. A tall staircase had been lined, unlike on ordinary days, with a carpet of red velvet, and on each landing stood ranks of armed soldiers in ceremonial dress. Cuirassiers of the Imperial Guard, wearing spotless, polished breastplates and ceremonial swords at their hips. They made a fine show, but they were toy soldiers who had never once been used in battle.

Prince Merrick got off his horse and swept up the stairs without hesitation, his black cloak streaming behind him. Though his retinue had accompanied him ever since he passed the gate, their paths diverged here.

Knights and dancers who were not permitted to attend the rite remained outside. But the two hundred monks who had invoked their status as clergy followed after him with their hoods drawn low.

As he climbed the steps, a solemn peal of bells rang out as if timed to his ascent. And the moment he set foot inside the cathedral, the pipe organ began to play a sacred monophonic melody that adhered strictly to the ecclesiastical modes.

A spray of multicolored light, filtered through the stained-glass windows, broke in brilliance above his head. The meticulously staged and majestic atmosphere pressed in upon him from all sides. At first glance, everything prepared here seemed meant for the oath-taker, yet in truth it was arranged with the Emperor, before whom he was to kneel, in mind.

In a sense, Prince Merrick’s life had been much the same. Though it was unmistakably his own life, the one who decided its direction had never been himself but always Ebroin V.

Prince Merrick looked toward the Emperor, who stood in stillness at the end of the path he walked. When he fixed upon him a burning, heated gaze, not the look of a man who approached in a moment of weakness to swear fealty, but of one who came to issue a challenge to a duel, the Emperor returned only a dry, unreadable stare that revealed nothing of his thoughts.

The instant their eyes met, Prince Merrick’s stomach twisted violently. The figure of the arrogant, self-serving reprobate who had brutally slaughtered an innocent woman and the blameless life she bore, yet now had the audacity to appear before God’s altar, filled him with genuine revulsion. He had to grit his teeth to suppress the urge to draw the pistol at his waist and strike at the man where he stood.

Because of that, he failed to notice for some time the great draperies that had been lowered over the second-floor balconies. He did not observe that all the nobles around him wore ceremonial hoods, nor even that an uncanny silence hung over them all.

Absurdly enough, what made him finally sense that something was amiss was a trivial detail. Having lowered his gaze in an effort to conceal the fury boiling up inside him, he realized with deep bewilderment that on the step just below the platform where Ebroin V stood,no one at allwas standing.

Half on a hunch, he rolled his eyes to survey the surroundings, but no matter where he looked, he could not find the concubine who ought to have attended as the Emperor’s partner. It was not as though the Emperor lacked a wife, nor as though he were short of women who could take the role of hostess of the ceremony, as he had as many as three.

Prince Merrick suddenly grasped the strangeness of this irrational situation, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. There was one more thing that struck him as peculiar. The bells and the pipe organ were still being played, yet the choir’s singing, which ought naturally to follow, could not be heard. Only belatedly did he realize that human voices had vanished entirely from around him.

The interior of the cathedral was shrouded in a silence so eerie it was almost ominous. Not only were the spiritual lyrics praising God’s blessing and glory absent, but even the usual coughs and whispers of the nobles were nowhere to be heard. Aside from the instruments that continued their ceaseless playing, the only thing filling the air was a vast, overwhelming stillness that seemed enough to deafen.

“It is a trap—!!!”

Only belatedly grasping the situation, Prince Merrick let out a scream-like shout and turned without the slightest delay.Damn it! Fuck! Fuck!!!The cathedral was a trap. Contrary to what they had planned, the one caught in the snare was not Ebroin V but themselves!!

Prince Merrick, realizing instinctively that they had to escape no matter what, drew the pistol at his hip and hurled himself toward the main doors. Those who had heard his warning also drew their weapons, but even with Prince Merrick himself leading the retreat, there was no real recourse for them either. Once they understood that things had gone awry, they did not hesitate and followed after him.

sJLIAIb, EaIQb GvEQJwt LIbI wJEaQwV hJbI EaGw G YkEQSI tEbkVVSI. pbJh EaI hJhIwE EaI SGtE JY ybQwvI PIbbQvB’t VbJkr vbJttIH EaI EabItaJSH JY EaI hGQw HJJbt, OibJQw C aGH GSbIGHN rbIrGbIH EJ ibQwV IAIbNEaQwV EJ Gw IwH.

“lIUd dIT BffiA!”

kgifQJ F, IQA YQqA GfYB LJB AQYTJd, JfBBTB, LJB wLifJ wfUQYITd ifLiTB fUd L GfPPLJB. EIT QJAdLJd dIT GfPPLJB mLA QAAUTB, dIT GUQiLAAQTiA mLQdQJN fUdAQBT dIT BffiA iUAITB SfimLiB LA QS dITp ILB gTTJ mLQdQJN Sfi dIQA LYfJT LJB qUAITB dIT PLAAQaT QifJ BffiA.

“UndP Pnw tMMCT!”

“ZakE EaI HJJbt!!”

Thooomm-.The iron doors began to close with a long, resonant sound. Because there were also men inside pulling the mechanisms connected to the doors, the speed at which they shut was far faster than expected. Alarmed, Prince Merrick and his group sprinted across the passage, but before they could escape, before they had taken even four or five steps, they were forced to stop.

“HfiP iLJsA!”

“pJbh bGwBt!”

“HfiP iLJsA!”

If the first command had blocked the corner into which they might run, then the second command had all but seized them by the scruff of the neck. At Baron Bouilhet’s order, the soldiers disguised as nobles pulled back their ceremonial hoods and took out themusketshidden beneath their long cloaks, aiming them toward Prince Merrick and his group.

EIT SifJd iLJs fS AfYBQTiA sJTYd LJB YTaTYTB dITQi gLiiTYA, dIT JTcd iLJs AdffB LJB LQPTB, LJB dIfAT QJ dIT iLJs gTIQJB dITP mTiT diLQJTB LAAQAdLJdA mIf mfUYB ILJB YfLBTB PUAsTdA df dIT AIffdTiA. HfiPQJN L qTiSTGd dTLP fS dIiTT, dITp mTiT dIT TYQdT SUAQYQTi UJQd dILd ILB TaTJ ATTJ iTLY gLddYT QJ dIT EIQiB nLJBiQTJJT VLPqLQNJ.

Those standing along both sides of the passage raised their guns toward them in unison. But except for the front three rows, the rest did not take position behind them. Instead, they split into two groups with disciplined precision. Half shifted formation toward the main doors, blocking the group’s retreat, and the remaining half spread out across the front, barring them so that they could not dare threaten the Emperor’s safety.

In an instant, a perfect encirclement was formed. Prince Merrick and his companions, or more precisely the members of Rodom’s counterintelligence organization, Nightwing, became rats trapped inside a poison jar.

It was around that moment that the curtain hanging over the balcony was drawn up. The nobles could not hide their astonishment at the scene that unfolded before their eyes. They had been able to guess the situation from the sounds coming from beyond the curtain, yet seeing the devastation for themselves was another matter entirely.

Low groans and moans, the stifled screams of startled women. The once silent cathedral was quickly filled with a rising buzz of agitation.

Under normal circumstances, surrender would have begun at that moment. No matter how they struggled, the numbers were hopelessly against them. But every member of Nightwing who had come to this place had resolved themselves to die from the very beginning.

Prince Merrick did not know it, but when they had run toward the doors with him, it had not been in order to escape together. It had been to secure his safety. To them, Prince Merrick’s life was as important a target as that of Ebroin V.

They surrounded Prince Merrick in layered ranks and confronted the fusiliers. Having found himself hidden among them almost by accident, Prince Merrick bit his lip anxiously and looked around, not knowing what to do.

[Dammit, what am I supposed to do in this situation? How long do I need to stall?]

One of them shouted a curse with a loud voice and threw out a hurried question. But among the many within the cathedral, very few besides his own comrades understood him. No wonder, for the language he used was a northern Camarin dialect laced with rough slang. They no longer bothered to hide that they were people of the Confederation of Five Nations.

[Just a little longer. If the brothers who infiltrated ahead of time succeed in the plan…]

[Surely you are not waiting for these ones?]

But among those few who understood was Viscount Dériche himself. Acting under the Emperor’s command and leading the elite fusilier unit, Viscount Dériche scoffed at their scheme and seized something from his belt, then hurled it.

The one who, almost by reflex, caught the object flying toward his chest drew in a sharp breath when he realized that the severed head in his arms bore familiar features. The scalp shaven in a circular tonsure, characteristic of a monk: it was the head of the long-embedded permanent spy who had infiltrated the Order of Saint Eustace.

Even managing to catch a single one counted as luck. The other two heads, caught by no one, rolled across the floor as they were.

[Dammit!]

[The cargo operation has failed!]

Nightwings understood the situation the moment they saw the heads of the dead. It was over. Everything had come to ruin. Their first plan, using Prince Merrick as a decoy, had always been nothing more than a misdirection. But the exposure of the most crucial [Cargo] operation was a disastrous outcome beyond compare.

[Kill the Emperor!!]

[For Rodom!!]

[For Rodom!!]

What followed was utter pandemonium. Trained for years as spies, they understood instantly that their plan had failed completely, and that not one of them would leave this place alive.

Their homeland had poured immense resources and manpower into this operation over many long years, yet in the end, they had achieved nothing. Though they had come fully prepared for death, none of them could accept an ending like this. What they had sought was an honorable sacrifice for their country, not such a meaningless, futile death.

One Nightwing assassin, seeing that Prince Merrick was now of no use, stabbed him from behind. Prince Merrick, who could not have imagined that he would be attacked by those protecting him, was stabbed in the back, completely defenseless.

He gasped at the sudden pain, unable even to grasp what had happened, and slowly blinked as he looked down. A searing pain flared in his chest as though he had been burned, and a dark stain of blood spread across the expensive brocade fabric. Prince Merrick drew harsh, rasping breaths,hic,hic, from the pain of a pierced lung, unable to hide the bewilderment on his face.

…Who, who stabbed me? There was no one behind me but those guarding me…

Fortunately for him, his confusion did not last long. The one who had stabbed him neatly severed his neck in a follow-up strike. Prince Merrick’s head rose into the air. Despite his noble blood as an imperial kin, he died with not even his body left intact. It was a brutal death none could have foreseen.

That was the signal for the Nightwings to surge toward the Emperor. Startled, Viscount Dériche shouted an order at the top of his voice to keep those mad fanatics from getting anywhere near the Emperor’s side.

“Right line, fire!”

Tat-tat-tat, tat-crack, crack!Thunderous blasts erupted all at once from the muzzles of the muskets occupying the right flank. Acrid smoke burst forth as the bullets shot out and punched into the attackers with a rapid popping sound,crack-crack-crack-crack.The distance was not far, barely an arm’s length, so there was no need for careful aim. People simply dropped where they stood, one after another.

The spectacle they created was so ghastly that it was hard to watch with one’s eyes open. Wet, tearing sounds burst out like ripping leather as fragile human flesh was shredded into pieces. Those struck at such an unavoidably close range screamed in death throes as they fell. But even so, stopping the charge of men rushing forward like enraged bulls was no easy task.

“Left line, fire!”

Although the cathedral nave was fairly wide, having both lines fire at the same time was essentially impossible. They were all within each other’s range; a misstep could injure not only the enemy but their comrades across the aisle.

Because of that, Viscount Dériche had no choice but to order a strange form of alternating fire. After the right line finished its second volley, they quickly hid among the rows of chairs, while the left line rose from their cover and pulled their triggers.

As soon as the first line fired and withdrew, the second line fired without pause. Assistants received the empty muskets, loaded them with speed, and handed the loaded weapons back to the shooters who had stepped aside.

Rat-tat-tat! Crack! Bang!!

“Front line, fire!!”

More than half the attackers had already fallen. But that also meant that half of them were still alive.Damn it!Growing desperate, Viscount Dériche finally gave the order for the line blocking the front to open fire.