Volume 7 Chapter 35 By The Way, I Recently Found Out About The Front And Back
The silver-masked figure had disappeared into the shadows of the grasslands hours earlier, but now, under the moonlit sky, he moved like a phantom through the city. With [Curseblade] gripped firmly in one hand, he navigated the rooftops, his steps light and sure. His presence, a flicker in the night, was known only to those he allowed to see him. In an instant, he reached the government office, and with practiced ease, he slipped through a narrow window.
Inside, the air felt thick, oppressive with the weight of secrets. The moment his feet touched the polished floor of the government office, shadows flickered. Figures emerged from the dark corners, silent as death. These were Gustav's guards—once traitors, now bound to serve a new master.
The silver-masked figure raised his hands, palm out, in a gesture of peace. "I am an ally," he said quietly, his voice smooth, yet carrying an edge.
At the sight of the silver mask, the guards murmured to one another. "Lord Silvermoon..." they whispered, before stepping aside, clearing the path.
Their compliance was quick, almost rehearsed. No words were needed; their fear was enough. As the silver-masked figure walked forward, each step was deliberate, echoing through the cold, silent hallways. He stopped before the governor's chambers—Gustav's quarters.
It was early still. Too early for a visit without an appointment. But for the silver-masked figure, such things were irrelevant. His very presence in this space signaled power—power granted by a weighty and unseen hand.
At the door stood a servant, her eyes wide with surprise. She took one look at him, then stepped aside, instinctively. The silver-masked figure didn't acknowledge her. He simply knocked, the sound sharp and hollow in the silence.
"Come in," came Gustav's voice, heavy with irritation from the other side.
When the door opened, Gustav was standing there, his brow furrowing in confusion. He was not a man to be caught off guard easily, yet the sight of the silver mask—so familiar, yet so chilling—caused him to falter. His expression shifted from suspicion to something else, something far less sure.
"...Why are you here, at this time, in this place?" Gustav's voice was strained, the words slipping from his mouth with a tinge of panic.
The silver-masked figure didn't answer with words. Instead, he raised [Curseblade] to shoulder height, its blade gleaming ominously in the dim light.
Gustav's face drained of color. His mouth opened, but no words came. The sword—the one Zaif had wielded—was now in the hands of the man before him. That fact alone was enough to speak volumes. Zaif had failed. The weight of that failure pressed down on Gustav, a burden he wasn't prepared to bear.
"Lord Silvermoon, there is a reason for this—" Gustav stammered, his voice shaking as his eyes darted to the sword. He tried to form the words, but his mouth betrayed him.
Silvermoon merely sighed, the sound low and almost weary. It was as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and Gustav's petty concerns were a mere annoyance.
"Rothheim," Silvermoon said, his voice thick with disinterest. "Do not worry. I am not here to condemn you."
For a moment, Gustav blinked, confused. "Eh?" he managed, his voice cracking with uncertainty.
"The issues with Zaif Aldren and Randolph Victor are known to us," Silvermoon continued, his gaze unwavering.
Gustav's face paled again. The knowledge that Silvermoon knew of the events surrounding Zaif and Randy was one thing. But the fact that his own role in those events was known... that was another matter entirely.
Despite the ominous presence before him, Silvermoon's demeanor remained strangely unaffected. He gave another heavy sigh, as though he were bothered by something far more important than Gustav's petty machinations.
"Though it was somewhat problematic that you moved Zaif as you did... It's clear that Zaif acted on his own. I suspect he sought to punish that student in his own way."
Gustav's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. "So, that's... that's what happened," he stammered, nodding quickly, trying to convince himself of the lie that now filled his mind.
The truth was, he had planned it all carefully—but Zaif's violent retaliation had spiraled out of control.
"Zaif's actions—"
"Do you think I care for your excuses?" Silvermoon's voice was icy, cutting through Gustav's words like a blade.
Gustav froze, his face draining of what little color was left. The air in the room shifted, thick with unspoken tension. The faintest flicker of death—of something cold and final—lingered between them.
"I know that you could not stop Zaif. I have no illusions about that," Silvermoon continued, his eyes narrowing as the pressure of his gaze intensified. "But... do not think for a moment that this is why I'm here."
Gustav opened his mouth, but Silvermoon cut him off, his tone firm, unyielding.
"Calm yourself. I am not here to pass judgment on you," he said, his words sharp and final. The implication hung heavy in the air, unspoken but clear.
Gustav's gaze darted back and forth, eyes wide with confusion. Silvermoon's presence loomed in the room like a thick fog, his very aura crackling with a power Gustav couldn't begin to comprehend. It was not only his appearance—clad in silver armor that glimmered like the moon—but the unspoken threat in the air. For once, Gustav had no words. The confusion on his face was palpable, but it wasn't just the mask that unnerved him; it was the silence before the storm.
"Normally, I would have no issue with your elimination," came Silvermoon's voice, distorted and cold through the mask. There was something in the tone, a dangerous mockery wrapped in politeness. "But Mr. Ragnar and the Black Moon Bureau—we have a particular interest in watching how the kingdom's nobles wage war."
Gustav blinked. War? What was this man talking about? This wasn't about honor or valor; it was about something else, something far darker.
The voice inside the silver mask carried a laugh, cruel and taunting.
"The kingdom... no, the territorial lords have far too often underestimated our might. The recent conflict, for example—it ended with a painful lesson for those who think they can dismiss us."
Gustav's stomach twisted at the mention of the battle. He had been there, caught in the middle of it. Silvermoon wasn't speaking metaphorically—he was referring to the true cost of underestimating their enemies, and it had been paid in blood.
"And now," the voice continued, "I have a proposition for you, Gustav. I want you to be my... sample."
Gustav's heart skipped a beat. Sample? What did that mean?
Silvermoon leaned forward, and for a split second, Gustav swore he could see the glint of a smile through the silver faceplate. "I don't expect you to win, not by any means." His words were slow, deliberate, like a snake waiting to strike. "But you will show me something. Something valuable."
The words hung in the air, thick with meaning. Gustav's mind raced.
"Show me the art of war when there's no war."
Gustav's mouth went dry, his chest tight with disbelief. He had expected many things from this encounter. But this? This was a challenge of a different kind altogether.
The mention of "no war" left him confused. Was Silvermoon truly questioning his abilities? Or was he baiting him into something far darker? He couldn't tell, but the implications of the request were clear. A test, yes. But a test of what?
Silvermoon's voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back into the moment.
"Mr. Ragnar believes that we have misjudged the true strength of the territorial lords. The peculiar case of Victor, for example, is one we've greatly underestimated. And the people who followed him... well, they've shown their mettle in ways we couldn't have anticipated."
Gustav's eyes widened. He knew of Victor—the man was a force in his own right. But what did this have to do with Ragnar and the greater plan? The gears in his mind started to turn.
"Now," Silvermoon continued, voice dark and foreboding, "imagine a combat group that surpasses even the Empire's elite forces. But, this group doesn't just sit idly by—they grow stronger with every resource they claim. Imagine what will happen if this force, aligned with old noble blood, gains the same wealth and power as Braubelg?"
Gustav's breath caught in his throat. He knew what Silvermoon was suggesting—such a force could be a nightmare for Ragnar's plan. It could change the balance of power in the entire continent.
He choked down the lump in his throat, but the dread continued to swell inside him. He could already see the enormity of the problem that would arise. If Ragnar was after total domination, this was the obstacle that would challenge every one of his designs.
Notes:
• Silvermoon - A formal representative of the Empire and Prince Ragnar's private soldier. His appearance is characterized by a silver mask that obscures his face. He speaks formally and is tasked with retrieving Zaif's body and the magic sword [Curseblade].
• Zaif - A former Imperial Army soldier known as the [Black Wolf]. He has a sadistic personality and is described as a troublemaker who tortured prisoners and hurt training partners. He is Randy's opponent in the mock battle.
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