Chapter 9 - These Orphans Need Their Director (2)

In the heart of Prizhenkaya's central garden stood monuments and statues commissioned by Ivan the Great himself: the [Statue of the Hero Departing for Battle], the [Statue of the Goddess of Victory], and the [Statue of the Nameless Hero].

One day, after the Demon King was dead and the war had ended, a statue vanished from Prizhenkaya's central garden.

The [Statue of the Nameless Hero]. A small sign was said to have been planted where it once stood.

[The right to mourn them is mine. -Enrique.]

Crown Prince Alexander reportedly flew into a rage, calling it an insult to the royal family, but Princess Elizaveta recognized Enrique's right and abandoned efforts to recover the statue.

Of course, the truth was impossible to know.

There was no need to antagonize a legendary master thief who had uprooted and stolen a statue overnight from a garden in the heart of the capital, a stone's throw from the palace—especially when she was a member of the Hero's Party that had slain the Demon King.

Elizaveta had handled the matter as well as anyone could. She had neither offended Enrique nor compromised the dignity of the royal family.

“Was this inscription always here?”

Ivan stood looking at the [Statue of the Nameless Hero] in a corner of the underground waterway.

He had found it after three hours of searching, knowing only that Enrique's ‘dungeon’ was somewhere in the underground waterway of Southern Prizhenkaya.

[Even when your names are forgotten, your glory shall endure forever. On behalf of all who are not here. For all those who are not here. -Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilof. -Enrique Seregeyevika.]

Ivan removed his hat, held it to his chest, and bowed his head briefly in silence.

When he first heard that this statue would be erected, he had been too embarrassed even to consider approaching it. By the day he happened to visit the central garden, Enrique had already carried it off.

As he finished his silent tribute, a voice tinged with laughter echoed through the underground waterway.

“Do not mourn those who have gone before.”

“For I, too, stand among their ranks.”

“You still remember. Good. Welcome, ‘Little’ Ivan.”

SCREECH!

The base of the statue twisted with a grinding of metal. Soon the stone wall split open, revealing a passage.

It was an opulently decorated corridor leading to a drawing room, utterly unlike the foul, musty waterway where he had been standing moments ago.

Walking down the lavish corridor with its silk-covered walls, Ivan slowly braced himself.

Like most members of the Hero's Party, his great master Enrique was insane.

Of course, at that very moment, Enrique was thinking exactly the same thing about Ivan.

Like most Extermination Unit agents, “Little” Ivan was insane.

* * *

“Seven years since we last met face-to-face, isn't it? Well, have you been keeping well, my pupil?”

“Well enough.”

Ivan sat in the drawing room, sipping coffee.

His first sip was tiny, and he rolled it slowly around his mouth.

It was a form of etiquette. Like most forms of etiquette, that meant it was a precaution against assassination.

No poison, then. Ivan gave a slight nod and savored the coffee—

“Oh, you can't detect the chemical poisons they make these days by taste.”

“Hmm.”

He spat it back into the cup and set it on the table.

“I'm joking, joking! Shall I have them bring you a fresh cup?”

“No need. I didn't come for refreshments.”

“So stiff. And at your age.”

Enrique smiled, her eyes crinkling, and stretched out on the ornate sofa.

A snow-white leg peeked through the side slit of her silk dress. Of course, that wasn't enough to catch Ivan's eye. The monster before him was an ancient horror over a hundred years old.

Just how many elixirs and how much lifeblood had she guzzled?

Ivan could only imagine a viper staring at him, flicking its tongue.

Understandably so. This was a vampire's lair.

Elder Vampire, Shadow Blade, Fang of Darkness. And Enrique the “Traitor.”

A century ago, she had betrayed the Elder Vampire who bit her and drunk its blood, bringing an end to the “vampire rampages” that had plagued all of Prizhenkaya. A hero.

Over the century since, this woman had taken countless lives under the pretext of “assassination contracts.” If the Demon King hadn't risen, wouldn't the hero have slain her instead?

Ivan pondered this as the hand beneath the table carefully stroked his axe handle.

“Well, you found me sooner than expected. All the better—you seem fit for active duty, don't you? Though... between us, being fit for active duty isn't a compliment. Is it?”

“Where is Priscilla?”

“Aha, straight to the point! You always were like that!”

Enrique laced her fingers together with an amused smile.

Her dress rippled softly, revealing her alluring figure. (Of course, Ivan wasn't swayed by someone seventy years his senior. His range extended no more than ten years in either direction.)

“What do you think? Did I bite her, or didn't I?”

“You didn't.”

“Oh? What makes you so sure?”

“If you had, you should have ambushed me, not invited me.”

Ivan fixed her with an icy stare and continued.

“Wasn't revenge the most important principle you taught me?”

“Hmm? Are you saying that scruffy little girl falls within the scope of your ‘revenge’?”

“I took her in.”

He remembered the day he took Priscilla in. She had been an orphan scorned even by the refugees gathered outside the military camp.

Being parentless at a young age was a terrible thing. There was no one to protect you but yourself. Realizing that, she had instead always acted spirited and bold.

Too many people in that world were already too miserable themselves to help a sad, dejected child.

To pity someone else, you had to have something to spare yourself. The United Kingdoms had nothing to spare in those days.

That was why Ivan remembered Priscilla and those other children. He had retired and founded the orphanage because he had resolved to take them in. They were as good as his own children.

Naturally, if someone hurt your child, you had to take revenge.

“Don't show so much venom. It makes you look amateurish.”

Enrique set her teacup down with a smile.

The black tea, still full and untouched, sloshed gently on the table.

“Didn't I teach you? Venom is the preserve of prey. Painting yourself in bright colors, making a show of revenge and self-defense—that's the desperate struggle of the weak.”

“Your answer?”

“She's still alive. I haven't bitten her. She's perfectly fine. I had her washed, put her in pretty clothes, and fed her something nice. Now, your turn to answer.”

Enrique slowly laid her snow-white fingers on the table as she spoke.

“What are you plotting?”

“... Hmm?”

“What are you plotting in that ‘orphanage’ of yours?”

Enrique was serious. When she heard he was taking in orphans, she had laughed it off: perhaps being an orphan himself had made him softhearted. He was a pitiful thing, after all. Her dear pupil—had he come to her, she would gladly have taken him into her family.

Two years had passed. Then along came an “orphan from the orphanage” who knew how to execute ambush techniques with astonishing perfection.

Honestly, she felt blindsided. It wasn't as if these techniques were anything so special that she could complain about trade secrets getting out. Nor was this some school that passed its teachings down to a single successor. He could teach them to others, certainly.

But why send an agent into his own teacher's territory, as though he wanted to fight over business?

She felt wronged. After retiring, he had gone so far as to erase his identity and live as a dead man, so she hadn't visited him. Even with him practically on her doorstep, she hadn't once dropped by for a drink!

And now, what?

He was sending agents to make a show of setting up shop in her own backyard?

That was a declaration of war, wasn't it?

Honestly, she hadn't even killed that brazen little brat after catching her. She had politely invited him over, going so far as to signal, ‘Let's not do this. We have so many memories together, don't we? Do we really need to fight?’

And this lump of stone was going, ‘Touch her and I'll kill you.’

That really hurt.

And what was with that beard? It was driving her mad. Why wear something that had gone out of fashion a century ago? Surely that wasn't supposed to be a disguise? She hadn't taught him that.

Even as these countless thoughts flitted through her head, Enrique kept looking at Ivan with a “blithe smile,” befitting a legendary vampire who had lived a century and a member of the great Hero's Party.

‘What am I plotting? How much should I tell her?’

Ivan was at a loss.

Elizaveta was using him because he was undercover. His past had been scrubbed clean, his name was so ordinary that using it would never raise suspicions, and his appearance had changed considerably (enormously, by his own standards).

On top of that, the former “Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Petrovich” had already been declared dead and even interred in the national cemetery.

In other words, as far as Elizaveta was concerned, his identity and mission were classified.

Could he tell Enrique about this?

No, but didn't Enrique and Elizaveta have some sort of connection?

Enrique had founded the Extermination Unit in the first place, and Elizaveta had commanded it, hadn't she?

Both smiled, their lack of information giving them headaches, yet neither lost the ease and caution of a thoroughly trained agent.

‘What the hell is this lunatic thinking?’

‘What is this crazy bitch thinking?’

That was what they were thinking.

‘This is betrayal. How could he do this to me?’

‘Is this betrayal? Has she switched her allegiance from Elizaveta to Alexander?’

Once again, teacher and pupil were of one heart and mind, deepening their affectionate bond.

It was a winter night in mid-January.