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* * *

The process of the terrorist attack led by Calix Hamel and carried out under the cooperation of Glacius was simpler than expected. The guild had already selected convicts who had served as our and guild members’ communication network from the time Calix volunteered to push it, and as soon as Calix volunteered to do it, they began to act.

They loosely opened the entrance to the bottles to be thrown on the day of the terrorist attack and prepared in advance to prevent the fire from easily extinguishing by completely cutting off the supply of water and its source.

The initial throwing of Molotov cocktails from the Sinaloa headquarters seemed like a distraction. It could be said that it was an action to remove the designated sacrifice while Calix had an alibi.

After igniting the bottles leaking ignition material, they painfully met their end.

Then, the remaining convicts dispersed the attention of the guards by detonating the clothes soaked in coal powder, serving as explosives.

Calix chided himself for taking three days for this process.

The returning prisoners from the labor camp enthusiastically threw the Molotov cocktails that had been stored separately for them.

Finally, by burning all the transport carriages used for transporting prisoners when they were captured, they were truly perfect accomplices who opened up the escape route.

It’s ridiculous. As a place that accommodates major criminals, security and internal order should be somewhat established, but they rushed and acted hastily in this level of fire.

Calix casually pulled out a gleaming silver coin from his pocket and tossed it lightly.

“Even if they dug a hole in the underground prison, they wouldn’t have noticed. What follows, well, needless to say, it will explode successfully.”

Terrorism doesn’t end with one act.

Calix Hamel swept his hair back and urged his steps as if he were enjoying himself.

The death toll, excluding the prisoners, was six, and there were no injuries, which in its own way was considered a fairly lenient treatment.

Margaret might even accept this level of mercy.

Glacius hoped he would retract his plan to blow up the labor camp. What they conveyed to the Grand Duke was as follows:

They would cooperate in Taylor Knight’s escape.

The guild promised additional cooperation without monetary conditions under the condition that the Grand Duke would grant their request. Surprisingly, it was surprising. They didn’t need failures, so weren’t those who personally selected the victims for sacrifice?

When Calix asked why Glacius wanted failures now, the guild didn’t give a clear answer. Anyway, he agreed to the proposal and, without any monetary conditions, informed the informants deliberately captured inside the prison about the effectiveness of Molotovs, which they had been using for rebellion.

They had slightly modified Molotov cocktails from the simple method of sticking a fuse into them, and the guild couldn’t help but admire this new form of Molotov cocktail.

The conventional Molotov cocktails were limited to putting flammable liquid in a sealed container and sticking a fuse into the bottle’s mouth or attaching a match to the side, but this new concept of Molotov cocktails he introduced had a significantly different structure and usage.

Composed only of petroleum and sulfuric acid instead of various materials to enhance firepower in alcohol or oil, this was made to ignite through chemical reaction alone by attaching paper soaked in ignition material to the surface after pouring the contents, rather than the common method of inserting a fuse.

Since the paper acting as a fuse is attached to the body of the bottle instead of the mouth, throwing it blocked the entrance, making it even easier to use than traditional Molotov cocktails. It was also much safer.

It was an item intended for use for different purposes soon. The initial test was sufficient as the carriage’s driver opened the lid and proved its explosiveness.

“Fond memories.”

The Grand Duke continued walking the night path with a cheerful stride.

“I’ll finish the business and then pay a visit.”

He fixed his gaze on a sign faintly illuminated by the moonlight in the distance. The name written in fancy calligraphy was visible.

‘Glacius.’

The destination was right in front of him. Calix narrowed his black eyes sorrowfully.

“It would have been better if you found me first.”

A futile obsession lingered.

* * *

There was not a single substantial evidence left to prove Calix Hamel’s involvement in the escape.

The terrorism occurred consecutively without delay from the headquarters and substation while he was being interrogated, and with most of the convicts at the scene escaping, there was no further evidence to be caught. Therefore, the investigation of the incident seemed futile.

The only somewhat credible explanation was the testimony of the deputy labor camp supervisor, who rotated shifts, but even this was too fragmented to be helpful.

“If it’s Calix Hamel, he’s here with Sir Hughes, the general manager.”

The Emperor nodded and spoke in a chilly tone. Now, it was said that his son would handle matters regarding that person.

The Crown Prince clenched his fists. Beatrice’s expression was also dark. Kestiel observed it with a strange expression. The Emperor’s words could be a test for them, or it could be an excuse to avoid an inconvenient situation.

Kneeling before them, Clark Hughes, his head bowed, asked.

“Are you aware of his abilities?”

“Of course.”

“Then why?”

“…Tell me in a way I can understand.”

“You were negligent, Your Highness.”

Rebels had escaped. It was obvious that it would bring trouble to the empire. The aging Emperor, facing the succession of imperial power, could neither handle it nor could the current Crown Prince find any clear solution.

Moreover, the challenge was that it wasn’t only him who escaped from prison. The evidence that could identify the clear instigator had disappeared.

With so many convicts escaping, controlling the media would become impossible, and the position of the Crown Prince, who had not yet become the Emperor, would inevitably become precarious. Beatrice couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t suffer any damage either.

Kestiel was in the same situation. The Crown Prince and Beatrice stared at their respective knights in silence.

“The means of terrorism were Molotov cocktails.”

“That’s correct. The building’s loss is a loss, but since all those who threw the Molotov cocktails died, we cannot interrogate them. There are reports that a similar item was used when rebels attacked the imperial palace, but…excluding circumstantial evidence, Calix Hamel has a clear alibi.”

Because I was the one who interrogated him. Clark said, lowering his head.

Of course, there was circumstantial evidence. Perhaps everyone knew that Calix Hamel was the mastermind. However, they couldn’t find more substantial evidence.

Beatrice bit her lip. The Crown Prince had a similar reaction. Everyone knew that the knight in front of them was not lying. Even the surrounding attendants could not speak up.

The Emperor interjected, cutting through the silence.

“So, it seems there’s talk of an external force being involved. How long has it been since the rebellion ended?”

And that was all. He observed the situation as if making a judgment, criticized and left. The Crown Prince, Beatrice, and even Clark did not seem to feel particularly strange about the situation. Kestiel, looking at their retreating figures, wondered.

At the very top of the empire. Isn’t this departure too quiet for the pinnacle of power?

At least, he was much higher than his son, the Crown Prince. He was behaving as if he had completely withdrawn from the political stage. Well, it wasn’t surprising at this point.

‘In the end, am I just a supporting character?’

After spitting out a curse to the unknown god, Kestiel turned his gaze as if waiting for Clark to continue.

“There’s one thing I want to know. Did Your Highness really believe that he would be quietly locked up in that prison?”

The Crown Prince, Damon, raised an eyebrow and asked fiercely.

“What are you trying to say? You dare to criticize the Crown Prince for being negligent and still be alive, you should be thankful.”

“Yes, understood. His Majesty seeks to show an impeccable image of the Emperor recently. I am aware of my own rudeness.”

“But?”

“We will not deny the shortcomings of our prison. Yes, we were negligent. There is no excuse for taking lives due to dereliction of duty. However…”

The voice that continued speaking trembled excessively. Clark recalled those devilish black eyes and barely finished his words amidst all the resentment and fear.

Why didn’t you issue summary executions? When delaying Flora’s execution, why did you also postpone his death? Why did Kestiel agree to vacate the place?

“Did His Majesty truly believe that someone like me could stop him?”

The accusing voice trembled with noise as it receded, eventually distorted by self-loathing. Primitive feelings of fear and inferiority gnawed at him.

The Crown Prince asked quietly. Was that all the person in charge of the escaped prisoners had to say?

Kestiel felt a sense of dissonance. He had learned countless theories and precedents of defeated adversaries during his squire days.

It was amusing to even think about it now, but generally, traitors were summarily executed. Especially if they were heinous criminals who had murdered hundreds of Royal Knights along with committing terrorism. But…

“…It’s not an unreasonable question.”

He spat out a laughter filled with self-derision. His voice, now useless, went unheard, and he felt hollow.

Oh well, at least the Grand Duke endured that ‘ending’. It probably didn’t matter anymore.

Clark continued, murmuring unintelligibly instead of answering.

At the very least, they should have appointed someone suitable as the overall leader. It wasn’t about simply confining him. They should not have believed the nonsense that circulated in society, that Beatrice had sacrificed her life for him.

Kestiel chuckled. His expression contrasting with that of the Crown Prince, he was grateful to stand behind his lord. Even a dog knows how to mock its master.

“Lord Reload. Do you happen to have any suspicions?”

Suddenly, Beatrice asked in a voice disguised with kindness. He turned his head and saw a woman he once loved, now only evoking discomfort.

Things unseen before were now visible. Yes, Beatrice Mary Rosen was now suspicious of him. The man she had once dedicated her affection to. She blurred the lines between reason and emotion, unable to distinguish the difference herself.

‘Was our relationship really so insignificant?’

He laughed self-deprecatingly. He dared to say to his lord’s lady.

“It’s unlikely to be related to the nobility, my lady. Do you have any specific individuals you’d like to nominate as suspects?”

After several tens of seconds, she replied with a no. He looked away from her with a premonition that he might abandon her someday.

No, now that he has turned away once, all that’s left is to cut ties completely. After all, isn’t it enough with this?

Tl/N: Continuing this novel because the tf not and it was the my very first novel to began with I KNOW I MADE MISTAKES and Iam guilty for it but I was a rookie and just started it was too intense and after a looong decision making Im GONNA COMPLETE this NOVEL. NO DROPPING NO MORE MISTAKES. Thank you