Chapter 28

“Oscar, Special Task Force Exclusive Technical Advisor. That’s the signboard you’ll hang. Your forge will expand, your market connections will grow. And naturally, power will follow...”

“Cut it out!”

Oscar exhaled, raking a hand through his gray hair.

“I already said no. Loud and clear.”

“Fine. Your choice. Oh, but if you start making weapons for the Task Force, Marcello might end up using them. Imagine the advertising value—”

“I heard you the first time, drop it...”

“All right, I’ll stop.”

He was almost convinced.

“Mago, what about me?”

Kinjo shoved his face between us.

“You’re leaving me out. Captain Shimena promised me something, didn’t she? You must’ve mentioned me.”

I had—sort of.

I’d told her Kinjo’s clairvoyance would be invaluable.

But I hadn’t promised him anything.

I shrugged, playful.

“She didn’t say much.”

“Seriously, why am I the only one...?”

* * *

Moonlight slid across silver hair.

She flicked the irritating strand back over her shoulder.

“H-hem.”

A man’s ankle dangled from one hand.

She dragged him like a sack, his spine scraping the ground, too dazed to resist.

“Get up.”

The order wasn’t for the bound man.

Behind the ridge she resurrected the dead Green Demon Beasts with a word.

Shattered and crumpled, they lurched upright.

A lone orc head blinked its remaining eye.

Silver Hair booted it over.

Brands glinted on its face like tattoos:

[Imperial Army 1st Training Center, 66th Class]

[Trainee #71]

[Mago]

A military tag burned into the flesh.

“Mago...”

She crouched beside the ankle she held.

“Where is he right now?”

The man could only shake his head.

“If you don’t know, nobody does.”

She knelt, meeting his eyes.

“You’re the Chief Instructor.”

He shook harder.

“No? Not the Chief Instructor?”

“I’m saying—”

“Then you’re useless.”

Her greatsword skewered his heart.

* * *

“Good to see you. First meeting, plenty to say—no time.”

A Special Task Force agent twisted around from the coachman’s seat.

Behind him, in the passenger compartment, we’d been hauled straight from the Red Family mansion.

“What’s going on...” Kinjo mumbled, dazed.

“As reported, the Training Center was attacked—by a single individual.”

Single individual.

I’d heard that phrase before, in my last life, right before I met the silver-haired Ghost King.

They’d said the Demon King’s army had a woman just like Marcello Arnes—only one.

“The Chief Instructor is dead.”

A ripple of shock swept the carriage.

“No other casualties, but plenty that doesn’t add up. You know that place better than anyone, so even on leave we need your help.”

“What kind of oddities?” I asked.

“Every demon-beast corpse vanished. They were cleaning up, sure, but not all at once. And inside the Chief Instructor’s mouth—one silver hair.”

So it really is her.

“Silver. If anything clicks, tell us later; we’re launching the investigation now.”

Moments later another carriage pulled alongside.

Ms. El leaned out, angular case in hand.

“Mago!”

“Ms. El!”

“The blueprints—finished it ahead of schedule! Here!”

She lobbed the case; I stood and caught it clean.

“And Belle—don’t push yourself! Take care!”

The coach rolled away.

The case was sized for a single sword.

I opened the case with both hands.

A red sword lay inside.

Forged in the shape of a cross, it looked almost like a thin casket. The scabbard bore ornate raised patterns—exactly as I’d asked, yet every sharp edge had been left off. I gripped it sideways and tugged. Clunk. Something caught. No amount of force would free the blade; the design saw to that. Scabbard and tang were welded shut. The weapon weighed correctly only because a blade existed inside, but it could never be drawn. Calling it a sword was generous—it was little more than a bludgeon.

* * *

The Chief Instructor’s corpse lay shrouded in white cloth.

“May I?”

The Special Task Force agent who had led us here answered with a nod.

I closed my eyes, bowed, then folded the cloth back.

The man who had spent every day bellowing with arms flung wide was cold. I went straight to the wound. A stab. The heart had been pierced; the great gash in his chest had come from a longsword. He had been run through by the silver-haired Ghost King’s weapon—death must have been instant, provided she hadn’t taken her time. Beyond that injury, nothing was unusual.

It was time to let him go.

“Thank you, Instructor.”

I drew the cloth over him again.

“Mago, anything leap out?” the agent asked.

“I need time to think.”

Year 614.

In my previous life, the Ghost King had not appeared until seven years from now. Yet “appearance” was only when the world noticed; she had been moving in secret far earlier.

Year 607, First Training Center.

Demon-Beast corpses vanished overnight. At the time no one uncovered the truth, and the incident was buried—like the white cloth now covering the Chief Instructor. Had I not met the Ghost King in that prior life, I would never have suspected.

“But back then, the Chief Instructor didn’t die.”

A ripple.

During eight months at the First Training Center, countless events had shifted, especially around the Second Invasion. Every trainee of the 66th class had survived. Perhaps that upset the Ghost King’s plans; this time she killed the Chief Instructor—leaving a bigger trail than before.

We moved to the back hill. Drag marks showed where the instructor’s body had been pulled. As reported, the Demon-Beast corpses stored there were gone—only footprints and the furrowed trail remained. Either the bodies had risen as Undead and walked off... or rolled away. Knowing the Ghost King and her necromancy, I could picture it as clearly as if I’d watched.

But I was alone in that vision; the others could only shake their heads. The Ghost King’s existence, the fact that she was the sole Necromancer, and her terrifying strength—only I knew.

“I’ve never seen silver hair here,” Kinjo said, rubbing his jaw. “White hair, yeah, but—” He glanced at me. “Not you. Just wondering what you’re thinking. Anyway, the silver hair we heard about was long. Forget the hair, though—focus on the missing corpses.”

He started organizing the facts.

“Silver Hair—let’s call the culprit that. No way she hauled every corpse alone; the traces don’t show it. Odder still, there are too many footprints, almost like the bodies walked off under their own power—”

“Come on,” Belle cut in. “That’s impossible. Bringing the dead back to life? That’s the realm of the gods.”

“Then what do you think happened?”

“I think Silver Hair staged it. I don’t know how, but she moved the corpses alone and made it look like they walked off on their own.”

Amon cut in.

“Kinjo, there’s no motive. Silver Hair gains nothing from that.”

“Yeah... you’re right, Amon. Even if it was staged, I can’t see the point. If we knew who Silver Hair was, we might guess why.”

“The whole Moonlight Family’s silver-haired,” Belle tossed out.

The trainees chimed in at once.

“True... could be one of them.”

“But why would the Moonlights care? They’ve got nothing to do with the Training Center.”

“That’s jumping to conclusions. We could be missing something.”

Then—

“Maybe she’s just old.”

Oscar, silent till now, spoke up.

“She’s just an old lady, yeah?”

Every head snapped toward him.

It felt like his words had nailed something in place.

Another rapid-fire exchange followed.

“No way. If she’s old, she’d be white-haired, not silver.”

“So Mago’s an old man?”

“Gray’s closer to silver than white, though.”

“If we assume the culprit’s old, we’ll never find her...”

In the middle of that chaos—

“Oscar’s right.”

I stepped forward, certain.

“Mago?”

No one here knew the Ghost King existed.

They’d never heard of necromancy or undead puppetry.

With the flimsy clues we had, pointing to the Ghost King was—

Absolutely impossible.

I’d just sound like a lunatic.

“An old woman might fit.”

So I swerved.

All I could do was redirect the arrow.

One of the Demon King’s officers I’d planned to arrest after graduation—

Vampire Lord—

I fixed my gaze on him.

“Why do you say that?”

A Special Task Force agent unfolded his arms.

“Do you know vampires?”

The words detonated.

Oscar’s theory was forgotten; every stare drilled into me.

“Vampires... sure, everyone’s heard of them.”

“When you said ‘old woman,’ one thing came to mind. May I?”

The agent and the trainees nodded.

“First, their nature.”

Time for the con.

Step one.

I raised an index finger.

“One: they can turn into bat-like beasts.”

I fitted every leftover clue to the vampires.

I was railroading the quiet suspects in the corner.

To ground my story—

“Assume they reached the back hill as bats. That explains how the corpses vanished all at once.”

“Hmm?”

The agent tilted his head.

“It wasn’t one culprit. Silver Hair killed the instructor, but a flock of vampires flew in. Then—”

“They shifted to human form, hoisted the bodies, and walked out. Footprints plus drag marks: solved.”

Kinjo picked up the thread.

“Right. Second trait: they can’t move by day. Sunlight melts them. That matches the time the instructor died.”

I continued.

“Third: they drink blood. A motive for taking the corpses—provision. The instructor was simply in the way.”

“Wrong place, wrong time?”

“Sadly, yes.”

I paused.

“If we accept multiple culprits, then several vampires are hiding among humans. They’re living together somewhere spacious and dark. A building. A big one.”

“Mago, you mean underground?” Amon asked.

“No, I’m thinking differently. The second trait—immobility while the sun is up—doesn’t require darkness, just daylight inactivity. Lastly, Oscar’s idea: Silver Hair could be old.”

Three conditions to narrow the net.

“Large building. Presence of old people. Inactive by day.”

Three words were enough.

“Where’s that?”

“A place that meets all three: a tavern. Easiest cover.”

“Hmm... a tavern...”

The agent nodded slowly.

It sounded plausible because I’d shoe-horned every clue to fit.

“Old folks don’t party at night; if they’re there, they own the place. We want a tavern run by an old owner.”

I lifted the sword El had given me.

A sword cast in the shape of a cross.

“I’ll track them down.”

Another trait of vampires: the cross is their weakness.

The Ghost King lent momentum to my plan of toppling the Demon King’s officers one by one.

Leaving a trail for me—an agent whose greatest weapon is information—had been a mistake.

“You practically handed me the chance to strike back.”

Because of what he’d done, he never imagined another place would take the blow in his stead.