Free Web Novel"Bastard!"
A fist slammed onto the oak tabletop, making the teacup jump as dark brown liquid splashed out, spreading into an irregular stain across the document-covered surface.
Outside the window, rain lashed against the glass like shards of iron, and the wind squeezed through the door cracks, pressing the flame of the kerosene lamp in the corner almost flat against the wick.
Distant thunder rolled in wave after wave, sounding as if someone were dragging an iron mountain across the vault of heaven.
At the moment the lightning struck, the entire room was illuminated in a deathly white.
All shadows vanished.
The documents on the desk, the maps on the wall, the soaking wet military greatcoat hanging on the rack, and the ammunition boxes piled in the corner.
Everything became flat and distorted in that white light, like an overexposed photograph.
Then the darkness closed back in.
The flame of the kerosene lamp struggled to recover, casting flickering light and shadow across the middle-aged man's face.
His name was Dmitri Andreyevich Volkov.
Vice-Chairman of the Usar United Military Science Committee, Lieutenant General of the Army, in charge of advanced weapons research and development and special projects.
Fifty-three years old, with graying hair combed meticulously, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and lips as thin as a blade's edge.
The medals on his uniform were arranged in three rows, each polished to a shine.
At this moment, those medals were rising and falling slightly with his rapid breathing.
"You—"
His finger pointed across the table at the person opposite him, the fingertip trembling slightly with rage.
"Do you have any idea how much of a risk the Victorian Empire's Royal Research Institute took?"
There was no response from the other side.
"That Soul-Eater Sword."
He lowered his voice, but every word seemed squeezed through his teeth. "How many years, how many people, and how many resources did the Royal Research Institute spend to create that thing? And then they risked being accused of collaborating with the enemy—collaborating!—to send it to the front lines so we could capture it. The entire plan was seamless, from the transport route to the report of accidental loss; every link was—"
He paused and took a deep breath.
"After the Night of Calderburg, we successfully recovered the Soul-Eater Sword. It contained a full thirteen souls! And they were the souls of thirteen Victorian Royal Knights! Do you know what that means? These are the most precious samples in the field of human soul research; they are the key to our understanding of Return Power and the nature of the Wayfarer—"
Lightning struck again.
In the white light, he saw the expression of the person opposite him.
Or rather, he saw that the person opposite him had no expression at all.
She sat in the chair.
Using the word "sat" for her was actually not quite accurate.
It was more like her entire body had been carelessly poured into the chair, her left leg crossed over her right, her right elbow propped on the armrest, and her palm supporting half of her face.
Her military greatcoat was draped loosely over her shoulders, not a single button fastened, revealing a dark gray shirt underneath and a glimpse of her collarbone.
Long silver hair fell from beneath her military cap, scattering over her shoulders and the back of the chair, giving off a cold metallic sheen in the light of the kerosene lamp.
The badge on ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) that military cap was a copper five-pointed star, surrounded by an outer ring of wheat ears and gears—an insignia only generals of the Usar Union were entitled to wear.
The brim was pulled low, casting a shadow over her brow and making those grayish-blue eyes seem deeper and more distant.
Calling her a general didn't seem right no matter how one looked at it.
She was too young.
Even calling her a young woman was a stretch.
Her face still bore the not-yet-faded contours of a girl, her jawline was soft, and her skin was so pale it looked as if she rarely saw the sun.
If the military cap and greatcoat were swapped for a casual dress and a sun hat and she were dropped into a Victoria commercial street, she would likely be mistaken for some noble miss.
But no noble miss would look at someone with that kind of gaze.
Those grayish-blue eyes were currently watching the storm outside as if watching a performance that had nothing to do with her.
She heard every word Dmitri said.
But her reaction was as if someone were reading an outdated report.
"...Are you even listening?"
Dmitri's voice rose half a pitch.
The woman's gaze finally returned from outside the window.
Slow and lazy, like a cat that had been woken up.
Her grayish-blue eyes landed on Dmitri's face, stayed for two seconds, and then she yawned.
"I heard you."
Her voice was very soft, carrying a laziness unbefitting her age.
"The Soul-Eater Sword, thirteen souls, a key breakthrough in human soul research, the Royal Research Institute risking enemy collaboration, a seamless plan."
She used her free left hand to count on her fingers as if tallying them up.
"What else? Oh, right. You asked if I knew what that meant."
She lowered the hand supporting her face and shifted into a more comfortable position in the chair—if this posture of nearly sliding out of the chair could be called 'more comfortable.'
"I know."
"So I sent it back."
A vein throbbed at Dmitri's temple.
"You—"
"I sent it back personally."
She repeated, "Three days ago, via a neutral merchant ship, under the guise of 'repatriation of battlefield remains,' accompanied by complete capture records and storage logs, it was delivered into the hands of Marquis Hohenheim."
"Are you insane?!"
"Maybe."
Dmitri leaned forward with both hands on the desk, his medals making a faint metallic clinking sound against the edge of the table.
"Do you know how much time we spent establishing a secret channel with the Royal Research Institute?"
"Three years."
"Three years of countless contacts, probes, intelligence exchanges, and building trust."
"The Royal Research Institute needs the war to continue, and we need their technology—it's a perfect mutually beneficial relationship."
"And you, someone who hasn't even been in office for half a year—"
He swallowed the rest of the sentence. freёweɓnovel.com
Because those grayish-blue eyes finally looked at him formally and fully.
There was no anger.
There was no contempt.
She was just looking.
Like looking at a document that needed processing.
"Dmitri Andreyevich."
She called him by his full name.
"That 'perfect mutually beneficial relationship' you mentioned, let me translate it for you."
She held up one finger.
"The Royal Research Institute needs the war to continue because war is their source of funding and their testing ground."
"They sent the Soul-Eater Sword to the front lines for us to 'capture' not out of generosity, but because they need us to conduct the experiments for them that cannot be done within the Empire's borders."
"The extraction, storage, and transformation of human souls—if these things were discovered in a Victoria laboratory, even the Royal Research Institute would be in deep trouble."
A second finger.
"After we get the Soul-Eater Sword, we conduct experiments according to the research directions they provide, and send the data and results back through secret channels."
"They take the data we paid for with the lives of Usar soldiers to lobby for more war budget in the Imperial Council."
"The more war budget there is, the greater the investment on the front lines, the heavier our casualties, and the richer their experimental materials become."
A third finger.
"And in return, they occasionally give us some outdated technical data to make us feel like we haven't lost out in this deal."
She lowered her hand.
"This isn't mutual benefit; it's called pig farming."
