Ch.50005 Investigation Record – The Sword Thief of the National Museum (5)

“But, didn’t the Professor already tell you?”

The detective, who had been looking down at his notes, pulls something like a wad of herbs from his pocket and puts it in his mouth.

Judging by the strong tobacco smell, it seemed to be chewing tobacco. Though less intense than smoking tobacco, the smell was still quite unpleasantly strong.

“Tell me what? I mean… I’ve heard a lot of things, but I’m not sure exactly what you’re referring to.”

The detective looks at me with an expression suggesting my question is absurd, tobacco still in his mouth. The tobacco smell intensifies, making me wrinkle my nose.

“That interviews are prohibited in here. I must have told you several times.”

“It’s not an interview, I just want to help. I mean, Christopher’s condition…”

His fist lightly strikes the desk. Though it seemed he hadn’t used much force, a loud sound rang out as if the wooden desk had cracked inside. My ears tingled.

“Do we look like people who need help? You seem to have some strange sympathy after briefly seeing the poet’s face and want to meddle in our affairs, but that’s not going to happen.”

His expression showed neither killing intent nor any particular emotion. He was simply looking at me with dry, sharp eyes. He hadn’t pulled out a gun or knife. He hadn’t even raised his hand.

Nevertheless, while looking into those eyes, I realized he was someone who could easily snap my neck in this small room. By not showing killing intent, he paradoxically made it more palpable.

I was afraid, but I wouldn’t stop investigating. I needed to know in order to make a decision. If the Argonne Invincibles had dabbled in rituals to win the war themselves, people needed to know, and if not… well, I’d at least have plenty of time to regret my choice. Either way, I could accept the consequences of my decision.

As I stood there without answering, just showing determination on my face, the detective continued.

“Besides, if you’re going to do something, you should look after yourself first. You’re meeting with a detective Giuseppina hired. She might not know what we’re talking about here, but people have imagination. And people usually imagine the worst first, don’t they?”

The mafia talk I’d managed to forget after leaving the newspaper office was now choking me again. His words were false, but that probably didn’t matter to him.

Once again, Paulina answered for me. She knew how frustrated I was.

“Then she would imagine the worst about the detective she hired too, wouldn’t she?”

“You think she’d do that to me when I’m the one reporting back? Giuseppina may not be smart, but she has that much sense. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have risen to her position.”

There were two of us and only one of him, yet somehow he naturally controlled the situation. I was a little envious of his skill, but mostly felt afraid and uncomfortable.

“Then, I’d like to hire you before you report back. You’ll protect your client, right?”

“No, I’m already booked. But I can answer questions. Yes, protecting clients is part of a detective’s responsibility.”

So he does know the concept of responsibility. Though I still didn’t have a good impression of him, I was starting to think we might be able to negotiate next time… but then he continued.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t work like your lawyer. If you hire me for protection, I’ll spend a week investigating people who dislike you. Then next week, I’ll make an excuse about taking a few days off due to a cold and find each one of them to deal with them. Cut the roots, and you don’t need to trim the branches.”

I would have to reconsider hiring him for protection… Wanting me to be safe and wanting people who dislike me to get hurt were completely different things.

“I see. Now I know how I should look at you.”

I felt a mix of ambiguous emotions. Dislike. Fear. Some disgust. But… he was useful. Was it natural for someone who lived solely by their usefulness? I couldn’t answer that.

The detective briefly looked at his wristwatch, then put on the military cap he had been stroking. His dry, sharp features suited the uniform well.

No one is born to look good in a military uniform. Even the God-President praised the struggle for life but denied the life for struggle.

Yet, perhaps a little sadly, he looked like someone who belonged in a uniform.

“It’s been almost five minutes. The memorial service is about to start… Don’t tremble with fear for no reason, just stay quiet.”

At least he showed humanity when dealing with his comrades. I strongly wanted to know more, but knowing he would push me away, I said nothing.

The memorial service for the Sword Thief, Christopher Wiggins, was quiet but respectful. There was reverence for the deceased. Many regiment members testified about his life from the podium.

Most of the speeches were clichés about how he had only cried when he first came to the battlefield, saying this wasn’t what he had in mind, but afterward fought more bravely than anyone else.

I looked around at the people. Respect for the dead reassures the living. It makes them expect that when they die, they won’t simply vanish but will receive such respect.

I had things I wanted to know, but they had things they didn’t want to reveal. Still, I wasn’t sad. He was, at least in death, a free man more dignified than anyone else.

We have no place to comment on the choice and dignified death of a free man who chose as a free man. Paulina was also quietly paying her respects.

Someone who looked like a military chaplain came forward to offer a final prayer.

“He was a man with our division’s tears. He grieved when we didn’t cry, and when we shed tears, he understood all our sorrows. I know that his nickname ‘the Poet,’ though it began as mockery, would satisfy us all if it changed to reverence for his great and beautiful sensitivity. May the God-President repay his dedication with a hundred, ten thousand talents.”

Finally, the veterans passed by his coffin one by one to pay their respects. The detective approached the coffin, closed his eyes quietly, bowed his head, and then raised it again.

These people cast spells on themselves to become stronger? Even imagining such a thing seemed too disrespectful. I would investigate, but I shouldn’t lose faith in them.

My feelings had been wavering, but somehow I seemed to have found my way back. After all the regiment members had seen his face for the last time, the Professor quietly approached me.

“You can go see him too. You probably only saw him in a disheveled, messy state. You should see what kind of person he really was.”

“Ah, I… thank you for your kindness.”

Was I ready? Would I panic like when I saw the Cowboy’s end? No, no. I’ll be fine. Don’t be scared in advance. How peaceful his face had looked in the apartment.

Holding Paulina’s hand tightly, I stood up and approached the coffin together. The person lying inside didn’t seem like the Sword Thief I had seen.

His face, neatly shaved and with a haircut, was younger than I expected. True to his nickname “the Poet,” he looked like someone who might sit in a vibrant café somewhere in New York, preferably on Fifth Avenue, holding a notebook.

His face, which had been filled with regret and sadness, now seemed warm with peace, and lying there in an ordinary suit rather than a uniform made him look like a regular person rather than a member of the Argonne Invincibles.

They said he was someone who could cry for others. Fortunately, I was the kind of person whose head was filled with flowers rather than my own affairs, someone who could offer help to others.

I’ll find out what happened to you. If there are others who need help, I’ll help them, and if no one wants help, I’ll let this story quietly disappear with the wind.

After finally turning my constantly wavering and changing words into a single vow, I swallowed it silently and walked away from him. Now the coffin would be closed.

It was no longer my time. It belonged to those who had spent time with him, whatever they were hiding. Without sitting down, I quietly walked out and bowed my head to the veteran nicknamed the Professor.

“I think I shouldn’t be here for what comes next. I’m about to leave…”

The Professor quietly guided me toward the exit. Once again, I had to pass between thick, tall stone tables, but being small made it easy to navigate between them.

“Chris would have been glad to have someone witness his end. You can drop by occasionally. You seem like a good person. Though it’s hard to get in touch, I think the old soldiers who sometimes visit the veterans’ hall would open up to you. You already know the password, you can use it. It’s his share.”

Was he trying to hide something, or if it couldn’t be resolved, at least maintain the status quo with all his might? His expression seemed closer to the latter.

When I nodded, he asked me something. He didn’t explain its meaning, but he also didn’t tell me not to try to figure it out. I wondered briefly if he was testing me.

“Have you been baptized with the blood of the lamb? Have you been purified?”

I spoke words that weren’t my own.

“No, that was definitely not a lamb.”

When I answered correctly, a smile appeared on the Professor’s face. He even warmly saw us off. We quietly walked out and got into the car with Paulina.

“They’re good people, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t say that about the detective… but yes. They make me curious about what they’re hiding, yet make me feel guilty for even being curious. Are you going to keep investigating, Rose?”

The car quietly started moving. Despite one person’s death, New York was still New York, just as it had been yesterday.

Fifth Avenue, from where the veterans’ hall could be seen in the distance, was still full of theater and movie advertisements, with well-dressed, stylish people walking around.

“I want to investigate, but I don’t want to doubt them—to the point where I’d ask for the detective if I were going to write tabloid stories about it. Let’s change clothes first and go to the library, Paulina!”

After briefly stopping at the apartment, we went to the library, but it was a waste of time. There wasn’t much on record.

I could find one newspaper article with the headline “Argonne Invincibles Return to American Soil!” but it only had a large photo of the ship they were arriving on.

If this didn’t work, I needed to go to the company next. The memorial service had started at noon and ended at one, and after searching the public library for two hours without finding anything… I still had plenty of time!

I headed to the editor-in-chief’s office, where I hadn’t had a proper conversation in a long time, and knocked on the door. After a moment, I heard the sound of a window opening from inside, followed by the editor-in-chief’s voice.

“I can tell it’s Miss Rose from the way you knock. Come in, you seem to have something to talk about…”

Is my way of knocking that distinctive? Maybe he recognized it by the height. I opened the door and entered the room, where the acrid smell of tobacco hadn’t completely dissipated.

The editor-in-chief’s expression… honestly resembled the Sword Thief. Not Christopher Wiggins, but the Sword Thief. He looked visibly haggard.

As Paulina closed the door behind her, he raised one finger as if to indicate he would speak first, then hesitated. He nervously struck the desk once.

“Damn it, damn it. I should have said not to publish that article, and now look at the state we’re both in because of it. I’ll be honest. I gambled on that story. I thought if it succeeded, Golden Age Press could proudly rise to the mainstream. Honestly, I knew it would be dangerous, but that’s why I wanted to do it. I’m sorry…”

Had he been avoiding me on purpose because he felt guilty, even though we’d never really talked properly before? A smile came to my lips.

The reason I had been afraid and frustrated wasn’t because he had thrown me to the wolves, but because I worried he might have become accustomed to cooperating with the mafia. In fact, the person who put me in danger was myself.

If there was anything I should say to the editor-in-chief now, it would be this. I took his apologetic hand and said:

“It’s okay! I wanted to write the article for the same reason. I thought it was the right thing to do, but honestly… I had similar selfish motives. More importantly, could you help me interview Great War veterans? Even though the Victory Day is still more than half a year away.”

The editor-in-chief quietly raised his head to look up at me. This was the only way an elf could be looked up at by someone.

Had he thought I would be discouraged after that incident? Unfortunately, the flower field in my head was a bit too vast for that. I showed him a confident smile.

He looked at me with a dumbfounded expression, then gradually began to look thoughtful. After a moment, his voice sounded a bit calmer. He knew what I wanted.

He knew that I wanted him to return to being the person who was the first to praise me when I wrote a good article and the first to stop me when I wrote a bad one while working at this newspaper.

“Well, I can try contacting the Veterans Association, but the New York branch…”

“I can visit the Argonne Invincibles myself! I just want to hear stories from ordinary veterans, how can I do that?”

His expression also returned somewhat to normal. The face of a stressed man who had been chain-smoking cigarettes was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not sure if I should contact them now… No, that’s not right. Last time I contacted them on Victory Day, they got angry saying I only called on such occasions. It might be better to contact them when nothing special is happening. But did you say the Argonne Invincibles?”

Wondering if the editor-in-chief knew something too, I nodded vigorously. His expression softened again.

“If you get the chance, could you pass on my thanks to them? I heard they saved my son when he was about to die in the Great War. He was fighting those dwarf bastards in the trenches, getting pushed back, when a flare burst in the sky. The flash was so bright that both my son and the dwarf he was fighting were temporarily blinded…”

Even the flash I created by infusing mana into my camera flash had that much power, so I couldn’t even imagine how bright a properly mana-infused flare would be.

“By the time his vision returned, the area was full of Argonne Invincibles. They had cleared out all the dwarves who had charged into the allied trenches, and then a whistle sounded as if ordering them to charge immediately. The Argonne Invincibles charged straight into the enemy trenches and disappeared. So he never got to thank them, I heard.”

Judging by how normal the editor-in-chief looked while telling this story, my expression must have seemed quite normal too.

I knew the situation was dire. I knew I would be in danger if the detective contacted Giuseppina Proci. But I had hope that I could overcome it.

Even with both feet on the ground, one can still look up at the stars.