Ch.81008 Investigation Record – Michael Husband (2)

“So, can I go right now? I’m sure Samuel also hoped that the Argonne Invincibles weren’t terrible monsters. It would be good to confirm that quickly, right?”

Once again, I took a step into his mind. People tend to close themselves off to those who don’t understand them. Or they spew words with hateful expressions, as if daring you to listen.

“I’d like to postpone this, but postponing won’t change anything… You can come now. I’ll hang up then. I need to prepare myself mentally.”

He still seemed painfully afraid. But since he had found the courage, I needed to be strong too. Opening someone’s heart is difficult, but it’s easier than keeping it open.

When the call ended, the detective immediately blurted out. Though he had only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, he spoke as if he’d heard most of it.

“He’ll be pointing a gun at us. Judging by his voice, he could use a sedative.”

“Instead of a sedative, I’ll go, so it should be fine. Probably… Oh, even though he found the courage over the phone, he might refuse to meet us in person. Could you tell me in advance what you want to ask him? I’ve earned his trust, so I should be able to ask.”

He was capable but trusted no one, and no one trusted him. I was at least good at earning trust. So, I could fill in where he lacked.

“I can’t ask without seeing his face anyway. I need to know who I sacrificed. Like I said, the ritual was performed with blood pooled in the trenches, so I don’t know whose blood it was. Even though I’m connected to someone, even the warlock-soldier who performed the ritual doesn’t know who. What kind of magic did that warlock specialize in?”

I recalled visiting his house. The dusty hallway and stair railings… no, that’s not it. My chronically forgetful memory recalled useless information first.

Right, on his arm was a ritual mark in the shape of the Eye of Providence, symbolizing the God-President, and the warlock’s specialty was seeing what shouldn’t be seen.

I asked the detective for paper, drew the ritual mark, and explained that his specialty was seeing. My explanation must have been satisfactory, as he looked pleased.

“So his specialty was seeing, and he recognized it just by looking. That might be helpful. Let’s go right away. Is the lawyer driving again?”

Paulina, who had been looking uncomfortably at the detective, nodded reflexively. She would remember the house address. She could remember surprisingly many things.

But the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. What exactly was a ritual? It worked differently from magic. Mana accelerates reactions. It’s a kind of catalyst. So, generally, it does things within the realm of common sense.

When I burst the light bulb, I just maximized the reactivity of magnesium until it exploded, and my father’s electrical magic could be explained with technical terms. But rituals are different.

Magic can’t remain in a body for five years. Only a dragon could possess that much mana. But the detective’s ritual seemed like it could last a lifetime.

I should have brought books to research during my time cooped up at home. Despite seeing both the Argonne Invincibles and Samuel the warlock-soldier reading the Platinum Branch, I had done nothing. Literally looking only at tomorrow’s stakes while ignoring today in my hands. I felt like I hadn’t followed advice I’d received multiple times.

I could ask Samuel. I took a deep breath and stood up. The detective took an “out of office” sign and placed it outside his home-office.

And before departing, as if wanting to say something in advance, he boldly spoke of illegal matters in an apartment hallway where people were walking.

“Ah, you don’t need to bring me back here. Whatever we talk about, I’ll drink until I’m completely drunk again today. So your lawyer, who makes a face like she’s bitten a bug every time she sees me, can go home more comfortably.”

“But alcohol is… illegal, right? You remember there’s Prohibition, don’t you?”

The detective briefly turned his eyes to look down at me. After a few seconds of silence, his laughter rang out loudly. It felt like the first time I’d seen him laugh properly.

“I remember it every time I present an invitation when entering a speakeasy. Don’t think about reporting me. I go to places with police friends too.”

Though he said it with a smile, it was just mockery. Does he have to shake the foundation of my thoughts with every word? Uncharacteristically stubborn, I retorted.

“I mean… it’s still the law. Even though I know how meaningless it is to talk to you about laws…”

“If that’s law, then people being able to drink whatever they want is a principle. A principle established by the God-President and the Founding Fathers themselves. And initially, both the God-President and the Prime Minister exercised their veto power. Congress pushed it through. Even though I don’t know much about the God-President’s scripture, if he had to choose between following people or following himself, he’d say to follow himself. Isn’t that right?”

His straightforward response left me speechless. Is Prohibition wrong, or is this lawbreaker in front of me wrong? I decided not to answer right now.

And I was also annoyed that he seemed to know a lot about the God-President despite claiming not to know him. This… I would consider it anger at injustice. I decided to nail that down.

Paulina’s car started, and once again we headed toward the wealthy neighborhood. We arrived at the mansion where, although dust had accumulated inside, the garden was neat as if someone was mowing the lawn.

He would be watching. He might even be pointing a gun at us. What if I make a mistake? While I was thinking this, the detective checked the address, walked up, and rang the doorbell.

Soon the mansion door opened, and once again the frightened warlock-soldier emerged with his arms exposed. He had a shotgun in his hand, but the detective, who hadn’t even taken his hands out of his pockets, seemed more relaxed.

“Did you bring weapons? I clearly said not to arm yourself…”

He stood in front of the detective and spoke in a shrinking voice. The fact that he couldn’t properly look at the detective’s face made it clear he was seeing something there.

After hearing the warlock-soldier’s words, the detective unbuttoned his thin coat, pulled out a pistol—the very one he had tried to shoot me with—and placed it in the car.

“You’re talking as if you would have believed me if I said I wasn’t armed. I just thought I needed to show you to make you believe. And put that gun away unless you want to put lead pellets in that little journalist.”

The man holding the shotgun with what looked like a heat sink attached trembled weakly. And the detective seemed to know exactly how to handle such a person.

Abandoning the thought that it might be dangerous, I followed the detective and made him step aside. I was the one who had received the invitation and brought him here, so I couldn’t just hang back awkwardly.

“Don’t just naturally take control. You wanted to meet him, and he came out to meet us because I asked him to. Right?”

Looking up with my eyes wide, the detective pulled brass knuckles from his back pocket and threw them into the car. He seemed to have decided to back down. Or to let me think he was backing down.

“Fine, whatever. If this warlock gets scared and runs away, I’m the one who’ll be in trouble.”

The warlock-soldier also looked a bit more stable. This time, he didn’t seem to mind Paulina coming in too, as he staggered into the house, leaving the door open for us to close.

Sometimes even elven proverbs are wrong. I’d heard that good things double when shared, and bad things are halved… but this bad thing seemed to multiply with each person who shared it.

Once again, we entered the only clean room in the dusty house. In the room cluttered with books and photos, three chairs had been prepared.

Instead of sitting in the corner protected by Paulina, I sat in the middle chair, at eye level with the detective. Hiding in the corner would only make it harder to follow the conversation.

First, to ease Samuel’s tension a bit, I spoke up. There was also something I needed to know.

“Ah, due to insufficient research… could I first hear what exactly a ritual is? Everyone just knows it as something ominous. I was only taught that magic does what can’t be done, and rituals do what shouldn’t be done with magic… I’d like to know exactly.”

Naturally getting him to talk about his area of expertise was always an effective method. Recalling when my New York was a bit more sparkling, when I met the ogre entrepreneur, I spoke.

He extended his scarred arm to show us. The Eye of Providence, symbol of the God-President, was surrounded by multiple ritual marks glowing with an ominous light.

I didn’t look at the detective’s side. He probably glanced at me with a look that seemed to say “didn’t you know?” This ill-tempered detective would surely do that, and that reproachful gaze would be quite stinging.

“So, a ritual is a degradation and imitation. How do you normally ask for a blessing from a god?”

“First you offer a sacrifice and hope for a blessing… right? These days, they often just grant them without that. But since rituals also have a long history…”

I deliberately stopped there without saying more. It was important to let him speak. At my naturally trailing off voice, he nodded briefly in thanks and continued.

“Yes, first you show sincerity and then wait for an appropriate blessing. But rituals are the opposite. We choose the blessing we want and arbitrarily set a price for it by offering a sacrifice. Since the gods are so powerful, even that much allows us to borrow their power… but since it’s not going through the proper process, and humans are imitating divine power, it becomes inferior.”

It wasn’t difficult to recall which power of the God-President the connection ritual was imitating. The thought that it was a terrible act grew stronger, but I didn’t show it.

“So you can’t borrow power from a god you don’t serve… No, that’s not right. I’m saying too much when I was just trying to ease the mood. So, why did you want to see me?”

Samuel, whose fear had somewhat subsided, looked at the detective. His stabilized gaze could now briefly look at the detective’s face before turning away.

The detective, who had been quietly listening, took a piece of paper and a pen from the pile on his desk and placed them on the coffee table where we were sitting.

“First, let me ask you something. How does my face look? Is it just distorted, or do you see something more?”

There was some urgency in the detective’s voice. It felt like I was seeing a bit of humanity in him. At those words, the warlock-soldier raised his head and barely managed to look at the detective. He began to chatter his teeth.

“I can see the person you sacrificed, that is…”

“Call it a monster or whatever you want. And if you can recognize the face, draw it. I need to confirm who it is.”

Perhaps Samuel saw some of the detective’s sincerity in his words about needing to confirm who it was. He no longer trembled enough to chatter his teeth. As if entranced, he reached for the pen and picked it up.

The ritual marks engraved on his arm flashed in succession. As if observing the detective’s appearance from all angles, he began to draw a person’s face on the paper. An ordinary person’s portrait was taking shape.

The hair was spiky, there was one fang among the teeth… a completely ordinary person. After drawing in detail, including front and side views, Samuel handed the paper to the detective.

The detective didn’t examine the paper carefully. He just took it, folded it, and put it inside his coat. As if he had already recognized who it was.

Another moment of silence followed. The detective merely wore a dry expression, but he no longer looked at the warlock-soldier with a sharp gaze.

“Can I bring the other regiment members to see you? They’ll all want to know which comrade they sacrificed. And after meeting them one by one, you won’t be able to call them monsters anymore. I’m sick of hearing that word after the dwarves drilled it into my ears.”

He looked at the detective with disbelief. His mouth opened naturally, and words poured out.

“To break that curse, you’ll need something containing the God-President’s words. I told you rituals are degraded powers. So, an object containing the proper words should be able to tear away the ritual. That…”

I could guess what Samuel was thinking of. Last time I was here, I had talked about the sword thief.

“Like the Hexenbane?” I carefully interjected into their conversation.

He slowly nodded. It seemed he had finally decided to somewhat trust the Argonne Invincibles.

We always live with prejudices and misunderstandings. And no matter how solid those prejudices and misunderstandings seem, they melt away quite easily after seeing a person’s sincerity.

The detective, who seemed to try to shake my foundation with every word from his mouth, had proven at least one thing I believed in. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but it felt good.

“Yes, like the Hexenbane that one of your regiment members stole. Do you truly just want to be free?”

The detective stood up without answering, just tapping the paper he had tucked away. I also greeted Samuel and followed the detective. He didn’t tell me not to follow, and I would have followed even if he had.

I ran ahead to block his path as he was about to walk out first. Unlike last time, I saw the person, not just the story.

“So, um… you’ve accepted my apology with this, right?”

“That’s right. But I don’t think you ran like this just to confirm that.”

I nodded vigorously as if it were obvious. I looked up at him.

“Then I should try to earn your trust again. I want to cover you. I want to cover the Husband Detective Agency and the person Michael Husband. Would that be okay?”

The response was, as expected, mockery. But it wasn’t a refusal. That was enough.

“Your newspaper must have a lot of journalists. Seeing a journalist insist on covering a common New York detective who’s not even newsworthy. Anyway, if you’re going to come to the bar with me, I won’t stop you. Satisfied?”

I wanted to retort that he was absolutely not a common detective, but I didn’t actually say that. Instead, I decided to worry about the fact that I was about to break Prohibition for the first time, with my father in New York.