The man’s bravado crumbled in an instant.
"H-heh. That was a joke, you know that, right?"
"Your jokes aren’t funny."
"Ahaha, I’ll make sure to practice for next time."
"What makes you think there will be a next time?"
Cruello lightly dragged his dagger across the desk, playing along with the threatening atmosphere.
The man’s pupils trembled as if an earthquake had struck his very soul.
"W-wait, why wouldn’t there be a next time? Come on, let’s not do this. I know a lot of things, okay? So, how about putting that knife away first—"
Finally, he was acting like a proper hostage.
He seemed to be of a higher rank, meaning he could be useful in various ways, but for now, I had more immediate concerns.
"Take me to where my comrade is."
The underground prison where the secret investigator was being held was located below the main compound.
Dylan—the cultist’s name—made loud noises as we walked, probably hoping other cult members would come to his aid. But Cruello’s magic twisted any signal for help into nothing more than self-indulgent noise.
It probably also helped that I had my dagger pressed against his back.
Finally realizing his position, Dylan shut his mouth and became noticeably more cooperative.
After descending the long flight of stairs, we reached the bottom, where a single person was chained to the wall.
His arms were spread wide by the iron shackles, and his body hung limp.
There were no signs of torture, but judging by his injuries, he had been hurt in a fight.
"At least he’s still breathing."
I gave Cruello a quick glance, and he wordlessly knocked Dylan unconscious, stuffing him into a corner.
We used the keys we had taken from the office to unlock the cell and stepped inside.
Just as I was about to check the investigator’s condition—
Something fell from his tattered clothes.
A pale-colored coin pouch.
Gold coins spilled out in a bright cascade.
I stared at the scene as if hypnotized.
"……."
Ah.
When I snapped out of it, I found myself locking eyes with Cruello.
His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was… odd.
I instinctively tried to explain myself.
"Ah, I was just looking!"
"Hmm."
"I mean, obviously, I wasn’t staring because I wanted it or anything—"
"Ughh…"
Right at that moment, the secret investigator groaned.
Of all the times to wake up.
Annoying, but I couldn’t exactly scold him for it.
I let out a slow breath and looked at him.
"Where… am I…?"
The man blinked a few times before taking in his surroundings.
Then, gritting his teeth hard enough to make a noise, he glared at us.
"Kill me, cult scum. Even if you keep me alive, you won’t get anything from me!"
Hmm.
Dylan had said something similar earlier, but the difference in tone was stark.
"You say that, but I could take your money."
Just so we’re clear, I didn’t say that—Cruello did.
"Money…?"
"Alright, let’s clear this up first. We’re not your enemies."
"Bullshit! You think I’d believe that when you’re wearing those filthy robes?"
"You’re wearing the same filthy robes."
He was also dressed in black priestly robes—clearly a disguise, just like ours.
Yet he was acting as if we weren’t in the same situation.
His glare sharpened.
Then, suddenly, he spat at my face.
It missed.
I had already stepped back, and Cruello blocked it with his sleeve.
"Ugh, my ears are rotting just hearing this. No matter how you try to deceive me, it won’t work. Just kill me."
He enunciated each syllable with venom before shutting his eyes.
Huh.
First time I’ve almost been spit on.
That was slightly irritating.
Now that I was looking at him again, his open pockets suddenly seemed worth searching.
I hadn’t even gone through them properly yet.
Well, if he was ready to die, he wouldn’t mind, right?
"W-what are you doing?!"
"You told me to kill you. I’m just collecting your belongings first."
"Ha!"
I emptied his pockets.
Not much inside.
The same coin pouch from earlier, a cult insignia…
And a smaller token—made of white jade, engraved with a sun symbol.
"This must be proof that he’s with the secret investigation unit."
The investigator snapped his eyes open and glared fiercely.
The sound of his teeth grinding was chilling.
Man, those are permanent, you know? What a waste.
"That alone won’t tell you anything."
"There’s a note in his inner pocket."
"Oh, I almost missed that. Hm? There’s nothing written on it."
"The secret investigation unit uses lemon juice to encode their messages."
Cruello conjured a small flame in midair.
I held the paper up to the heat, and slowly, words began to appear.
Now I could read it.
But…
"Winter. The lowest place. Aristata."
What the hell is this nonsense?
Did they really have to encrypt it twice?
"Pfft, did you actually think you’d figure something out?"
The investigator, despite his weakened state, managed to mock me between heavy breaths.
Well.
At this point, we’d done everything expected of a villain, so it was about time to switch roles.
I casually checked my disguise, making sure nothing was out of place, then clapped my hands to get his attention.
At the same time, I focused my energy into my fingertips.
Guess what this is.
The investigator’s eyes widened to the point of tearing.
"T-that’s—!"
Right.
There was no better identification in a cult of necromancers than holy power.
His tone shifted immediately.
"You… you’re from the temple?"
"Close enough."
"But how did the temple find out…?"
"We got a report. We also received these robes and the insignia."
"I see… So the temple received a report as well. We were also acting based on an anonymous tip."
So Nigellia had planted seeds on that side too.
She must have really wanted to dismantle this cult.
Once the investigator confirmed that we were allies, his eyes softened quickly.
At the same time, a firm resolve flickered within them.
"I apologize for the misunderstanding. But I must ask a favor of you both."
"You want healing?"
"No. Using holy power here is too dangerous. No matter how careful you are, someone will notice."
Unless I started throwing around high-tier spells, it should be fine…
"I don’t care if I die. But please, deliver my robe to my direct superior."
Why?
I stared at him curiously, and Cruello—without hesitation—removed the man’s outer garment.
It almost felt like having a personal aide, which was unexpectedly pleasant.
"I wrote down information about the cult inside. It’s written in a special solution, so it won’t be visible right now."
"Lemon juice?"
"No, that’s only used for meeting locations."
Ooh, this was getting interesting.
If he was this desperate to deliver it, it had to contain important information about the cult.
If I helped him, I might get to hear it too.
"Who is this superior?"
"I don’t know. The identities of unit members are highly classified, only the commander knows."
"So how do I deliver it if you don’t know who they are?"
"The meeting is in ten days. If you go to the location on the note, my superior will be there. The place is…"
And right at the most crucial moment, his voice cut off.
His body slumped forward.
He didn’t hit the floor since he was still chained, but still…
"Uh, hello?"
"……."
"Excuse me? I didn’t get the location yet? Hey? Wake up? This isn’t my problem, so why am I the one upset?"
I shook him, but he didn’t wake up.
What the hell? Why does this feel like I’m the one losing out? Should I just hit him?
I clenched my fist.
Just as I was about to swing, Cruello spoke.
"He’s under a prohibition spell."
"Huh?"
"It’s a magic spell placed on secret investigators. He must have forgotten about it, and when he tried to reveal the meeting location, it activated and knocked him out."
Wait, so we were never meant to hear that?
Then what the hell was I supposed to do?
A date and an unreadable note weren’t enough to find the meeting spot.
And if Cruello was right, even if the investigator woke up, he wouldn’t be able to tell us.
"Keeping him alive is our only option. That way, we can at least eavesdrop when he goes to the meeting. Can we take him out of here?"
"If we rip the chains out of the prison wall, yes."
"Oh!"
"But doing that will trigger an explosion."
"…Can I use my ring?"
"Yes. If you rip out the chains."
"……."
The classic chicken or the egg dilemma.
Everything was tangled up in the worst way.
I sighed.
"That means we can’t deal with this right now. We’ll have to improvise."
"Do you have a plan?"
"Yeah. That thing crawling over there."
I pointed toward a rustling noise.
It was Dylan—dragging himself across the floor in an attempt to escape.
When did he wake up? He was still tightly bound, yet he was managing to inch away.
"I-I wasn’t trying to run! I swear—AHH!"
Cruello flicked his fingers, and Dylan was yanked off the ground, flying straight toward us before slamming down at our feet.
Magic was amazing.
At this point, I was seriously considering converting to magicism… Ah, just kidding.
You heard that, right, Pebula?
"I-I heard nothing! I swear, I know nothing about temples or robes or anything!"
"You’re going to be responsible for watching over him."
"W-wait, what?"
"Will that be alright?" Cruello asked.
"He seems to be a high-ranking member. Besides…"
I trailed off, glancing around.
The prison looked sturdy, but something was missing.
"There are no guards. No one’s watching this place. They didn’t even bother confiscating his belongings. That means they never intended to interrogate him properly. Right?"
Dylan’s eyes darted around nervously.
"W-well… This isn’t the first investigator to show up. We’ve had so many crawl in here that we just starve them to death and clean up the corpses later."
"Then keeping him alive shouldn’t be that hard."
Dylan’s eyes rolled in their sockets.
"Can we trust this rat? Wouldn’t it be better to kill him and just leave some food here instead?"
"P-please trust me! I won’t disappoint you!"
"It’s fine. Trust is something you create."
Cruello tilted his head curiously, but I didn’t bother explaining further.
Instead, I crouched in front of Dylan, who was still squirming on the ground like a worm.
I focused my power.
—Fifth Spell. Pledge.
A circle of pure white chains rose around me.
Dylan shrank back, trembling.
"Repeat after me."
"R-repeat after me."
"…Not that part."