Chapter 3

“I-I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just following orders!”

Jeckart felt a twinge of disgust at the blood-soaked target’s desperate pleas.

No matter their age, status, or background, all targets begged the same way right before they were killed.

‘Really now. If you were truly innocent, would you ever have gotten tangled up in an organization like this and met such an end?’

It wasn’t his job to judge, but Jeckart doubted it anyway.

Besides, even if they really were innocent, it didn’t matter to him.

Dragging what was left of his leg, the target crawled away, leaving a trail of blood.

Jeckart followed at a leisurely pace, walking through the darkness and the carnage—hardly a pleasant business.

“Don’t—don’t come any closer! Please, let me go, please—”

“Sorry, I’m just following orders too. We’re not so different, you and I. You understand, right?”

“You devil… You’ll die miserably one day too, you hear me? You’ll end up just like—”

Silence fell swiftly.

The blade pierced the man’s throat.

He gurgled horribly a few times before growing still.

“I know.”

Jeckart muttered in a dry voice, an answer meant for ears that would never hear it.

He didn’t expect his own end to be peaceful.

Either he’d fail a job and get killed by a target, or the organization would dispose of him once he was no longer useful—one or the other.

In truth, he hoped whichever it was, it would come quickly.

It wasn’t that he longed for death itself, but almost anything seemed better than the numb disgust that came with this endless repetition.

Jeckart yanked his knife from the man’s neck with a practiced motion.

Hot blood gushed from the severed artery, streaming down his face, making his black eyes shine strangely through the sticky mess.

While most in his line of work preferred guns for assassinations, Jeckart usually chose knives or swords.

For someone who valued efficiency, it was an odd choice, but this method was quieter.

He hated making a scene.

After finishing the job, Jeckart returned to his hideout, stripped off his blood-soaked suit, and headed straight for the shower.

The blood had gotten everywhere, staining his skin like a brand.

Ssshhh—

The cold stream of water ran down Jeckart’s broad shoulders and over his hard chest, washing away the blood. As the stains disappeared, the gruesome scars that crisscrossed his body came into sharper relief.

Torn, cut, burned—marks likely left by torture.

But Jeckart didn’t remember how or when he’d gotten them.

After all, he’d never recovered the memories he’d lost along with those grave injuries three years ago.

Lost memories… But had he really lost them? Sometimes it was hard to say.

The edges of his missing memory were too sharp, too clean—like they’d been sliced away with a surgeon’s scalpel, not by accident.

Now, all he remembered was how to kill a person most efficiently.

Well, maybe one more thing.

“-I’ll do it.”

A voice—wet with tears. He couldn’t recall whose it was, or even who it was meant for, but the sound remained.

His thoughts broke off abruptly with the sound of movement outside the bathroom.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Jeckart ran a hand through his wet hair and stepped out.

There was a familiar man at the door.

“Markus.”

Markus’s job was supporting the organization’s members—delivering orders, collecting intel, things like that. Jeckart took the paper envelope from his hand without comment.

[From X.]

At the bottom edge of the envelope, the sender’s name was typed in that distinctively crooked font only a typewriter made.

“If you need help, just ask.”

“Yeah.”

Markus grinned, his teeth catching the light with an unnatural pallor—because they were all dentures.

He wasn’t even in his late thirties yet, but he’d had to get them for a trivial reason.

Years ago, he’d lost a molar on a job.

He figured it didn’t matter and ignored it, but after a while, the upper jaw caved in, and the rest of his teeth followed.

“I’m off.”

As Markus turned to go, Jeckart watched him for a moment.

Every time he saw him, he felt a strange kinship.

It was just a different body part, but Markus had gone through the same thing.

His own missing memories, like missing teeth, had eventually created a kind of emotional collapse.

Yet standing in that barren ruin, Jeckart didn’t even recognize it as unhappiness. Everything felt fine, and at the same time, not fine at all.

He opened the envelope Markus had brought.

[Perel Monty.]

After checking the name of his next target, he immediately burned the envelope.

The writhing paper in the flames crumbled into black ash that floated up into the air.

***

“Perel?”

Edith stepped into the room with two cups of strong coffee, only to find Perel dozing at the desk.

He straightened up quickly at her presence.

Knowing he’d barely slept the past three days, Edith offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry, Perel. I didn’t mean to wake you… You should get some sleep in the guest room.”

“No, it’s fine. You should rest next to Leon for a bit yourself.”

“I’m alright. Besides, I need to go out soon anyway.”

“Where… ah!”

Confusion flickered across Perel’s face, then gave way to sudden realization.

“Come to think of it, today’s Friday.”

The first Friday of every month.

That was the day Edith regularly met with Martin, the resistance’s informant.

It used to be Perel’s job, but after his identity was recently compromised by the Stifts, it had become Edith’s responsibility.

Perel took a sip of the coffee Edith handed him and managed a wry smile.

“I hope there’s good news for you too, today.”

“…Me too.”

A similar bittersweetness crept into Edith’s own expression.

“Do you… still miss him?”

The subject was omitted, but Edith simply nodded in silence.

“Yes.”

Maximilian Lindell.

Of course, it wasn’t like she still soaked her pillow every night.

Sometimes, she even managed to forget about him for a while.

But that was it—she only sometimes forgot.

Where once she’d thought of him a hundred times a day, it had lessened to ten.

But that number had never dropped to zero, and Edith knew it never would.

He would always be someone who crossed her mind ten times a day for the rest of her life—a person impossible to forget.

And more than anything, what made him unforgettable was what she’d learned after his death.

“How much have you found out now?”

“All I know is what you know. Nothing more yet.”

“It’s not surprising, considering the unit he belonged to barely seems to exist. Even Prince Bariel himself says he doesn’t know.”

It had been a year since Edith learned that her husband, whom she’d thought was merely a captain in the Army Ministry, was in fact the commander of a top-secret special operations unit.

The records in the Army Ministry had all been forged with incredible precision—something their informant Martin had uncovered.

Ever since, they’d been trying to learn more, but all they’d discovered was that Maximilian had indeed commanded a secret unit.

Who had founded it, or what its true purpose was, remained a complete mystery.

“I’ll try to find out more—”

“…No, Perel. Don’t worry about it. It’s not urgent, and right now, the operation is more important.”

Edith’s voice firmed with resolve.

Maximilian was dead.

Maybe the reasons behind his death were different from what was reported, and maybe—just maybe—there was a sliver of a chance he was still alive, but right now, what mattered most was the living—their hope, their cause.

“All we need to focus on right now is the operation. We haven’t slept properly in three days. We have to make this succeed.”

Perel finally smiled in resignation.

“Yes.”

She was always so strong. Sometimes, Perel found it amazing, how she could be like that after losing her entire family.

“Oh! I should go.”

Draining her half-cold coffee, Edith quickly stood.

“Look after Leon for me, Perel.”

“Of course. Be careful out there.”

With a grateful, warm smile, Edith hurried out of the room.

It was 3 a.m.—the perfect time to move unseen.

***

Just as Edith finished dressing—bonnet on, cape shawl over her shoulders—and crossed the living room toward the cabinet, she froze at a faint noise behind her.

Creeeak—

That slightly eerie sound was from the window hinge, impossible to fix even with oil.

Normally she would never have noticed something so minor, but tonight she was especially on edge—especially since the noise had come from Leon’s room.

Did I imagine it?

Edith stood frozen for a moment before moving again, her steps now silent and cautious.

She turned away from the cabinet—not toward her escape, but toward Leon’s room.

Please, let this foreboding feeling be nothing, she pleaded silently.

She reached the door and turned the handle, her hand trembling just slightly.

Once inside, she quietly closed the door behind her.

Click.

The faint glow of the gas lamp from the living room, which had crept in just enough to illuminate the small form on the bed, was now completely shut out.

Only then did Edith realize the true source of the disturbance she’d sensed.

A tall, shadowy figure stood by the window, framed by the faint moonlight.

An intruder.

“……!”