Where's the courage I once had?
Where's the strength I once possessed?
To stand up tall and face the music,
Laughing in the face of death―

“Glory Be” by Oingo Boingo
from Dark at the End of the Tunnel

Prelude

Even hours into the train ride, back fully sunken into the uncomfortably comfortable first-class seats, I still wondered just how I’d found myself here. I couldn’t understand what had made me accept this ridiculous proposition.

“The question’s been eating away at you, right?” That’s what the young man sitting beside me had said. And loath as I was to admit it, he was right on the money. It took barely any convincing for me to abandon my daily life and join this perfect stranger on a wild goose chase.

But as I looked at his profile―an androgynous youth sitting next to the window and yet sparing not a single glance at the scenery passing by, all in favor of studying his own face in a hand mirror for hours on end―I was beginning to have some doubts about my decision.

It hadn’t taken long to gather that this was just the kind of twisted personality that he, Nikagami Fuu, bore―and that he was the type I’d never get along with.

“I gather you’re thinking something rude about me,” he suddenly said, eyes still on the mirror.

“Nothing I feel guilty for.”

“Come now,” he said, brushing back the bangs of his long, braided hair as he finally looked my way. His face was certainly possessed of an unfathomably beauty, but I could only feel revulsion at the sneer plastered on top of it, at the ridicule oozing from behind his eyes. “I don’t mind if you dislike me on a personal level, but try to keep your ire from clouding your judgement. I brought you here as audience to the truth’s revelation. It would be quite disappointing indeed if your antagonism of me prevented you from accepting it.”

I still couldn’t believe how one guy could be so arrogant, earned or not. “...I’ll be the judge of that ‘truth’ of yours.”

He didn’t seem all that interested in chatting with me, and I fully shared the sentiment, so we naturally settled into a strained silence, mutually ignoring one another.

As a result, my mind went back to mulling over it. Over the case that brought us both here. The incident that had unfolded at our destination, Bacchus Castle, a long, long time ago…

***

In the late 11th century of the Julian calendar, five knights would meet at Bacchus Castle, awaiting the arrival of one more.

All were respected paragons of their respective houses―together, however, they swore their allegiance not to family lines, but to the hidden Order of the Agave.

The curtains rise―the actors may bow:

Dame Eresia Versa.

Sir Svin Malbork.

Sir Gotterdam Eltz.

Sir Corvin van Crowe.

Sir Cleave Rheinfell.

And lord of the Order, Sir Edwin Lavinius Newswan―missing from the stage.

Let the tragedy begin.

‘The Last Stage of Agave’s Dance’

That there could exist such a thing as a secret castle seems a ludicrous notion. Castles exist to house nobles and kings, and nobles and kings cannot exist in secret. And yet, that irrational descriptor was perfectly apt when it came to Bacchus Castle.

Perched atop a steep hill overlooking a river, two towers rose from the right corners of the narrow stone base, such that the building appeared lopsided when viewed from the path leading up to its entrance. A bystander might have thought the term fortress better suited. But for those of us about to convene within it, we could only think of it as a castle―what else could you call the building where the fate of our country would be decided?

I reached the desolate grand entrance and made my way inside through the unlocked gate. There were no soldiers to question my arrival, no servants to guide my way through. Nor did I need a guide as I pressed forward through the familiar halls.

The castle was regularly maintained by a few servants of House Newswan, but whenever it came time to hold a meeting, they would be sent back to the main house and watched closely. What occurred during these meetings had to stay between us only.

After all, in the eyes of anyone else, we would be looked at traitors. Thinking so as I crossed the corridor, a deep baritone voice suddenly called out to me.

“Dame Versa, if you’re feeling guilty about all this, you should probably take another look at yourself. A woman wielding the blade in battle is treason enough against the knight’s code.”

“What now, Sir Eltz, have you been studying the art of reading minds lately?”

“I hardly need to. Knowing your straitlaced nature, I can’t imagine you thinking anything else right about now.”

“Hmph. My apologies for needlessly worrying you. The only thing I feel any guilt for is the necessity to sneak around in the shadows. Were it possible, I’d gladly wave the flag of Lord Newswan for all to see.”

“Sharp as ever, huh? I’m glad to see it, and even more so to see you again.” With a playful smile, Gotterdam Eltz extended his muscular arm to offer me a handshake, and I answered in kind.

Our verbal jousting held no malice behind it. I was equally glad to be seeing him. As he’d mentioned earlier, I was a woman and at once a knight. Of course, such a thing would never normally be permitted, and so to outsiders I donned the appearance and identity of a man. Consequently, the joy of seeing friends with whom I could share my true face was always boundless.

From there, Eltz led me to the drawing room, its spacious interior furnished with a low table, a couch and numerous chairs carved with decorative designs. The walls were adorned with a number of weapons, swords and war axes, affixed to the wall and proudly shown off. And in the corner―something I took my eyes off of, turning to the three others already making themselves comfortable: Sir Rheinfell, Sir Malbork and Sir Crowe. It seemed that I was the last to arrive.

“Could you tell me where Lord Newswan is? I would like to pay my respects,” I said, after greeting them all. All I got in return were awkward glances, however.

“We’d like to know that ourselves, Dame Versa,” Eltz finally said from beside me, his voice strained.

“Huh?”

“...He’s not here.” Malbork finally said, sitting up from his seat around the center table and facing me.

“At the very least, we’ve looked all over the castle and haven’t found a trace of him,” Rheinfell added.

“What! How is that possible? He’s always made sure to arrive before us in the past.”

“Don’t know,” Malbork said. “But we need to have a serious talk about what we should do.”

***

We lived in an age of war and unrest. What we sought above all was the prosperity of our nation and the safety of the citizens. Our dedication to that ideal so often put in plain sight the ways in which kings and nobles failed. Short-sighted decisions, taking the easy path, chasing personal glory―even with good intentions, it was easy for rulers to fall prey to such human impulses, and lead the world to ruin.

That’s what we believed. And, arrogant as it was, we felt that we could do something to prevent it. None of us claimed to be kings―we didn’t need titles or recognition. We didn’t yearn to rule over our own subjects. All we wanted to do was shift our fate towards victory.

And that was exactly what the Order of the Agave was established to do. Though alone, we could do nothing to prevent chaos, by exerting our influence together through a common plan, we could act as the hidden hand that would save this country. If this circle of influence were to be leaked, we would undoubtedly be treated as traitors to the crown. That was precisely why we would only convene in secret at very specific times known to us all in advance.

“Do you think something got in the way of Lord Newswan’s arrival?” I asked.

“Only something truly tremendous could have stopped him from joining the meeting. How could we have failed to learn about something of that magnitude?” Sir Crowe argued.

“But it’s true that he’s not here,” Malbork bluntly replied.

“Now, now,” Eltz butted in. “No use speculating. I say we’d better think about what we should do here.”

All of us quieted down, hearing that. We were all hesitant to usurp a position of leadership for ourselves. Finally, Rheinfell broke the silence after a few moments.

“How much time do all of you have to be here?”

“A week, at most,” I said. The others gave similar figures. We all did our best to free up our schedules as much as we could for this time, but there was only so much we could do.

“How about this? Let’s wait for Master Newswan for another day… No, two days. And until then, keep your minds as sharp as you can. Because if he doesn’t appear in that time, we will have to decide the plan moving forward for ourselves.”

I gaped. “Could we really do such a thing in our leader’s absence?”

“The master chose us because he trusted us. We’re not just pawns, we’re equals. That’s what he’s taught us. If he really is in trouble, it’s up to us to continue fighting for the cause in his stead.”

Cleave Rheinfell was the youngest of us, and though he wasn’t as experienced, none could scorn the gleam in his eyes. We all nodded in resolute approval, prepared to do what we must.

***

Having settled on a course of action, we decided to take the remainder of the evening to rest and converse with one another. Some might judge it a callous act under the circumstances, but we were all human, and old friends besides, who hadn’t seen one another in a long time. We had a lot to catch up on.

Between stories of Rheinfell’s victories in battle, Malbork’s latest studies, or Eltz’s romantic conquests, one particular topic stole everyone’s attention.

“Sir Crowe, will you really retire from the Order?” Malbork faced the bespectacled man with graying hair.

“Were it up to me I’d continue for the rest of time. But my aging body betrays me. A withered old man like me is quickly becoming no more than a hindrance.”

“Don’t say that,” I raised my voice. “Your wisdom is priceless to us!”

“Your words warm my heart, Dame Versa. But I cannot seize the leadership of my family forever. The torch must be passed on, and with it any influence I might still hold.”

Loath as I was to admit it, he was perfectly correct. So long as we wanted to affect true change in the world, we could only accept members with influence to match. Without that, he would just be another gap for our secrets to leak from.

“I truly hope Sir Newswan makes his appearance. I must speak to him about my succession.”

“The first time we have to replace someone, eh?” Eltz commented. “That’s gonna be rough.”

We could all trust each other with our lives. That was what made the Order such a formidable force. But allowing a new member into our ranks would bring with it tremendous risks. We had to be absolutely sure that they would be someone who would adhere to our mission.

“...If this really is to be our last time as brothers of the Order, then I must offer my deepest gratitude, Sir Crowe, for everything you’ve done.” Putting his hand upon his heart, Rheinfell bowed deeply to Crowe. “I swear upon my honor; I will fulfill our ideal in your name.”

“Raise your head, Cleave. You needn’t crane your neck to an old fool like me.” Crowe laughed bitterly as he seemingly looked past the young man before him. I could, however, clearly discern a glimmer of deep sentiment behind his unaffected demeanor. “...Thank you for your words. I leave it all to you.”

The rest of the night was spent toasting in Sir Crowe’s honor, celebrating his long life’s work. When at last we grew weary, we returned to our rooms. The storm had already begun by then.

***

The following morning.

We all stood petrified in the doorway of Sir Crowe’s quarters. Nearby, the broken down door lay off its hinges, on top of it a crude red doodle of our Order’s sigil, alongside some unintelligible writing.

And inside the room, front and center, plain to see―was Sir Corvin van Crowe’s corpse.

“No doubt about it. He’s dead.” Malbork’s blunt pronouncement as he examined the body made us all accept the current situation.

It didn’t take long after our waking up to realize that Sir Crowe was suspiciously absent. No matter how long we waited, he wouldn’t appear. And the moment we went to check his door―we discovered that disturbing perversion of our emblem. Perhaps it was the fierce storm outside fraying our nerves, but we took it as a sign to take action. And after we broke the door down, we were met with that horrible sight.

Unable to take it anymore, I grit my teeth. “Who the hell did this!?”

My furious question, of course, was met with no answer. I gripped my hands into fists. “Sir Crowe may have been about to retire, but he was still one of us! A brother! Whoever killed him is undoubtedly an enemy of our Order of the Agave!”

The others flinched for a moment at my intensity, but not a moment later Rheinfell resolutely stepped forward. “Dame Versa is correct. It’s up to us to avenge the elder!” The others nodded firmly, their gazes set.

All of us were ready to do whatever we could for the sake of the Order. I could feel the trust we shared in Eltz’s reassuring smile, in Malbork’s dependable nod, and in Rheinfell’s determined gaze.

And yet, I couldn’t suppress the shiver running down my spine. Not once I realized that, mixed in with that trust was the unmistakable glimmer of doubt.

One of us had to have been a traitor.

***

The following few hours were spent in fervent discussion. The situation had already been complicated, but the introduction of this unforeseen betrayal had completely thrown us all for a loop. The enemy had gained the strategic advantage in this battle.

As before, Rheinfell took the lead with his natural charisma. Without hesitating over formality, he presented his point of view.

“I believe changing our course now would be exactly what the enemy is hoping for. I can’t begin to imagine what their aim is if not the very destruction of our Order, but whatever it is, we must show that we will not be daunted by it.”

“So you mean we should keep waiting, like you said before?” Malbork asked.

“For at least another day, yes. And if Master Newswan doesn’t appear by then, we can begin discussing our strategy going forward.”

“Hold on, now!” Eltz interjected. “If we just blab about our plans without knowing who the traitor is, we’ll be setting ourselves up for some major sabotage, don’t you think?”

“You’re perfectly right, Sir Eltz. Still, if the traitor hadn’t made their move earlier, we would have gone ahead and done just that, trusting one another without a second thought. Why do you think they killed Sir Crowe even then?”

“You’re saying…”

“They’re trying to stop us from organizing?” I asked, interrupting Eltz.

“I believe that’s right. It’s worth taking into account the possibility that Master Newswan’s absence is due to some scheme set up by the traitor. Under the circumstances, if they can prevent us from forming any strategy at all, our grand ideal will be brought to nothing.”

I see… For a moment, even though I knew it was impossible, I truly hoped that Lord Newswan would appear and lead us on the right path. I cursed the weakness in my heart.

“Compared to that, even if they try to work against us later, all they will do is bring their miserable identity to light. One saboteur can accomplish nothing when faced with our might!” Rheinfell continued his impassioned speech.

“Hmm… That makes sense. But,” Malbork said, “isn’t carrying on as usual irresponsible? You’ve all noticed it, right? The fact that Sir Crowe died in circumstances that, at the very least, appear impossible.”

Our gazes all narrowed as we listened to him. Malbork was right, the circumstances of Crowe’s death were strange, to say the least. His room was in the south-west tower of the castle, four stories above ground. That was precisely why it had taken so long for us to go check his room―to reach it, one would have to walk up the tower’s spiral staircase from the main portion of the castle. Needless to say, no one could have climbed the castle walls from the outside, and even if they had, the windows were firmly shut and could only be opened from the inside. Add to that, each room only had one key, and we found his inside his room―not to mention the chain was set. It was a locked room impossible to penetrate.

“It’s true,” Rheinfell admitted. “I can’t think of how they did it. It seems impossible, but there must have been some way, some unknown gap they could have slipped through. But so long as we don’t know, we may as well assume the traitor can access our rooms at any time they want.

“Even so, now that you’re aware of the danger, I believe that alone will make the difference… I’m truly sorry to have to say this, but everyone here should be extremely vigilant from now on. Treat this place like the battlefield. Do that, and I trust knights of your skill won’t be bested by a coward’s tactics.”

We all nodded. We understood the stakes. Once the traitor had been ratted out, we could go back to joining hands and singing together―but until then, we’d view one another with the same wariness we would an enemy.

With that decided, we ended the first strategy meeting―and what would end up our last.

***

After that, we found it somewhat difficult to sit around one another. The rain was still going strong, so we couldn’t go outside either. Ultimately, most just ended up going to their rooms, leaving me alone in the drawing room. All I could do was kill some time by―

About an hour later, just as I was getting somewhat hungry, Svin Malbork finally emerged from his room. He had become equally hungry, and so we decided to eat together.

In our daily lives the task of cooking was usually left to the servants employed by our respective houses. But even so, if we were totally hopeless at it, we wouldn’t survive on the battlefield, where sometimes you have no one to depend on but yourself. That being said, Malbork was especially proficient at bringing out the flavor from ingredients, so I ended up leaving the bulk of the work to him.

Finally, having whipped up an acceptable meal, we faced each other, sitting at the small table in the drawing room. The castle was also equipped with a grand dining room, which we had used for the meeting, but that seemed like too much for just the two of us.

“Sir Malbork… What do you think? About all this?” Having miserably failed at avoiding it, we naturally settled on talking about the topic on all of our minds.

“...Well, it’s out of our hands now. We’ll just have to go with it.”

“Don’t say that! This is still up to all of us! We can surely overcome it!” I meant it as a declaration, but coming from me it almost sounded like a plea.

“Hm.” Malbork smiled one of his rare, cynical smiles. “Hey, Dame Versa, do you know the story of Dionysus’ arrival in Thebes?”

“A Greek myth?”

“The story goes that the hedonistic god Dionysus exerted his influence over the women of Thebes, corrupting their minds. Believing this to be an attack on the order of his domain, King Pentheus rebelled against him, even imprisoning the deity.

“Of course, by our estimation, he was right to do so―Dionysus was nothing but a heretical false idol. And yet…”

Malbork’s smile deepened.

“Well, it’s impossible to call it a feel-good story. After all, in the end, Pentheus ends up mauled to death by his own mother, Agave. All because he refused to submit to God.”

“...What are you trying to…?”

“God exists outside the bounds of feeble morality, of even our reality. He exists in the corners of our eyes, always just out of sight. There’s nothing we can do to reach him.

“And to me, the hand of our murderer seems to be that of God, not man.”

I stood up, slamming my hands on the table.

“We joined the Order because we didn’t want to allow fate to rule us any longer, did we not? I don’t want to hear such cowardice from you.”

“―You’re right...”

He looked down, unable to meet my gaze. Without another word, I left him behind and returned to my own room.

***

Night had long since fallen, but I could no longer sleep. Ever since a particularly resounding strike of thunder woke me, I had been gripped by an indescribable unease.

And so, I sat down at the wooden desk in my room, took a quill in my hand, and began writing. I wrote down everything that had happened, ever since the previous day.

I hoped that it might be useful at some point, recording everything that way. Though, in all honesty, I simply felt powerless to do anything more.

***

The following day.

Three of us―Gotterdam Eltz, Svin Malbork, and myself, stood before a door, again bearing our Order’s warped emblem on it and the unintelligible writing. It was slightly open―enough only to see through it the chain, still firmly set. And behind it, in the center of the room, sprawled face down on the floor, almost as if crawling away from us―was the bloodied corpse of Cleave Rheinfell.

We shared neither a word nor a glance. Eltz stepped forward and slashed the chain in two. We all slowly stepped inside.

And as I got closer to the cadaver―a shiver ran down my spine, my legs quivering.

What is this?

The answer was obvious―he was dead. He was simply dead.

It was a scene I had to have seen thousands of times on the battlefield. I had grown used to every form of cruelty and carnage. So then―why was I so appalled?

Rheinfell’s head was coarsely split open, fragments of his skull and brain littering the carpet. It was not a wound befitting a knight―it was a barbarian’s brutality.

“How the hell’d he die like that? They must have bashed his head in with a rock or something.” Eltz muttered in disbelief. All of us felt similarly.

Was―was this really the work of a traitor? One of us knights? Could any of us have done such a thing?

…I couldn’t bring myself to look up at the others. I was too afraid of what I might see.

I had realized that an evil hope had taken root inside me. Whoever Crowe’s killer was, they might have acted to silence him now that he had declared he would leave the Order. It was a cruel act I would never condone―but I could understand it. I could believe it had still been done for the sake of our ideal.

That was no longer possible. I had to face that truth. And so I just kept staring at the corpse―at the hole in my friend’s head.

Interlude

Hey, what do you think beauty is?”

Our train ride far from over, Nikagami Fuu suddenly asked that question aloud, his eyes still absorbed in his reflection. I was the only one accompanying him, but I couldn’t even be sure he was talking to me.

“That I am the world’s most beautiful is a given, but I can’t feel too satisfied about it unless I can really express what that beauty means, you know?

“If you were to ask a thousand people, I’m sure you’d receive a thousand different answers. Still, after contemplating it for a long time, I believe I’ve reached an adequate solution.”

So he said, putting the mirror in his lap and raising both arms theatrically. And then, facing me with a repulsively alluring smile, he continued:

“Do you think an old hag desperately hiding her aging features with makeup is beautiful? I think not.

“You see―beauty is effortlessness. The diamond is effortlessly beautiful, and the expert which cuts it into a perfect shape only serves to enhance that beauty. On the other hand, the imitation diamond, that which exists only to mimic the glow of its muse, is irrevocably ugly.

“And so, beauty is the total lack of friction between true drive and its mask, a complete synchronicity of the outside and the inside.

“Let’s see… Under that definition, do you think that knightess, Eresia Versa, is beautiful?”

With that, he directed a squinty, almost sleepy-looking gaze my way, his neck tilted to the side.

I had no clue why I was being asked that question or what answer I was expected to give. In the end, I elected to say nothing.

Nikagami turned back to his mirror and continued talking.

“I happen to think she was quite ugly indeed. They all were, to a certain extent. But she was the ugliest of them all.”

‘The Last Stage of Agave’s Dance’

Another day passed. Another sleepless night spent writing.

It became clear just how much we had depended on Rheinfell’s youthful energy. Now that he was gone, communication between us all had more or less vanished.

Malbork shut himself up inside his room in the north-western tower, refusing to come out even for the sake of eating meals. Eltz didn’t speak much, and I didn’t force him. All I could do was think.

Another locked room. The door to Rheinfell’s quarters hadn’t been locked, but the chain was impossible to set from the outside, and the key was once again inside the room. The windows were safely secured too. And Rheinfell’s corpse was far enough from the door that, forget a sword, not even the armory’s longest spear could reach it.

No matter how long I thought about it, I couldn’t understand how it had been done. There must have been an answer. It must have been solvable. But no matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t reach it.

Before I knew it, Eltz had left the dining room. I had been left alone.

I was alone. By myself. Alone. There was no one else. I knew that. I knew that it was true.

No matter how much my numb body shivered, I refused to look around me. I refused to check if there was someone else with me. Because I knew I was alone. I knew I had to be alone.

God. Please let me be alone.

***

Only a few hours had passed. Eltz and I stood before the door to Malbork’s room. Below the crooked drawing was more scribbling that I couldn’t understand. I didn’t let myself understand it.

Eltz broke the locked door down. What we found was exactly what we had expected to find.

Svin Malbork was dead. He bore the same cruel wound that Rheinfell had. I could see the room’s key on the desk behind him.

Eltz and I said nothing to one another. I languidly looked over at the window. It was open, the strong wind rustling the drapes. The rain had slightly abated, so perhaps Malbork had sought some fresh air.

I sat there thinking for a while. How had it been possible? An arrow shot from the other side of the castle, with a rope tied to it? No, that wasn’t consistent with the wound that killed him. It looked more like he’d been hit by a rock. But a human being couldn’t possibly throw a rock with that much force, and there was nowhere to put a catapult anywhere in sight.

Another impossible crime.

Eltz and I turned our backs to the corpse, walking out of the room.

Without letting even a single mutter out, as if something important would be broken beyond repair if we did, we silently walked to the drawing room.

It was spacious, even with all the furniture. It would do.

I met Eltz’s eyes. He met mine. He nodded. So he would allow me to speak first, huh?

“―Sir Eltz. You must be the traitor!”

“―You took the words right out of my goddamn mouth, Dame Versa!”

***

We crossed swords. This was not like one of our countless friendly sparring matches. Every strike bore killing intent.

There’s no one else left. That’s why you must be the culprit.

We both insisted on that very same thing. There was no other recourse except battle.

“How could you―!? Have you no shame, murdering your brothers so gruesomely!?” I yelled at him and swung my blade toward his broad shoulder.

He blocked with his own broad sword, pushing me back with his lion-like strength.

“Hah! Always looking to save face, huh!? To think you wouldn’t admit your guilt, even now!”

Neither of us relented. And so, we kept swinging at each other with all that we had. His broad physique gave him an advantage over most other warriors, but my speed and technique were nearly a match.

And more than anything, this wasn’t the same glorious Gotterdam Eltz that I knew so well. He was tired, his eyes clouded. I must have been no better, but my righteous anger just about kept me going.

Slowly but surely, he began slipping up. I didn’t let the opportunities pass me by. My sword glided through the air faster and faster. Along the way I had begun pushing him back―soon, he would be against the wall.

His fighter’s instinct must have screamed at him. I could see the desperation in him. And I could sense that he would put his all into one final swing.

If I allowed this attack to connect, my thin body would no doubt be ripped in half. I had no intention of falling here. Not to a traitor.

Ducking forward, I thrust my blade up towards his heart, fast enough that not even I could perceive the motion. Before I knew it, his powerful strike wilted like a flower in the fall.

He collapsed on his knees. My blade had pierced his heart. He would be dead in seconds.

Even though I thought I could never win against Gotterdam Eltz… He had given me this victory.

I turned my back to him. Perhaps he had wanted to mouth some final words to me. But I would not accept a traitor’s goodbye.

Not once looking back at the corpse of my sworn brother, I left the drawing room.

***

On one of the castle’s balconies, I absently let the rain pelt me. Though it had weakened earlier, it had ultimately returned in full force.

Had that been it? Had the dream of our Order of the Agave ended, just like that?

There must have been something we could have done. Something to keep this tragedy from unfolding. How could it all be over?

I didn’t want this dream to end. Not because of our ideal or because of this country’s future. In truth, I just loved being here. I loved being able to show my true self. To live the way I want to live, unburdened by fate or God’s will. That was all I really cared about.

Hey, Lord Newswan. Can’t you come and save me? Save all of us? You can change all of this, can’t you?

The only thing that responded to me was the resounding sound of thunder.

***

I didn’t know how much time had passed. I didn’t even remember going back inside.

At some point, I just found myself in front of the entrance to the drawing room. If I entered here, I would be faced with his corpse again, but I was too far gone to care.

I entered, took a few steps―and then froze.

“H-huh?” A pathetic squeak escaped my lips.

What? What is this?

He was dead.

No, of course he was dead. I had killed him. I had given him a dignified mortal wound, befitting of a knight.

So why was his skull open, letting me see far into his cranium? Why was his brain all over the floor, skull fragments scattered around it like a sloppily broken egg?

What could possibly justify this?

And then, I heard a sound behind me. I could no longer prevent myself from turning to see it.

―I fell to my knees. My eyes felt like they would pop out of their sockets.

I would be killed. I knew I would be killed.

Hey? Please, you can kill me, just tell me something first.

Tell me. What is happening? Who is about to kill me right now?

It’s not Gotterdam Eltz.

It’s not Svin Malbork.

It’s not Cleave Rheinfell.

It’s not Corvin van Crowe.

So who is it? Could I be permitted to know that much, before the curtains close?

By the time thunder struck again, the Order of the Agave was no more.

When, days later, the servants of Bacchus Castle returned, all that they discovered were five miserable corpses―and a lady knight’s diary.

Conclusion

After a train ride that felt like it had taken forever, followed by a taxi ride through the nearby town and a fifteen minute trek through a hilly path, we had finally arrived.

Bacchus Castle. It stood above a flowing river, imposing and yet lonely all the same. Just shy of ten years had passed since I’d last set foot here.

With Nikagami leading the way, and me following closely behind, we stepped through the door he unlocked and entered the empty castle.

“If you’re worried about privacy, rest assured. I rented the place out for the day. No one’s gonna bother us.”

I didn’t say anything in return. So it’s still available for rent, huh?

Again following the young man, we walked through the winding ornate corridors and eventually arrived at the drawing room.

“So―Mr. Edo, is it just like you remember?”

“...That’s right.” It truly hadn’t changed a bit.

“That’s good. The effect will be adequate, then. I’m glad.” His smile was enchanting―and blindingly, unpleasantly bright. I looked away.

“...Go on, then,” I spat.

“Very well. Without further ado, let’s finally conclude this tragedy.” From the corner of my eye, I could see his smile growing wider as he began his speech.

“So then, to set the scene―in the 11th century of the Julian calendar, five knights would meet at this castle, awaiting the arrival of one more.”

This guy…! I just barely managed to contain my anger. I should have gotten used to his unpleasant personality by now.

“One by one, they died in impenetrable locked rooms, a true string of impossible murders. At least, that's what the diary of one Dame Eresia Versa, left behind in her room, explained.

“Well, in the interest of telling the tale as enjoyably as possible, I’ll go out of order. Let’s start with the second locked room. The only proverbial gap in its defenses was the very slight opening of the door which had its chain set.

“The third locked room, on the other hand, was inaccessible from within the castle, but had a wide-open window.

“These are some pretty notable gaps for one to exploit. But still, as far as the 11th century goes―I won’t insult the criminal mind by calling them impossible, but they are at the very least particularly difficult locked rooms. It would take some real trickery to get through them.

“But―what about the 21st century? In the 21st century, these locked rooms become trivial.

“All you would need―is a gun. A hunting rifle, perhaps, easy to obtain even in Japan so long as you have a license.

“In the second case―after you get them to open the door up for you, relying on their trust in you as a friend, stick it through the gap in the door, and shoot while the hapless, unsuspecting victim has their back to you. In the third, make some noise to get their attention, or simply wait for them to open their window of their own volition, and shoot from the window of the south-west tower, directly facing the victim’s room. That’s the only thing a modern criminal would require. Ah, and I suppose that to someone from the 11th century with no concept of firearms, a messy gunshot wound would be indistinguishable from a bludgeoning.”

I clenched my fists tightly. The pain of my nails tearing the skin of my palm calmed me down.

“...What about the first locked room?” I asked, through gritted teeth.

“Ah yes, the first locked room. That one is much trickier. A perfectly locked door, not at all half-assed. Perfectly locked windows. Well, put me in there for an afternoon and I’m sure I could figure something out, but neither of our busy schedules is open enough for that.

“So how about the simplest answer? If the murderer couldn’t have escaped that locked room―we’ll just say there was no murderer at all.”

“A suicide…?”

“We’ll be getting to that. But first… Ahh, what an interesting idea to ponder, that activity of yours.

“Let me see… ‘Dame Eresia Versa’, ‘Sir Gotterdam Eltz’, ‘Sir Svin Malbork’, ‘Sir Cleave Rheinfell’, ‘Sir Corvin van Crowe’, and… Aah, that’s right, ‘Lord Edwin Lavinius Newswan’. Do I have that right, Mr. Edo Kugui?”

Stop it…

“Really, I never would have thought about doing something like that. I admire it, you know? It’s an ugly display, but it falls within the standard margin of ugliness all weak humans who seek to escape into stories fall under. I’d say it’s even a little charming.”

Shut up.

“What is it called again? ‘Live action roleplay,’ do I have that right? A bunch of adults playing knights in a themed hotel like this is just so, you know―”

“Get to the point, brat!” I couldn’t keep myself from screaming. No… to put it more accurately, screaming was all I could do to keep myself from punching him in the face.

He raised both his palms and cajoled me in an irritatingly sweet tone. “Now, now, sorry about that! Very well, I won’t comment on your hobbies anymore.

“Or so I’d like to say, but unfortunately it’s quite the relevant point. Please bear with it.” He winked at me without a shred of guilt, before spinning around as he continued to talk.

“Now, let’s take inventory. Who are our actors?”

Eresia Versa―Himeji Erisa, office worker.

Gotterdam Eltz―Amagasaki Gou, electrician.

Svin Malbork―Uwajima Shuuji, private chef.

Cleave Rheinfell―Odawara Sakuhei, college student.

Corvin van Crowe―Takeda Uichi, retired architect.

“And you, Edo Kugui, a fast-food franchise manager―also known as Edwin Lavinius Newswan, the missing leader.”

“...My wife went into labor prematurely. I had to cancel my participation last minute, but we had already rented the place out. I knew it would mess with the storyline, but we decided I wouldn’t come.”

“And good thing you did, otherwise your child would have been left without a parent―or so it’d be nice to think.”

“What?”

His smile was unperturbed. “How much did the police tell you?”

“Not a lot… They had me explain to them just what exactly it was that we did, and they showed me the diary, but beyond that, I never received any updates on the investigation.”

“Makes sense. You are neither family nor lover to any of them, so they have no obligation to tell you anything.”

“...”

“Anyhow, with all of this in mind, let us take an analytical eye to the events as Miss Himeji described them to us.

“Immersed as they were in their roles, when they discovered the first corpse, they assumed it to be a part of the game. I mean, to begin with, for them to go ahead and break the door down, they would have to have been given a proper impetus to do so―such as directives written on the door itself.”

“You mean, that ‘unintelligible writing’...”

“Of course, to an 11th century European, modern Japanese may as well be scribbles. I assume you have to have gotten a little rough in your playacting before, so a little property damage should be nothing as long as someone pays up.

“More to the point, there was already a need to write out Takeda Uichi’s character from the story, and you weren’t around to lead, so the natural assumption would be that someone had gone ahead and taken the initiative to continue the story.

“Under the circumstances, so as not to ruin the immersion, all they could do was play along―even as the body count kept growing.

“What do you think? The perfect crime is that which nobody even realizes is a crime, but isn’t it just sublimely ugly that human beings could see a corpse with their own eyes and rule it as fantasy? It’s a murderer’s paradise!”

A knot I just couldn’t untangle was stuck in my throat. “Would they really have chalked it up as a fantasy, even with a real corpse right in front of them?”

“They would. Humans are masters of denial. They’d deny that grass is green if it meant being safe from an inconvenient truth.

“Ah, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. Suppose they wouldn’t just buy it under regular circumstances. But what if they were primed?”

“Huh?” I blinked.

“The police should have figured it out instantly when taking into account the mismatch in time of death. Hell, maybe they did figure it out and just didn’t tell you. But come on, you shouldn’t need that if you read Miss Himeji’s diary.

“Try to recall her writings. Ah, but it has been nearly a decade, so I suppose I can’t blame you if you can’t remember. Still, just take my word for it. The description of Takeda’s―of Corvin van Crowe’s corpse―it was ridiculously flimsy.

“What even killed the guy? It’s not clear. Yet every other corpse seemed to have left quite the impression on her. A good enough writer would have been able to mask their true self and sell their fantasy properly, but well, that is what made her so second-rate and ugly after all!”

I felt sick.

“Takeda Uichi was not dead when they discovered him. He was plainly and clearly playing dead. And so, even when they discovered a second and then a third corpse, even when they clearly saw wounds that would take a Hollywood makeup master to fake―they bought into it.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, some of them weren’t so bad. Odawara died before he could ever see a corpse―if I’m to take a guess, all it took to get him to open the door was for Takeda to just speak to him out of character. None of your characters had ever died before, right? It must have been an unprecedented situation, but Odawara couldn’t very well just ignore his friend.”

I felt sick.

“And,” Nikagami continued, “I get the impression that Uwajima suspected something foul―why else would he have barricaded himself in his room like that? Though even he wasn’t sure, else he would have ended the charade then and there.

“But Himeji, and Amagasaki too―they were the worst of the worst, the ugliest of the ugliest! I mean, just think about it―even after all of their friends were murdered, and even with their murderer walking around in plain sight, they instead elected to have a little mock sword fight! Doesn’t it make you queasy, just imagining it?”

I felt sick.

“T-then… the killer was…”

“Takeda Uichi, naturally. The very first supposed victim.”

“B-but, he was found killed in the very same way as all the others! How could that―?”

“Aah, there you go grasping at whatever little thread happens to stick out. It’s ugly, you know, Mr. Edo.

“I can think of a million ways to do it. Suppose the following, for instance. He could attach a weight to a rope, tie it to his gun and then dangle it over the window while holding the other end in his hand. He would then pull the trigger facing himself, and let go of the rope. The gun and the rope would be dragged out the window and fall into the flowing river.

“Ahh, don’t ask me if the police ever found the gun in the river or something, okay? I don’t know and I don’t care, and neither do you, really.”

I put a hand over my mouth and another on my stomach, desperately trying to keep my lunch from rising up into my throat. “―Why? Why would he do such a thing…?”

The Takeda Uichi I knew was a gentle, wise old man, not far from his character. None of them were far from their characters. They―we saw it as freedom, after all―as a way to be ourselves, unburdened by the world we happened to be born in.

Nikagami, on the other hand, just smirked repulsively. “The setting inside the story―the justification for him leaving the order was him being succeeded as head of his house, right? I bet you guys had to have cringed when you heard him propose it. His real life children had just died, after all.

“There are all sorts of people out there with all sorts of viewpoints, but Takeda was an old man already, and his wife had been gone for a while too. The way I see it, his real life was basically over the moment that happened.

“That means all he had left―was you guys, and the fantasy you created.”

“B-but, that doesn’t make any sense! He’s the one who asked to be written out, to stop coming!”

“That’s precisely right. And that’s why none of you are at fault. The sole responsibility lies with him, who decided to become a monster. But still, if I can critique you on anything, it’s that you really can’t tell just how ugly some people really are.

“I can’t know what was going on in his head, but my guess goes like this: he did ask to leave―hoping that you’d talk him out of it. Desperately hoping that he was still needed.

“And yet, with feelings of understanding for a grieving soul, you all obliged. And just like that, his other life was over.”

“B-but why didn’t he―”

“It’s useless to ask me questions like that. If you have any complaints about just how petty, ugly, repulsive a piece of trash that man was, direct it to his grave or something.

“Still, even that might not have been all. But in truth, cracks had begun to show. He was a retired old man with all the time in the world, but the rest of you were relatively young people in the prime of your lives. The Order never was everything to you, and it never would be―after all, even the glorious leader had something better to do.”

It felt like there was a huge stone lodged in my throat. It hurt. Everything hurt. My head was ringing, my heart was beating out of control. I don’t want to know any more. I never wanted to know any of this. I never should have come here.

But I had to.

“I don’t say this so that you should blame yourself. You’re the last person you should bl―”

“Shut up! I don’t need your consolation!”

Fuck! Fuck all of this! Those were the best friends I ever had! And a selfish piece of trash took them all away from me! If he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him myself!

“Hmm…” As I desperately tried to cool off my blazing train of thought, I noticed Nikagami sending me an appraising gaze. “I see. I asked you out here because I was curious to see how ugly you were in comparison―but I see you’re not that bad. How disappointing.”

“What the hell are you on about…?”

“Beautiful things don’t interest me, see? They all pale in comparison to me anyway. What I’m looking for are ugly things.

“Ugly, ugly, the ugliest of them all. Those are all so much more interesting to witness. Don’t you think so too?”

He was an insane bastard too. I had no clue how he even learned about any of this, but to come all the way here, all for this? God, he was pissing me off. It took all I had not to use him as an outlet for all of this rage.

“Well, I see I’m not needed here anymore, and I’ve done all I had to anyway. I rented the place out for the whole day, so feel free to take it easy.”

He took out a thick bundle of bills from his coat pocket and left them on the table.

“That’s for the train back. Keep the change.”

And then he turned away from me. Good. I never wanted to see that disgustingly beautiful face ever again.

Those were my genuine feelings on the matter. And yet… I ended up calling out to him, one last time.

“Hey… Something else doesn’t make sense. If Takeda murdered Himeji, then how could she have written that diary to the end?”

“Ahh, that.” Nikagami turned his head to me with a gleeful smile. “Well, we’ll probably never know the full answer. One explanation could be that Takeda simply filled it out himself before dying. But―there’s a reason why I called Himeji the ugliest of them all, see.”

He winked at me once more, before turning his head back. “If you wish to look more into it, I suggest you try digging up everyone’s exact time of death. Goodbye now, Mr. Edo.”

And just like that, with a spring in his step, almost skipping away in glee―Nikagami Fuu disappeared from my life.

Like a perfect, uncaring god, he wouldn’t bother with sentiment. Having watched the tragedy in full, he wouldn’t bother with meaningless platitudes. Not ‘see you again’, but a plain goodbye.

Left alone and with nothing to channel my energy into, my eyes ended up resting on the most conspicuous object in the room.

In the corner of the ornate drawing room, filled with antique furniture and replica swords and battle axes mounted on the wall, taking up the most convenient spot for everyone sitting down―was an object that could never exist in the 11th century, in the hidden meeting place of a secret order of knights.

A seventy-inch widescreen television.

I stared at it.

Who was it, reflected in that black screen? Was it perhaps that powerful knight of old? The one with that stupidly pompous name, the one that could rule over others, steer the world in a better direction, change fate itself? That juvenile fantasy of a character I’d created to fill up the holes inside me?

Of course not. It was just a boring middle-aged man.

I punched a hole straight through the brittle glass screen.

Whatever. I guess I got the money to pay for damages now.

End

Like a bad dream I once had where
Everyone but me knew something
Walking blind through burning fields
The dead brigade is on my heels
They follow me―they follow me…

“Glory Be” by Oingo Boingo
from Dark at the End of the Tunnel