Chapter 51

Realizing how much he had aged through such trivialities was one thing, but Cody didn't have the luxury of wallowing in it.

After seeing Erika off, he immediately sprang into action.

His first priority was making contact with the man who had led the expeditionary force. However, he hit a snag: he didn't have much of a personal relationship with the man, a fellow company commander named Finnegan.

To bridge the gap, Cody set his sights on Walsh. Though they held different ranks, Walsh was a friend and a peer to Finnegan, holding the same rank of company commander. Cody decided to enlist his help.

The request was simple enough. All Cody wanted was for Walsh to lure Finnegan to Cody’s favorite tavern that evening.

Walsh was understandably suspicious of the specific instructions, but once Cody offered to foot the entire bill, he agreed without further prying—a testament to the trust he placed in Cody’s character.

With the promise secured, Cody prepared to head into town, but a voice called out to him before he could take a single step.

"P-Platoon Leader Cody..."

He turned to see Robinson, Sid, and Aileen. Usually a boisterous bunch, they now wore uncharacteristically grim expressions.

Cody had a good idea of what they wanted, but he chose to play dumb. "Hm? What's up?"

"...Is it true?" Sid asked tentatively. "Is Harold really going to be executed?"

Cody didn't sugarcoat it. "Looks that way."

The trio gasped in unison.

Though their time together had been brief, they had clearly formed a bond with Harold. Had it been a simple matter of a questionable sentence, they likely would have voiced their opposition loudly.

But they had seen the truth. They had seen Harold, bloodied and battered, slaughtering an Imperial Major General with eyes as cold as death itself. Even Cody had rarely seen such a gaze—eyes harboring nothing but pure, unadulterated murderous intent. It was only natural to feel a primal fear when confronted by that.

For the relatively inexperienced Robinson and his friends, the trauma ran deep.

"...I don't want Harold to die," Sid muttered. "But I can't get that image out of my head."

"The person we saw that day... he wasn't the Harold we knew," Aileen added.

Robinson looked up, his eyes searching. "Platoon Leader, which one is the real Harold?"

They were lost, caught between the boy they knew and the monster they had witnessed in the Bertis Forest.

"Hell if I know," Cody replied bluntly.

The answer was so dismissive that the three of them could only stare at him, mouths agape. Cody continued, his tone shifting to one of instruction.

"The Harold we've known for a few months isn't someone we can just sum up on a whim. He’s not that shallow, is he?"

It was a harsh, perhaps even irresponsible thing to say. However, his gaze remained deadly serious.

"Ultimately, you have to judge for yourselves based on what you’ve seen and felt. If I told you to give up on Harold’s life, could you accept his execution? If I told you to help me save him, would you stick by that decision even if it put your own lives on the line?"

Whether they chose to resign themselves to the verdict or fight against it, any decision made because of someone else's influence would eventually lead to regret.

Above all else, they were knights. They needed to possess a sense of justice they could uphold themselves.

"Whatever you decide to do, your choice shouldn't be based on whether you believe in Harold. It’s about whether you can believe in yourselves. Don't forget that."

Before they could respond, Cody turned and walked away.

His words were genuine. It was his own way of showing kindness—by ensuring that those who lacked the necessary resolve wouldn't get dragged into the coming firestorm.

Whether they understood that or not remained to be seen.

Well, that’s that, Cody thought, shifting gears. He had several more moves to make.

After parting ways with the trio, Cody headed to the tavern where Walsh and Finnegan were expected. He sought out the owner and asked for a specific favor.

It wasn't a difficult request. He wanted the owner to spike a drink at the right moment. Naturally, he wasn't using poison or anything dangerous. It was a mild truth serum, harmless to the body. Its effects were usually weak, but Cody figured that if the target was already sufficiently drunk, the medicine would be enough to make him spill his secrets.

Despite their long acquaintance, the owner was hesitant. The request was undeniably suspicious, but Cody forced the issue by claiming it was part of a top-secret internal investigation.

Eventually, Cody's smooth tongue won out, and the owner relented.

From there, Cody spent the rest of the day feigning a patrol of the Royal Capital. He touched base with informants and those well-versed in city rumors, asking them to keep an ear out for anything unusual regarding the members of Harold’s deliberation panel—who they were meeting with, and what they were doing.

By the time he finished, the sun had set.

Returning to the barracks briefly, Cody shed his conspicuous armor for simple civilian clothes and returned to the tavern. He took a seat and waited.

Within thirty minutes, his targets arrived. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and Walsh, sensing the plan, guided Finnegan to a seat directly behind Cody.

The stage was set. Cody listened intently, but the initial conversation was agonizingly mundane. They talked about how long it had been since they’d grabbed a drink, how Walsh was being bossed around by his wife, why Finnegan didn't have kids yet, and why Walsh hadn't gotten married.

However, the alcohol was flowing fast, fueled perhaps by the stress of their duties. An hour into the night, Finnegan’s speech began to slur.

Now’s the time. Cody gave Walsh a subtle hand signal, drawing him away to the counter. The owner joined them as Cody whispered his instructions.

"He’s got a good buzz going. Let’s start the operation."

"Wait, what operation?" Walsh hissed. He had only been told to get Finnegan to the bar.

"Nothing too complicated. I just want you to ask him a few questions—after he drinks this."

Cody pulled a paper packet from his pocket and sprinkled a white powder into the ale the owner had set out. The powder dissolved instantly and silently.

Walsh’s eyes widened as he realized what was happening. "Hey, wait, is that—"

"Just get him to drink it without making a scene. Oh, and help clear the room, would you?"

"Good grief..." Walsh sighed.

The owner stepped away from the counter and began informing the remaining patrons that he was closing early. It would hurt his profits, but Cody had promised to bring his entire squad by another night to make up for it.

"What exactly are you trying to find out by going this far?" Walsh asked.

"One of my subordinates is about to be beheaded after a sham trial. I want the truth from someone who was in that room."

"Even if you get it, you can't overturn a verdict from the Deliberation Chamber."

"I know that. Call it a futile struggle, if you want."

If this failed, Cody was prepared to go through with the half-joking suggestion he’d made to Erika. His resolve to save Harold was ironclad, and Walsh seemed to recognize that, as he stopped trying to talk him out of it.

"This could turn into a massive mess. If you want to walk away now, I won't hold it against you."

"Sigh... You already dragged me in this deep, didn't you? Fine. I just ask about the trial?"

"A friend in need is a friend indeed."

"Can I go home now?"

"Hey, I was joking!"

Cody gave Walsh the final instructions. By the time they finished, only the four of them remained in the tavern. Finnegan, deep in his cups, hadn't even noticed the other patrons leaving as he nursed his glass.

Walsh walked back over and set the spiked ale in front of him. "Here, have another."

"...Thanks."

Finnegan reached for the glass with sluggish movements and took a long, deep pull, draining a third of it in one go. Walsh waited for the drug to take hold before speaking.

"So, things have been pretty rough lately, huh?"

"...Rough?"

"You were the commander of that expedition, right? No one expected it to end like that."

"That... yeah..." Finnegan muttered, his shoulders sagging. The tragedy at Bertis Forest was clearly a weight he didn't want to carry.

His reluctance was high, but with the alcohol and the truth serum coursing through his veins, this was Cody's best shot.

"Speaking of which, I heard one of the recruits is getting the death penalty for treason. What did the kid actually do?"

"I didn't see it myself... but the report said disobedience and desertion. He was wearing an Imperial uniform... suspected spy."

"Hmm. Disobedience and desertion are common for green recruits, but a spy charge? If they're executing him, they must be sure."

"No..." Finnegan hesitated, scratching his head aggressively. His eyes were growing hollow, the drug clearly taking hold. "It wasn't... it wasn't certain. But that boy... they said Harold was dangerous. He had to be killed. If not... my wife... Cynthia's life..."

It wasn't just the booze anymore. Finnegan’s voice had become hauntingly unsteady.

"Who told you that? What do you mean 'dangerous'? And what does any of this have to do with your wife?"

"...Yeah, unrelated... but it doesn't matter. Harold can't stay alive. I can't resist... the baby's coming soon... so Harold has to..."

Finnegan’s behavior took a sharp turn for the bizarre. His words became incoherent, and a strange, oppressive atmosphere began to radiate from him.

Did I give him too much? Cody wondered.

Suddenly, Finnegan lunged out of his seat. The chair flew backward and crashed into the floor.

And then—

"A-AAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"

He let out a blood-curdling shriek—a sound that could only be described as a bizarre, inhuman cry. Finnegan bolted across the room toward one of the tavern's support pillars. He grabbed the thick timber with both hands and began slamming his head against it.

He did it with everything he had, screaming the entire time. By the third impact, blood was streaming down his face.

Cody and Walsh finally snapped out of their shock and rushed to intervene.

"Hey! Stop it!"

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The two strong men grabbed him by the arms, forcing him away from the pillar. Finnegan continued to wail, thrashing his head violently from side to side. Despite being pinned by two seasoned knights, he fought with terrifying strength for over five minutes.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the resistance stopped. Finnegan went limp, losing consciousness instantly.

They laid him on his back, checking his pulse and breathing.

"...He's alive."

Cody, Walsh, and the owner all exhaled long, ragged breaths of relief.

Cody sent the owner to get bandages. There was no healer among them, but they had to do what they could. One thing was certain: the interrogation was over. While the head wound looked superficial, there was no telling what was happening inside, and Finnegan would likely need to be hospitalized.

A heavy silence fell over the room once the owner left. Walsh was the first to break it.

"What the hell was that?"

"...I don't know. But that wasn't just the medicine."

The serum Cody had used didn't cause hallucinations or psychotic breaks, even when mixed with alcohol.

"He wasn't himself, Cody. Not even close."

"I know," Cody replied, his voice low. "It was almost as if he were... 'possessed by a demon.'"

The word demon felt like the only accurate way to describe the madness he had just witnessed. But as the words left his lips, Cody felt a cold, sickening dread settle in his gut.