Chapter 4: There is only one truth! 真実はいつもひとつ!

Joseph casually pulled open the curtains. As soon as he saw the scene outside, he frowned.

Since arriving in this world, he had been taking exams in the Palace of Versailles. This was the first time he had seen the visage of Paris.

It was entirely different from the imagined grandeur of the most prosperous metropolis of the European Continent. The buildings were filthy and dilapidated, the streets layered in mud and sewage—and even human waste. The stench emanated from there. Dead animal carcasses drifted along the Seine River, while workshops along its banks dumped ominously colored wastewater into the river, staining its water brown.

Merchants haphazardly set up their stalls on both sides of the road, turning what was once a reasonably spacious street into a congestion-ridden mess. Children waved muddy hands as they joyfully chased each other. The erratic sound of curses echoed without respite.

Brawls were a frequent sight, and passersby were indifferent to the agonizing screams of those being beaten.

There were even brazen daylight robberies. Only when Joseph ordered his guard to intervene did the thief dart into an alley and escape. Yet this was the Louvre District—the area with the best security in all of Paris.

All in all, the city lacked any trace of the romantic essence inspired by Enlightenment ideas, nor did it display the vibrant energy of the Industrial Revolution.

The opulent Palace of Versailles was so close to Paris yet seemed to exist in a wholly different world.

The carriage crossed the north bank of the Seine River. The coachman gave a quiet call, "Whoah," and the vehicle slowly ground to a halt.

"Your Highness, we have arrived." Eman bowed in greeting and then climbed out of the carriage to open the door for the Crown Prince.

Joseph rubbed his painfully jarred backside, descended the arranged steps laid by the attendants, and raised his gaze. What met his eyes was a massive building nearly a hundred meters wide, its exterior walls etched with statues, composed of dozens of columns and arched floor-to-ceiling windows—majestic, like a gigantic fortress anchoring the center of Paris. It boldly proclaimed the supreme power of the feudal class.

The City Hall staff had long been notified of the Crown Prince's visit. Officials, both high and low, were gathered in the square outside the main entrance, standing in line to welcome His Highness.

However, the silver Royal Family carriage they had been eagerly awaiting never appeared.

Only when the three gray-black carriages stopped in front of the City Hall did Eman step out. Upon seeing him, the Paris Municipal Commissioner, Levebelle, twitched his eyelid and hastily ordered the people nearby:

"Quick! It's the Crown Prince!"

Levebelle adjusted his black tricorn hat, his inverted triangle-shaped legs straining to propel his nearly 200-pound frame, as he led the group to rush over to Joseph. They bowed courteously and in unison said, "Your Highness."

The musicians nearby quickly snapped to attention, fumbling to play their instruments.

Levebelle first introduced himself, then gestured towards a middle-aged man standing next to him with gray-blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones that seemed on the verge of breaking through the skin. "Your Highness, allow me to introduce Viscount Freselle, the President of the Paris Chamber of Commerce."

Joseph glanced at the man twice. From the documents he had reviewed earlier, he understood that while Levebelle held the title of Paris Municipal Commissioner, effectively acting as the city's mayor, the true power in Paris rested with Freselle. The reason was simple: the government lacked funds. To keep operations running, they relied heavily on the Chamber of Commerce for funding. Furthermore, the Chamber's network could solve numerous problems, making the President an extraordinarily influential figure.

Freselle stepped forward again to bow. "Your Highness, we've prepared a banquet for the afternoon. We hope you will honor us with your presence."

Although Joseph held little fondness for the banquets and balls of this era, finding the numerous formalities and rules utterly exasperating, navigating interpersonal relationships was unavoidable. Thus, he nodded and replied:

"I appreciate your hospitality."

In the spacious and luxurious banquet hall of the City Hall, servants bustled around, tables laden with extravagant dishes. Any dish that grew cold was promptly replaced with a freshly prepared one.

Glasses clinked amidst constant cheers and laughter. Joseph played along with the officials' unending torrent of flattery, but his thoughts remained fixed on reforming the police system.

"Your Highness," the obese mayor said in surprise, exchanging glances with the Chamber's President before offering a sycophantic smile to Joseph. "Are you saying you want to oversee police management yourself?"

The Chamber's President quickly nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Besides, the Police Department handles many menial tasks—it's terribly dull."

*He internally lamented, cursing under his breath: Oh, dear boy, you're just here for a token appearance, please don't get too serious about this. If you disrupt the police system, Paris might descend into chaos!*

Joseph sighed quietly. As he was embroiled in back-and-forth banter with the two officials, a sudden female voice rang out sharply from outside the City Hall:

"No! Lenot could not have committed suicide! You must catch the murderer!"

The voice alternated between piercing shrieks and operatic-like wails. "Lenot was so full of life. We were supposed to get married next month. How could he have taken his own life? This case can't be closed—the murderer is still at large..."

The obese mayor's face darkened instantly. "Ugh, her again?" he growled angrily.

Freselle frantically gestured at the guards. "Get her out of here, quickly! Don't you see who's here today?"

Turning to Joseph, he plastered on a fawning smile. "Ah, Your Highness, just a madwoman. Don't let her ruin your mood."

Joseph looked out the window and asked, "I heard her mention a murderer. What's going on exactly?"

Municipal Commissioner Levebelle hurriedly explained: "A month ago, her fiancé—Viscount Lenot—died by swallowing a sword. Oh, the case was clear-cut, no question about it. But this woman seems to have lost her sanity, insisting it was murder."

"She stirred up trouble so often that we had to bar her from entering the City Hall. Yet every few days, she's outside screaming her accusations."

Joseph furrowed his brow. "Swallowing a sword to commit suicide?"

The lean man seated to Levebelle's right placed a hand over his chest and explained:

"Your Highness, it involves pressing the sword hilt against the floor, inserting the tip into the mouth, and then forcefully pushing downward—the blade pierces the neck. It's a common method of suicide." [Note 1]

Joseph recalled Levebelle briefly introducing this man earlier: Viscount Gizo, the Director of Police Services for Paris, and the highest-ranking authority over the city's police matters.

Seeing that the Crown Prince seemed intrigued, Gizo eagerly began recounting the details:

"One afternoon over a month ago, the servant of Viscount Lenot came to report that his master had died in his bedroom. I sent people to investigate, and indeed, he had committed suicide by swallowing a sword."

Joseph frowned. "How were you so certain it was suicide? Was there a note or any prior indication of depression?"

"None of that," Gizo replied. "But Lenot used his own sword. There was no theft, no signs of a struggle in the room, and no injuries apart from the sword wound."

"You see, Your Highness, Lenot had fought in America and stood an imposing six French feet tall, skilled in combat. If someone could manage in broad daylight to insert a sword into his mouth without leaving so much as a scratch, that person could only be he himself."

Six French feet—a stature over 1.9 meters, certainly towering.

*Joseph narrowed his eyes slightly, reminded of similar homicide methods he had come across in mystery novels. The lack of suicide notes or any signs of depression—only the crude labeling of suicide by the wildly uninformed police of the eighteenth century—felt suspicious.*

He turned his gaze to Gizo and said, "No, aside from himself, there's another type of person who could do it."

"Your Highness, you're quite the joker," the obese mayor laughed dismissively. "Are you suggesting witchcraft?"

Joseph calmly replied, "No, merely someone skilled in dentistry."

"Dentistry... You mean a dentist?!"

"Yes, a dentist."

Everyone froze instantly, their minds conjuring a chilling image—the obedient Lenot complying with the dentist's instructions, opening his mouth wide. Then, as the dentist draped a clean surgical cloth over Lenot's eyes, he turned, withdrew the sword hanging on the wall, and plunged it effortlessly into the open mouth. Blood sprayed everywhere...

[Note 1]: Because eighteenth-century Europe idolized "swift and nimble" swordsmanship, noblemen's swords were designed to be thin and light, making them unsuitable for throat-slashing. As a result, sword swallowing became a popular method of suicide. What's more, this method preserved a kneeling, prayer-like posture upon death, further enhancing its appeal among the aristocracy.