Chapter 90 - Silver Horseshoes Beneath the Night Sky (2)

Chapter 90 - Silver Horseshoes Beneath the Night Sky (2)

"This letter must have been delivered by mistake. I see no reason to read it."

Haires responded in a calm voice.

"No, it was most certainly sent to you, Lord Haires."

The man spoke kindly.

Haires's hand tensed as he reached to secure the lock.

But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to lock the door.

"Or perhaps it was meant for the Kruger family as a whole."

"..."

After a moment of silence, Haires lowered the hand holding the lock, grasped the door handle, and slowly opened the door.

Before him stood a man: neatly combed blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, a strong jawline, soft creases around his mouth that seemed carved in from frequent smiles despite his youth.

He was tall and well-built, dressed in a crisp white shirt, an elegant scarf, a high-quality black coat, and white gloves covering his hands.

"It's an honor to meet you, Lord Haires."

With a hand placed over his chest, the man bowed politely, his voice full of respect.

"I worried you might not receive the letter, so forgive the discourtesy—I came in person."

He smiled gently, his eyes shifting slightly with a hint of awkwardness.

"I've already caused enough offense… and now I come without shame…"

His eyes glanced into the Kruger household behind Haires as he spoke.

Step, step. Click.

Haires slowly stepped out of the house and opened the mailbox attached to the door.

He pulled out the envelope inside, then turned and went back inside without offering the man even a glance.

Click.

He locked the door tightly behind him.

The man stared blankly at the shut door, then raised his voice, flustered.

"L-Lord Haires! I'm not asking to be let in, just to speak with you! There's nothing sensitive in the letter!"

The letter's content had only been one instruction: to make contact with Haires.

But because of the prying eyes and ears around, the man couldn't risk raising his voice or revealing too much.

So he pressed himself close to the door and pleaded in a whisper.

If Haires refused to open the door, the man would be in serious trouble.

As passing commoners whispered among themselves about the well-dressed blond gentleman begging in front of the Kruger home, sweat began to bead on his immaculate forehead.

Click.

Fortunately, not long after, the door opened again.

As the man brightened and stepped forward to enter, Haires's hand grabbed his shoulder firmly and pushed him back.

Staggering slightly, the man backed away as Haires, now having put away the groceries he'd brought from the market, stepped outside.

"Ah. Yes, I was too forward."

The man pulled out a handkerchief to dab the sweat from his brow.

He had overstepped.

No one entered the Kruger home unless Haires Kruger himself allowed it.

"Let's go."

The man met Haires's indifferent gaze with a soft smile.

He gestured elegantly to the road, and Haires began to walk.

As Haires's silhouette moved ahead, the man's eyes glowed with admiration.

He looked like a young boy seeing the back of a hero from the stories for the first time.

Haires walked without hesitation toward the main road.

Though it was technically the stranger's job to guide him, Haires didn't need anyone to show him the way.

As soon as he reached the street, a carriage came to a stop in front of him.

Click.

The man quickly stepped forward to open the door.

Haires said nothing as he climbed in.

The man followed, closed the door, and the carriage began to move.

"I was so flustered, I forgot to introduce myself. I go by Martin Kruger at the moment. You may call me whatever you like."

At the mention of "Kruger," Haires's dark, deep eyes turned toward him.

Kruger. It could be a coincidence. But Haires doubted that a name so close to his own—Kriger—was accidental.

"I've already done everything I needed to do."

Haires spoke barely above a whisper.

Martin seemed slightly disappointed that Haires didn't address him by name, but didn't press the issue.

"Yes, of course. It was presumptuous of me to visit you like this."

Martin's apology sounded sincere.

"But as you know…"

He began to say more, then fell silent, smiling awkwardly.

He had intended to say, "As you know, I'm just a subordinate following orders," but even he knew such a lie wouldn't work on Haires.

From the moment Martin first spoke, Haires had already guessed his identity.

Any direct contact with Haires was forbidden—not merely to protect him, but because a careless agent standing before Haires might inadvertently spill more than they realized.

"I mustn't take up too much of your time, so let me get straight to the point."

Martin retrieved an envelope from his coat and held it out.

Haires didn't accept it.

Instead, he looked quietly into Martin's eyes.

"…My apologies, Lord Haires. I misspoke."

Martin flinched at the intensity of that gaze and bowed his head.

"There will be no contact with your son. I promise."

He apologized for implying that if Haires refused the letter, it might be passed to Kriger—to Ernest.

Haires stared at Martin for a long moment, then slowly moved his dry lips.

"The Emperor has already broken his promise."

"..."

Martin's face drained of color at Haires's cold tone.

Even the coachman driving the carriage visibly tensed.

"Why should I continue to serve a man who breaks his word?"

Inside the slowly rolling carriage, the air felt cut off from the world outside—tense and otherworldly.

"…Lord Haires."

After a long silence, Martin spoke in a trembling voice.

"You're right. It was a promise. And His Majesty… broke it."

Shockingly, instead of scolding or threatening Haires for calling out the Emperor like a dog from next door, Martin agreed with him.

Walter had broken his word.

Haires had carried out countless missions for Walter, in exchange for the promise of a complete retirement.

It hadn't been an act of loyalty—it had been a transaction.

A fair and proper deal.

Yet Walter now sought to drag Haires back into service.

"Still, as you surely understand, smaller sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good."

To say that to Haires's face was inappropriate in the extreme.

And from that, Haires realized—this young man, despite being at the core of the Special Security Bureau, had no idea what its true purpose was.

To prevent the prophecy.

To wipe out the Saraaan people.

If he truly knew that, there was no way he would speak of noble sacrifice to Haires's face.

"Look, Lord Haires."

Martin gestured at the scenery outside the carriage with a lowered voice.

"This peace—all of it—was made possible by your efforts. You created the most powerful system to control the Empire's shadow from start to finish. Because of that, peace reigns now. Even now, there are vile traitors lurking in the dark, seeking to plunge the Empire into chaos. But no one knows of them. Yes—because of what we have done."

Martin's voice rose, his face flushed with excitement.

"We walk in the darkest places to protect the brightest light. Following the rules you created, in the system you built."

He spoke with genuine pride.

And he made no attempt to hide the deep respect he held for Haires, the man who had built everything from scratch.

"You are the hero of us all. The hero of the Empire. Without you, we would never know peace."

Martin spoke with conviction.

He had no doubt that the Special Security Bureau had prevented countless rebellions, conspiracies, and acts of sabotage through their sacred work.

And in truth, the bureau had been crucial in maintaining the Empire's stability—though its methods were illegal, inhumane, and beyond even the reach of the central intelligence agency.

"..."

Martin waited for a reply.

But Haires merely looked at him—at this young man who called him a hero yet knew nothing of that time.

Martin, disappointed, lowered his head.

After a pause, he spoke again, reluctantly.

"If you won't do it, then there's no choice."

"..."

"I truly don't want to do this, so please…"

Haires slowly closed his eyes.

A shadow passed through his memory: a boy holding a candle, silhouetted against a sunlit window.

His only remaining family.

His one and only son.

Haires had long stopped caring whether he lived or died.

But Ernest…

Ernest was still too young.

No matter how much he had taught him, he was far too vulnerable to survive Walter's reach alone.

He reached out and took the envelope from Martin's hands.

Martin smiled gently.

"I believe you'll finish this quickly. I'll take my leave now."

As the carriage stopped, Martin stepped out with a polite smile.

Haires ignored him and opened the envelope, reading the documents inside.

The carriage started moving again, and Martin cheerfully waved at him—even though Haires hadn't looked up once.

Only after the carriage had gone some distance did Haires tilt his head slightly to glance out the window.

Martin was boarding another carriage.

"Do you know what's going to happen to you?"

Haires slipped the now-read documents back into the envelope and asked in a low voice.

"I do."

The coachman answered.

He was a Special Security Bureau agent and knew that the conversation between Haires and Martin could never be allowed to leak.

Even the existence of Haires as the bureau's first director was an unrecorded secret.

Secrets must remain secret.

And those who learned what they shouldn't… had to be dealt with.

"Any complaints?"

Another question.

"These days, things are handled more gently than before."

"So, there's a capable Baltracher now."

From that comment alone, Haires could guess what would happen to the coachman.

Not assassination or coerced suicide—but memory manipulation by a top-grade Baltracher with psychic powers.

Haires still clearly remembered what Ernest had told him last year.

Major Liselotte Kirchner of the Central Intelligence Bureau.

A first-class Baltracher capable of manipulating memories and emotions—such individuals were exceedingly rare.

Even when Haires had led the bureau, there had only been two in the entire Empire, Walter included.

Now, he was certain Kirchner belonged to the Special Security Bureau.

As many had feared, Haires was piecing together the hidden truths—methodically collecting, analyzing, and reconstructing scattered information into a tower of knowledge he was never meant to have.

"Yes."

The coachman answered briefly.

A pause.

Fear hiding in his breath.

A sigh.

"Are you afraid?"

"Lying and saying no would be pointless."

"And yet you still go along with it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's what the Empire needs."

That line—wipe out the Saraaan people—had once been enough for Haires to create this massive and shadowy organization from scratch.

But now, he didn't want to hear that kind of answer anymore.

"You don't even know what the Empire needs."

"..."

The coachman couldn't bring himself to argue.

Not when he was speaking to the man who had built the organization he served.

"Then…"

His voice faltered.

The words wouldn't come.

'Are we wrong, then? If so, what is right?'

He might receive an answer today—from the original, hidden director of the Special Security Bureau.

But he would not be able to carry that answer forward.

Once he dropped off Haires, Baltracher Rena Rosenbauer would erase every memory of this moment.

So what difference did it make, hearing the answer or not?

Did he even need to know it?

Springtime in the capital.

People bustled under the bright sun in the lively streets of Grimman.

In the middle of that beautiful, aching silence, the carriage moved painfully slowly.

"Is there no value in our devotion?"

After much silence and thought, he asked.

"If you're asking me, I can only say… no."

"..."

The coachman didn't respond.

It wasn't because Haires was the first director of the Bureau.

The moment one seeks an answer from someone else, the only answer is no.

Truth is not handed down—it's arrived at.

And a truth begged from others has no value.

"Do you know the answer?"

"To what?"

Even though he realized this, the man dressed as a coachman still asked.

"How does this all end?"

"..."

"When does the peace we were promised finally come?"

His voice was hollow.

'Peace will come through your devotion.'

That promise alone had brought him this far.

But when would that moment arrive?

He had never wanted to join the Bureau.

He hadn't even known it existed—how could he want to join it?

He'd just been dragged in.

So he couldn't find the answer on his own.

All he could do was plead with someone else.

This moment was like a mirage—soon to vanish like a sigh in the spring air.

That's why he dared to lay his weary heart before Haires.

"Does this moment have any meaning?"

"..."

Instead of answering, Haires asked back.

He would soon have all these memories erased—so did any of it matter?

And to that, Haires offered a signpost—not an answer, but a hint.

"Don't forget that you feel fear."

"…What meaning is there in that?"

The carriage slowed to a stop.

Haires opened the door himself and stepped down.

"So long as you can feel fear, it means you're still alive."

Haires had seen those who had lost that fear.

Who had lost so much they had nothing left.

And yet they couldn't stop.

They were not truly living.

Nor were they dead.

Just wandering, searching for a place to rest their weary souls.

"Do you feel fear too?"

The coachman asked as Haires walked away.

Haires stopped, but didn't turn around or speak.

Beneath the bright spring sun, the dark figure moved on, like a misplaced blot of ink on a painted scene.

"..."

The coachman watched that somber silhouette disappear into the crowd, then took the reins and left.

Soon, all his memories, his emotions—everything from this moment—would be erased.

And perhaps he would suffer aftereffects.

Even the finest Baltracher in the Bureau, Rena Rosenbauer, would find it difficult to cleanly erase a day this intense.

"I want to go back."

He wanted to go back.

Back to a time when he didn't know the Special Security Bureau even existed.

No—back to laughing with family, joking with friends, playing games in the sun, knowing nothing at all.

Hadn't they said peace would come if they devoted themselves to the Empire?

Then when?

When would peace finally come?

"…Ha."

And finally, he understood what Haires had left unsaid.

He laughed.

The answer had been close all along.