Chapter 91 - Silver Horseshoes Beneath the Night Sky (3)

Chapter 91 - Silver Horseshoes Beneath the Night Sky (3)

Haires transferred to a different carriage and left Grimman.

This time, he rode in an ordinary civilian carriage, not one belonging to the Special Security Bureau. He headed northwest, got off at the nearest village, and used the key provided in the documents to open the door of a designated building.

"..."

The room looked as though someone had just been living there—full of everyday traces. Haires changed into a dark blue officer's uniform left on the desk. He neatly folded and placed his previous clothes on top of the desk.

The officer's uniform felt slightly too big, and Haires found himself constantly adjusting it. It had been a long time since his retirement. He no longer moved his body as he once did, and his physique had shrunk—his muscles atrophied, his strength faded.

Standing before the mirror, Haires tousled his excessively neat hair and ran his fingers through it. The slicked-back hair, once neatly held with oil, fell into soft waves—his natural light curls—now spilling down over his eyes.

The change in impression was significant, but Haires went further.

He applied a fake beard—short but thick on his smoothly shaved jaw, and a matching moustache above his lip.

He trimmed them both slightly with scissors for a polished look.

Staring into the mirror, Haires adjusted his expression: arrogant, authoritative, stubborn—but with a tenacious gleam in his eye.

He pulled on pristine white gloves to cover the scars on his hands.

Then, using the fingers of his left hand, he lightly tapped and rubbed the desk, the mirror, and the wall.

Next, he rubbed his short beard with his right thumb and index finger, then gathered some of the oil from his hair onto his fingertips. He picked up a stiff clothes brush from the closet and dusted off the uniform, brushing it thoroughly. With the same thumb and index finger, he rubbed the bristles so they'd lift the surface of his gloves.

He holstered his Baltracher pistol on his belt so it was visible, while strapping a dagger to his thigh under the coat, hidden from sight. The officer's coat came down to his knees and concealed it well.

"Hoo…"

Haires gave his reflection one last look and sighed.

He already felt exhaustion creeping in.

But he couldn't rest until the job was done.

He waited quietly.

When the low, heavy hum of a Baltracher engine echoed from outside, he took out a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth and stepped out boldly.

"How long do you people plan to keep me waiting?"

Striding toward the military Baltracher car with an irritated voice, he shouted.

"Open the door, now."

"S-Sorry, sir!"

The startled driver jumped out and opened the rear door.

Haires stomped the dirt off his boots as if he were stepping through animal filth, then climbed into the car in exaggerated disgust.

"Damn it! Even in here, it reeks of chicken dung!"

Still covering his face with the handkerchief, Haires spat curses.

Chickens were common in small villages, and the smell was everywhere—including here.

The driver quickly rolled up the windows and started the engine before Haires could even finish complaining.

"Out of the way!"

"Waaah!"

In a hurry to escape the village, the driver sped recklessly through the narrow streets.

Villagers screamed and jumped out of the way.

"I'll open the windows again once we're out of town."

"Yes, yes."

As the driver spoke nervously, Haires gave a half-hearted reply.

Once they left the village and fresh air filled the cabin, Haires put the handkerchief away.

"Phew… That's better."

He muttered under his breath, rubbing his fake beard with thumb and forefinger.

"Apologies. I was being a bit sensitive."

"…It's alright."

The driver, wary of offending this prickly and arrogant "Central Intelligence officer," responded carefully.

"Where are you from?" Haires asked, tapping the door lightly with his gloved fingers. The driver hesitated, unsure at first, but answered quickly.

"I'm from Neuss, sir. Currently with the Capital Defense Forces."

"Ah, Neuss. I know it. Has your family lived there for generations?"

"We're not nobility, so there's not much of a family name to speak of, but yes—we've always lived there."

"Can't compare to Grimman, of course, but Neuss is a fine place. Good people, too. Humble and hardworking."

The driver gave a nervous smile.

He was relieved he hadn't said he was from a province annexed through imperial conquest.

If he had, who knows how this creep from the Central Intelligence Bureau would've reacted?

In that brief exchange, Haires made sure the driver fully understood that "Major Paul Luther of the Central Intelligence Bureau" was a snobbish, nationalist aristocrat from Grimman.

From here on, the driver would avoid upsetting him, wouldn't strike up unnecessary conversation, and would stay silent even when he had questions.

"Do you know what my mission is?"

"I just… um…"

"Luther. Major Paul Luther."

"Ah! Apologies for the delay. My name is Hagen, sir."

"Very well. So?"

"I was simply ordered to escort Major Luther."

"They even told you my name?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then how do you know I'm the one you were supposed to escort?"

"..."

"A soldier of the Empire not verifying identities? Didn't they train you to confirm your passengers?"

"I—I was trained, sir."

"Then why didn't you confirm before letting me in?"

"Well, uh…"

You damn bastard! Because you screamed and cursed like a lunatic!

Hagen wanted to scream but could only sweat nervously in silence.

"Such carelessness… If it weren't me, you'd be in serious trouble. This isn't just some light punishment like a pay cut."

Clicking his tongue, Haires pulled out one of the documents Martin had given him and handed it to Hagen.

Hagen accepted it with trembling hands, darting his eyes over the page.

"Aren't you supposed to be driving? What if we crash?"

"Apologies!"

You gave it to me to read, you crazy bastard!

Hagen cursed silently and set the paper aside, focusing back on the road.

"Young soldiers today aren't like they used to be. Back then, things were different. War wasn't just a word—and becoming a soldier meant something…"

Haires muttered, fully immersed in his role as Paul Luther.

Even if Haires's parents came back from the grave, they wouldn't recognize their son. Only Ernest would see through the disguise at a glance.

As he rubbed his beard, Haires recalled the letter he received a few days ago. The Silver Horseshoe competition should be underway by now. His son, who boasted about finally winning this time and sending him one, came to mind—face full of confidence, even from the handwriting.

Hagen didn't dare interrupt Haires's thoughts. All he wanted now was to drop this nightmare officer off at his destination and be free.

Haires kept a long silence, then periodically returned to bullying Hagen in character, then falling quiet again.

Of course, Haires took no pleasure in tormenting the poor driver. It was all part of perfecting the act.

Eventually, after only enduring the urge to throw himself out of the moving car seven times, Hagen managed to deliver Haires safely to the city of Yergenn.

"The best hotel available."

"Yes, sir."

Naturally, Paul Luther demanded the best room.

Haires handed Hagen a check and sent him running inside to book it.

The check bore Paul Luther's name, but the Special Security Bureau was footing the bill.

"Luckily, the best room is still available."

When Haires entered, Hagen hurried up with the news.

"That's fortunate."

"Yes, sir. Then I'll just—"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Excuse me?"

Haires frowned as Hagen tried to sneak off.

"I'll find another place to stay…"

"No need. You saw the amount on the check, didn't you?"

"Well…"

"Get the room next to mine. Don't worry about the cost."

"…Thank you, sir."

For a common soldier like Hagen, staying next to a luxurious suite was unthinkable.

But honestly, a stable that smelled like manure might be more pleasant than sleeping beside this temperamental officer. He'd surely be called and berated endlessly.

Surprisingly, though, once inside, Haires didn't bother Hagen—except for meals.

Haires rested.

Hagen did too.

Both enjoyed unexpected peace.

Before dawn, Haires rose and meticulously disguised himself, then visited Hagen.

"We leave after noon. Eat and be ready."

"If you're going somewhere, I'll drive you."

"No need."

Haires firmly declined. Hagen figured the major was off to do Central Intelligence Bureau work and said no more.

As Haires turned to leave, he glanced back and looked Hagen over.

"The sun's been up for ages and you haven't shaved? Wash and change! What kind of soldier are you?"

"S-sorry, sir…"

The sun had barely risen, but Haires spoke like it was noon. Hagen sweated nervously. After all, Haires was fully dressed, shaved, and in character—so Hagen couldn't make excuses.

Remaining in character as Paul Luther, Haires left the hotel. He took a carriage from the entrance, had a light breakfast at a designated restaurant, and then boarded another carriage waiting outside.

"Sir, I think you have the wrong carriage."

A man already inside looked surprised.

"This is the right one. I get bored easily—need someone to talk to."

"You don't seem old enough to need that."

"Old enough. I lost a yellow tooth before you even grew your first white one."

"Well, I can't argue with that. Please, take a seat."

After the coded exchange, Haires boarded and shut the door.

"Why use such a risky method? And in full uniform?"

As the carriage began moving, the man dropped his act and questioned in a hushed tone.

He was tense—recently ordered to burn all documents and deliver information to Paul Luther in person.

This was all due to Special Security Bureau manipulation.

That very agency had infiltrated the Central Intelligence Bureau itself. Given that Baltracher Rena Rosenbauer, an interrogator for the Special Security Bureau, was also a top-tier Central Intelligence Baltracher, the extent of their infiltration was clear.

Haires's mission was to deceive this Central Bureau agent, steal the information, and prevent it from reaching its original destination.

"Relax. We're not doing anything shameful."

Haires replied calmly.

"This doesn't warrant a face-to-face meeting."

"Maybe not."

Haires didn't hide his fatigue but nodded slightly.

"But remember—this isn't for people like us to debate."

"That may be, but…"

Haires tapped his knee with his left fingers and rubbed his beard with the right.

Doing that all yesterday had left clear traces on his trousers and gloves.

True disguise isn't about appearance—but unconscious habits. Observant people always spot them.

"First, allow me to honor your devotion to our great Mihanyl Empire and His Majesty the Emperor."

With a noble gesture, Haires pretended to remove his hat. The agent clenched his jaw but couldn't hide the flicker in his eyes.

"Our time is short. Let's get to the point."

As Haires rubbed his beard, the agent watched.

"…I still don't understand any of this."

His voice was calm now—no emotional tremors. The driver subtly shifted posture.

Haires knew both men had guns pointed at him—yet he didn't flinch.

He simply crossed his legs—making clear he had no intention of fighting.

"I don't either."

He said quietly.

"But since when have we ever needed to understand anything to do this job?"

"..."

"Don't expect understanding. I understand you, but I can't help you understand. I'm just a leaf blown past the center."

The agent's eyes narrowed. His suspicion remained.

"What's going on?"

Haires saw the need to advance the deception.

"I don't know. Tell me—do you really think Paul Luther exists?"

"..."

"Why would an actual Central Bureau officer come in full uniform to speak to you? There are plenty of people who could've done it."

The agent looked confused.

"So we're just…"

"Don't ask for more. I can't answer what I don't know."

The agent finally understood: Paul Luther was just another fabricated identity—like the ones he used.

And Haires was someone like him—a fellow agent on a mission.

Still, the agent's doubt was deep.

"Then why burn all the files?"

"You burned them, didn't you?"

"We did. So what happens now?"

He feared they'd be disposed of like the data—used and discarded.

But his question was a mistake.

Exposing such inner fear to Haires Kruger—former director of the Special Security Bureau—was a grave error.

"..."

Haires gave a faint smile.

That expression convinced the agent. Only someone who'd been eroded by time could wear that face—not acting, but genuine weariness.

Empathy dispels suspicion better than logic. And nothing draws empathy like sincerity.

So Haires revealed real emotion—for the sake of a perfect lie.

"I told you. I don't know, and I can't speak."

"…If I don't talk…"

"I'll simply get off this carriage and go home. That's all I'm here for."

If the agent didn't share the info, Haires really would go back—and whatever happened to the agents afterward wasn't his concern.

"…Hah."

The agent lowered his head with a bitter laugh.

All that loyalty to the Empire, only to be treated like a disposable rag.

Still, with no better choice, he began to recount the allied forces' intelligence—risked his life to gather.

Haires said nothing.

He memorized everything, mapping it out mentally, already foreseeing future events he didn't want to know.

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"Well done. The Empire won't forget your service."

"..."

Haires knocked on the side of the carriage.

It slowed and stopped, as if afraid.

"Aren't you scared?"

The agent asked as Haires reached for the handle.

Haires turned, locking eyes with his terror-stricken comrade.

"Even if I am… I still have to do it."

It wasn't Paul Luther speaking now—but Haires Kruger.

That truth made the agent believe everything.

Haires's voice held real conviction.

"Because I still have something to lose. Like you do."

Haires stepped down.

With a stern face, he resumed his act and walked briskly down the street.

"Bastard."

The agent muttered.

He wanted to run—but couldn't. If he fled, his family would pay the price.

If he accepted death quietly, he'd be honored as a hero—"killed in action"—and his family would be supported.

Perhaps Rena Rosenbauer could erase his memories. But her ability wasn't perfect. And keeping foreign operatives wandering around inside the Empire wasn't practical.

To the Bureau, it was simply cheaper to let him die.

"It wasn't much fun working with you."

"Coming from you, that's rich."

The two agents, who had seen life and death together, shared a final joke.

Their laughter couldn't hide the fear, despair, and betrayal in their eyes.

In the end, they'd be officially declared dead on duty and honored as heroes.

But the information they died to protect? It would never reach the Central Intelligence Bureau.

It now belonged to the Special Security Bureau alone.

The Emperor's secret organization had deceived the Central Bureau and steered the Empire however it pleased.