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CHALLENGE TO THE READER—THE GAUNTLET IS THROWN

This is my formal challenge to those who consider themselves clever enough to solve the murder of Emperor Franco. If you found yourself in possession of this document, you are a mighty individual indeed—but might is not necessarily accompanied by cleverness. Ah, yes, I am sure some tremble at your name and more bend their knees before your steel. Yet this is something that neither social might nor ability with the blade can truly elucidate.

A challenge cannot be considered such if both parties are unsure of what the terms of combat are, twice so in case of an intellectual contest.

Thus: let us be clear. You will be given the same information the eventual truth finder had, if not more. You needn’t worry about when such information is enough, for you will be given plenty of warning at the time. More needs to be considered for the sake of fairness, however.

First, speaking of my words: you can consider them to be absolutely reliable, yet for that very reason I shall not disclose my own identity, for doing so would disclose too many clues. I will grant you, however, that my name is one you are familiar with. To this end I assume you have been briefed on the adventures leading up to the Team Duel led by Carr the Ashen One against his twisted copy, yes?

Moreover, a challenge is nothing without stakes. While some—I count myself among those—are happy to engage in an intellectual duel for its own sake, others yet need an incentive to work hard. Thus, for the sake of clarity: the truth behind the Emperor’s murder fuels the legendary sword, Ghost’s High Noon. This, in itself, might hint at why the truth behind the murder is hidden even many years later. More explicitly: you will be told, in due time, of all the necessary hints as to solve the Emperor’s murder. Make theories as you read, yet do not dare to reach a final conclusion before all is given!

To the murder of Emperor Franco, and later the similarly puzzling snow murder, many fantastic terms could be applied—with good reason. To this day, those privileged few who enjoy Lady Celle’s friendship will not have been told during a friendly dinner of a more mysterious or frightening case than this one. That blue blood had been shed was most severe, yes, but it was the rest of the tale that sent a chill down their spine and truly made it feel as though they felt a tap on their shoulder when alone in the dark.

To elucidate: a murder and an attempt were committed, both in such a manner that the murderer must have—but could not have—used magic. Such a scenario naturally invites a skeptical approach to the situation, where you might be tempted to question the premise rather than work out a solution to the aforementioned set of circumstances, as you understandably have no reason to believe the issuer of a challenge would be fair to you. Therefore we must come to a compromise and for the sake of brevity allow me this:

Bolded letters do not lie. You may assume my bolded words to be the ultimate truth. This means that you do not need to question such underlying assumptions, for the sake of brevity. It is both a kindness to you as well as a challenge in and of itself: when you know that a room did not have a secret passage, you cannot merely shrug off the problem as a strange oddity you cannot be blamed for not understanding. You must accept your loss in that case.

Allow me, then, to give an example of such a dynamic. Suicide was not the answer. No wounds were self-inflicted in either the Emperor’s murder or the attempt on the mysterious nobleman’s life that night. One can, therefore, rule out solutions to the impossible crime that involve suicide. The murderer did not use magic the night of the murder. That too, you can rely on.

Before the specifics it is as well to get back to the beginning, however. This will not be enough to solve the murder, but it will be very necessary in the future. I encourage the liberal use of note-taking if you mean to take me on in this fair match. A duel, this shall be, between you and I—will you solve the mystery, when I have given you the opportunity to do so, or will you fall to this mystery? Will you stand at the end, cursing yourself for not realizing that the solution was there all along?

Only way to find out, yes? Murder mystery is sport.

So let us get on with the show.

Emperor Franco of Arcadia had been in the throne for some twenty years, and acted like it. Except for a few indiscretions—such as the one that resulted in the birth of Valder, the royal bastard—he was an old-fashioned man who kept to himself and did not indulge in the title. Whatever sins he had committed—and surely they were multiple, for he was a powerful man—they were kept hidden from the public at that time, at the very least. Nobody cared much for his earlier years, though he was rumored to have been an unfortunately bad looking young man who grew into handsomeness in his older years. He managed his own lands well, though the same could not be said about the Empire’s. Talented with the blade and the pen, Emperor Franco was a skilled orator but could not convert his talents into enthusiasm. Despite a strong early start to his reign, as years went on he lacked the ambition to rule well and instead settled on ruling just enough to be remembered as a competent emperor.

War forced him to action and here he had to make a decision, risk all—most of all his reputation—for the sake of his people or go for a certain, if more costly, outright victory. He was happy to sacrifice the Terra Inglesa and use it as a buffer against Inglaterra to bleed its armies dry rather than reinforce them himself. This was, as history books say, a fatal mistake. The Terra Inglesa held due to heroic actions of two heroic champions, and this timid strategy allowed for Inglaterra to mount a strong offensive on the capital itself, using warships from Razil to sail through the most treacherous waters. At the time gunpowder did not work in the continent, but the Inglês generals were quite clever: they mounted weapons on their ships and placed their troops in front of them, never standing past where their cannonballs could reach. Such a maneuver should have been easily countered, but the nobles led by Franco were not ready for war without magic.

Alas, there was one man who distinguished himself there: Johan the Betrayer.

Johan’s heroic actions saving the capital made him go from unknown commoner to a noble hero and Franco from a pragmatic leader into a useless coward. Ah, certainly the public was ready to give up the Terra Inglesa to the unspeakable horrors of war if it meant their safety, but once that very safety was compromised, why, they were most furious. Soon, the political headaches meant the lazing Emperor would soon have much work ahead of himself if he meant to stave off a forced abdication, and hardwork led him into finding pleasure.

This meant Harlock, naturally. A safe haven devoid from magic, the Emperor often called a meeting there with those whose companies he enjoyed the most. This did not mean that those individuals enjoyed his company, mind: but he ruled and they obeyed. It was not often that he could call for a full retreat, but when lacking in such occasions, he would use the castle’s meeting room for a private meeting.

This night, I will note, did not directly result in the murder—but it beckoned it. To say everything started there would be too reductive, yet that the night was important to the events that took place that forsaken night must be noted. It took place in the aforementioned meeting room, before they set off for Harlock.

It would be rude of me to obfuscate the identity of those present in that room, for your suspicions will naturally depend on those who overheard this conversation. Thus:

Estella the World Champion was among those present. She had been invited by the Emperor in hopes of finding a working relationship with Razil, so that the Lusobritanio Empire would find itself ready for a war of this scale in the future. She did not enjoy the Emperor’s company very much, but she loved her country and wanted to make it safe.

Roger of Arcadia, former world champion, was also among those present. He was the Emperor’s right hand man officially, but it was an open secret that he was on the side of Johan the Hero then. Still, Franco could not openly oust him without causing an outright rebellion, as Roger was often responsible for quelling some of the growing demands from Johan’s faction.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Surprising to some, Duartes of Arcadia, another former world champion, was also present. He usually declined the Emperor’s requests, and would likely have done so again given his presence in that circle was being called for the sake of boosting the Emperor’s popularity among the common people. Yet he could not do so this time, and it was because of this other mysterious guest.

Charles the Gambler was an odd presence that nobody quite questioned. The man had a minor nobility ranking, high enough his presence in such an important group was not sacrilegious yet hardly high enough not to raise an eyebrow. His lands were remote and vastly unpopulated, yet he made a fortune with gambling in tournaments and was a well-known, if not often thought about figure. He had a measure of sway with Duartes and pushed him to attend the meeting.

Valder the Sun Wolf was there as well, under heavy protests. He had recently surrendered the crown of Portna to his father and lived in the castle as the crown’s champion, known far and wide as ‘the Executioner’ for his brutal skill in combat. For the peace he had bargained for, he had no choice but to attend such meetings. He made no secret that the meeting bothered him.

Johan the Betrayer—then Johan the Hero—was present as well, for the Emperor had attempted at appeasing him hoping to keep him from answering the treasonous calls of many for him to attempt to take the throne. Franco also had a naive, vague plan of retaining his popularity by catching some of the light reflecting off the young hero.

Naturally, the Emperor’s daughter was there as well, smiling pleasantly at all and doing her best to keep up her act of a naive young princess who no one needed to pay much attention to. She almost broke her facade when she realized that her presence had been requested for a political reason—the Emperor had suggested the idea of marrying her to Duarte’s granddaughter to tie his name to a well-liked figure, and finding this out only at the dinner infuriated her. Yet she smiled and nodded at the idea, thankful that Duartes seemed to strongly reject it.

“Frankly, what puzzles me about your proposal,” said Duartes, “is that aside from the insanity of it all, I do not see how you would benefit from it. It is not as though the two could sire a child to benefit from their Swordsmanship.”

“It is not as though the throne is hereditary,” the Emperor replied, with a grunt of a laugh where he barely looked up from his drink. “This is about the House of Wolf’s public image, not succession. People still remember your legend, Duartes, and tying it to me would be most beneficial.”

“And you think I would force my granddaughter to commit to such a relationship?” Duartes asked dryly.

The Emperor continued to stare at his drink. Estella says he seemed odd that night, his tongue loosened by the drink. “Both of you would be handsomely rewarded and it is not as though I expect a faithful relationship. It is not as though I think your granddaughter would be particularly interested in women. A life in the castle and the freedom to do whatever she wants, provided she is discreet enough—well? It is a good deal, no?”

“Your idea of freedom,” Valder said suddenly, planting both feet on the table and leaning back on his chair to press his head against his hands, “contrasts with most people’s, father.” He did not call him Emperor.

“Bitterness approaches your tongue, boy,” said Franco, an amused grin on his face. “You found my terms generous, no?”

“I found your terms acceptable. Do not mistake acceptance for willingness.”

“Willingness…is that right?” Franco peered at his wine glass and regarded his reflection for a moment. “There are two types of will in this world, and only one is valuable. The ‘will’ of a desire, the want that we all feel in our heart…it is seldom useful and always irrelevant. Whether your will is to fight or to run matters not, what matters is whether you will fight or not. You may not have chosen to sign those terms under a different set of circumstances, but you willed your hands into signing the treaty nonetheless, Valder.”

Duartes leaned forward and planted both elbows on the table, resting his chin on intertwined fingers. “And I suppose this is meant to encourage me to accept your proposal?”

“It is supposed to put it frankly. Find it distasteful if you must, but do you find it acceptable?”

“I do not,” Duartes replied firmly.

“I also,” said a new voice, “do not find your diplomacy acceptable.”

Estella has gone on record to say she did not hear the man come in, though upon his interruption they all noticed a chilling gust of wind pass by the room. Yet, by the time they had turned to see him, the door was already closed. It was not his sudden intrusion that concerned them, for only a suicidal individual would attempt at violence in the presence of two former world champions and a current one. It was the daring with which he spoke, the self-assuredness above even that of a king that made them all hesitate.

The gentleman wore a mask and dressed in all black. His voice was disguised, but he appeared to be male—though his features and voice were soft enough this was no certain evidence of the matter. Something about him felt familiar, yet no one could place him.

“Forgive my intrusion,” said the gentleman, taking a deep bow that would have felt earnest if not for the circumstances, “yet crimes against the heart were spoken of and I could not bear to stand silent.”

Nobody attacked him, but they all thought of it. One commonality existed among all of the Emperor’s guests: supreme talent with the blade. All of them dropped a hand to their sword hilts, yet none moved. They stared at the intruder intently, curiosity keeping them from attacking as much as caution. Franco himself barely moved, only grunting silently and regarding the man with an amused sort of disdain. “Crimes against the heart, you say,” Franco said. “Yet what of the crimes against my men? Guardsmen were posted outside this tower to keep any intruders from attending this matter. Only staff and other nobles should be here—who are you?”

“I am a ghost of your past,” said the gentleman, “and guards cannot catch ghosts.”

“Yet I believe the ladies and gentlemen present,” Franco replied harshly, “are capable of cutting one down.”

The room tensed up at this, but the dignified stranger did not appear concerned. “Do you not believe, my Emperor, that a man can pierce thy heart with a single word? That a ghostly figure may bring down even the mightiest of leaders with a mere word?”

“At the very least,” the Emperor replied, a mocking disdain in his smirk, “I believe that this ghost before me lacks the power to do so.”

“Aye,” the gentleman acknowledged, “yet my sister’s ghost possesses much power.”

The gentleman’s words were the lightning and the Emperor’s angry fist brought down upon the table was the thunder. He rose with hatred in his eyes and his own hand fell to his sword hilt, prompting his guests to do the same. “My good man, you mistake your situation. You do not threaten me. You threaten yourself with every word.”

Johan was the first to draw his sword. “Should I dispose of this stranger, Your Majesty?”

Hesitation crossed the Emperor’s face briefly before he said, “No, no—let the fool speak. Do not shed blood in this room.”

“Four crucifixions,” the gentleman said.

“Four will satisfy you? I fear it might take at least eight before I allow you to perish,” the Emperor replied. “By the Devil, who are you? Speak plainly. It is a crime to mask your presence in front of the Emperor.”

“Aye,” the gentleman agreed, producing a business card from the front pocket in his coat, “so it is.”

None anticipated the move. The gentleman never drew his sword, yet he lunged forward like a classical attack from Earth. Duartes was the first to notice this oddity, though none reacted fast enough. The man launched himself toward the Emperor, past the group of swordsmen and women around him, and stood face to face with him. It was only then that he removed his mask. None in the group could see his face, but they could see the Emperor’s—it paled slightly.

“I have my tongue,” said the gentleman, “as does my sister.”

“Not for long,” the Emperor thundered, “with these people as my witness, not for long!”

Yet the gentleman left the room, the Emperor’s guests all waiting for another of them to make the first move while simultaneously pondering over whether attacking an unarmed man was dishonorable. And though many gave chase—there was no sign of him or ever evidence that he had been present in the imperial castle at all. Guards swore no unusual individuals had entered the castle and a strong lockdown prevented anyone from leaving the premises for three days after the incident, yet no sign of this masked gentleman was found.

It was as if he truly was a ghost.

——

Celle

“What the hell,” I said, aloud to no one, “is this?”

Nearly a week had passed since our escape from the Arcship and we were moving Harlock enroute to Cresna now. In the meantime, I had started to investigate the crime scene. While I had come to some interesting conclusions, it was this book in the library that appeared most surprising of all.

Why did this book speak of the crime in the past tense, and how did it have so much information? What was that legendary sword it mentioned? Why was it laying down a challenge against its reader? What did it all mean? No…that shouldn’t be my first question. It is an important point to consider, to be certain, but more than anything this is a lot of important information. I never knew about this meeting, or that those people were present there.

I knew I should have been scared. Terrified, even, if not downright shocked at everything that was going on. But I just felt thrilled. I felt like I was a child reading the Hesopen Laway books for the first time—a childish sense of challenge had overcome me.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I don’t know who wrote this, how they wrote this or why they wrote this…but I will find out. Just as I’m going to find out what exactly happened with the Emperor’s murder. The game is afoot!”