Elder Kilo stood up, his robes rustling in the quiet of the waiting room. He picked up the relic Ilona had provided and placed it on the wooden table directly in front of Hermes.
The [Mendacium] was an uncommon relic, a relic of the fallen Ratican Empire. In its original form, it was a top-notch tool of statecraft designed to unravel lies and deceit in a heartbeat. Back in the days of the old empire, it was said to guarantee a hundred percent accuracy, a fact that had led the former Emperor to pass strict laws limiting its production. He had been terrified that his enemies would use such a tool against him, yet he ensured his own inner circle held a monopoly on its manufacture to maintain total control over the truth of his subjects.
Of course, all that hoarding had been in vain when the peasant revolution overthrew his administration. In the years following the collapse, merchants had scrambled to recreate the device. However, without the original imperial blueprints, these modern imitations—like the one on the table—usually only guaranteed a seventy to eighty percent accuracy rate.
"We have plenty of time to spare, Hermes," Elder Kilo suggested, a thin smile playing on his lips. "How about we take this chance to test its ability against you?"
"Sure, why not? Be my guest," Hermes agreed, leaning back with a dry, sarcastic smirk. "Who am I to refuse? I'm just an alleged suspect, after all. We're already spending our time here indefinitely; might as well have some entertainment."
The old man touched the side of the device, activating the mana core within. A soft, pulsing blue light flooded the room, casting long, eerie shadows against the stone walls.
This is the first time I've seen a lie detector in person, Hermes mused, his curiosity piqued. I wonder how the local government actually applies this to real criminals.
"Please, put your hand on top of the relic," Elder Kilo instructed, pointing to a smooth, circular indentation on the surface.
"Over here? Okay, done," Hermes said, placing his right palm down.
A sudden, biting cold shivered through his hand the moment he made contact. He noted internally that the material felt as hard and synthetic as a computer mouse from his former world.
"You are a remarkably brave man," Elder Kilo muttered, stroking his long beard as he watched the boy. "Are you truly just a teenager?"
"Yes. I am just an ordinary teenager," Hermes answered briefly.
The Elder peered intently at the relic. It remained silent. No vibration, no change in the steady blue hum.
"Who are you, really?" Elder Kilo questioned, his voice dropping an octave.
"I am a humble merchant who wishes only to live peacefully in the countryside," Hermes responded earnestly.
Again, the Elder waited for a reaction—a red flash, a discordant ring, anything. But the relic remained passive.
"I think this brand is a defective product," Elder Kilo grumbled, massaging his forehead in frustration. "What do you think?"
"Well, the receptionist did warn us that it's an imitation with less than perfect credibility," Hermes said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe it's just not giving you the dramatic results you were hoping for."
"Are you making fun of me, boy?" Elder Kilo's eyes flashed with sudden anger. "If you weren't an important piece in this game, I would have obliterated your body with a spell long ago."
"First of all, I don't mean any disrespect, old man. You were the one who asked for the test," Hermes reminded him, his voice cool and steady. "Please, calm down. Don't forget that I am only answering the questions you keep pushing on me. And remember: you have no legal authority to harm a suspect in this room."
Elder Kilo paused, visibly impressed despite himself.
"You're smart. To think you're so aware of the law. I wonder who tutored a 'suspect' like you. You must have been blessed with a very skilled teacher."
"Tutor? Let me correct you there—no one taught me," Hermes said, his scarlet eyes glinting behind his mask. "This is all self-study. Knowledge is the only true asset I have, so I treat studying like a knife, honing its sharpness every day. An educated man is always aware of his role in society. For common folk, the basic law is the only subject the government bothers to teach, and if a new bill passes, they notify us through the news. I realize my mouth makes you uncomfortable, but I assure you, I am a harmless child who simply knows his place. On a side note, don't underestimate this relic. Even at seventy percent, it's a powerful piece of tech. I'm actually quite grateful for the 'special service' of getting to try it."
Hermes crossed his legs, looking more like a bored noble than a prisoner.
"I don't know why I feel so uneasy talking to you," Elder Kilo admitted, his brow furrowed. "In this scenario, a suspect should be sweating, stuttering, or begging for a pardon before they even touch the relic. But you... you act as though your hand is resting on a pillow rather than a landmine that could explode at any moment. I'm starting to wonder if I'm talking to a fifteen-year-old or a weary adult. Why are you so positive?"
"The innocent are always confident that the truth will prevail over the fabricated lies of their enemies," Hermes clarified, tapping a finger against his cheek. Wait, did he say explode? Now I'm actually a little worried.
"I'll be honest with you, Hermes. You cannot escape your fate with sentimentality," Elder Kilo said. He reached up, pulled a single strand of his own hair, and watched as a small spark of mana burned it into ash. "We have a heavy hammer ready to shatter that iron mask in front of the Council. The evidence we've gathered are like weeds picked from your own garden—and the weight of those weeds is too heavy for you to carry. You missed your chance to pull them by the roots, and now you'll pay for neglecting the victims of your 'loots.' Do you understand?"
"I understand," Hermes said, his gaze hardening. "But I disagree with your premise. I am not the 'Hermes Archnemesis' described in your documents. Weeds are just plants in the wrong place, and as you said, they sprout naturally everywhere in the environment. Evidence, however, is often fabricated to ruin the innocent. Many have died because of a wrong sentence. I am simply the victim of an unfair judicial trial you're trying to pull off. But believe me... I won't back off easily."
"Hermes, you are still an amateur in this game," Elder Kilo said, his voice dropping into a low, resonant register. A terrifying violet aura began to shimmer behind his back, casting long, jagged shadows against the stone walls. "The person who wears a mask to cover their face is a man who hides from himself. Even if you plan to reverse the situation by playing the victim, you will fail perpetually. Once we are inside that trial court, you will start crying inside your heart."
Kilo leaned forward, his eyes burning with a cold, ancient light. "People are simple-minded. They only believe in what they can read, touch, and see. No matter what a suspect does to erase the ink on the board, a dark mark always remains. Now, let us change the subject. Tell me... is your first name really Aljen?"
"Yes," Hermes answered, his voice steady and dignified, cutting through the Elder's oppressive aura. "My true first name is Aljen."
The Elder's gaze snapped down to the [Mendacium]. The blue light pulsed rhythmically, but there was no shrill alarm, no flash of red, no vibration of deceit.
"U-u-unbelievable," Kilo stammered, placing a hand on his forehead, his composure fracturing. "There must be a mistake. Did I... did I capture the wrong person?"
"Naah, who knows? Let's just forget about it for a second," Hermes said, injecting a bit of casual sincerity into the air. "Calling you senile and old earlier was truly inappropriate. I admit my mistake, though I won't apologize. I don't intend to turn our relationship from neutral to hostile, but it was your fault for making me mad. You were loud and disrespectful when you paraded me in front of the public. I was disappointed."
Hermes shifted in his chair, his shackles clinking softly. "Anyway, we are in this together now. You don't have to feel guilty. I see a man of deep beliefs before me, someone with an abundant knowledge of poetry and philosophy. Honestly, I'm actually enjoying this moment with you."
Do not give up now, or I'll fail the mission, Hermes reminded himself internally, keeping his heart rate level.
The Elder's eyes widened. He had expected an outburst or a plea, but the boy's humbleness caught him off guard, earning a sliver of the old elf's respect. Since the relic hadn't reacted, Hermes was telling the truth—he truly did value their conversation.
If he weren't my enemy, we could have been friends, Kilo thought with a pang of regret. We could have shared ideas over tea. But it's impossible. This child is a hindrance that must be removed. It's a pity to see such a humble man fall into the abyss.
"I cannot believe I feel bad about doing this to you, Sir Aljen," Kilo admitted, his voice softening. "Let me share something. We've been tracking the media reports. Those reporters fabricated stories that the new boss of the Archnemesis was a mere brat, an eccentric, short-tempered drug addict. They claim Hermes turned into a tyrant after his family perished five years ago, that he dropped out of school because he was 'sick' of society. They say he's a talentless nobody."
Kilo clutched his hands together on his lap. "But what I see in front of me is the opposite. Those ignorant dogs sniffed the wrong fence. They failed to smell the truth in the backyard. Tell me... are you trying to hide your true ability from the public?"
"I didn't know the Elder had such a genuine side," Hermes remarked. "You've changed your tune quite quickly. But let me clear the air: I am not the original Hermes Archnemesis, and I don't have some secret 'special ability' to show off. Like I said, I only use my head to stay alive. I'm not special, and I'm not the weak, talentless nobody from your island's legends."
Hermes crossed his legs, his tone becoming philosophical. "Before civilization developed the first judicial system, humans already had a habit of judging others without proof. Fabricated or real, evidence is just a tool to impact the masses. Science fails to grasp two things: the scale of the universe and the depth of human stupidity."
Why the change of heart? Hermes wondered. Is he testing my potential, or is he actually reaching out?
"Your determination is as striking as an August mark," Kilo stated firmly, a small giggle escaping him. "The way you convey your words is as beautiful as folk art. Only an old scribe could understand your true nature. Regardless of what I've done, you remain as composed as a fresh sculpture. I cannot help but respect you, Sir Aljen. You are a small cub with a very bright future."
"Hmm, I see. Thank you for the compliment, but you're exaggerating," Hermes replied, feeling a strange disconnect. An enemy praising me regardless of my status? This is an unexpected turn.
Suddenly, a sharp knock rattled the door.
"Who is it?" Kilo barked, his voice instantly returning to its grave, authoritative tone.
"Kilo, open the door. Wamo and I need to talk to you. Now," Elder Damaso demanded from the hallway.
The youngest elder stood, smoothed his robes, and opened the door for his brothers.
"Kilo, let's talk outside. You have to explain everything," Damaso requested, clearly fighting to keep his temper in check in front of their prisoner.
"As you wish, dear brother. Sir Aljen, please excuse me. My brothers and I have some business to discuss," Kilo said, nodding to Hermes before stepping out into the corridor.
Once they reached a secluded corner of the Hall, Damaso turned on him.
"Are you even aware of the consequences of your actions, brother?" Damaso asked, his voice a low, dangerous hiss.
"Yes, I am," Kilo answered, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his temple. "I've come this far. I won't back down now, even if you try to stop me. At least we have him in our grasp."
"Kilo, let me correct you properly. We are not here to stop you," Elder Wamo interjected, his voice low and soothing as he tried to bridge the gap between his brothers. "Our big brother is furious because you skipped several critical steps to execute the arrest. You've effectively jeopardized the strategy we spent weeks crafting together."
"I... it couldn't be helped," Kilo stammered, his bravado from the interrogation room vanishing instantly. "I felt a subconscious pull to act, a pressure I couldn't ignore. I am deeply sorry if I offended both of you." He lowered his head, his pride wilting under the weight of their gaze.
"So," Elder Damaso said, his eyes like flint, "did you at least finish the specific task I gave you?"
Kilo's throat went dry. "U-unfortunately... I was so preoccupied with the target that I neglected to check on Arak earlier," he confessed, dropping to one knee in a sudden display of contrition.
Damaso sighed, the sound echoing in the cold hallway. "Never mind. Forget about it. It's a messy deviation, but we can still pivot. I'll let it slide this time. The Council members are arriving as we speak; we must focus on the documentation." He reached down, tapping Kilo's shoulder before helping him to his feet.
"Thank you, brother," Kilo whispered, bowing twice in relief.
"We shouldn't celebrate just yet," Wamo reminded them, his expression grim. "There is still a high probability the tide will turn against us."
"I know. The High Priestess is planning to pay a visit," Damaso acknowledged, his jaw tightening.
"But the flow is still in our favor," Kilo insisted, trying to regain his footing. "The water is calm for now. We still have our trump card."
"I hope so," Damaso remarked, looking toward the courtroom doors. "With Venus involved, our success ratio is a coin flip—fifty-fifty at best. This storm is too massive to navigate easily. We have to hope our galleon is sturdy enough to sail out of this weather alive."
"Should we have our men intercept her carriage?" Wamo asked.
"No," Damaso commanded. "Tell our men to stand down. Our only hope is to make that girl believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Aljen the merchant is the monster Hermes Archnemesis. He must be the face of every terror this village has suffered."
"But rumors from the Church servants say she has a crush on him," Wamo queried doubtfully. "Can we really sway her?"
"We can only pray to the Supreme Being that she doesn't side with him," Damaso muttered.
"Stay positive," Wamo comforted him. "The staff confirmed the true [Mendacium] is already inside the court. We still have our chance."
"Good grief," Damaso heaved a long sigh of relief. "Perhaps the deity is still with us."
"Brothers, if you'll excuse me, I must check on the target one last time," Kilo said, nodding to his kin before heading back toward the waiting room.
I just hope the court's relic produces a better reaction than that broken piece of junk Ilona lent us, Kilo thought bitterly. I'm convinced that thing was defective.
….
Across the street, on a balcony draped in shadows, the Lady in a Blue Cloak sat in elegant silence. She raised a delicate porcelain cup to her lips, the steam from her tea curling into the cool evening air. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, didn't watch the front doors of the Hall, but rather the rooftops.
She caught sight of a familiar flicker—the informant, the small girl with the paper binoculars, lingering in the sidelines. The Lady in Blue allowed a faint, enigmatic smile to touch her lips. The pieces were moving, the children were playing their parts, and the true theater was about to begin.
….
As Elder Kilo reached the door of the waiting room, he heard a thunderous voice erupt from within. He froze, hand on the doorknob, and slowly pushed it open a crack.
A massive SLAM echoed through the room as Hermes brought his fist down onto the table with enough force to make the wood groan.
"I am a man of my word!" Hermes declared, his voice ringing with a sudden, sharp intensity that shook the room. "I don't like her at all!"
Cling.
The sound of his shackles rattled against the table, the metallic chime punctuating his denial as the blue light of the "defective" relic flickered one last time.