From ancient times, a severed finger was a warning.
So, who in the world sent Winter Winslet such a delightful little gift?
The problem was that there were far too many suspects—so many, in fact, that guessing became almost impossible.
How many people held grudges against Winter Winslet? Far more than a handful.
Just to be sure, I asked Dahlia,
“Did you see the one who delivered this box?”
“Yes, I received it directly.”
“Tell me everything you remember about their appearance.”
“Um… they had a hooded cloak pulled all the way over their head, so I couldn’t see properly. They were about this tall, and their build was hidden by the cloak, so I can’t say for sure… Oh! The voice—it was definitely a woman’s voice.”
Not exactly helpful.
But if the sender wanted the warning or threat to be effective, they must have left a clue on purpose.
I picked up the finger from the box and held it under the lamplight, turning it this way and that.
“Ah!”
Dahlia gasped softly—apparently, she hadn’t realized what the package contained.
The severed finger was thin, the nails short and neatly trimmed.
No sign of decoration; probably a man’s, but nothing definitive.
Was this someone from Winter Winslet’s circle?
I set the finger down and shifted my attention to the box itself.
Finally, I found what I was looking for.
Inside the black-painted box, barely visible, were faintly engraved markings.
Running my fingers over them, I felt the lines of a seven-pointed star—
A heptagram.
The same symbol engraved on the ring I wore on my right index finger.
That confirmed it.
The Heptagram Society.
A secret organization operating in the shadows of Langbart, gathering together the main bosses of Judgment of Candela.
Naturally, Winter Winslet was one of them.
Whoosh!
The moment I identified the sender, the box burst into flames and vanished.
“Oh my, fire! Did I do something wrong? I was careful with it before giving it to you…”
“No. It was designed to do that from the start.”
The one who sent the finger was thorough, leaving no trace behind. But I already had a good idea which member of the Heptagram Society had sent it.
Time to pay them a visit.
“Dahlia.”
“Yes?”
“Close every window and lock the doors. Turn away anyone who comes after this hour.”
“As usual?”
“…Yes. As usual.”
What I was about to do couldn’t be seen by anyone.
And it had to be done where no one else was around.
The Heptagram Society communicated in secret, away from the world’s eyes, using one method:
Black Magic.
I climbed to the study on the second floor, shut the door, and sank into the soft couch.
A bottle of strong liquor and a crystal glass sat on the table. I poured half a glass and downed it in one go.
Five shots of whiskey burned my throat as it went down.
Why the sudden drinking? Because it helped with black magic.
In the Judgment of Candela world, humans were composed of three elements: body, mind, and soul.
Some magic directly manipulated these elements, while black magic drew life force from them instead of ordinary mana.
Strong alcohol dulled the mind, making it easier to perform such magic.
I waited until I felt just the right buzz, then looked at my right hand.
The ring on my index finger, engraved with the heptagram, was both a secret emblem marking me as a member of the Heptagram Society and a magical device that allowed even non-mages to cast preset spells.
The spell engraved in the ring was one of Astral Projection.
But Winter Winslet, with his B-rank Black Magic talent, didn’t need to rely on such trinkets.
[Initiating Astral Projection Spell.]
A strange sensation washed over me, as if my body stretched unnaturally, followed by crushing fatigue.
The recoil of black magic.
Thump. Thump.
My heartbeat slowed.
Or maybe time itself slowed.
Or perhaps it was just an illusion.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Each time I opened my eyes, the colors of the room faded.
On the third blink, the study had turned into a black-and-white film.
The astral world had no colors, no smells, no touch, no taste.
But it allowed you to transcend distance.
“Well, well. The nobleman finally shows up.”
I now stood in the center of an eerie place.
The Heptagram Society’s meeting ground.
An abandoned channel layered over the astral world, called Disgard.
“Let’s begin the Disgard conference.”
The name sounded oddly familiar, but whatever.
Seven seats encircled the area, though only two were occupied besides mine.
Not everyone attended every meeting—only those relevant to the current issue.
“This meeting was convened at the request of the Second Point.”
The man in the first seat spoke.
His name was Olivier Jungberry—the Society’s chief mediator and self-proclaimed chairman, as well as the leader of a continent-spanning criminal cartel, better known as the Thieves’ Guild.
And seated beside him in the second seat…
“Late as always, aren’t you, Third Point?”
The voice belonged to Sakis Rubas, head of the Foreign Security Action Bureau of the neighboring Republic of Livron—essentially, the nation’s spymaster.
And I, seated in the third chair, was Winter Winslet.
The real Winter Winslet.
Looking around, I couldn’t help but think: what a collection of scum.
***
The Heptagram Society wasn’t a strict hierarchy but a loose alliance.
Which meant betrayal was always on the table.
Their shared goal—“chaos in the Kingdom of Lorencia”—was only a means to serve each member’s personal interests.
Even I, a veteran of Judgment of Candela, didn’t know exactly how Winter Winslet had gotten involved with these people.
What kind of dealings had he had with the Thieves’ Guild and foreign spies that ended with a severed finger delivered to his house?
“Did you receive my gift, Third Point?”
The spymaster spoke.
Third Point referred to me.
The Society used a numbering system, referring to each member by the points of the seven-pointed star.
I turned to the Second Point—Sakis Rubas.
“You sent me that finger?”
“Yes.”
I expressed my displeasure in the most polite way possible.
“Was that your own finger, by any chance? I was planning to pluck one off you myself, but this saves me the trouble.”
“…”
Sakis sighed deeply before replying.
“It was the finger of a traitor.”
“A traitor?”
“Yes. Your courier betrayed us. He stole something that was supposed to be delivered to us.”
So Winter Winslet and Sakis Rubas had been doing business together.
“That’s… quite serious.”
I kept my tone deliberately vague.
I wanted to ask what the trade involved, but that would raise suspicion.
I tried a more indirect question instead.
“How much did he steal?”
“When we first checked, three rods’ worth was missing.”
So the traded item was in rod form.
Good to know, but the situation was already bad for me.
A deal had gone wrong, and they were holding me responsible.
[Alert]
[This character’s Death Flag has been activated.]
A Death Flag popping up meant Sakis Rubas would kill me if I didn’t fix this.
Really? He dared?
Annoyed, I squeezed every bit of information I had about the Society to argue back.
“The goods were delivered through the Thieves’ Guild. Isn’t it possible they stole them?”
“I’ll explain that myself.”
Olivier Jungberry, the Thieves’ Guild master, sighed irritably.
“The Second Point suspected me first, of course. Given what we were trading, it was natural to think I couldn’t resist taking some for myself. Isn’t that right?”
“I haven’t dismissed the suspicion entirely.”
Another sigh.
Olivier continued,
“To prove my innocence, I had to take a significant loss—including the lives of some of my men. So if your courier is the culprit, I have every right to hold you accountable as well.”
“Oh really?”
The bastard shifted seamlessly from defense to attack—smooth operator.
He added,
“Don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to take anything from you. I just expect you to compromise as much as I already have.”
I nodded reluctantly, as if I had no choice.
“Fine. But I’ll interrogate the traitor myself.”
“No need. We already got a confession.”
Sakis Rubas’s words made my brow twitch.
“You tortured him? Without my permission?”
“We have experts for that sort of thing. Saved you the trouble.”
“Where is he now?”
At my question, Sakis pointed his finger downward.
“On the riverbed.”
Meaning the bastard was already dead.
Typical criminal scum.