Love Letter From The Future

It was a room where not a single ray of light entered.

Following a slight furrowing of his brow, the man finally opened his eyes. Pitch darkness loomed over him.

Blinking a couple of times, his pupils gradually began to accept the dim light. The dark and damp underground had a bleak atmosphere of its own.

His tired gaze was directed towards my hands and feet.

Having his wrists and ankles bound by handcuffs and shackles respectively, he seemed to find it difficult to move around.

In the first place, it wouldn’t seem unseemly had he been screaming.

In a daze, he succumbed to sleep, only to rouse to the realization of being in a dubious locale, his limbs constrained. Despite the immense psychological pressure, he maintained a silent resolve.

That man showed no particular reaction.

Despite his golden eyes reflecting fatigue, his expression stayed utterly impassive. It was as though emotions had been drained away, leaving behind a wilted human.

In front of the man, there was a barred window. Beyond it, he could see a small round table.

A middle-aged man was sitting there.

His silver hair testified that he was not as young as one might think. However, his strong muscles and well-defined face indicated he was still in his prime.

He wore a black dress uniform.

Oftentimes, the color was used to indicate many things.

Black usually represented power and authority, and it also carried another important implication.

It was the color donned by those who moved stealthily through the night— the operatives of the Imperial Intelligence Agency.

If he went to the extent of wearing formal attire, it indicated that he was recognized as the highest-ranking official by the outside world.

The middle-aged man sipped the tea in his cup.

Upon opening his eyes, an illusion of blue will-o'-wisps manifested in the air. He quietly greeted the other person.

"Forgive the rudeness, Ian Percus."

He placed the teacup on the table with a thud.

Clasping the white gloves in his hands, the middle-aged man's expression turned deeply solemn as he conveyed his apology.

"Given your reputation as rather unpredictable, I trust you'll understand. You're a unique case— the more data we gather, the more enigmatic you appear to be."

The man who had been silently staring at the middle-aged man let out a faint sigh.

It was a response that suggested he had grasped the full context.

Regardless, the middle-aged man continued his speech.

"The Imperial family is closely monitoring the issue of the 'Dragonblood Script.' Therefore, I have to be a bit impolite, but I’ll do my best to ensure your safety as much as possible. By the way, this place is..."

"...The underground interrogation room of the Imperial Intelligence Agency headquarters."

The blunt statement came off as unexpected.

However, the middle-aged man fell silent at that one sentence from the other man.

Maintaining quietude, he glared at the man with cautious eyes.

"This is a high-standard confinement. And there's one, two... no, three hidden agents."

As the unenthusiastic voice continued, the middle-aged man's gaze became even more vigilant.

It was as he said.

Located in the heart of the Imperial Intelligence Agency headquarters, this underground interrogation room boasted stringent confinement measures.

Other than those masters present, the moment someone was placed inside this confinement, they wouldn't be able to use their mana.

Therefore, it would be correct to assume that man also couldn't use magic.

But how could he?

The intelligence agents currently concealed here were meticulously chosen elites, making it challenging to penetrate their disguise.

Even if possible, it required at least some use of mana. The presence or absence of mana created a significant gap.

As the middle-aged man's silence prolonged, the man asked indifferently.

"Do you intend to have a conversation with the window bars between us like this?"

The middle-aged man appeared lost in thought for a moment before raising the teacup with a slight smile.

"At least, that's my thought...."

After sipping the tea and savoring its fragrance, he wore a subtly smile.

"...What about you? What do you make of this?"

In response to that provocative question, the man showed a faint smile for the first time.

The moment the teacup hit the table with a thud, there erupted a sharp explosive sound accompanied by flames.

The chains restraining the man's wrists, too, were broken. It was a feat accomplished by forcefully extending both arms with full strength.

With a twist of his ankle, the chains tightened abruptly. Then, as his foot came down, the chains snapped, sending shards flying.

They were fragments of broken metal.

The swiftness of the proceedings led to speculation about whether it had been pre-scripted.

Without hesitation, the man swiftly wrapped chains around the latch of the barred door. Unbelievable events ensued, as the broken chain, tethered to the handcuffs, was looped around the latch, then twisted and pulled.

With a crackling sound, the metal latch began to bend.

Before long, the chain connected to the man's wrist heated intensely. Unable to withstand the pressure, the latch was broken by the mana-reinforced chain.

The broken chain split in half and flew towards the sky.

It only took a few seconds until the man escaped through the bar.

He moved without saying a word, making a creaking sound as he slipped out of the open iron gate.

The middle-aged man showed no reaction until then.

With nothing more than a raised eyebrow to indicate his interest, he gazed at the man, arms crossed in a silent invitation that seemed to convey, ‘Let's see just how far you're prepared to go.’

Of course, that man was not a naive person who would display any arrogance.

He uttered a few more words.

"...One above, one on the left, and another on the right."

It was like a secret code, but no one in this space couldn't understand its meaning.

Not a whisper of movement disturbed the stillness. Inside this covert chamber, sealed off from even the gentlest breeze, only the sharp rasp of vocal cords echoed, breaking the quietness.

Pitch-black darkness pierced through the shadows.

At first glance, it might seem contradictory, but it was indeed a fact. The pitch-black blade created the sound of cutting through the void and descended all at once.

Amidst the chaos of the attack, the trained agents displayed such mastery that only flickering afterimages hinted at their movements.

The members of the Academy's Press Club paled in comparison to their speed and power. Even Neris seemed like a novice compared to them.

It was an ambush that was impossible to react to.

Even if one tried to respond with extraordinary reaction speed, it was impossible to withstand the combined attack of these three. They were experts who could control numerous variables through repetitive training.

They were truly experts in the art of murder.

However, a faint fear lingered in their eyes. With that much skill, they couldn't help but sense it— the fact that this man was a monster beyond them.

It didn't take a long time until this unfortunate intuition was proven.

The sound of chains winding echoed.

There was no indication beforehand, but as soon as the man folded his arms, chains snaked around the wrists of the two agents, who were simultaneously wielding daggers from opposite directions.

The agents tried to resist, but it was already too late.

When the man gritted his teeth and spread his crossed arms to the sides, the distance between the two agents narrowed in an instant. Then, the bodies of the two men collided in midair, followed by a thud.

Just before the collision, the man crouched down, managing to avoid the disaster of a broken neck.

But that was all; there were no daggers threatening the man as he took a step back, putting some distance between himself and the others.

It was because the agent descending from above bounced off the air once again.

It was a challenging stunt, with the underlying principle being hard to grasp. After skillfully avoiding the disaster of stabbing his comrades with his own hands while leaping through the air, he promptly landed on the ceiling and threw his dagger.

The man reacted swiftly by deflecting the lightning-fast throw with a swing of his arm.

The sound of metal colliding echoed as the dagger soared back into the sky. Regardless, the agent continued to throw hidden daggers one after another.

Whether it was a dagger or a hidden dagger, the tip glistened. It meant that it was poisoned.

The potion wasn't lethal, as they needed to interrogate him; instead it possessed strong anesthetic properties.

Yet, in this pivotal moment, it became a battle of skilled combatants where the outcome rested on a single decisive strike. Even the slightest disparity could result in fatal consequences.

Despite throwing hidden daggers several times, the agent couldn't find any amusement.

It was because the chain skillfully repelled the hidden daggers like a whip. Finally, after all the hidden daggers were thrown, the agent decided to switch to close combat.

He threw the last remaining hidden dagger in an instant.

The greater the number of hidden daggers flying towards the man, the larger the movements required to fend them off. The chains connected to the man's wrists swirled with a dragging sound, dispelling the hidden daggers.

In the meantime, the agent who had landed on the ground drew a sword from his waist.

Bent at the knees, he launched a swift attack utilizing the rebound.

He put his all into that strike.

Yet, it didn't reach its target.

Just before the agent's sword could touch the man, the space distorted, causing the agent’s sword and the man to narrowly miss each other. It seemed as if the positions of the two were rotating around the midpoint of the gap.

There was still an opportunity.

With that thought, the agent quickly adjusted his posture and prepared to cross swords once more.

A blade pierced through his shoulder.

It was a dagger.

All of Ian's weapons had been confiscated, leaving him with nothing but chains to fend them off.

In that case, one could reasonably assume that this dagger came from elsewhere.

It was the dagger that the agent had first thrown, coated with an anesthetic poison.

The dagger, which had been flying through the sky, was once again caught by the chains and thrown back, piercing through the agent's shoulder.

The anesthetic poison started to take effect in an instant.

With a numb tongue, the agent stammered out a question.

"H-how..."

It was uncommon for a thoroughly trained intelligence agent to be so flustered.

However, no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't understand.

His expertise in handling chains was exceptional, demonstrating a level of skill that was beyond what one would expect from someone who didn't primarily use them as a weapon.

Therefore, it was strange.

No one had received training in using ‘chains' as a weapon because it was highly inefficient and challenging to handle.

Using a whip or wire would have been more advantageous.

But only those who received special training, such as the Imperial Intelligence, were able to wield it as a weapon.

The answer to the agent's question was straightforward.

The weighty chain struck the side of the agent's head.

Even without it, the anesthetic poison circulating in his body already made it difficult for him to regain consciousness.

The agent soon lost consciousness.

Another body collapsed to the ground, piling up on top of another with a thud, and the sound marked the end of the fight.

Observing that sight with indifferent eyes, the man once again shifted his steps towards the middle-aged person seated at the round table.

He sat across from him without hesitation, pouring tea into an empty cup.

Rising steam emanated from the tea.

The middle-aged man maintained silence.

After a considerable time had passed, the middle-aged man finally spoke with difficulty.

"...Who are you, really?"

The man glanced at the middle-aged person with a tired gaze as he raised the cup.

The man responded after taking a sip of the tea.

"Ian Percus."

Then, the teacup landed on the table with a thud.

"...A loyal subject to the Empire."

Now, only two of them remained in the secret chamber.

***

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