* * *

“I received a guild request to visit Madam Quaintrell’s residence. I was asked to deliver a letter and a gift to her.”

First, I presented the letter from her younger sister, which had initiated the guild request, as evidence.

The judge, holding the evidence, nodded and then rose abruptly, moving closer to Madam Quaintrell.

“The gift sent by your younger sister was a premium cigar with a blue band at the end. And that day, I handed that cigar over to Madam Quaintrell.”

“…”

“The case report stated that when Osman’s body was discovered, a cigar with a blue band lay at his feet.”

I glanced back at the guard who had arrested me at the scene. He flinched but eventually nodded in acknowledgment.

Luke, who was sitting in the front row, raised his head with a look of sudden realization.

Having an herbalist father, Luke seemed to have figured out the contradiction in this murder case.

“The venom of the Paju plant is a deadly poison, lethal even in small doses. However, there is an antidote for this poison, right, Luke?”

I deliberately pointed to Luke.

He initially looked surprised but then spoke with a serious expression.

“That’s correct. The only known antidote for Paju venom, often used in assassinations, is tobacco leaves.”

When Jerome drank Paju venom in Maron’s hut, he had burned tobacco leaves until the bathroom was filled with smoke to detoxify the poison.

With a triumphant nod, I continued.

“Exactly. If I had mixed Paju venom into Osman’s meal, the toxin in his body would’ve been neutralized by the cigar he smoked before falling asleep. It’s a glaring contradiction.”

“…”

“That leads us to consider one possibility.”

A heavy silence filled the courtroom. I wore a sly smile as I spoke again.

“What if the murder weapon wasn’t the venom, but the cigar itself?”

The gallery erupted with murmurs as the case took a sudden turn.

Madam Quaintrell, who had been listening quietly, let out a scoffing laugh.

“What a ridiculous notion. How could a mere cigar kill someone?”

I had read an extensive amount of books over the years.

While most were medieval fantasy novels, some were also classic detective stories regarded as timeless masterpieces.

This was, in my opinion, the greatest advantage of books: accumulating random bits of knowledge.

I recited the murder trick I’d read in a detective novel.

“The answer is mercury. When mercury turns into a gas, it becomes highly toxic. It disappears into smoke, leaving no trace—could there be a better murder weapon than that?”

For the first time, Madam Quaintrell’s previously unwavering eyes trembled.

Her gaze betrayed the shock of realizing I had uncovered this much.

“Osman was a chain smoker. He filled his room with cigar smoke.”

“…”

“Someone who knew Osman’s smoking habit and gifted him a mercury-laced cigar. The culprit is none other than…”

I paused, catching my breath before delivering the reveal.

“Your younger sister, Madam Quaintrell.”

“…”

“If she even exists, that is.”

My pointed statement made Madam Quaintrell bite her lip hard.

It would soon be revealed that Madam Quaintrell didn’t have a younger sister, making her the prime suspect instead of me.

She glared at me with a fierce intensity before suddenly standing and shouting.

“Do you have any evidence?”

“…”

“Evidence that the cigar was made with mercury. Surely, you wouldn’t make such a claim without proof, right?”

Seeing me unable to reply, Madam Quaintrell exhaled, satisfied, as if she had expected this.

As she pointed out, I needed evidence to prove that the cigar was made of mercury.

‘Damn it, but Madam Quaintrell took the cigar case herself.’

If I were the culprit, I wouldn’t leave behind the strongest piece of evidence to prove my crime.

A mocking voice broke through the cold silence.

“Would this count as evidence?”

I turned my head slowly.

Jerome, sitting in the gallery, had something between his index and middle fingers.

The blue marking at the end clearly indicated it was the same type of cigar from the case.

“Looking for this? You dropped it in the carriage earlier.”

I remembered Jerome passing the cigar case to Madam Quaintrell on my behalf.

It seemed he had secretly taken one cigar then.

As Madam Quaintrell trembled, Jerome smiled playfully.

“Apologies, I have a bad habit of pilfering things. It looked valuable, so I took one. Almost died smoking it, though.”

Jerome walked confidently to the witness stand, handing the cigar to Madam Quaintrell.

“Let’s test it, shall we? See if this cigar is capable of killing someone.”

“…”

“Go on, smoke it.”

A cold light flickered in Jerome’s previously dull eyes.

Madam Quaintrell, gasping for breath, clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her head.

Jerome spoke in a gentle voice.

“What’s wrong? Smoke it.”

“I…”

Madam Quaintrell finally managed to speak, her lips quivering.

After several false starts, she collapsed and confessed.

“I did it.”

With her confession, Jerome withdrew the cigar.

Guards stationed behind the judge approached to take the cigar from Jerome, likely to examine if it truly contained mercury.

But with the confession, my innocence was proven even without further investigation.

Dragged away by the guards, Madam Quaintrell sobbed.

‘No, I feel like I’m still missing something.’

I knew that Madam Quaintrell had used me to hide her murder.

The vague sense of unease I’d felt when I first met her kept nagging at me.

My breath grew heavier.

‘The great fire and the small flame…’

Suddenly, a surge of heat coursed through me, and I lunged forward.

I grabbed the guard holding Madam Quaintrell.

“Please, just let me speak with her for a moment.”

Madam Quaintrell, who had been crying silently, looked back at me, stunned.

“Just for a moment.”

The trial was briefly paused.

While I was now free, Madam Quaintrell’s hands remained bound.

Up close, she seemed surprisingly young. I offered her a handkerchief.

“Madam Quaintrell, do you have a younger sister?”

Madam Quaintrell hesitated as she accepted the handkerchief, freezing.

“How did you…”

“So it’s true. I thought your face looked familiar.”

“Have you… met my younger sister somewhere?”

I had been wracking my brain, trying to remember where I’d seen a face like hers.

Seeing her so close, I finally understood. I sighed, nodding.

“I saw someone who looked like her.”

“Where… Where did you see her?”

Before I could answer, I demanded something in return.

“Tell me why you tried to frame me first.”

Madam Quaintrell, who had seemed ready to explain, clamped her mouth shut again.

Realizing we’d be here all day without a breakthrough, I pushed forward.

“I know you did it because you were following orders to find your sister. I want to destroy the person who gave you those orders. And I need your testimony for that.”

“…”

“I swear I’ll reunite you with your sister. But you have to help me. If you take all the blame, you’ll never see her again.”

Madam Quaintrell gripped the handkerchief, silent for a long time, before finally turning to me.

She began to share the story she had kept hidden.

Once I had heard the full truth, all I felt was rage.

‘Now I understand. I know what Jerome meant by the great fire and the small flame.’

The trial that had been suspended amidst the chaos resumed.

In a scene that seemed almost absurd, Madam Quaintrell, who had been a witness, now stood in the defendant’s seat, while I, who had been the defendant, moved to the witness stand.

The audience looked on with puzzled expressions.

Madam Quaintrell, her face returning to an eerily composed state, began to speak in a trembling voice.

“Yes, it is true. The Witch of Sacre… is me.”

When Madam Quaintrell removed her wig, dark brown hair was revealed beneath the golden locks she had hidden.

Gasps erupted from the spectators.

Madam Quaintrell’s lower lip quivered as she continued.

“I have been killing people under someone’s orders. They promised to return my little sister to me if I carried out the missions successfully.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes, my little sister came to the capital from Sacre to find a job and went missing. I came to the capital to search for her, scouring the slave markets. That’s when I met a man. He promised I could see my sister if I did what he asked….”

The lady, speaking steadily, frowned as if recalling a painful memory.

I gave her a nod, silently telling her it was alright to continue.

With great difficulty, she resumed speaking.

“That man demanded that I kill his political rivals in exchange. I used poison to eliminate one enemy after another, doing whatever he commanded. I desperately wanted to see my sister again.”

“…”

“But even so, murder is undoubtedly a crime. I have no intention of denying my guilt. I only want to report that man to prevent further victims.”

Jerome, who had been watching me, smiled subtly.

Seeing that satisfied smile, it seemed that Jerome was finally getting closer to identifying the ‘real culprit.’

Madam Quaintrell’s eyes, which had wavered with unease, regained their steadiness.

Her voice rang out, filled with fury.

“And that man is here in this room.”

Her finger pointed to a man seated among the spectators.

Ignoring the people who stood in shock, I approached him.

“It can’t be… that man is…”

“He’s surely…”

Leaving the murmurs behind, I stood before the man, who was now frozen, his face pale.

Then, in a voice dripping with irritation, I spoke.

“Yes. The one who deserves judgment isn’t me or even that woman.”

The man clenched his teeth and glared at me. I grinned, my voice laced with a sneer.

“It’s you, Archbishop Revulin.”

* * *