Chapter 5: Chapter 3: Assassinating the Knight Commander
November 15, 1987. The weather was overcast, no sun. Rain fell on the Thames.
"Name?"
"Baron Constantin."
"Age?"
"Twenty-two."
"Home address?"
"My past one or my current one?"
"Either."
"Cheshire, Worlington Town, Frankendy No. 2887."
This was the address of his predecessor’s older brother, Edward, and younger sister, Yelena, from the diary.
"Do you know what crime you’ve committed?"
"I haven’t committed any crime."
"But there were witnesses at the scene."
"I didn’t kill anyone."
"Who said anything about you killing anyone?" The interrogator’s tone was strange. "Your crime is unauthorized contact with the Dragon Witch."
"The Dragon Witch? Who is she?"
"Carmen Ray Dragoon. She killed the Red Dragon."
...
The wind shattered raindrops against the iron bars of the window, accompanied by a vague rustling. It was late autumn. The chill cut at one’s face like a knife as the hands on the wall clock spun, slicing through the shadows.
The heavy iron door closed. Baron sat on the narrow wooden plank bed in his cell, hearing a sinister laugh from the other side of the concrete wall.
"I told you, kid. Acting crazy won’t fool those bastards from the Holy Cross."
The laughter came from his neighbor in the prison, a fellow named Lawrence. Rumor had it he had been in this prison—situated on the Thames Riverfront and hidden from the world—for three years.
Originally, he was the only felon on this cell block. With Baron, that made two.
"And I told you, I wasn’t acting crazy. They convicted me not of murder, but of unauthorized contact with the Dragon Witch."
Baron thought of the girl with red hair, crimson eyes, and the air of a fairy.
She could transform into a huge, magnificent Giant Dragon, yet she was as enigmatic as the girl next door. The title "Dragon Witch" was indeed a perfect fit.
"The Dragon Witch?" an exclamation came from the next cell right on cue. "You mean the Witch who killed the Red Dragon and wiped out the Dragon Family a century ago?"
"You know of her?"
After a night of conversing with Lawrence through the wall, Baron had learned a few things about the background of this world from him.
Just as Baron had suspected when he met Carmen, beneath the surface of 1987’s United Kingdom lay a mysterious, ancient "Inner Side," with a history as rich as any fantasy novel.
That world had Dragons, Vampires, and the Living Dead, as well as Demons that tempted the hearts of men... It also had organizations of the Old Race known as Law Enforcers, who opposed them and buried their secrets and pasts in the dust of history and scripture.
According to Lawrence’s explanation, the Old Race were humans with the "Blood of the Old Gods" flowing through their veins. They could sign contracts with a Lawbook to become a Law Enforcer.
Baron couldn’t pry the specifics of what the Lawbook and Law Enforcers were out of Lawrence.
But he suspected it had something to do with his so-called "Knight Law."
"Call me Mr. Lawrence! You’ve got no manners, kid."
Lawrence grumbled unhappily from the other side of the wall. Then, his tone shifted, now laced with mockery and trepidation.
"Still, for you to show up here alive after an encounter with the Dragon Witch... it seems the Witch has taken a liking to you."
Baron was about to argue that he truly didn’t know what had happened.
But yesterday’s scenes surfaced in his mind unbidden:
The girl who turned into a Red Dragon, a naked body as white as a lamb, a kiss through a sheet of parchment, words and sighs like an oath... and the dead family of three on the bed, Lady Eleanor’s vacant gaze, and the bouquet of irises on the windowsill that had withered in an instant.
"To be, or not to be, that is the question."
He remembered the girl’s whisper in his ear. As a screenwriter in his past life, he knew, of course, that the line was from Act 3, Scene 1 of Shakespeare’s classic play, *Hamlet*.
That was the moment when Hamlet, having learned his father was murdered by his uncle and his mother had quickly remarried said uncle, was plunged into intense internal conflict and reflection.
To put it in the terms of a literary analysis question from his previous life, it was a device used to reflect the character’s inner turmoil.
’Why would the Witch say that to me? What does it mean? Should I tell these police officers about the strange "Lawbook" contract the Witch made me sign?’
Baron’s thoughts were interrupted. A bull-like roar came from the other side of the wall, accompanied by the abnormally dull thud of something heavy hitting it, like a head bashing against the concrete.
Lawrence had suddenly started screaming!
"Adel! Adel... Adel!"
He repeated the word endlessly, his voice hateful and hoarse, like a poison-soaked cloth being torn and set ablaze by a blade.
"Hey! Guard!" Baron pounded on the iron door. "Something’s wrong with my cellmate! I think you’d better get him to a doctor!"
The observation slot on the iron door slid open, and a guard yawned.
"Don’t mind him. The guy has a nickname, ’Roaring Lawrence.’ He often flies into an uncontrollable Madness. I think it’s a side effect from years ago when he got kicked in the back of the head by a Griffin while resisting arrest."
"Instead of him, I think you should be worried about yourself, you Bloodless of the Constantine Family." The guard looked impatient. "The Judgement starts at dawn tomorrow. I suggest you think hard about how you’re going to defend yourself..."
The observation slot slammed shut with a THUD, and the guard’s laughter abruptly ceased, like a distant bell falling silent.
Just as Baron was about to ask what the Judgement was, and what a Bloodless was, he heard the low roar again from beyond the concrete wall.
"Adel..."
The roars came one after another like waves, accompanied by a soft rustling, like the sea washing over a sandy beach.
By the time Baron could see the moon hanging in the sky through the small window, Lawrence’s weak gasps for breath finally reached him through their shared casement.
"Everything related to the Dragon Witch is controlled by the London Tower, the Holy Cross Association, the Inquisition... all those high-and-mighty bastards. Anything connected to that woman is a misfortune."
"Because she killed the Red Dragon?" Baron asked.
’Red Dragon...’ In his memory, Carmen was the one who had transformed from a magnificent red Dragon.
’Could there be a connection?’
"Killing the Red Dragon and destroying the Dragon Family are her lightest offenses. Some say the Witch’s greatest original sin is..."
"What is it?"
"If I knew the Witch’s original sin, I probably wouldn’t be locked up in this shithole."
Having regained his senses, Lawrence leaned against the wall, panting. He gazed out the window at the rain-swept city. "By my estimation, the best you can hope for is life imprisonment."
’Life imprisonment just for coming into contact with the Dragon Witch? It’s almost the 21st century. No matter how backward the legal system in the United Kingdom is, it can’t be this primitive and flawed.’
Baron felt Lawrence was deliberately trying to scare him.
He didn’t believe it.
...
「November 16, 1987, 6:00 a.m. The Prole Court of London Thirteen Prison.」
BANG!
The gavel struck the walnut table heavily. The sound of the verdict was like the Grim Reaper dancing with his scythe.
And Baron was the stalk of straw cut down by that scythe.
"Defendant Baron Constantin! Based on the final deliberation of the five-person tribunal of the Prole Court... you are hereby sentenced to death!"
’I take back what I said before. The legal system in the United Kingdom really is this primitive and flawed!’
Baron’s face flushed with anger. He shot to his feet, slamming his hands on the table, only to be forced back into his chair by two armored men in black.
He threw his head back, staring at the white-haired, hook-nosed old man on the high bench—the Judge who had so easily pronounced the end of his life.
He squeezed the words out through gritted teeth: "I object! What crime did I even commit!?"
’I’ve only been transmigrated for two days, and I’m already getting the death penalty for doing nothing?’
’Even if I had really killed Lady Eleanor and her whole family, shouldn’t there be a phase where the relatives sob and question me in court, and the perpetrator confesses with a straight face?’
If a person’s life could be compared to a good play, Baron felt like his role was to walk on stage, take a bow, and immediately exit.
"What crime you committed..."
The white-haired, white-bearded Judge let out a cold snort, raising the gavel in his hand, which was engraved with the image of a lion catching a snake.
"Your crime is..."
As Baron stared in disbelief, the Judge brought the gavel down hard.
"The Assassination of the Knight Order Leader!"
’Assassination of the Knight Order Leader!? What kind of frame-up is this!?’
————
[Baron Constantin (Original) Work Diary:
October 28, 1987 / London / Overcast
Walked the streets of London. Very foggy. A car ran over a cat.
I buried the cat in... (many crossed-out and revised marks, Zhou Yike can’t make it out.)
Kristen is leaving me for a while. I wish her a safe journey.
No one will ever love her as much as I do.]
