"I see the people and the village below. I'll take a closer look."
Three Inspectors stood upon the ridge, peering down at the settlement.
An Inspector with pallid skin and a gaunt frame sat atop a Burdenbeast, adjusting his binoculars as he scanned the villagers.
"This village was entirely free of the Infected when we passed through a year ago. We shouldn't have to worry about any ambushes from those diseased subversives, would you agree?"
"Indeed. And the spirits here were quite exquisite during our last visit. That fellow Wrangel, the acting village head, was most accommodating. Why don't we secure a few bottles while we're here? Think of it as a small luxury during our tour. What do you say, Senior Inspector Nikolai?"
The speaker was a stout, heavily bearded Inspector, leaning toward the leader of their trio.
The man they addressed possessed a razor-sharp jawline and a long, dark mustache. His eyes remained cold, fixed on the industrial decay of the village below.
His name was Nikolai Baranov.
He spoke to his subordinates in a voice like cracking ice.
"We shall see. Cease this wretched prattle and focus on your imperial duties."
""Understood, Senior Inspector!""
The two underlings broke into a cold sweat, snapping their right hands into a crisp military salute.
They began their descent toward the village.
***************************************
"Is Alya hidden securely? Does she understand the gravity of the situation?"
"Of course. She is a bright, sensible child. She understands what must be done."
"Good. Now we wait. Remind the residents once more: for the next forty-eight hours, the words 'comrade' or 'brother' are forbidden. Not a single slip of revolutionary tongue."
"Understood, Acting Village Head!"
"And Alya is dead. Understood? Tell them she succumbed to the flu—no, make it pneumonia. The date of death is early February. We cannot afford even a hair's breadth of error. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir! I will ensure everyone is briefed!"
Maxim, Wrangel, Pyotr, and I had spent the morning reinforcing the gag order among our intermediaries and acquaintances.
The hour of reckoning had arrived; the Inspectors were at our gates.
"Ah! You've returned! It has been a year, Comrade Gert!"
"You remembered my name? I'm touched! Tell me, do you still have that vodka?"
"Naturally. I have prepared the finest we have for your arrival!"
"Hahaha! My blood is warming already!"
Wrangel immediately set to work ingratiating himself with the portly Inspector. His sociability was almost terrifying to behold.
As I watched this performance with silent fascination, the gaunt Inspector approached me.
"And you? I don't recall seeing your face here last year."
Did the Empire specifically recruit these bastards for their photographic memories? How could they possibly remember every face in a backwater tundra village?
Just as I began to stammer, caught off guard, a familiar voice cut in.
"Ah, Inspector, forgive our late introductions. This is Vladimir Park. He settled here about five months ago. Poor lad lost his parents and his home to a group of roaming bandits."
Maxim had stepped in, smoothing over the tension. The gaunt man nodded slowly.
"I see. Forgive me for dredging up such a grim past. I am Dagaev. I have served the Inspectorate for ten years. It is a pleasure."
He removed his glove and extended a hand.
However, his gaze was not on my face; it was sweeping across my body, hunting for the telltale glint of Originium shards or darkened veins—the marks of Oripathy.
Unsettled by his scrutiny, I gripped his hand firmly.
"It is no matter. The memories are still haunting, but the peace of this village has helped me mend. As Maxim mentioned, I am Vladimir Park. You may call me Vladi if it pleases you."
"No, no, it would be improper to use a diminutive upon a first meeting. A pleasure, Vladimir."
Dagaev's gaze softened. He had found no signs of infection on my neck or shoulders. But there was another threat.
Nikolai Baranov stood apart, his expression remains a mask of suspicion, unlike his more relaxed subordinates.
"Enough. Cease this socializing and commence the inspection. Our purpose is to root out and liquidate the Infected, not to exchange pleasantries with the locals."
"Oh, come now, Senior Inspector, this village is clean. My gut tells me so. We are safe here!"
The portly Gert spoke in a jesting tone, but Nikolai's reaction was swift. He closed the distance in a blur and seized Gert by the collar.
"Listen well. Do you believe this is a time for games?"
"M-My apologies! It will not happen again!"
Gert dangled in the air, his feet kicking futilely. The sheer physical strength of the Senior Inspector was staggering. If we were forced to pivot to our more 'hardline' contingencies, this was not going to be an easy fight.
"We begin the search now. This is the Emperor's will. Submit to it quietly."
"Of course... naturally..."
Even Wrangel seemed shaken. He leaned in and whispered a panicked observation into my ear.
"That man... he wasn't part of the patrol last time."
It seemed the regular roster had been disrupted. The Inspectors marched deep into the heart of Beryozovka.
*************************************
"One of the children from the previous census is missing. The Village Head's granddaughter, if I recall. The girl is gone, yet the atmosphere remains too stable. It's suspicious."
"Is that so?"
"And that foreigner, the newcomer. He is not of Ursine blood. Highly suspicious."
Dagaev whispered into Nikolai's ear as they patrolled. Nikolai's face remained a rigid stone slab.
"Our primary directive is the liquidation of the Infected. Ignore everything else unless it obstructs that goal."
"But are we not patriots? Shouldn't we detain potential subversives as well?"
When Dagaev dared to talk back, Nikolai stopped and turned his full, terrifying attention upon him. He began to walk toward Dagaev with predatory slowness.
Dagaev cowered instantly, his bravado crumbling.
"I... I understand. I shall follow your lead, Senior Inspector."
Once his subordinate submitted, Nikolai halted. He turned to both men.
"Locate the girl first. I want to know if she is missing, dead, or if these peasants are harboring an Infected child."
""Understood.""
The two junior Inspectors saluted and dispersed. Only then did Nikolai turn toward the Village Hall.
***********************************
"Elder, what became of the child?"
"She passed. February... maybe January? It feels like ages ago."
"Hey, brat! Do you know a girl named Alexandra?"
"She's been dead a long time. She started coughing, hacking up blood... died a few days later. In the winter."
It was a chorus of grief. The elderly, the workers, the youth, even the smallest children. Everyone maintained the same fiction: Alexandra was dead.
The cause was unified: pneumonia or a severe cold. The timing was consistent: early February.
"Let's start tossing the houses."
"Ugh... I'm exhausted. It's already evening."
"If the Senior Inspector says 'search,' we search. No point complaining."
They tore through the residences, their experienced eyes checking wall cavities and roof rafters. They found nothing. Not a trace of the girl, nor any subversive material.
Even at the clinic, they found only unused Oripathy diagnostic kits—standard imperial supply.
"Early February was eight months ago. The body would have been cremated long ago. We're wasting our time."
"I agree. Poor girl. But why is that bastard still hounding the village like a starved hound?"
"Tell me about it. I even suggested we interrogate that foreign fellow, but the Senior Inspector kept preaching about 'procedural principles.'"
"The man has zero flexibility. Tsk."
The two lower-ranking Inspectors leaned against a rough wooden wall, dragging deeply on their cigarettes. They wondered what their cold-blooded superior was doing.
*************************************
"Haha, this is the Village Hall. Normally, the Village Head lives here, but he has been confined to the clinic lately. His health took a turn for the worse after his granddaughter's passing. This place is full of his memories of her... it would be quite distressing if you were to ransack it."
"I care nothing for his distress. Hand over the keys."
"Ha... very well."
Nikolai took the key from Wrangel and kicked the door open. It struck the interior wall with a heavy thud.
He began a methodical, ruthless search. Cold sweat began to bead on Wrangel's forehead. To hide his mounting panic, the acting head opted for a strategic retreat.
"I shall take my leave then. I must ensure the other Inspectors are properly accommodated!"
"Be gone."
After Wrangel departed, Nikolai's search intensified. Books were pulled from shelves, wall panels were pried, and mattresses were flipped.
"Nothing here. Nor here. An encyclopedia? Fifty years old. No traces of Originium."
He straightened his back and stretched after an hour of fruitless labor.
"Truly nothing. Was I mistaken?"
He turned to leave the room. But as he took a step, his boot crunched against something soft on the floor.
It was a stuffed toy—a doll.
"A stuffed animal..."
He picked it up, staring at it with clinical intensity. He kneaded the fabric with his fingers. It felt slightly damp and cool, as if it had been washed very recently.
The Senior Inspector's mind began to churn with cold logic.
"Recently laundered. A toy belonging to a young girl. In the home of a man who supposedly lost his granddaughter eight months ago. Why would a bedridden old man, living alone, wash a dead child's doll today? Sentiment does not explain damp fabric."
His eyes narrowed with a predatory gleam.
"First... I must confirm the child's whereabouts. Then, a sweep of the perimeter... starting with the northern forest."
He stared toward the darkness of the woods through the window.
Outside, beneath the windowsill, the boy Laman was crouched, listening through a crack in the frame. His blood ran cold as he heard Nikolai's mutterings.
Trembling with terror, he tried to back away, but his foot slipped on a loose stone.
—*Click*.
The sound was faint, nearly imperceptible against the wind.
But for a Senior Inspector, it was as loud as a gunshot.
"Hmm... I smell a rat. Who is eavesdropping?"
Nikolai threw the window open, leaning out to scan the yard. There was nothing but the darkening shadows of the tundra.
"...My imagination, perhaps."
He slammed the window shut. Laman had pressed himself flat against the stone foundation, hands clamped over his mouth to stifle his breathing. He had narrowly escaped detection.
Gasping for air, the boy scrambled to his feet, a single thought echoing in his mind.
"Alya is in danger."
Laman ran. He ran toward Vladimir Park. He ran toward Sihun.
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