Dex drew from the drawer a thick black leather dossier, very heavy, emanating the smell of old paper and ink. The file was scored with magical seals for breaking, and its appearance suggested it carried heavy secrets.
With a calm motion, Dex slid the dossier across the wide wooden desk surface toward Inspector Croft. It slid slowly until it stopped directly before the teacup.
"This is a collection of documents and secret correspondence we discovered by chance during our inspection of the hidden magical vault in Sylvester's private basement," said Dex in a serious and neutral tone.
"I believe the answer to your question about 'what you will write in your report' exists in detail among these papers. Please, read them."
Croft looked at the dossier with suspicion. He was an expert in forged documents and political machinations. He untied the leather strap closing the file and began turning the pages.
At first, his eyes were reading quickly and with boredom, but after a few pages, the movement of his eyes slowed, his pupils began to widen gradually, and cold sweat began gathering on his brow despite the room's cool temperature.
The documents were terrifying. Some were entirely genuine, actual correspondence from Sylvester with the Shadow Organization and mercenary commanders. But the true genius lay in the additions and modifications that Dex had made with supreme skill the previous night.
He had amplified certain facts and directed others to paint a picture far larger than Sylvester's mere greed for the dukedom.
There were documents, fabricated cleverly on a foundation of half-truths, proving Sylvester's involvement in secret communications with the hostile Eastern Empire.
Other letters hinting that Sylvester had been selling the movement and deployment plans of the Imperial legions stationed on the borders.
The great shock for Croft was a collection of letters directly linking Sylvester to the incident of the complete disappearance of the Sixth Imperial Legion.
"This, this is impossible—" Croft muttered, his voice trembling slightly from the enormity of what he was reading. "Was he truly the one who did it? The Sixth Legion? Leaking military secrets to the East?"
"Precisely, Inspector," Dex cut in brilliantly, exploiting Croft's shock. "Sylvester Williams was not merely a greedy uncle, or a corrupt aristocrat seeking to seize the Duke's seat. He was a first-class traitor to the Empire, a cancer gnawing at the body of the state from within."
Dex leaned on the table and drew his face slightly closer. "And we, the loyal Williams family, when we discovered the scale of the conspiracy, we did not hesitate. We cleansed this mess ourselves. We severed the hand of betrayal extended toward the Emperor, bearing in that cause severe losses among our own knights to uproot this traitor's roots."
In that moment, Croft stopped reading, and his seasoned political mind began working at maximum capacity. He had grasped the entire game instantly.
Croft knew, in the depths of himself, that at least half of these documents were exaggerated, and that Sylvester, for all his corruption, was too cowardly to bring down the Sixth Legion on his own. But, did the truth matter? The answer in politics was: no. What mattered was the story.
Dex was presenting Croft and the Empire with an invaluable gift on a golden platter: the perfect scapegoat.
The Empire had been searching for a scapegoat to justify its military failure in the West and the disappearance of the Sixth Legion, to appease the anger of public opinion and the affected noble families.
Sylvester, now imprisoned and stripped of all magical or political power, was the ideal victim to bear all these sins. Sylvester would shoulder the full weight of every previous crime and catastrophe.
And in return? The Williams family would emerge from this crisis as great heroes, the Empire's impenetrable shield that had saved the throne from a grand conspiracy.
And Inspector Croft himself would receive an exceptional promotion and unparalleled glory for being "the brilliant Inspector who uncovered the greatest conspiracy of the last decade and brought back the evidence." It was a brilliant political deal that was a win for everyone, and the only one who would pay the price was Sylvester in his dark cell.
"I understand..."
Croft's features changed entirely. The doubt and tension vanished, replaced by a cunning, wide, and deep smile: the smile of a man who appreciates clean play in the dirty swamp of politics. He had recognized that the young man before him was no mere warrior, but a political devil in an angelic robe.
Croft closed the leather dossier and stroked it with his hand with tenderness, as though caressing a treasure. "I now understand the full picture, Lord Dex. My report to the capital will be clear, plain, and unambiguous: Sylvester Williams conspired manifestly against the Imperial throne, and Lord Marcus and his son and heir performed their patriotic and sacred duty by protecting the West on behalf of His Imperial Majesty. I am completely certain that the Emperor will be very pleased and grateful for this absolute loyalty."
With this silent and devious agreement, Dex secured complete political protection for his family for years to come, and prevented any attempt by the capital to interfere in the province's internal affairs under the pretext of an investigation.
But, just as Croft was about to rise to bid farewell, believing the meeting had achieved its objectives, Lord Marcus suddenly cleared his throat.
The sound was very deep, and the room's entire atmosphere changed completely. The air of diplomacy and scheming dissolved, replaced by a charged atmosphere of immense pressure: the pressure of raw power and heavy responsibility.
"Inspector Croft," Marcus spoke in an extremely serious voice, stripped of any equivocation. "There is one more matter."
Croft froze where he stood.
"When you return to the capital, you will not hand this dossier to any ordinary official. I want you to go directly to the Imperial Prime Minister, and inform him, and only the senior officials, that I will come personally to the Imperial capital next month."
Croft's eyes widened with genuine astonishment, and the dossier nearly fell from his hands. "Lord Marcus? The Lion of the West, will leave the tense Western Province?"
This news was an earthquake. The governing lords of border provinces, especially of Marcus's magnitude, never leave their territories and visit the capital except in two cases: either if formally summoned for trial on charges of treason, or if a comprehensive imperial war has erupted.
A voluntary visit at this timing was something unprecedented in recent history.
"Yes," Marcus confirmed with steadiness, his voice tolling like war bells. "After I have arranged matters here, established the foundations of the new governance under Dex's leadership, and assured myself of the complete stability of the Western Province, I will travel to the capital. I wish to meet His Imperial Majesty personally, in a closed session, and without delay."
Marcus's features changed suddenly, and the paternal smile he had been distributing throughout the day disappeared. His face became dark and grim, his features carrying a weight as though he bore the concerns of the entire world on his shoulders.
"I have an urgent, pressing, and very important matter to discuss with him face to face."
Inspector Croft stood upright, and understood that the affair had surpassed the boundaries of power games and positions.
"I will convey your message word for word to the Prime Minister. The Imperial Palace will prepare to receive you with everything befitting your standing, and the importance of your message."
The Inspector turned and left the room with rapid steps.
The moment the heavy door closed behind the Inspector, silence returned to claim the room. Marcus exhaled a long, exhausted breath, leaning his back into his chair and appearing to have lost some of the excessive energy he had displayed before the public.
Dex and Marcus remained alone, surrounded by a quiet that precedes storms. Dex turned toward his father, and with a piercing, focused gaze, asked him in a very low voice, as though afraid the walls might hear:
"So, the time has come. You are finally going to tell the Emperor about, the Dark Elves?"