Chapter 11: The Virtues of Skipping Class

Karasawa pressed his body against the corner of the wall, peering out to observe the road in front of the Maru residence.

Along both sides of the street stood rows of gray shadows. They lay prone in silence, paying homage to a palanquin being carried down the road by several other shadows.

Shadows are monsters that exist within the Cognitive World. Ordinary shadows are drawn to the desires of a Palace’s master, manifesting certain perceptions and consciousness of that individual. Special shadows—like the master of this Palace, Maru Denjiro—are the concrete embodiments of a distorted personality, reflecting the person's true inner self and character.

In the world of Conan, there is no shortage of depraved murderers and victims. Thinking about it, Karasawa realized that simply by utilizing the Cognitive World, there was significant room for him to maneuver.

The shadows kneeling all over the ground before him, along with the samurai carrying the palanquin, represented how Maru Denjiro viewed others. The exquisite gold-lacquered decorations on the palanquin glittered brilliantly; it seemed that in the old man's eyes, he viewed himself as some sort of great feudal lord, like a Shogun.

"Ugly to look at, and delusional to boot," Karasawa muttered.

Shaking his head, he did not enter the street, choosing instead to follow the outer perimeter of the Maru estate, searching for a gap. Maru Denjiro’s shadow was surely inside that palanquin. It was a pity Karasawa had yet to awaken his power; otherwise, he could have considered a frontal assault—kicking down the door and finishing the job directly.

...Come to think of it, according to the original setting, did one need to be in a desperate situation or under intense emotional stress to awaken such abilities?

As he pondered this, Karasawa’s footsteps grew even lighter. The more he thought about it, the more he sensed a potential trap. If the plot followed its course, he would eventually awaken his power, so caution was the better part of valor.

The Maru residence, transformed into the mansion of a feudal lord, was grand and opulent. Patrols of samurai shadows moved in groups of three or four. Only when they circled toward the rear of the estate did Karasawa find a suitable spot to scale the wall and enter the courtyard.

Taking advantage of the moment the preceding group of samurai turned back, Karasawa crept toward the courtyard wall, reached up to grip the tiles, and pulled himself over.

Unsure of how many guards remained inside, Karasawa did not rashly jump down. Instead, he climbed onto a nearby roof, bent low as he moved to the highest ridge, and carefully peeked over.

His caution was justified. The interior of the courtyard offered a wide field of vision with very few places to hide. Shadows stood at the entrance of every room, and there were even archer units positioned high up in the main house, guarding the courtyard with impenetrable vigilance.

Had he been reckless enough to jump straight in, he would have been captured on the spot.

"Why are there so many shadows in such a small courtyard? Do you think this is Sekiro?"

Though he complained inwardly, Karasawa dutifully acted as if he were playing a stealth game, flattening his body and moving along the rooftops toward the main house.

Twenty minutes later, having successfully reached the roof of the main house, Karasawa chose a favorable angle and peered down into the courtyard below.

Thank heavens this was Japan; even a feudal lord’s estate only consisted of two courtyards. If he had to crawl through the Forbidden City, he wouldn't be done until tomorrow night.

This building was the most heavily guarded, with sentries at the door and long-range archers in the loft at the front. In all likelihood, this was where the Palace kept its Treasure—the most precious thing in the master’s heart, and the origin of his desires.

"Is it because Maru Denjiro is just that incompetent? How did I find the core location in less than an hour?"

Karasawa, who didn't realize that his own stealth experience had allowed him to skip the entire Palace dungeon, pondered this.

Still, finding it easily was a good thing. The world of Conan was not like Persona 5; it wouldn't give him ample time to clear a Palace. Who knew if a desperate Maru Denjiro might call Kogoro Mouri over tomorrow, only to end up dead—that would be awkward.

Considering this, awakening his power for now didn't seem so important. If he didn't take the "kick-down-the-door" route, he could simply go out, send a calling card, and break in tomorrow to steal the item, which would also achieve his goal.

It was better not to rely on brute force anyway; a phantom thief who kicks down doors lacked class!

In front of the main house, some sort of entertainment seemed to be in preparation. Tables and mats had been laid out in the courtyard, and samurai shadows were constantly walking in and out, carrying trays and arranging them on the tables.

Karasawa narrowed his eyes to look. The trays were filled with gold, silver, and valuables. Stacks of banknotes were piled into neat triangles, alongside small hills of gold dust and pearls that dazzled the eye.

Such a display was quite fitting for a loan shark.

Just as Karasawa was weighing the house’s structure to plot the best route for his theft, the samurai below turned in unison toward the gate and bowed.

Karasawa immediately pulled his head back, pressing tightly against the side wall, peeking with only one eye.

Maru Denjiro had returned.

This was the first time Karasawa had seen the true form of this Palace master. Past his fiftieth year, Maru Denjiro wore an ornate Nara-style robe decorated with circular patterns and a crown, waddling through the gate surrounded by a crowd of samurai.

He sat down behind a table, picked up a few jewels from the golden plates to fiddle with, and called out in a casual tone, "Where are the new servants? Bring them in."

The kneeling samurai responded with a roar. Soon, several people in shackles, chained together in a line, were dragged in, stumbling as they moved.

These were not in the form of shadows; they had distinct, clear faces.

Karasawa recognized the man he had bumped into earlier that afternoon; his gaunt face and thin mustache were easy to identify. It seemed they were all debtors of Maru Denjiro.

These people were not real humans, but cognitive existences generated within the Palace due to the master’s perception—like NPCs modeled after real people, capable of reflecting the master's thoughts toward them.

In Maru Denjiro’s eyes, those who owed him money were clearly his prisoners and slaves.

They were dragged and forced to their knees on the ground before the table. The samurai shadows holding the trays stood beside the collapsed people, waiting for Maru Denjiro to inspect them one by one.

Maru Denjiro paced over to the first tray, picked up a necklace, tossed it back and forth, and said contemptuously, "Too light. To only come up with this much collateral at your age... scum like you are a waste of social resources. Cut off his hands as punishment."

After saying this, he tucked the necklace into his sleeve. He kicked the frantically struggling old man beside him, and the nearby samurai immediately swung their blades at the old man's hands.

Against the backdrop of the old man’s shrill, agonizing screams, Maru Denjiro strolled toward the next person.

"Worthless trinkets. Are you blind? You want to use this as collateral for a million yen? I don't think you need these eyes anymore!"

"Huh? Trying to fool me with this garbage? You there, go cut off his head and put it on a tray. Use his life as collateral instead!"

"A broken sword as a family heirloom? Truly a peasant driven mad by poverty. I'll take the sword and sell it to cover your interest."

The once pristine courtyard quickly turned into a blood-soaked execution ground. Some of the victims lay on the ground without a sound, while others writhed in pain, clutching their severed limbs—a deeply unsettling sight.

"What a hellish tableau... Is a loan shark’s heart really this bloodthirsty?" Even knowing these were not real human beings, but dolls crafted according to the master’s memories, the cruel scene made Karasawa frown deeply.

The current Maru Denjiro was already a wealthy man. It seemed that these low-level tactics of extorting collateral were, beyond gathering wealth, aimed at the sadistic pleasure of watching people struggle in pain and kneel before him in supplication.

"A total pervert. No wonder he could manifest a Palace."

"Can't find a single valuable piece of collateral? Are all police officers such paupers?" Maru Denjiro’s latest insult rang out. Karasawa looked at the person before him, and his heart sank.

A tall man in a police uniform sat on the ground in a disheveled state. The samurai shadow beside him was not holding a tray, but was instead dragging a young girl who was bound tightly.

The man, his hands in shackles, struggled to sit up but failed. His right trouser leg was empty.

"Fine. Since your daughter is quite pretty, I'll begrudgingly accept her." In Maru Denjiro’s words, the man's collateral was clearly the young girl. "You're already a useless cripple who can't even stand. I'll do you a favor. Cut off his other leg as well."

Karasawa’s temple throbbed, and he gripped the roof tiles so hard his knuckles turned white.