The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

Chapter 90: Find the Mastermind (3)

The map was large enough to cover the entire table.

Ymir looked at it for a moment, just orienting, and then he looked at Vael.

Vael was sitting across from him in the chair that Grave’s water mannequin had forced him in, his emerald eyes were still vivid, still the most alive thing in a face that had aged fifty years overnight were watching Ymir with attention.

’Good,’ Ymir thought. ’A subject who watches carefully is a subject whose face is working; faces are always readable.’

"When did you arrive in Marakana?" Ymir asked again.

"I told you already, I am not going to fall for your tricks," Vael replied.

"Oh come on, it’s just a normal question, what can I possibly gain from this. I told you, I’m just here to chat, not interrogate," Ymir said.

Vael thought for a while, looking at Ymir’s smiling face, a face that looked way too innocent for a man who had murdered a number of people.

"Morning of the same day," Vael said. *Cough* *Cough*

Ymir nodded.

He wasn’t listening to the answer, but observing the face that followed it.

In the library of Ymir in his previous life, he had read countless books on strategies, but his interest wasn’t limited to theory.

He had studied criminal psychology, profiling, and a lot about microexpressions. He used to practice them, and that’s why he was an isolated man who had a limited social life because he observed a little too much.

This was the first technique. Baseline Calibration.

"How did you travel to Marakana?" he asked.

"Why’re you asking me questions of those whose answers you already know? Do you want to frustrate me? Make me give up on life and just talk everything out? No, I won’t, it’s a mere fluff of a strategy," Vael replied.

"I’m not trying to frustrate you, I’m just asking you simple questions, those that are irrelevant from your organization or the men that hired you, I told you, I’m not interrogating," Ymir said.

"You---*Cough* You’re trying to mess with my mind, I can feel it," Vael stuttered and coughed while speaking.

"If I wanted answers, I wouldn’t be sitting here in front of you and treating you like a person, but, I understand you. What you did was your job, or your hatred towards the saintess. I don’t blame you for that, but I’m just here to chat with the man who tried to kill me, failed miserably," Ymir said.

"I’m treating you like a human," he said.

"So, how did you travel to Marakana?" he asked.

"Carriages," Vael replied.

The face of the answer which is true has distinguishable qualities, where the breath is even because the brain didn’t put much thought into it.

"And what is your name?" he asked.

"Vael."

Baseline calibration is the practice of asking questions whose answers you already know before asking questions whose answers you need.

Every person has a specific signature when they tell the truth, the way the face settles, the way they breathe, the particular quality of a voice producing words it had no reason to guard.

You cannot identify deviation from the truth until you know what the truth looks like on a specific face.

"From where did you depart?" Ymir asked.

The face changed, the jaw didn’t compress this time, muscles around the eyes made a small, quick gesture, and a thought passed to be careful.

Resistance. The baseline was clear now.

"A station," Vael said.

Ymir smirked at that.

"Which station?" he asked.

"I don’t remember the name," Vael said.

"Of course you don’t", he scoffed.

That means the station part was true. In other words, he had his men arrive early, but he departed late, possibly because he was meeting either his employer or the place where his organisation is situated. But organisation would be less likely an option because he wouldn’t want to be sitting in his comfort zone when an important mission is about to begin.

Ymir looked at the map, observed the circle he had drawn, and started his analysis.

"I’m going to talk about some geography," he said. "You don’t have to contribute."

Vael said nothing, which was its own kind of contribution.

"The locomotive’s last station before Marakana is here," Ymir touched the map near Judea’s palace.

"From there, carriages. The road splits in three directions. North-west, towards the Silver Valley, North to the Krells, North east towards the border territories that link the Kingdom of Phoebe, then there is the capital in the centre, a little south we have Krells, beyond Krells we have Judea, and you...arrived from the central capital," Ymir spoke, really casually.

"Ye-no. No. Wait-wha-why do you think so?" Vael stuttered, correcting himself.

"So I’m right? That tells us very little about your employer and makes it slightly difficult because there are a lot of places here," Ymir said.

"Wai---*Cough* *Cough*"

"You’re a high-profile individual, an inn? No, that’s way too common for someone like you. You’ll have a conversation with an employer, an employer who’s capable of hiring an organisation to kill the saintess, a man with enormous powers and connections, so you met him in the palace," Ymir continued.

"No, you’re wrong," Vael said, clearly nervous.

"Maybe, correct me then," Ymir said, and smirked.

"How---" Vael mumbled.

There was silence for a while, and Ymir let the conversation settle in the room.

"Do we have the list of palaces in the capital?" he asked, looking at the maiden, who was really interested in their conversation and was listening very carefully.

"I can get the land registry records of the palaces," she replied.

"I’ll bring them to you, your highness," she bowed and stormed out again.

Vael looked at all of this happening, and then thought of all that had just happened. He didn’t say anything, but the man in front of him knew more than he could have revealed by inflicting severe pain.

"Let’s play a game," Ymir said, and leaned back.

"What?" Vael questioned.

"Humour me, you’re not going anywhere, why can’t we just act like friends?" Ymir said.

Graves, although he had not said anything, was left bewildered, because he still remembered the huge furnace heating up the oil which Ymir had told him before entering the room. And it wasn’t a joke.

"Al-alright," Vael was cautious. He would be, but this is also Ymir’s only chance to know what he wants.

"Pick a number, three digits, hold it in your mind," Ymir said.

Vael looked at him for a moment with the emerald eyes of a man trying to identify what game Ymir was up to.

He picked a number. Ymir could see his brain working, processing the thought.

This was a cognitive load interruption. A technique that worked on a simple principle that the brain had a limited processing capacity.

Adding a secondary cognitive task, holding a number, doing a calculation, or remembering a specific detail, reduced the resources available for suppressing expression changes and let the thoughts display more clearly.

In the meantime, the maiden stormed back in with a brown handbook in her hands and placed it in front of Ymir while she gasped for breath, and then straightened up.

"I like people who do their job well. Graves, make sure you reward her or provide her with anything she desires," Ymir said.

"Will do, Your Highness," Graves said. ’What about me?’ he thought.

"I’m honoured, Your Highness," The maiden bowed deeply.

"Alright, now I’m going to name some castles," Ymir said.

"And you still don’t have to contribute," he continued. "Pf- Oh man, this is so funny."

"Prusa, Durell, Cymbal, ..."

Ymir started naming the castles of nobles and royals in the central capital. He continued for a while, observed Vael, but he couldn’t find anything in particular. Even the castle of Cymbal didn’t flag up.

He named more, named those that didn’t even exist and noticed confusion, meaning his techniques were correct, working, but there was no reaction till he reached the end of the list.

He observed the names again and furrowed his brows.

’How is it that the castle where he met the employer is in the central region, but it’s not among those that are listed here?’ he thought.

He looked at Vael, and there was no sense of relief; there was the same tension as if he were being interrogated.

’So, it’s a dead end?’ He thought, and sighed.

He placed the book back on the table, and heaved out a long breath.

The maiden and Graves looked at him, wondering what was wrong.

Ymir closed his eyes, shook his head, and looked at Vael.

"Well, you were a little useful at least," he said, and stood up.

"Take him," he said, looking at Graves.

"Wh-where are you taking me?" Vael asked in a low voice.

He had relaxed completely; he thought he’d be trapped here and live a life in this room. He was under the illusion that he would be taken care of.

"You forgot?" Ymir looked at him, furrowing his brows.

"What?"

"The oil part...Oh, you thought it was just a fluke."

"Y-You MONSTER-," Vael’s scream was shut when he was dragged away by Grave’s mannequin.

"Well, that’s the last thing I’d want to hear from a demonic human," He mumbled.