Chapter 10 - Ordinary Tom

"Eating is important. Especially for a growing boy like you. Eat as much as you can and grow big and strong."

Galahad soon regretted those words. Damian ate his way through five full tables of food without leaving his seat. Even Captain Hook, who had been hovering nervously, began greeting Galahad with a broad smile.

"Is this the first meal you've had in your life?"

"It's been a while."

"Well, eat to your heart's content. No, half your heart's content."

Galahad clicked his tongue softly and looked around the bustling tavern.

"Lift that end. Hey! Hold it straight, you son of a bitch!"

"I'm telling you, the head end's heavier! Switch places, damn it."

The men Captain Hook had summoned were clearing away the unconscious and the dead like unwanted baggage. From what Galahad overheard, they had been a troublesome bunch. He had to pay a silver coin to have the bodies removed.

Just then, the tavern door burst open. Gilberton entered, brushing snow from his shoulders. His brow furrowed at the sight of the blood-red tavern, and irritation flooded his face.

The men carrying the bodies stiffened at the knight's sudden appearance. However lawless this place was, they still seemed wary of knights. The tavern keeper, Captain Hook, hurried over to Gilberton.

"Sir Knight! Those two did this! They chopped people up and ate my food without paying! They're absolute villains!"

"Now, didn't I pay you?"

"Shut up, you filthy Mage!"

Galahad clicked his tongue in disbelief. Captain Hook had taken payment for both the food and the cleanup, yet here he was tattling to Gilberton.

"What trouble have you caused this time?" Gilberton asked, pressing hard at his temples.

"Caused trouble? We were minding our own business when those men pulled their blades on us. I very nearly died! Thank goodness Damian saved me. Isn't that right, Damian?"

"Yesh! Bad peopul!"

"Finish chewing before you speak. You're spraying food everywhere."

Damian nodded vigorously.

"... Sir Knight?"

Captain Hook blinked. Gilberton made a determined effort to avoid his gaze.

"So, you say I didn't pay?"

"... Pardon? What?!"

"Then the silver in your pocket must have been stolen from me! Sir Gilberton! Arrest that man!"

"Eek! Forgive me, my lord! Forgive me!"

Captain Hook promptly flung himself facedown on the floor, splashing in the red blood that had yet to be wiped away.

"Sir Gilberton, search his pockets. He stole my silver! Cut off his other arm and even him out!"

Gilberton sighed. Captain Hook, already terrified, hastily produced the silver and held it out. Gilberton accepted it with a deeply uncomfortable expression.

"So where's the other recruit you were going to bring?"

"Apparently, he caught a cold and died."

"Hmm, a pity. We still need one more. Captain Hook! Anyone useful around here?"

"There was, but..."

"Why the past tense? Did he die of a cold too?"

Instead of answering, Captain Hook directed his gaze toward the floor. The men dragging away the one-eyed corpse smiled awkwardly. Ah. He had only just died.

"He wasn't much good. Missing an eye, wasn't he? The eyes are the windows to the soul. Very important. Captain Hook! Ever killed a Demon?"

"Never, sir!"

Startled, Captain Hook vanished into the back as though fleeing for his life.

Just then, a harsh cough rang out. A man in the farthest corner had curled himself up like a pill bug. He was so well concealed that anyone less observant than Galahad would have missed him.

'Both arms attached, legs present, face intact...'

He passed. Galahad slowly rose from his seat.

* * *

As his name suggested, Tom was an utterly ordinary northern man. Ordinary height, ordinary looks—so thoroughly ordinary that people said they couldn't remember his face no matter how many times they saw him. Even his nickname was "Ordinary" Tom.

Trouble had recently broken out in Tom's platoon, forcing him to transfer. That was why he was on standby at the castle. Sitting in the tavern, he had been worrying about the assignment orders due the next day. Where would he be sent? Would the people there be decent? That sort of thing.

The trouble began when an unmistakable nobleman entered the tavern with a boy slightly shorter than himself. An argument broke out, and the boy sprang to his feet. A man's head went flying. Tom slammed his own head down on the table.

When he opened his eyes again, the tavern had become a red stew full of chunks. Tom curled himself into the smallest ball he could manage. It was his specialty. This secret technique had even saved his life several times on the battlefield—

"A pleasure. I'm Galahad, commander of the Special Operations Unit."

Somehow, the man was standing right in front of him, offering a hand. Tom hurriedly shook it. The man's hand was as cold as ice, enough to give him a little start.

"Private First Class! Tom!"

"Why are you on standby here? Are you injured?"

There was a strange power in the man's voice. Listening to it gave Tom an odd tingling sensation and put him at ease.

"No, sir! I'm temporarily on standby while transferring platoons. My assignment should come tomorrow!"

"Oh, on standby, are you? Can you fight?"

"No, sir!"

"I see. Congratulations! As of today, you're in the Special Operations Unit."

"... Pardon?"

Tom blinked several times. Had he heard correctly? The conversation had taken such a strange turn that he couldn't follow it.

"Pack your things. The Demons are calling us."

"No... I think there's been some misunderstanding. I'm just an ordinary private first class."

"I know. Your mana was perfectly ordinary too."

"Pardon? What does that... Then why...?"

"Now that I've recruited them, everyone's turned out to be far too distinctive. I need another ordinary fellow like myself."

Tom blinked at the man calling himself ordinary. He found this man even more unsettling than the blood-drenched boy eating meat. There was a distance between them that seemed impossible to bridge.

"And we're one head short."

Somehow, that last remark felt like the real reason.

"Welcome aboard, Tom."

Unfortunately, Tom had no choice.

"Private First Class! Tom! Thank you, sir!"

Tom fought back a few tears.

"Now, come have a chat with your fellow members."

As though dragged there, Tom sat at the table and swallowed hard. He was sharing a table with Sir Gilberton, a hero of the front. Beside him sat a boy covered in blood, tearing into raw meat. And at the center of it all sat the Grand Duke's son-in-law, currently the most famous man in the castle. Ordinary Tom didn't belong among these people at all.

"This is Tom. Tom, since you're the last to join, you're the junior member."

"Why recruit an ordinary soldier? He'll die in no time."

"... I'm going to die?"

"Tom, everyone dies someday. What matters is how worthwhile that death is. Wouldn't you agree?"

"... I'm going to die?!"

"Don't worry. Now that you've joined the Special Operations Unit, your death will be splendid and meaningful."

Tom let out a small shriek. He was going to die? He wanted to live a long life!

"I really think there's been a misunderstanding. I truly am just an ordinary private first class. I'm not Special Operations material."

"I told you not to worry. We even have a former maid in our unit."

"... A maid?"

"A maid who's bloody awful at cleaning and washing dishes. She's your senior."

Tom was speechless. There was no reasoning with this man, yet somehow he found himself persuaded. If there was even a maid, wouldn't he be all right?

"Then what is the Special Operations Unit's mission?"

"I'll make a special exception and tell you, since you're my men. Keep this between yourselves."

Galahad's sudden seriousness made Tom swallow hard. His Highness the Grand Duke had personally established this unit. It was clearly no ordinary force. Even its name was the Special Operations Unit. What incredible mission could they possibly have...?

"Our mission is to prevent the destruction of the continent."

'... That's too incredible!'

Tom's eyes opened so wide they nearly split. Silence fell at Galahad's matter-of-fact declaration. Even Damian stopped eating.

"Are you joking again?" Gilberton demanded irritably after a pause.

But Tom couldn't laugh. For the first time, Galahad's eyes had been serious when he spoke.

"Ah, I need to visit the privy. Gilberton, why are you getting up? I'm a man with a bride-to-be. Stay seated."

Gilberton, who had started to rise after Galahad, sat back down with his face twisted into a scowl.

"Now, order all you like! There's plenty of money!" Galahad declared grandly before leaving the tavern.

"Order more. Let's empty that bastard's purse."

Gilberton waved a hand as he spoke. Damian promptly raised his own, and the table filled with food again.

'He's going to eat all this too?'

Damian ate like a madman. It was a wonder how all that food fit inside such a small body. Gilberton sipped wine while watching the door, and Tom, caught between them, sat still, not knowing what to do.

The only sound at the table was Damian tearing into meat. Uneasy, Tom tried a few jokes, but neither of them responded. Once he fell silent too, the table sank into stillness.

To think that Galahad's absence alone could leave them like this. Tom waited desperately for him to return.

The problem was... no matter how much time passed, Galahad never came back.

"About the bill..." The tavern keeper sidled up and asked, watching them nervously.

"That goddamned man—"

Gilberton's face contorted into a vicious scowl. Tom desperately curled himself into the smallest ball he could.

* * *

'It should be around here.'

Galahad narrowed his eyes and stared ahead. The Empire's Intelligence Bureau had tendrils reaching every corner of the continent. People didn't say it moved the continent for nothing.

Galahad knew the locations of every Bureau safe house across the continent. He had spent a great deal of time and effort extracting that information. The Bureau rarely changed those locations, thanks to both its confidence that it had no equals and its rust-encrusted complacency.

'Here it is.'

Galahad took a deep drag on his mana cigarette. The safe house stood on the very outer edge of the castle settlement. The wind was particularly fierce here, as though there were a hole right beside it.

Traces of houses surrounded it, but they had all collapsed. The area seemed uninhabited. Among the ruins stood a tiny house. The collapsed houses on either side all but buried it, concealing it so perfectly that it would escape notice without a close look.

Snow lay in a soft mound before the door. Galahad examined it. It looked so shabby it might fall off if shaken. At its center was a small indentation. It appeared to be nothing more than a dent, but was in fact a high-grade security device.

Bureau safe houses opened only when the magical device matched to that particular door was held against it. The method exploited the difference in mana's speed at different concentrations.

Forcing the door would sound an alarm inside and incinerate everything. Since calculating the mana required to match the corresponding magical device was practically impossible, this was currently the best security system available.

'Still exactly the same.'

It was precisely the method Galahad had proposed during his Intelligence Bureau entrance exam. He had supplied only the basic theory, and the Bureau had taken it and developed it. Naturally, his name appeared nowhere in the credits.

'Like a bunch of unscrupulous professors.'

Muttering the insult, he loosened his hands. There was one tiny flaw in this security system: if a Mage knew the magical device's mana concentration and could reproduce it, breaking in was easy.

But those concentrations were top secret, impossible to simply carry around in one's memory. And even among those who knew them, Mages who could match the concentration without a magical device were rarer still. Of course, Galahad was a very rare Mage.

'The mana here was...'

Galahad placed his hand over the indentation and concentrated for a moment. Mana flowed through his hand.

If his memory was wrong, or the Empire had changed the safe house's magical device, things could go badly. The Bureau would send the bastards from Internal Inspection. They were truly horrible people. The situation was certain to become a considerable nuisance.

But there was no chance of his memory being wrong, nor of the Empire having grown industrious enough to change its safe houses.

'As expected.'

CLICK

With that pleasing sound, the door slowly opened.

"Wh... who are you?" a dim-looking man asked, blinking.

Galahad set his face into the stern expression he wore on safe-house inspections.

"Who are you?"

"... Pardon?"

"Did you just ask me who I am?"

"Well..."

At Galahad's harsh demand, the man trailed off. He would be confused. No visit was scheduled, yet Galahad had opened the door and walked inside.

"Don't tell me you weren't informed. The notice should have arrived at dawn."

Galahad narrowed his eyes and rebuked the man, presenting him with a possible explanation: Hadn't he missed the notice because he wasn't doing his job? The man would begin doubting himself. Few people had enough faith in themselves to remain unshaken.

"N-no, sir! I must have forgotten! We've had so much work lately! No! Lady Rose must have received it. It's been so busy! Please, come inside. She'll be waiting."

"Rose?"

"Ah, my superior. I haven't been assigned here long myself. Things have been piling up lately, and I've been too busy sorting them out to think. Ha ha."

The man headed deeper inside, rambling through his excuses. Galahad cast a quick look around before following him.

KNOCK, KNOCK

"Lady Rose, a visitor from headquarters."

Somehow, Galahad had become an expected visitor. The door creaked open. A woman sat at the center of a room resembling a study, with books and documents packed into shelves on every side. Her dark red hair and red eyes were striking.

'Rose, is it? Interesting.'

The corner of Galahad's mouth twitched slightly.

"A visitor?" The woman raised her eyes toward Galahad.

Galahad studied her carefully. Her long hands bore no calluses. There were no dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hair shone. Very well maintained. Like a noblewoman from the capital.

"So you're that Galahad?" the woman said in a slightly nasal voice.

"Indeed, I'm that Galahad. But Rose—is that your real name? A name as lovely as your face."

Galahad sat opposite her, smiling.

"Why, thank you, but it's my agent name."

She twirled her hair around a finger and gave a sultry laugh. Galahad chuckled and searched his pocket.

"Ah, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not at all. Please do."

"Really? Thank you."

Galahad swallowed, his mouth tasting stale, and placed a mana cigarette between his lips. A flame snapped to life on his finger. Beyond it, he could see the woman smiling broadly.

Watching her, Galahad adjusted his mana. The flame on his finger grew, then shrank, returning to its original size. The cigarette caught.

'That will do.'

He drew deeply on the cigarette, filling his lungs. His mana spun as if in response. His mind cleared. Like a beating heart, his mana swelled and subsided. There was a solemnity to it, like a knight donning armor.

"Would you throw this away?"

"Pardon? Yes, sir!"

Galahad tapped the cigarette, handed the spent butt to the man, and placed a fresh mana cigarette between his lips.

'This should be enough.'

Galahad let out a deep breath of smoke.

"How long have you been here?"

"About a year now, I suppose?"

"Not long, then. It must be difficult, leaving the capital to live in a place this cold and uncivilized."

"It's all for the Empire."

"Is it? Are you married to the Empire too?"

"Marriage doesn't agree with me."

"I see. I've had similar thoughts myself recently."

The woman burst into laughter. The way she covered her mouth was teasingly seductive. Oh dear, Galahad murmured.

A brief silence followed. Apparently in good spirits, the woman hummed softly while the man tucked the cigarette butt into his pocket. Galahad tapped ash from his cigarette. The scent of lemon drove out the unpleasant smell.

"Well, then," Galahad said calmly, his calculations complete. Both the woman and the man fixed their eyes on him.

"Where is the real Rose?"

The man tilted his head at the question. "She's right in front of you."

"This is a secret, but agent names are chosen to suit their owners as little as possible. It makes them harder to remember."

Galahad pointed at the woman's red hair and eyes. Her smile froze.

A flame snapped to life again. Its warmth drew in mana.

"Second, a northern safe house is rarely an agent's first posting. They serve elsewhere before coming here. Yet you say you came straight from the capital. Very strange. Still, I suppose it's possible."

The woman parted her lips to answer, but Galahad raised a hand to stop her.

"Would you hear me out a little longer? Thank you. Now, third: you knew I belonged to the Intelligence Bureau. Had you known me only as Galahad, Adrianna's future husband, you wouldn't have been so relaxed about a civilian discovering your safe house."

He exhaled, sending a small cloud of smoke from his lips. The woman's brows drew together.

"You know me as a Bureau agent. Yet the higher-ups would never have told you about me. I may not look it, but I'm rather useful. I receive special treatment."

"Quite confident, aren't you?"

"Not confidence. An objective assessment. Please, would you shut your mouth? This is the important part. Yes, the Bureau has been run by idiots lately, so you might know who I am. The problem is what follows."

The woman twirled a finger as if inviting him to continue. The mana concentration grew noticeably denser. Interest stirred in Galahad's eyes.

"You know who I am, yet you smile when you find me in a safe house. That's the most absurd part. Usually, people weep and beg for their lives. Or attack first. But you?"

Galahad coughed softly, breaking the smoke into short puffs.

"How entertaining."

The woman's smile deepened again.

"I'm not entertained. This is unpaid overtime. Now, I'll ask again. Who are you?"

The woman smirked at his calm question. In an instant, her face split as though a mask were breaking apart. A sharp spike shot through the gap.

'The worst possible outcome.'

Galahad clicked his tongue and crossed his fingers.

BANG!

A sharp report rang through the air, scattering sparks.

CRACKLE!

The woman's hideous, split face flashed in the orange light.

A long, snakelike tongue flickered between her vertically parted lips.

"A Demon, then."

"Oh my. You've caught me."

The woman spoke in a languid voice laced with laughter.

"Such a clever man. Your brain must taste exquisite."

Her forked tongue moved with fluid, mocking grace.

The mana concentration rose rapidly, until it felt sticky against the skin. In that atmosphere, where the slightest movement seemed liable to set everything off—

"You're not Rose?!"

The man shouted stupidly.

Unbelievable. Galahad gave a short laugh and snapped his fingers. It was overtime.