Chapter 12 - Lightning

"... What on earth have you been doing?"

Gilberton looked appalled at Galahad's wretched condition.

"Oh, a few things happened."

"A few things—have you had your wounds treated?"

"I'm fine. Mages are sturdy, you know. I can just shake this off. ... That was a figure of speech. Keep your hands off."

"I was only trying to help."

"At least try to make your lies convincing."

Gilberton smacked his lips in disappointment and sat opposite him. Galahad pushed the now-cold stew toward him.

"The stew here is excellent. Try some."

"I don't eat breakfast."

"Then give it to Damian."

Damian promptly snatched the bowl. Gilberton clicked his tongue softly and glanced around.

"Were you attacked by Hermun or something?"

"Who's Hermun?"

"An enormous idiot who carries an iron axe."

"Then no."

Thanks to the Demon blood he had drunk, Galahad wasn't in the worst possible condition.

The blood hadn't healed his wounds, but it had stopped the bleeding. It felt rather like applying Albothyl to a wound: excruciatingly painful, but undeniably effective.

The problem was his seething mana. The highly concentrated mana he had gained from the Demon blood kept running wild inside him.

It felt as though an unleashed vicious dog had gotten inside his body. If his concentration slipped for even a moment, the mana threatened to explode.

He tried everything he could to leash it, but his poor physical condition made that difficult. All he could do was hold it down.

"What's that?"

"Something good for you."

Galahad tucked the canteen into his coat. Gilberton narrowed his eyes, apparently suspicious.

Just then, the tavern door burst noisily open.

"Why did you want to meet at a tavern first thing in the morning... What?! What happened to you?!"

Gwen rushed straight over and grabbed Galahad. Her lack of reserve caught him slightly off guard.

"Wh-why do you look like this? Did someone beat you up?! Who was it?! However obnoxious you are, how could anyone beat you this badly?!"

"Calm down. I won. And what do you mean, obnoxious?"

"You don't have to hide it just because you're a man! Everyone has a hard time! The other maids bully me too, calling me dead weight who can't even clean!"

"Isn't that the truth rather than bullying?"

"However obnoxious you are, how could anyone do something so awful?!"

"That's twice you've called me obnoxious now."

There was no getting through to her. As she examined his wounds, her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears.

"Sniff... Wait here. I'll get a towel to clean you up."

She didn't seem to believe him at all. Gwen disappeared into the back.

Galahad was puzzled. Him, getting beaten up? Did he really look the type?

"Do I look like someone who gets beaten up?"

"You do look frail."

"You people are just absurdly thickset. Back in the central regions, I was considered quite a big fellow myself."

"Oh, is that so?"

Gwen returned with a soaking-wet cloth. Despite his assurances that he was fine, she planted herself beside him and began wiping him down.

"You needn't go this far."

"I'm getting paid ten times as much. I have to work ten times as hard."

"Fair point. Scrub harder, then."

"By the way, who's this boy?" Gwen asked, wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead.

"Ah, this is Damian, your junior."

"... My junior! Really? I've always dreamed of having a junior!"

Damian dipped his head in a bow, and Gwen's eyes sparkled. She looked as though she'd been given a present.

"Are you an orphan too, by any chance?"

"No. I have a mother. She's a prostitute."

"Oh, that's a relief."

Tom arrived shortly afterward.

"Is he my junior too?"

"Private First Class! Tom! Reporting!"

"Wooow! Two juniors! I finally have juniors of my own!"

With Tom and Damian seated on either side, Gwen puffed up with pride.

Galahad did his best to tune out the dizzying conversation beside him and focus on his mana. He still couldn't get it under control.

'I'd be better off letting it all out in one good burst.'

That seemed the best way to clear out the seething mana. But since he couldn't control its power, he'd have to do it outside the walls.

It was time to get moving.

Time wasn't on his side.

"I suppose it's time to go see my wife."

Everyone nodded, their expressions stiff.

* * *

Quite a few soldiers had gathered in front of the inner gate.

They seemed curious about the Special Operations Unit. Laughter broke out among them at the sight of it.

"Isn't that a maid? He's taking a maid to the front? He's mad."

"That's Damian the platoon-eater. I heard he's devoured ten platoons already."

"Is that their commander, the Mage? Looks like someone's already beaten him up."

Harsh remarks poured in from all around.

Galahad lightly smoothed his hair. Sparks flew from his fingers. The uncontrollable mana was irritating him. Suppressing his annoyance, he checked on his unit members.

It wouldn't do for them to lose heart over this right at the start.

"They called me a maid! A maid! I guess I don't look like a soldier after all! Because I'm a maid!"

Gwen was delighted to be called a maid, while Damian looked utterly unconcerned.

'Not affected in the slightest.'

Tom's face was rigid, but that didn't particularly matter.

"Now that we have an audience, I should show them some impressive magic."

"This isn't the central regions. Here, people think magic is little better than Demon filth."

"Then we ought to improve their attitudes."

Galahad clicked his tongue at Gilberton's attempt to dissuade him. He wanted to discharge his mana.

"What worm dares covet Lady Adrianna?!"

A deep voice came from up ahead. It resonated so powerfully that every word rang clear in his ears.

The startled soldiers hastily parted. An enormous man approached through the gap.

Apparently impervious to the cold, he wore barely enough fur to cover his private parts.

His massive, exposed body was thick with muscle and covered in scars. He carried an axe nearly as large as an ordinary person. Curiously, even its haft was iron.

His eyes brimmed with murderous intent as he stared at Galahad. It was enough to make Galahad's skin prickle.

"Let me guess. That's the Hermun you mentioned?"

Gilberton nodded reluctantly.

"Yes, that's Hermun. He belongs to the First Battalion, and his loyalty to Lady Adrianna is excessive. Once, he tore out a man's tongue for making lewd remarks about her."

Tearing out someone's tongue. How gruesome.

"But why is he glaring at me?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

"Ah, because I'm going to marry her? What ugly jealousy."

"You said that rather loudly."

"You baaastard!"

Hermun slammed his axe into the ground.

BOOM!

The crash sounded like a bomb going off.

"Impressive strength."

"Is this really the time to admire him?"

"You must learn to acknowledge others before you can expect acknowledgment yourself."

Galahad gave a small cough. He was putting on a relaxed front, but irritation was beginning to rise.

"This is no time for jokes. Hermun is a proven fighter even in the First Battalion."

CRASH!

Hermun's axe struck the ground again. Several soldiers lost their balance and fell. His strength was absurd. Had he eaten a Demon's sinews?

"Gilberton! Move! Are you protecting that Imperial bastard?!"

"His Highness the Grand Duke's orders."

"I don't care! I'll take responsibility, so move!"

Gilberton turned to Galahad, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Are you actually considering it?"

"Hm? No."

"Never mind. This is perfect timing. I've been needing to let something out."

"It's dangerous."

Galahad scratched his cheek at Gilberton's earnest warning.

Dangerous? For him? Against that half-naked caveman?

He let out an incredulous laugh.

"I've been wondering for a while. Why do people here look down on Mages?"

He was genuinely curious.

It made sense for Demons to look down on Mages. The matchup was so lopsided that Demons were practically their natural predators.

But here, even tavern thugs looked down on Mages. He could understand hating them, but he couldn't begin to understand dismissing them.

It would have been unthinkable in the central regions.

"Well, Mages are weak in combat, aren't they?"

"What sort of Mages have you people met? Though I suppose I can imagine the caliber of any Mage who'd crawl all the way up to the North."

"..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ahem."

"I didn't crawl here. I was dragged here."

"Yes, I'm aware. But didn't you struggle even against that lord?"

"That's because he was a Demon. Demons are a bad matchup for magic."

BANG! BANG! BANG!

As though showing off his strength, Hermun kept pounding the ground with his axe. The soldiers jeered and cheered in time with the blows.

"This simply won't do. I'll have to lead the effort to improve the public image of Mages. I'll show these ignorant fools just how terrifying a Mage can be."

"Will you be all right?"

"I'm the commander. Don't you know the commander is always the strongest?"

"... You're in terrible shape."

That was true. The bleeding had stopped, but he'd lost enough blood to feel dizzy, and his mana was running wild. Still...

"Even with a single finger, I can beat a half-naked caveman carrying an iron axe."

Galahad stepped forward and slowly surveyed the caveman.

He wasn't cloaked in aura. He wasn't even wearing leather armor.

'Where on earth does he get the nerve?'

Galahad gave his fingers a small snap. Sparks spat wildly.

He couldn't control his mana. It kept running amok because of the Demon blood he had drunk.

'I won't be able to hold back with this.'

He nodded as he watched the caveman beat his own chest.

He intended to let it all out in one satisfying burst.

'The snow's stopped.'

Galahad looked up at the sky.

The snow had stopped, but long banks of dark clouds still filled the heavens.

All those eyes on him, and his unit members looking a little cowed...

'It'll have to be something truly spectacular.'

Galahad snapped his fingers repeatedly.

Since the caveman was kind enough to wait, he even recited an incantation for the first time in a while.

* * *

"Sh-shouldn't we stop him? He's hurt!"

"Isn't Hermun the man who beat a Demon in a contest of strength...?"

Gilberton frowned at the worried voices behind him.

They were right. Hermun was no easy opponent.

In the North, belonging to the First Battalion alone was proof of ability.

Galahad, on the other hand, had struggled even against the lord, a half-baked monster.

And his physical condition was appalling. Whatever he'd been doing during the night, he'd returned covered in wounds, his back riddled with burns.

Reason dictated that Gilberton stop him, but what could he do when Galahad insisted on stepping forward?

"Hahahaha! This Imperial bastard has forgotten how to fear!"

Hermun let out a rough laugh, seemingly thrilled at the prospect of taking Galahad's head.

"Executioner! Executioner!"

The chant rose again and again. No one doubted that Hermun would behead Galahad.

'This isn't good.'

The Special Operations Unit was already a laughingstock before it had even begun. If its commander lost here, its reputation would hit rock bottom.

Reputation mattered a great deal at the front. A defeat for Galahad could ruin the unit before it even got started.

Galahad stood still, as though he couldn't hear the jeers or the worried voices.

Unlike his usual self, he wore a slight scowl. His customary ease was gone, replaced by a trace of sharp irritation.

"I, Hermun of the First Battalion, challenge this Imperial bastard who dares fancy himself Lady Adrianna's mate to a duel!"

'A duel. So he has used his head.'

Gilberton frowned. He'd wondered why Hermun had waited patiently through his conversation with Galahad. This must have been what he was after.

Duels were sacred in the North. Anyone could issue a challenge, and no one could be penalized for the outcome.

"Duel! Duel!"

Cheers erupted from every direction. The soldiers urged him to tear off the filthy, accursed Mage's head. Thick murderous intent poured in from all sides.

Then Galahad raised his right hand. The noisy jeers gradually subsided.

There was something about him that commanded attention.

"May I ask you a question?"

"... What questions does a dead man need?! Just hold out your neck!"

"I'll take that as a yes. Now then. Are you a Demon?"

Gilberton's jaw dropped.

Asking someone in the North whether they were a Demon was a more appalling insult than slandering their parents or wife.

At the unimaginable question, even the soldiers who had still been jeering quietly fell silent.

"H-how could he say something so awful?!"

Even Gwen, who had been worrying about him, stammered in shock.

Hermun's muscles writhed with a horrible grinding sound. This was bad. Gilberton gripped his sword hilt.

If necessary, he would intervene to stop it. His honor would be ruined, but Adrianna's orders came first.

"From your reaction, I gather you're not. You're not a Demon, you're not wearing leather, and you have no aura. Where exactly do you get the nerve to attack me?"

"... You baaastard!"

Hermun lowered his stance. His thick legs tensed with a creaking sound, gouging shallow furrows in the ground.

His dense murderous intent spread far enough to make the surrounding soldiers pale.

He kicked off the ground.

BOOM!

The earth beneath his feet caved in with a deafening crash, and his massive body shot forward.

"My apologies, but I can't control my strength at the moment. Do try to hold up."

Galahad snapped his fingers. It was a tiny movement, yet it drew every eye.

A small spark leaped from his fingers. The single streak bounced between them, then swelled rapidly.

There was nothing precise about it. Galahad frowned, as though he too was struggling to control it. The spreading sparks grew larger until they wreathed his entire arm.

It looked as though they were devouring him. Black lines etched themselves haphazardly across his skin.

His lips parted. Sparks flickered between them.

"Heaven's Judgment."

Gilberton heard the quiet murmur distinctly. The sparks enveloping Galahad leaped upward, then vanished in an instant.

THUD!

Hermun was suddenly right in front of him, his axe raised high. Thick muscles bulged along the arm holding it. A roar burst from his mouth.

"I'll tear off your head and bathe in your blood!"

He brought the axe down at Galahad. It seemed a foregone conclusion that Galahad would be cleaved in two.

Then the sky trembled faintly. The dark clouds filling it split apart, and a massive spark flashed between them.

Lightning. It tore through the heavens, rapidly spreading across the sky.

It reached the earth in an instant.

For a moment, everything stood out with perfect clarity: Hermun grinning as he swung his axe, Galahad's irritated expression before him, even the horrified soldiers.

The lightning coursed through Hermun's axe. His figure vanished in a blaze of white light.

It truly looked as though heaven had passed judgment.

KRRR-BOOOOM!

The sound came later.

The lightning lasted only an instant, but that instant felt unbearably long.

Then the sharply defined world slowed and darkened once more.

CLUNK.

The axe tumbled to the ground.

Hermun stood there, charred black.

His singed hair stuck straight up, his eyes showed nothing but white, and black markings covered his skin.

Gray smoke rose from his entire body like a heat haze.

"Ah..."

With that faint sound, Hermun toppled forward.

There were no jeers or cheers.

Only a heavy silence remained.

That Hermun had fallen without even touching him.

"Whew. That's refreshing. Hermun, was it? Thank you. I feel rather lighter now."

His customary ease restored, Galahad smiled and patted Hermun, as though telling him to get up.

The strange incongruity made the soldiers flinch and step back.

"... Are Mages normally that strong?"

Gilberton shook his head at Tom's question.

Of course not.

He hadn't looked down on Mages without reason.

It wasn't Mages who were strong. Galahad was a monster.

'Just what is he?'

A cold gleam entered Gilberton's eyes.

* * *

'He's certainly excited.'

Intelligence Bureau agent Jamit smiled faintly at the rookie, who couldn't seem to sit still.

"Are you that happy to have joined the Bureau?"

"... Huh? Yes! Very happy!"

His booming answer drew a wry smile from her. Come to think of it, she'd once been like that herself. It must have been when she'd met him.

'What was it he said back then?'

["Pray that you never meet me again. It won't be a pleasant occasion."]

At first, she'd wondered who this cheeky little brat was, but in his own way, he'd been offering sincere advice. Given his role in the Bureau, it had been only natural for him to say it.

"I'm going to become an agent just like Sir Galahad!"

The rookie suddenly blurted it out, his voice brimming with excitement.

Jamit's brow furrowed involuntarily.

'How dare he compare himself to Galahad?'

["Jamit, do keep that temper in check."]

She let out a quiet breath at the teasing remark she could almost hear from somewhere.

Right. What could this fledgling possibly know? He wouldn't have the faintest idea what becoming an agent like Galahad actually meant.

"... You'd be better off not mentioning that name unless you have to."

"Sorry?"

Jamit smiled wryly at the startled rookie.

Had she frightened him too much?

"... It's just that he's my idol. I'm sorry."