Chapter 14 - Healing Hands

“An intimidating-looking lot, aren't they?”

Galahad clicked his tongue softly as he surveyed the commanders. Befitting their titles, not one of them looked like a pushover. They all seemed to have some skill.

His profession gave Galahad a rough sense of someone's caliber whenever he met them. He couldn't gauge their exact abilities, of course, but he had a certain subtle intuition.

All the commanders here were capable.

Especially—

“What's that fellow's name?”

“Liam, commander of the Second Battalion. His excellent character has earned him more followers than anyone except Lady Adrianna.”

Gilberton answered in a very low voice. Liam, was it? Galahad murmured the name under his breath.

“He doesn't look particularly virtuous to me.”

“Can you see something?”

“Just a feeling.”

“...”

“You don't seem convinced. A feeling is a kind of information sent by the unconscious mind.”

Galahad committed the commanders' faces, distinguishing features, and weapons to memory. It didn't take long.

One of them was glaring at him.

“Who's that pig of a man?”

“... Chartien, commander of the Sixth Battalion. The most recently appointed commander.”

Just then, Liam of the Second Battalion brought the meeting to a close.

“That concludes our meeting. Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to attend.”

The Sixth Battalion's commander sprang to his feet.

“The pig is coming over. I think he's caught the scent of my sweets. We're in trouble now.”

Gilberton turned his head away, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.

The piggish man looked down at Galahad with a contemptuous gaze.

“A pleasure. Galahad, commander of the Special Operations Unit.”

Galahad offered his hand in greeting, but the man snorted and ignored it.

He smoothly redirected his hand toward Gilberton, who shook it with a reluctant expression.

“So in the Empire, even someone in charge of a mere five people gets called a commander.”

“Indeed. How many people does one need to command before earning the title in the North?”

Galahad turned his head slightly, looking behind the piggish man.

“You stupid...”

“If he commands a unit, then he is a commander.”

The answer came from behind the pig. Adrianna spoke in a flat voice.

'Are they lining up?'

She seemed to be waiting for their conversation to end. There was even another man behind her.

Spotting Adrianna, the piggish man made a bizarre noise: “Ghk-gik-gek?”

“Are you finished talking?”

“Y-yes! We're finished!”

Startled, the piggish man stepped aside.

Adrianna thanked him, then looked at Galahad.

“Could you spare a moment?”

* * *

'Difficult.'

Galahad murmured softly as he studied Adrianna's expressionless face. Her flawless features combined with that blank expression made her utterly unreadable. He had no idea what she was thinking.

“Why have you come to the front? If it is because of His Highness the Grand Duke, I will contact him myself.”

Her voice was exceedingly dry. She sounded like someone with no emotions at all.

“Because of you.”

Adrianna's lips, which had been about to form another word, abruptly stopped.

“Last time, I heard what you had to say, but I never had a chance to give you my opinion.”

“Ah, I see.”

Adrianna nodded. She straightened her back and looked at him.

“... As you said, it is true that I was dragged all the way to the North because of you.”

“Yes. I am truly sorry.”

Adrianna bowed her head. The thick hair covering her crown briefly drew his attention.

She only raised her head after Galahad cleared his throat softly.

“I understand you had no choice either. I'm not refusing your request to maintain our relationship.”

“Thank you.”

Galahad paused for a moment. Adrianna waited quietly, sitting perfectly straight.

“Just as I have agreed to your request, I would like you to agree to one of mine.”

Adrianna nodded at once. She accepted the reasoning surprisingly quickly.

“That is a reasonable demand. I will help you in any way I can.”

The answer he wanted came readily.

Galahad gazed at her for a moment. Beautiful. He hastily suppressed his admiration. She was a dangerous woman in more ways than one.

He needed only one thing.

“Would you give me your hand whenever I ask?”

“... Pardon?”

For the first time, an expression appeared on Adrianna's previously impassive face.

Bewilderment.

Her eyebrows had only risen slightly, but for someone whose expression never changed, it was a considerable display.

“Lend me your hand when I need it.”

Desperately concealing his true feelings, Galahad spoke as casually as he could.

Unlike before, her answer did not come immediately.

After a moment's hesitation, Adrianna spoke.

“... It will hurt.”

“I know. I can bear it.”

Sincerity naturally filled his reply.

Adrianna's eyebrows rose a little higher.

Her already large eyes widened further. So human eyes could be that large. He marveled quietly.

“... You could die.”

The pain last time had been far too intense for him to dismiss her warning with, Surely holding hands won't kill me.

Still—

“It is worth it.”

At Galahad's earnest answer, Adrianna's eyebrows lowered again.

Her eyes, blue as a clear sky, blinked slowly.

She seemed to be wondering whether she had really heard him correctly.

“I mean it.”

It was the truth, so he had no need to act. His sincerity came through on its own.

Adrianna's eyebrows moved up and down almost imperceptibly. She seemed to be deliberating.

'She expresses her emotions with her eyebrows.'

Galahad waited without pressing her.

After a while, Adrianna slowly nodded.

“Very well. If you need it—”

“I need it now.”

Galahad promptly held out his hand. He had been fighting the urge to do so for some time. He wanted to study that property of hers as soon as possible.

Apparently not expecting him to offer his hand immediately, Adrianna raised her eyebrows again.

“You did promise.”

At his firm reminder, Adrianna let out a small breath.

She cautiously extended her hand. If anything, she seemed more wary than Galahad.

He eagerly clasped it. He felt the faintest warmth, followed by horrific pain climbing from his fingertips.

It felt as though every single blood vessel was burning. The pain was truly beyond description.

Galahad had breezed through the Intelligence Bureau's torture training, yet a groan of pain escaped him unbidden.

Adrianna tried to pull her hand away.

“Stay still!”

“... Ah.”

Adrianna's eyes widened at his shout. Paying no attention, Galahad concentrated on the sensation.

Where was the mana going? Was it burning away? If so, by what mechanism—

Still muttering, Galahad's head suddenly lolled to one side.

Adrianna carefully examined the unconscious Galahad.

The tiny vessels in his eyes had burst, blood trickled from his mouth, and his body trembled with pain.

Yet his face wore a smile of utter satisfaction.

When Gilberton finally came in, Adrianna hastily hid behind her back the hand that still tingled from Galahad's crushing grip.

“Did this man do something to you?”

“... No.”

“But your face—”

“Nothing happened.”

“Ah. Yes, understood.”

Slightly taken aback, Gilberton attended to Galahad.

* * *

“I opened my heavy eyelids to find an ugly face before me. Hmm, I was not pleased.”

“... You said that aloud.”

“A joke. You're not so bad-looking either.”

Galahad sat up, shaking out his tingling hand. A groan escaped his lips.

'I simply cannot get used to the pain of burning mana.'

He had passed the Intelligence Bureau's torture training with full marks, but this pain was beyond his ability to endure.

Having experienced it once before, all he could manage was not to scream.

'Passing out every time I hold her hand... Anyone who heard would laugh.'

Galahad murmured as he shook out his tingling hand.

He felt close to grasping it, yet understanding still eluded him.

The very concept of burning mana was simply too unfamiliar. And with the excruciating pain accompanying it, concentrating fully was difficult.

“I'll need to hold her hand at least ten more times to get a feel for it.”

“You'll die doing that.”

“Everyone dies when their time comes. What matters is whether that death is worthwhile.”

“You think that's worthwhile?”

“What could be more worthwhile than this?”

“...”

Gilberton looked appalled.

Clicking his tongue, Galahad assessed his condition.

'Still, I'm better off than last time.'

Previously, all his mana had burned away, leaving him barely able to move a finger. Now, however faint it was, a little mana remained.

Galahad snapped his fingers. A flame sprang up above them, the same size as usual.

Then he sensed a tiny discrepancy.

It was so slight as to be almost unnoticeable, but Galahad's meticulous, almost obsessive management of his mana allowed him to detect it.

'My compression speed has increased slightly.'

If mana was a hose, his control over it was the finger pressing down on that hose.

Stronger compression increased the mana concentration, which in turn increased the power of the resulting magic.

The finger gripping the hose had grown stronger, however slightly.

'Is it because I emptied myself out and refilled?'

Fighting the Demon had driven home, more than anything else, the need for concentrated mana.

Improved control meant he could compress it faster.

Adrianna was unquestionably the cause.

A woman who improved his mana control every time he held her hand, while letting him study a new property of mana—

'A woman of many talents.'

Could there be another woman so lovely? Galahad felt his heart pound. Was this love?

“Ahem.”

An awkward cough interrupted him. It was the man who had been standing behind Adrianna in the meeting room.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his profound exhaustion gave him an irritable air.

“I'm Mark, commander of the Fifth Battalion.”

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

“If you have time after this investigation, please visit the Fifth Battalion.”

Mark went straight to the point. He seemed disinclined to waste time.

Then he added in a whisper,

“I'm interested in magic.”

It was an unremarkable statement in itself, but coming from a commander on the northern front, it was quite radical.

“We can discuss the details then.”

With that, Mark rose, saying he had work to do. Apparently, he really had come just to introduce himself. A thoroughly practical man.

“Mark, was it? What sort of man is he?”

“As commander of the Fifth Battalion, he's notorious for using any means necessary. He was even disciplined once for trying to tame demon-beasts. He's a controversial man in many respects.”

Gilberton's explanation sounded reluctant. He seemed to dislike Mark. Then again, practicality was hardly Gilberton's defining trait.

“Time to eat.”

Tom opened the door as he spoke. His face looked somewhat haggard.

“I'd rather not eat Gwen's cooking.”

“Aren't you too old to be complaining about your food?”

“Have you ever tasted Gwen's cooking? You haven't, have you? That's why you can say something so reckless.”

Galahad clicked his tongue and stood. Still, he couldn't very well refuse a meal that had already been prepared.

Downstairs, everyone was seated at the table. Damian had his face buried in his bowl, while Gwen sat staring vacantly.

Galahad sighed softly and took his seat. Tom served him some stew. Steeling himself, he took a large spoonful.

As he braced for the suffering to follow—

“... This is good?”

His eyes widened at the completely unexpected taste.

“Ah, is it to your liking? I'm glad.”

“Tom, did you make this?”

“Yes. Senior Gwen wasn't feeling well—”

“What a relief.”

Turning his head, Galahad immediately saw that Gwen was in poor shape.

Her hair was sticking out wildly, as though she had been struck by lightning.

He could roughly piece together what had happened. Tormented while alone, she must have finally given in and used magic. Perhaps she hadn't even realized it herself.

'Did she copy Heaven's Judgment after watching me?'

Galahad was genuinely impressed.

Heaven's Judgment's formula was twice as difficult as those of other spells. Its key lay in casting out a template to gather the surrounding mana.

Judging by how much her hair was sticking out, she hadn't used Heaven's Judgment itself, but its basic principle.

'A genius.'

To use magic after seeing it only once... and without even being conscious of doing so.

He wanted to cram magic into that adorable little head immediately, but fought the urge with all his might.

Tug the rod too soon, and the fish would escape.

He had to wait until the hook was firmly through its mouth.

“Come to think of it, the house is clean. It used to look like an animal pen.”

“... It wasn't that bad.”

“Ah, I cleaned it with Senior Gwen. She taught me a lot...”

“Hehe.”

It was blatant flattery, but Gwen immediately broke into a broad smile. She looked just like a puppy munching on grass.

“Would you like more, Damian?”

“Yeah.”

Tom refilled Damian's bowl with stew. He did it quite naturally.

“Listen while you eat. We leave on our first mission tomorrow.”

Gwen began coughing violently. Tom patted her back. Galahad waited for her coughing to stop before continuing.

“Our mission is to investigate the unusual behavior of the demon-beasts that attacked the Fourth Battalion. It shouldn't be particularly dangerous, but we ought to be careful nonetheless. This is the front, after all.”

Gwen's coughing grew even louder. Damian shot up a hand.

“Go ahead, Damian.”

“Can't we just not go?”

Damian asked with the same expression he wore when told he could only have one bowl of stew. Gwen nodded vigorously.

Galahad smiled wryly and shook his head.

“If you don't keep walking, you'll be buried in the snow.”

Damian buried his face in his bowl.

Gwen thrust up her hand.

“Wouldn't we avoid getting buried if we stayed home?”

Her face brimmed with confidence, like a puppy that had fetched a bone.

“Then the house would be buried in snow.”

Gwen tilted her head at his answer.

“Even in the North, I don't think it snows that much?”

Galahad cleared his throat softly at her question.

“I made that too complicated. I failed to take you into account. My apologies.”

“Uh... Yes! It's fine! Anyone could make that mistake! You haven't been in the North very long!”

Gwen cheerfully accepted his apology.

“At any rate, get to bed early, everyone. We leave for the Fourth Battalion first thing tomorrow. We're traveling with Adrianna's group, so we mustn't be late.”

* * *

“Are you sure we should be doing this on our own? Shouldn't we ask for more support from above?”

Karl narrowed his eyes at the worried voice beside him.

His nerves were already on edge at this critical stage. The constant ominous remarks only fueled his irritation.

“Shut up, Bern. Our master already gave us mole crickets, and you want me to ask for more? Why not just ask to have our heads ripped off?”

“But...”

“What the hell are you so worried about? Have you forgotten how much effort we've put into this? We went all around the front doing that shit! All that fucking shit!”

Karl unleashed his curses without restraint. Bern shrank back.

He couldn't understand why Bern was being so spineless. To lull the enemy into complacency, they had operated using only mole crickets, the creatures their enemies looked down on most.

The two of them hadn't even used magic, despite being mages. They had wanted it to look like nothing more than strange demon-beast behavior.

They had even gone out of their way to retreat after digging the tunnel they needed. By now, the enemy had probably forgotten all about it.

Even if they suspected something, searching that vast expanse of land was impossible. Besides, the two had concealed it with magic in the first place.

The enemy would never realize that their retreat of one step had been for the sake of advancing ten.

“Have you forgotten who's behind us?”

Karl gestured subtly behind him. The cave, its interior invisible, looked especially dark. A small shudder ran through him at its eerie atmosphere.

“At most, they'll send a search party. Do you think a commander would come all the way out here over a mere mole cricket? And even if they did, they couldn't find us without a skilled mage. So what's the damn problem? Do you think there are any mages in this fucking North?”

At Karl's scornful question, Bern pressed his lips shut.

“Unless a commander comes here hand in hand with a mage, there's no way we can fail. Get back to work. We're almost done.”

Under Karl's sharp glare, Bern nodded.

No, of course that would never happen.

Mages were rare in the North to begin with.

Why would a skilled mage be in the North?

They would be in the central regions, running errands for nobles.

'I was worrying over nothing.'

Bern grinned and adjusted his grip on his staff.

“Once we're done with this job, let's take all the mana stones we've saved up, go back to the Mage Tower, and live the high life!”

The two beamed innocently as they pictured their happy future.