Chapter 16 - Mole Crickets

The forest was so dark that not a single ray of light seemed to penetrate it. Even the snow falling between the trees looked gray rather than white, almost like drifting ash.

“Just the sort of place you’d expect to find demon-beasts.”

Galahad smiled in satisfaction and put a cigarette between his lips.

“Ah, I brought torches. Take one each.”

Tom handed them out. The pungent smell of burning oil filled the air.

“I’ll take the lead.”

Gilberton drew his sword and stepped forward.

“No need. You’re in the way, so move to the back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t you give up rather too easily?”

Gilberton shrugged.

Galahad chuckled and opened both palms. He compressed his mana, released it, compressed it, and released it again. A warm-up.

When he snapped his fingers, a tiny Mana Arrow floated above them.

GULP.

“Wipe your drool, Gwen.”

Startled, Gwen wiped her mouth. Her urge to use magic seemed to be growing stronger. An encouraging development.

Galahad walked along, watching the size of his Mana Arrow. Mana always flowed from areas of lower concentration toward higher concentrations. If the arrow shrank even slightly, it meant the surrounding concentration had risen. He gauged its size as he chose his direction and pressed on.

“Aaaah!”

Gwen had fallen into a pit.

“I found something!”

Covered in dirt, she beamed.

“This is from a mole cricket demon-beast,” Tom said, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“A mole cricket demon-beast?”

“Yes. They burrow underground and leave pits like this behind.”

“How do you know that?”

“Ah, it’s basic knowledge you have to memorize to survive at the front. Mole crickets are such a nuisance that once one appears, we abandon the surrounding area.”

“What else do you know about them?”

“Well—they tunnel around, so they’re hard to find. They hide underground, then burst out and drag people away in their jaws. They’re a real problem.”

Galahad nodded and jumped into the pit.

“You came to rescue me!”

He pushed Gwen’s outstretched hand aside and prodded the walls all around him. They were blocked on every side.

‘No real clues here.’

He clicked his tongue softly and climbed back out.

“What about me?! That’s so mean!”

Gwen took Tom’s hand and climbed out.

“Gilberton, do you know anything?”

Gilberton peered into the pit with a grave expression. He was, after all, a knight who had spent years at the front. Galahad had hoped he might know something—

“This demon-beast digs.”

“Never mind. My mistake for asking you.”

“Ah, mole crickets are extremely sensitive to sound,” Tom added awkwardly.

Gilberton shot him a sidelong glare, but Tom was so tense that he apparently failed to notice.

“Sound, eh?”

Galahad looked at Gwen. Busy brushing dirt off herself, she rounded her eyes.

“... Farts?”

“No. Sing us a song.”

“Oh! A song?! Ahem!”

Without the slightest reluctance, Gwen launched straight into song.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t sing. The problem was that she put far too much effort into it. She had a heavy-metal sensibility.

“On a BEAUTIFUL hill! The handsome prince! His Highness Jirman! And the BEAUTIFUL!”

Quickly losing herself in the performance, Gwen sang on. Damian squinted.

Paying her no heed, Galahad followed the path, concentrating on his mana. How long had they been walking?

By the time the prince and princess in Gwen’s song had married and their daughter had slit the neighboring king’s throat to inherit his throne—

“Here it comes.”

“It’s coming.”

They had a response. Gilberton stepped forward.

“She’s inheriting the throoo... Aaaah!”

Tom raised his shield and moved to protect Gwen.

The earth split apart, spraying dirt violently. A dark brown carapace filled their vision.

“Skreeee!”

It was an enormous, red-eyed crustacean. Sand showered out behind its wings.

“Mole crickets are vulnerable to bright light!” Tom shouted, shielding Gwen behind him.

‘Light, eh?’

Gilberton swung his sword diagonally. The blue aura coating it cut across the demon-beast’s chest. Blood sprayed, but its thick carapace kept it from falling.

The creature swung a foreleg at Gilberton, the limb dainty compared with its massive body. He caught it on his sword.

THUD!

The heavy impact drove him backward.

Galahad thrust out his left hand and unleashed his mana. Focused into light, it erupted in a brilliant flash.

The creature’s red eyes blinked furiously. Evidently it really was vulnerable to light: it stopped dead.

At that moment, Damian scrambled up the creature on all fours with a sword between his teeth, looking like an insect.

Upon reaching its head, he raised the rusty sword high.

SKREEEE!

With a piercing shriek, its snout trembled, pointed like a bundle of daggers.

Damian plunged his sword in. Though plainly blunt, it slipped easily through the carapace. Looking closely, he seemed to have aimed for a minute gap between the plates. Remarkable concentration.

Then Gilberton’s sword severed a foreleg. The limb flew into the air and landed in front of Galahad.

Hot blood sprayed from the severed limb, soaking his feet and forming a small pool beneath him. Galahad dipped his hand deep into it.

‘Demon-beast blood isn’t particularly concentrated.’

Its mana concentration was higher than an ordinary Mage’s, but far lower than a Demon’s.

He could easily handle a demon-beast of this concentration without using its blood.

Still, Galahad chose to use it anyway.

It was more efficient—and more fun.

Flames sprang from his hand.

‘Demon-beast blood is a little rougher.’

Its mana was less refined than a Demon’s, causing a small error in his formula.

Sweat ran down his forehead, gathered on the bridge of his nose, and dripped off.

His hand had nearly burst apart, yet he was grinning broadly.

‘This really is fun.’

The tension sharpened his senses. His mind raced.

A large crescent of fire flew from Galahad’s hand, aimed at the wound Gilberton had carved.

The demon-beast tried to dodge, but Gilberton blocked it from below.

Flames filled the wound deep in its chest.

SKREEEE!

In moments, the creature was roasted golden brown.

“And they lived happily ever afteeeer!”

The demon-beast toppled forward in time with Gwen’s song. Flames danced behind her. A spectacular finale, though she herself seemed oblivious.

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP, CLAP!

“Whoa! You made such short work of a mole cricket! That was incredible!”

Tom applauded enthusiastically. Gilberton shook off his sword unnecessarily and struck a pose. He seemed susceptible to praise. Gwen scratched the back of her head bashfully.

“Tom, do you have a spare canteen?”

“Yes! What size would you like?”

“You have different sizes?”

“Yes, just in case.”

Tom offered him no fewer than four canteens. Galahad chose the largest.

“Why are you collecting its blood?” Gilberton asked, narrowing his eyes.

There was a faint note of hostility. Apparently, Galahad collecting demon-beast blood bothered him.

“There was once a boy who was beaten by a blacksmith.”

“Pardon?”

“The boy waited until the blacksmith was away and stole a sword. Then he stabbed the blacksmith with it. Right in—very deep.”

Gilberton’s eyes narrowed further. He hadn’t understood. Then Gwen thrust her hand up.

“Go ahead, Gwen.”

“Oh! The blacksmith is a Demon, and you’re the boy, Commander! And the sword is magic!”

“Correct. Gwen got it, but you didn’t understand.”

Gilberton opened his mouth, looking distinctly displeased.

“It’s not that I didn’t understand—”

“It’s all right! I just got lucky!”

At Gwen’s consolation, Gilberton sighed.

“Uh, could you come over here? There’s something strange!”

Tom, who had been examining the corpse, called out. He pointed at the mole cricket demon-beast’s belly.

“Isn’t this like what you put on the carriage earlier, Commander?”

Something was on the creature’s belly that had no business being there.

A magic circle.

A magic circle inscribed on a demon-beast.

The implications were anything but trivial.

It was one of the reasons Mages had come to be treated as Demon filth.

* * *

“This is—”

Gilberton’s eyes tightened into a fierce scowl. His grip on his sword hilt grew stronger.

“It isn’t his work. Officially, he’s dead, isn’t he?”

“We don’t know that for certain.”

Gilberton exhaled roughly, his breath trailing through the air.

Galahad couldn’t give a definite answer. The Intelligence Bureau’s records officially listed the man as dead, but...

‘Now I can’t even be sure of that.’

There had been a Demon in an Intelligence Bureau safe house. He had no way of knowing where things had gone wrong.

‘No wonder information on the North was so unusually sparse.’

Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

Perhaps there were Demons in Bureau headquarters too. Perhaps even in the imperial household—

‘I never sensed a thing.’

If even he hadn’t noticed... Galahad’s mouth went dry.

There had been a curious tendency to underestimate Demons far too much.

“Who is this man?”

Tom’s question broke his train of thought.

“Long ago, when Demons pushed past the North and threatened the Empire, some people betrayed humanity and sided with them. They were the first Mages.”

“Humans did that?”

“Yes, they were human. One was a Mage who controlled demon-beasts. They say the creatures he controlled bore magic circles like this.”

“Then...!”

Tom jumped away from the corpse. Galahad smiled wryly at the exaggerated reaction.

“Could a Demon have used it?” Gilberton asked in a tightly controlled voice.

“Demons don’t use magic circles or incantations. They can’t, and they don’t.”

“What does that...?”

“Just as imperial citizens don’t consciously think about speaking Imperial, Demons don’t deliberately use magic circles or magic. Their very breath and gestures are the source of magic.”

Galahad coughed softly.

“But for humans to imitate a Demon’s power, we need formulas and incantations. Translation—yes, like translation. So much time has passed since then that magic and Demons have become entirely different things, but...”

Galahad clicked his tongue at the blank stare. Evidently, he hadn’t understood.

“So there’s a human Mage helping the Demons?”

“Exactly! Quick on the uptake, Tom.”

He snapped his fingers and pointed at Tom, who smiled awkwardly. Gwen lamented, “I almost had it!”

“So is it his work? This is serious.”

“Don’t rush me. I’m about to find out.”

Galahad rolled up both sleeves and crouched in front of the corpse.

“This is...”

His eyes tightened as he examined the magic circle. It was far too crude.

“Abysmal. They used the mana in demon-beast blood without understanding exactly what it does. They simply copied what they saw. And they didn’t even copy a proper magic circle—”

Tom brought his torch closer so he could see better.

“Ah, thank you, Tom. They mixed human blood with the blood of a higher demon-beast. They used soldiers for this garbage? My condolences.”

“Please speak Imperial.”

“I’ve been speaking Imperial all along. In short, it isn’t his. To be precise, I’d say it’s a copy of a magic circle that was itself copied from his.”

Gilberton squinted.

“Can’t you make it simpler?”

“Hmm. Our first mission looks likely to grow larger than expected. That means more credit for us, so we ought to be pleased. A round of applause, everyone.”

Gwen, Tom, and Damian clapped. Gilberton did not.

‘With a magic circle of this level, they must be watching from nearby.’

Having finished his calculations, Galahad cleared his throat.

“What an utter piece of garbage. Whoever drew this is a magical fuckwit who can’t even trace properly. I wonder how he ever became a Mage—”

Mid-mutter, Galahad’s head whipped around.

A tiny sound had come from beyond a patch of utter darkness.

“There you are.”

He waved with a broad smile.

Even the most worthless Mage would bristle when someone insulted his magic.

“Wh-who are you calling a fuckwit?! Go! Tear them apart!”

The earth shook after the faltering shout. Galahad waved his hand, scattering mana.

It was a method that exploited the fact that low-concentration magical power had no effect on Demons or demon-beasts. The mana swept the area and returned with gaps in it.

Those gaps would mark the creatures’ positions.

Their number was...

“Three. Sir Gilberton, Damian, can you handle them?”

“Yes, big brother.”

“... Where are you going?”

“You’re rather clingy today. I already have a woman I intend to marry.”

Gilberton’s face twisted into a scowl. His old expression was back.

“I have a blacksmith to catch. Though in this case, I suppose he’s more the blacksmith’s assistant’s assistant.”

The earth split open, and demon-beasts larger than the first burst out.

“Understood. I’ll clear a path. You must catch him,” Gilberton said, raising his sword.

“Don’t worry. This is my specialty.”

* * *

“Karl! Karl! Karl!”

Bern ran desperately on trembling legs. His feet felt heavy, and he could barely breathe, but he couldn’t stop.

Unable to bear hearing his magic called garbage, Bern had given himself away.

What Mage could endure someone insulting his magic with such bizarre logic?

He had faltered for only an instant. Yet the man had looked straight through the darkness at Bern from that distance.

At the sight of that curling smile, Bern realized he’d been had.

How long had he been running? Bern stole a look around. Nothing but dark forest.

‘Right. I sent three mole crickets after him. There’s no way he got through that unscathed.’

Bern leaned against a tree and panted for breath. Then nausea surged up, and he vomited. His heart felt ready to burst.

Idiot! Who was he calling garbage? He didn’t know anything!

“Why stop? This doesn’t seem to be the place. Oh, are you tired? I’ll wait. Take a nice rest.”

A monotonous voice reached him. Bern raised his head, his eyes widening until they nearly split.

The man stood a short distance away, waving with a cigarette between his lips.

The mole crickets—

“You look as though you’re wondering how I got past the demon-beasts. You inscribed it in the magic circles: don’t attack Mages. A precaution against them attacking you, I imagine?”

“H-how did you...?”

“It was all written in the magic circles.”

Not all magic circles were alike. They weren’t something you could understand simply by looking. If anyone could read them at a glance, who would bother using them?

Besides, the circles used on the mole crickets concerned demon-beasts.

Someone who knew nothing about demon-beasts couldn’t possibly—

“Y-you...! You’ve studied demon-beasts!”

“Demons, to be precise. I started recently.”

“Then we’re on the same side! I’ve studied Demons too! We’re friends! Friends!”

“Really? Are you planning to stab the blacksmith too?”

“Blacksmith? What are you—”

Then Bern met the man’s gaze, and his lips trembled.

Those eyes were like a Demon’s.

Something was missing from them.

This wasn’t someone he could reason with.

“Be emptied, thirst, bones, child, screams—”

Bern hurriedly chanted an incantation. In a battle between Mages, chanting first was crucial.

He gripped his staff in both hands and thrust it out. Mana rapidly gathered.

“Good heavens—a staff! Are you serious? This is maddening.”

The man erupted in a bizarre fit of indignation. What was wrong with a staff? His concentration briefly broken, Bern hurriedly refocused.

“Mana is the strength of the soul and the weight of knowledge. Yet you rely on a staff, a mere physical object! And you call yourself a Mage?”

Whatever had angered him so much, the man kept ranting.

Bern smiled. He didn’t know what gave the man such confidence, but letting an opponent chant first in a duel between Mages...

The battle was as good as over.

“Pain, lust!”

“Oh, good heavens! Why add lust there? No wonder you lose focus! After pain, use something like burns or headaches. It’s easier to associate!”

“... Headaches! Burns!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. No, your mana is leaking everywhere! Concentrate!”

For an instant, Bern wondered if the man might actually be decent, but he shook his head.

“Burning Fangs—”

“Seriously? All that preparation for mere Burning Fangs? Hah...”

Bern snickered at the man’s sigh. He was clearly insane. To call Burning Fangs, a Tier 3 spell, pathetic...

The completed Burning Fangs shot toward the man, faster than an arrow from a bow.

Reaching him, the fireball gaped open like a demon-beast’s jaws.

The man tapped the ash from his cigarette and snapped the fingers of his left hand. There was a strange power to the gesture that drew Bern’s eyes to it.

An enormous shard of ice shot from his fingers.

‘How can he be so fast—’

Bern was horrified when he recognized the spell.

Ice Spike. Like Burning Fangs, it was a Tier 3 spell.

‘What—’

Casting Tier 3 magic with a snap of his fingers? Bern had never even heard of such a feat.

Burning Fangs and Ice Spike collided head-on. Burning Fangs crumbled instantly.

Bern blinked at the unbelievable sight.

“If I were you, I’d have used Thick Roots and Ice Arrow instead of Burning Fangs. The incantations are short, and they make responding easier. But you used the biggest spell you knew. A common mistake among Mages unaccustomed to fighting other Mages.”

The man clicked his tongue, speaking in a monotone.

“I understand. Anyone can make a mistake. Isn’t error a human virtue? The important thing is not to repeat the same mistake. Now, let’s start again from the beginning.”

The man casually snapped his fingers, as if inviting him to try again.

“Y-you bastard! Are you looking down on me?!”

Bern’s face contorted. He couldn’t stand being belittled—

“That doesn’t mean you should use Thick Roots now. That should have been your opening move.”

An ice skewer pierced Bern’s leg. “Concentrate!” the man shouted. Stifling a scream, Bern continued his incantation.

“Good grief, now you’re firing a Fire Arrow? At this distance? Are you serious?”

Another skewer pierced his other leg. “I said concentrate!” Bern screamed in terror.

At the man’s urging, he chanted through his tears.

“At least make an effort to chant faster! Faster! I’m beginning to pity the soldiers you killed!”

How could he possibly go any faster than this—

Bern slowly sank to his knees.

Ice skewers were embedded in his thighs, but the wounds weren’t fatal, and he still had mana left.

His knees had buckled because his will to resist had broken.

The man was toying with him.

Why—

“Your eyes say you’re wondering why there’s such a difference when you’ve even drunk Demon blood.”

The man crouched in front of him. Bern managed a nod.

“The answer is simple. Since I was three, I’ve exhausted my mana every day. Without missing a single day. Do you think a little Demon blood could bridge that gap? If you expected that, you have no conscience. Oh dear, you did expect it? You really are shameless.”

Why would anyone do that—

The man made it sound simple, but it was anything but. Exhausting all one’s mana was like a knight training to the point of collapse every day... No, it was harder. Magic consumed mental strength.

“Why? I don’t understand you. Isn’t magic fun? Don’t you itch to use it?”

“Madman.”

The man chuckled at Bern’s insult.

“Thank you for the compliment. Now, I have a few questions. Where did you get that magic circle? Are there other Mages with you? Or perhaps a Demon?”

Bern bit his lip. He couldn’t tell him, even if it meant dying.

“Oh, did you just shake your head? You seem to be under a misapprehension. You don’t have a choice.”

The man’s smile widened.

“Do you know what magic Intelligence Bureau Mages are best at? The answer is...”

“Persuasion.”

Through the smoke, Bern could see the man’s upturned lips.