Chapter 26 - The Invitation

“Hahaha.”

Rather than getting angry, Mark burst out laughing. Galahad laughed along with him.

Soon, Mark’s laughter stopped dead. Galahad kept laughing a little longer.

“You’re telling me to serve under the Special Operations Unit?”

Mark had dropped the courtesies. His tone was irritable.

In contrast, Galahad smiled at ease.

“You don’t think I’m asking you to do it for nothing, do you? There are terms.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“The Black Magic Society intends to bring down the front.”

“Why—”

The question escaped him like a death cry.

It was a reasonable question. These people had attached themselves to the battalion, receiving Demon blood and building their wealth by mining mana stones. How could anyone expect them to want the front to collapse?

Mages, however, were a breed that always acted in unpredictable ways.

“We also found traces of the demon-beast tamer.”

At those words, Mark stopped breathing for a moment. Then his expression returned to normal, and he motioned for Galahad to continue.

“I’ll handle that side of things.”

“That side?”

“The magic-stone deposits and the Black Magic Society. You can’t give up the deposits anyway, can you?”

Mark narrowed his eyes, as though trying to judge whether he meant it.

Amid the peculiar tension, Galahad took a deep drag on his cigarette. Mana circulated rapidly.

“How do you intend to handle them?”

“Corton and I attended the same academy, remember?”

“You didn’t seem that close.”

Galahad smiled instead of answering.

“Academy alumni have quite a strong bond. We exchanged favors. They won’t cause trouble for the time being. I asked them not to.”

Galahad took out the mana stone he had set aside. It was the finest of all the stones Corton had given him.

Mark let out a low murmur at the sight.

“So it’s true.”

“I don’t tell lies.”

“What did Corton ask of you?”

“... That’s a secret.”

Galahad gave a small cough as he answered. Suspicion deepened in Mark’s eyes, but he couldn’t reveal the nature of the request.

“You’re volunteering to be a spy?”

“Something like that.”

“And what do you want?”

“I told you. Serve under me.”

“You weren’t joking?”

“I have an excellent sense of humor. If it were a joke, you’d have known.”

Mark’s tapping finger stopped. His shoulder shifted ever so slightly. The table seemed to stretch out—

Galahad immediately snapped the fingers of both hands. A translucent barrier rose before him.

A spear was already in Mark’s hand, its pointed head etched with elaborate ornamentation.

It tore effortlessly through Galahad’s barrier. A fine spear.

“Is thrusting a weapon at someone without warning a northern tradition?”

Galahad clicked his tongue at the spear that had stopped right in front of him.

“I’ve never seen magic like this before.”

Mark sounded impressed as he studied the sharp Ice Spike aimed at his own throat.

They had achieved the same result, but Mark’s spear had been a little faster. Galahad had only managed even this much by casting Ice Spike with his left hand and a barrier with his right simultaneously.

‘I should keep a little more distance.’

He had allowed Mark this close because he was certain the man wouldn’t run him through. Still, Mark’s skill was genuine. The fact that his weapon was a spear had been unexpected too.

‘A commander, eh...’

Interesting. The corners of Galahad’s mouth rose.

“I could kill every last one of them right now.”

Mark had returned to a more formal tone. Galahad nodded with a quiet chuckle.

“But they’re quite well hidden. They’d flee before you killed them all.”

“They would. Vermin.”

Mark’s spear vanished in an instant. He was tapping the table again as though nothing had happened.

His skill was uncanny. Galahad silently thanked him for going out of his way to demonstrate it. Thanks to that, Mark’s spear would never threaten him again.

“Very well. But serving under you wouldn’t be appropriate. The difference in our size is too great. People would find it strange.”

“Reasonable enough.”

“Let’s form an alliance.”

What a sly fox. Galahad marveled at him.

By proposing an alliance, Mark meant to bind Galahad to him so he couldn’t betray him.

There was no downside. An alliance had been Galahad’s aim from the start.

Just as Mark’s problems would become his, Galahad’s problems would become Mark’s. Mark didn’t know it, but Galahad’s problems dwarfed his own.

It was a profitable deal.

“You’ll serve under me someday. Why not start now? Join now, and I’ll give you special treatment as my first customer.”

“No, thank you.”

Mark refused flatly and offered his hand. Contrary to his appearance, it was covered in calluses.

Galahad took it lightly.

“Your hands are rough. Did you use a sword?”

“I’ve done all sorts of things.”

Galahad tried feeding mana into him, but it accomplished nothing. Aura couldn’t be gauged with mana.

Just then, the door burst open. Lumian rushed inside, only to stop at the sight of the two men shaking hands.

They let go. Galahad wiped his hand on his coat and put a cigarette between his lips.

“What is it?”

At Mark’s question, Lumian glanced sidelong at Galahad, who gave an easy wave.

“Don’t worry. We’re allies.”

“... Allies?”

“It’s all right. Speak.”

Mark nodded, and after a moment’s hesitation, Lumian spoke.

“The Fourth Company has disappeared.”

A company had disappeared? Not been attacked, but disappeared?

“Tell me the details.”

When Galahad asked, Lumian looked at Mark as if to ask what was going on.

“Tell him.”

“We lost contact with them while they were returning from patrol duty.”

‘The branch chief was away...’

Galahad had a feeling there might be a connection between the missing company and the absent branch chief.

“Put everyone on the search except for the bare minimum. Where’s the deputy commander?”

“Waiting downstairs. Ah, there’s also a chance they slipped away under the pretext of training.”

“We can hold them accountable once we find them. For now, find them. Tell the deputy commander to lead the search personally.”

Mark issued his orders swiftly.

Galahad raised a hand.

“We’ll help too. What else are allies for?”

“... Lumian, let the deputy commander know.”

Lumian stared at Mark with wide eyes. Mark gave a slight nod.

“Oh, and clear out the space so we can use it immediately.”

Once Galahad had left, Lumian turned to Mark.

“Clear out the space? What does that mean?”

“Ah, I agreed to give the third floor to the Special Operations Unit.”

“... What? Have you been drinking?”

“I gave up drinking long ago.”

“Then why would you do something so insane?”

Mark clicked his tongue softly at the blunt question.

Galahad’s proposal was reasonable, but it wasn’t indispensable. Mark could have overcome the situation without it.

And yet he had accepted because...

“He was smiling.”

Even with a spear aimed at his throat, Galahad had smiled.

Only one other person had ever smiled in the face of Mark’s spear.

[“Pointing a spear at the Grand Duke’s throat? How amusing.”]

“Come to think of it, he’s the Grand Duke’s son-in-law. Perhaps I should have agreed to serve under him. He did say he’d treat me well...”

“Commander Mark!”

* * *

Gilberton wasn’t particularly fond of Damian. He disliked the boy’s attitude toward his sword.

Dragging a sword caked with blood across the ground without even putting it in a scabbard... To a knight like Gilberton, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

Finally, his frustration drove him to offer to clean it himself.

“Clean the sword? Why?”

“When the edge grows dull, a sword loses its sharpness. Your sword is like your lover. Would you want a dirty lover?”

“Galahad said you were dirty, Mister Gilberton.”

Gilberton gave a small cough. That man had been telling the boy nonsense.

“Watch closely. I’ll teach you.”

Gilberton slowly cleaned Damian’s sword. So much blood had crusted onto it that it wasn’t easy.

“Gwen, could you give me a flame?”

“Yes! Fire, fire, fire!”

As he seared the blade with Gwen’s flame, the grime came off. He slowly worked the sword against a whetstone.

“When sharpening a sword, don’t try to do the whole thing at once. Work slowly, section by section. Keep it balanced and take your time...”

As the filth fell away, the blade gradually emerged. Wisps of steam rose from Gilberton’s body.

Seeing the grime that had bothered him every time he looked at it come off was immensely satisfying.

‘A fine sword.’

It looked crude, but its edge was exceptionally keen. Despite such neglect, it was in good condition. Far too fine a sword for an ordinary soldier.

“This is a fine sword. Where did you get it?”

“I found it. Want it?”

Offering to give it away... That was precisely the attitude he disliked.

“Didn’t I tell you your sword is your lover? You must never give it away or lend it to someone else.”

“I don’t have a lover, so I wouldn’t know. Do you?”

Gilberton went back to sharpening in silence.

When he finished, the sword was as sharp as a wild beast’s claw. Since the boy would clearly drag it along the ground again, Gilberton wrapped it in cloth.

“You’re kind.”

“I simply can’t stand seeing a sword treated this way. I didn’t do it for you.”

Gilberton spoke firmly.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Just then, a loud ringing sounded, followed by a commotion.

Gilberton lifted the tent flap and saw numerous torches rushing through the dark night. Something had clearly happened. He adjusted his sword so it would be easy to draw.

“What’s going on?”

Tom, already armed, asked tensely.

“Something’s happened. Doesn’t seem to be an attack...”

Gilberton realized Galahad had yet to return.

“Where’s the commander?”

“He hasn’t come back yet...”

Tom flinched, his expression uneasy.

Galahad had gone off, and suddenly the alarm was ringing...

“Don’t tell me he fried the Fifth Battalion commander with lightning?”

“... What are you talking about?”

Gilberton was serious. Ever since Hermun, Galahad had threatened to drop lightning on anyone who acted the least bit insolent. He wasn’t a man who would be cowed simply because his opponent was a commander.

Gilberton listened to see whether the soldiers were shouting Galahad’s name.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The clamor of bells rang out again.

Then he spotted Galahad in the distance. As relaxed as ever, he strode along on his long legs with a cigarette between his lips.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“Did you fry him?”

“Fry him? What are you talking about?”

“Then what’s all that?”

Gilberton pointed at the commotion outside.

“Ah, apparently a company has gone missing. Good timing. Let’s leave at once.”

“For where?”

Galahad tapped the ash from his cigarette and pointed behind him.

“A company from an allied unit has disappeared. Naturally, we ought to help.”

“An allied unit? Since when did we have an ally?”

“Ah, I formed an alliance with the Fifth Battalion.”

Gilberton furrowed his brow and repeated the words under his breath.

An alliance with the Fifth Battalion? They belonged to no faction. And now they had allied with the five-member Special Operations Unit? It made no sense.

In the North, an alliance wasn’t a casual arrangement. It meant standing together to the very end.

Still, in Gilberton’s experience, Galahad didn’t lie.

“Why an alliance all of a sudden—did you threaten to fry him with lightning?”

“Why do you keep talking about frying people? I merely aimed an Ice Spike at him. Get ready. I’ll explain on the way.”

Galahad’s voice was kind, but left no room for argument.

Tom had gathered their belongings, and Gwen had rounded up Damian. Both nodded.

‘But doesn’t an Ice Spike still count as a threat?’

At any rate, the outcome seemed good. That was a relief.

* * *

Northern nights were exceptionally dark. With snow blanketing everything beneath that darkness, it was all too easy to lose one’s way.

It was also so cold that every gust seemed to freeze his body a little. Fortunately, Galahad had the coat Tom had knitted him. Without it, he would likely have spent considerable mana keeping warm.

‘Missing, eh...’

Galahad murmured as he watched the soldiers ahead. He had a hunch that the absent branch chief and the company’s nearby disappearance were connected.

Just then, someone who looked like a knight approached from among the soldiers. With a coat over his armor, he was nearly as huge as an orc.

Two sizable axes hung at his waist. Apparently, axes were his weapons.

“Henry, commander of the Seventh Company.”

The man who introduced himself as Henry gave a small nod. His manner was a little insolent, but it was the most gentlemanly greeting Galahad had received in the North.

“Sir Gilberton! What an honor to meet you here!”

Spotting Gilberton, Henry raised his voice and held out his hand as though he had met a celebrity. After that, other soldiers and knights came seeking Gilberton as well.

He was quite popular.

“I was in the First Battalion, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Galahad chuckled and studied the way ahead.

Despite the snow and the late hour, they were moving at an impressive pace.

They had been traveling for some time when...

“Something’s coming.”

Damian began unwinding the cloth around his sword.

Galahad pointed at the sky and snapped his fingers. A bright light shot up like a firework and burst, flooding their surroundings with brilliant illumination.

Red-eyed wolves appeared between the densely packed trees. They were smaller than the ones before. They seemed to fall somewhere between demon-beasts and ordinary wild beasts.

“Do demon-beasts usually appear this often?”

“You call this often?”

At Gilberton’s question, Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

What sort of place was the North?

Another light rose. It was Gwen’s.

“You’re doing well without even being told now.”

“Hehe.”

Gwen smiled awkwardly with a cluster of light above her head.

The wolves were numerous enough to pose a considerable threat.

“Wolf meat for dinner!”

Henry raised both axes high and roared heartily. A long plume of breath streamed from his bearded mouth.

With a shout, he charged straight ahead, each pounding step throwing up sprays of snow. Then he kicked off the ground.

THOOM!

With a heavy impact, his massive body launched into the air. His back bent like a bow, muscles pulling taut.

His axe buried itself in a wolf’s head. Red blood sprayed everywhere. Henry opened his mouth and drank the falling blood.

“A feast!”

The other soldiers drew their weapons and charged with cheers. A fight so savage it was hard to tell whether it was a hunt or a battle began.

Gilberton drew his sword and joined them, brilliant aura filling his blade. It split a wolf effortlessly, blood gushing like a fountain through its hide. The white snow began to turn red.

The northern soldiers really were ridiculously good at fighting.

One rode a demon-beast’s back and strangled it by the neck. Another shoved his arm up to the shoulder into a beast’s jaws so he could hack at it with his axe.

There was even one laughing about cutting down a wolf with a single stroke... Ah, that was Gilberton.

“Sir Gilberton seems to be enjoying himself.”

“Should I fight too?”

At Damian’s question, Galahad surveyed the battle.

“Just what we’d expect from Sir Gilberton!”

“Follow me.”

Gilberton had blended in perfectly with the northern barbarians. They didn’t seem to need help.

“No need. I believe Sir Gilberton will do our share as well.”

Damian wrapped the cloth around his sword. Seeing his clumsy efforts, Gwen rolled up her sleeves and offered to do it. She was even worse.

In the end, Tom wrapped the sword.

Galahad tore into some jerky Tom had made.

“This jerky is excellent.”

“... I’ve never had jerky this good.”

“Give me more.”

“Moderation, Damian. He’s working, isn’t he?”

Damian smacked his lips. Gwen quietly passed him her share. He accepted it without protest and swallowed it in one go.

The battle was overwhelmingly one-sided. Calling it a hunt would have been more fitting. Gilberton stood out above the rest.

Ordinary beasts would have fled, but perhaps because these were demon-beasts, they stayed tangled in the fight to the end.

Gilberton dragged over a carcass, his blood-covered face grim. He laid it before Galahad.

As expected, something was engraved on the demon-beast’s belly. But its contents were not what Galahad had anticipated.

‘Interesting.’

It was shaped like a magic circle, but it wasn’t one.

“Is it the demon-beast tamer’s magic circle?”

“This is a letter. A letter addressed to me.”

“A letter?”

Gilberton narrowed his eyes at it, as though the idea were absurd.

“What does it say?”

“If I want to save the company, I’m to come alone.”

Galahad placed a cigarette between his lips. Gwen promptly lit it for him. Lemon fragrance wafted out, clearing his head.

Behind them, the soldiers erupted in cheers, celebrating their victory. Blood-drenched, rugged men of the North.

These weren’t men who would meekly follow someone just because they were threatened. Yet someone had lured men like these away... How had they done it? Magic? Was there a spell like that? Intense curiosity stirred within him.

More importantly...

‘They did this to get to me.’

The letter identified Galahad specifically.

How did they know?

He recalled the Demon at the Intelligence Bureau’s safe house. That Demon had known Galahad of the Intelligence Bureau.

His name wasn’t so insignificant that one could hear it at a northern safe house. Someone at the Bureau’s headquarters had clearly passed on information about him.

As for who would do such a thing...

‘Quite a few people.’

He had many enemies because he was good at his job.

He had no choice but to investigate.

Galahad rose.

“Where are you going?”

“I received an invitation. Shouldn’t I go?”

“... An invitation? It’s a trap.”

“You state the obvious with such gravity.”

Gilberton frowned at the rebuke.

“Why go when you know it’s a trap?”

Galahad took a deep drag before answering.

“Because it’s a trap.”

Gilberton couldn’t understand that brief answer, so Galahad added,

“A hunter is always somewhere near his trap.”

Understanding dawned, and Gilberton’s brow furrowed.

“You intend to walk into the trap yourself to catch the hunter?”

Galahad’s mouth curved up, as if to confirm he was right.

“You’re mad.”

“You’re getting rather informal.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Gilberton adjusted his grip on his sword.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re Gilberton. They told me to come alone. Bring you along, and they’ll run.”

Galahad was rational to an excessive degree.

With their own lives at stake, people would normally shrink back or lose their nerve. Yet he remained as relaxed and coolheaded as ever.

Gilberton felt a strange distance between them.

“Then you intend to go alone?”

“No, I’ll take Damian. He looks like a boy, so they’ll likely let it slide. Damian, would you help me?”

“Yes, Galahad.”

Damian stood, holding his sword at an angle.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I went?”

“It’s all right. Stay here and catch up with them, Sir Gilberton. You seemed to be getting along splendidly earlier.”

At the look in Galahad’s quiet eyes, Gilberton had no choice but to back down.

“I’ll carry the sword.”

“He said it’s my lover, so I shouldn’t give it to anyone.”

“That’s Sir Gilberton’s personal preference.”

Watching the two disappear into the darkness, chatting companionably, Gilberton felt an inexplicable pang of hurt.