Chapter 29 - Galahad

“Hhh...”

Galahad came to with a throbbing headache. His head felt ready to split, as though someone had struck it with an axe. He exhaled in a cough, and nauseating smells filled his nostrils.

Rotting meat, filth, and half-burned ashes.

Muttering a curse, he put a cigarette between his lips. He snapped his fingers twice, setting his mana in motion. The scent of lemons filled the air.

[“You smell lemons? That's an insult, isn't it? You fucking bastard.”]

He gave a coughing laugh at the coarse abuse. The cigarette slipped from his mouth, and his eyes softened languidly.

Damian picked it up and put it back between his lips. The boy was covered in blood from head to toe.

“Want me to kill you?”

“No, thank you. I've too much to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

Answering meekly, Damian squatted beside him. Galahad quietly puffed on his cigarette.

Absurdly, the remaining pile of firewood was still sharing its warmth with them. Beside it lay long rows of corpses and heaps of ash. The silence was dreadful.

'At this rate, there won't be anything left of my body.'

Galahad squinted at the pain running through him.

'Even getting put through the wringer at the Intelligence Bureau wasn't this bad.'

He clicked his tongue softly and spat. His saliva was thin and red.

“Ah, I'm hungry.”

Galahad smiled bitterly at Damian's listless whining.

“Didn't you eat plenty earlier?”

“I moved around just as much.”

“True enough.”

As he answered, Galahad studied Damian. The boy was looking up at the sky with his mouth open. In the hazy night, snowflakes that looked like ashes settled inside it.

'Mental interference didn't work on Damian at all.'

Amanda's mental interference had been highly advanced. Galahad had even needed to steel himself for the possibility of bursting his own brain.

Yet it hadn't worked on Damian even once. Being simple-minded wasn't enough to escape it.

“What exactly are you?”

“Damian.”

“I see.”

Galahad chuckled.

Damian stared at him, his cheeks working.

“Spit it out.”

A piece of bread, rotten to the point of disintegrating, fell from Damian's mouth. When had he eaten that?

“Eat this. It's jerky Tom roasted for us.”

Damian opened his mouth wide. The tossed jerky went straight in.

“I think Tom's the best.”

“I agree.”

Galahad nodded at his heartfelt admiration.

“We'll have a unit dinner as soon as we return. Sir Gilberton has agreed to pay, so eat all you like.”

“I'm really hungry.”

In a rare display, Damian blinked.

“Oh dear. Sir Gilberton is in trouble.”

The two quietly watched the fiercely burning pile of wood.

Galahad mulled over Amanda's words.

'That esteemed person, eh?'

Anyone a Demon addressed with such profound respect had to rank higher than she did. Amanda had said she was to bring him back alive, so the intention wasn't simply to dispose of him.

He regretted not having had the leeway to win Amanda over.

'Someone from Dawn? Or simply another Demon?'

A high-ranking Demon was after him.

'I'll have to contact Number Eight separately.'

Even if he didn't, the other side was certain to make a move.

Just then, the Egg of agony shuddered.

'The Egg of agony drank the Demon blood.'

It vibrated as though writhing. After a brief tremor, something familiar emerged from it.

'... Mana?'

It was unmistakably mana. Highly concentrated mana.

Galahad doubted his own senses. The Egg of agony had stolen his Demon blood, and now it was spitting out mana?

He hurriedly gauged its concentration.

'More concentrated than ordinary mana, but less so than when I drink Demon blood directly.'

There was none of the burning pain in his veins that came with drinking Demon blood, however.

It drank Demon blood and spat out mana. Wasn't that almost as though the Egg of agony had digested it for him?

Though it seemed to take a rather hefty cut in the process.

'Fascinating.'

With an exclamation of wonder, Galahad moved the mana.

Mana obtained from Demon blood was wild. Let his concentration slip for a moment, and it could devour him.

By contrast, the mana the Egg of agony had expelled obediently followed his will.

'What in the world—'

Forgetting even his pain, Galahad focused on the mysterious mana. He moved it to form a Mana Arrow. Its high concentration meant he needed very little to create one.

If it was this good...

Galahad swallowed.

He had drunk Demon blood for one-off uses before, but he had never stored the mana it produced. Its nature was far too wild. Trying to store it might only get his own mana devoured instead.

'But with this mana...'

He didn't deliberate long. He pushed the mana into the space below his heart. It settled there without resistance, just like mana stored from the atmosphere.

“It works!”

Galahad sprang to his feet, shouting before he knew it.

Being able to store this mana meant he could stockpile Demon blood's power instead of using it in a single burst.

Of course, it would be less efficient than drinking Demon blood directly, but even allowing for that, it was an astonishing ability. Any shortfall could be solved by drinking more.

'First, I need to check.'

Galahad fought to remain calm. Excitement was poison to a Mage.

He needed to check whether he could use the mana he had stored.

Galahad looked up at the sky. Snow was still falling.

The weather wasn't ideal, but if the mana concentration was high enough...

“I should call Sir Gilberton.”

A broad smile spread across his face.

* * *

“Sir Gilberton.”

Tom addressed Gilberton, who looked thoroughly displeased. He had been that way ever since the commander had disappeared with Damian. He was clearly worried about them both.

“I'm sure there's no need to worry. The commander will be all right.”

“Worry?”

The sharp reply made Tom flinch. If he wasn't worried, why was he sulking?

“Why did he take Damian instead of me?”

Apparently, he resented the commander choosing Damian over him.

“He must have had no choice. You're far too famous, Sir Gilberton. He must have thought that if you accompanied him, the enemy would flee in terror.”

Gilberton's eyes softened a little at Tom's words. He cleared his throat and tapped his sword hilt. Tom breathed a small sigh of relief.

Just then, Henry, commander of the Seventh Company, approached, twirling his axe.

“There seems to be something over there.”

Where Henry pointed, snow lay piled like a mountain. It was an avalanche caused by the heavy snowfall. He seemed to think the missing Fourth Company had been caught in it.

Gilberton shook his head.

“No, it's this way. The commander found a clue.”

Henry's expression grew guarded.

“You're taking a Mage's word for it? If we don't dig them out right now, the soldiers will freeze to death.”

Henry had a fairly sound argument. The avalanche had struck right along the company's route, so it was only natural to suspect it.

To counter him, they would have to reveal that they had received a letter from a Demon, and that would make things awkward.

Tom wondered how to resolve the situation.

Just then, a massive bolt of lightning split into hundreds of branches and struck from the sky. Tom gaped at the lightning embroidering the heavens.

For a moment, silence fell.

“Let's go over there first. A little time in the snow won't kill them, will it?”

“Understood! Everyone, move!”

With such conclusive proof, the debate ended quickly.

* * *

'It works.'

Galahad smiled down at his stinging fingers.

The mana had been successfully stored, and he had no trouble drawing it out. If anything, it was cleaner than his original mana.

It was less concentrated than what he got from drinking Demon blood directly, but the important thing was that he could store it.

Using Demon blood to cast magic carried far too many risks. And it was only good for a single burst to begin with.

If he could store it like this, the lower concentration wasn't much of a problem. He could simply drink more.

Of course, there was the minor condition that his heart would be eaten if he didn't kill Adrianna, but he had another way to deal with that.

He almost felt genuinely grateful to Corton.

'Did he call it a by-product of a high-ranking Demon? If a mere by-product can do this much, a high-ranking Demon must be an entirely different sort of being.'

If a by-product could have such an effect, he couldn't even imagine what a high-ranking Demon might yield. His mouth watered of its own accord.

Galahad shook his head.

He had risked his life just to defeat Amanda. Encountering a high-ranking Demon whom even she addressed respectfully would be unwise right now.

A sharp pain flared around his heart. It was a harsh demand that he hurry up and fulfill his oath.

'A minor side effect.'

Galahad smacked his lips.

Just then, a commotion arose off to one side. In the distance, Gilberton, the unit members, and the northerners were running toward him.

They looked decidedly bloodthirsty.

“Slay the filthy Demons! We'll tear off their heads and drink their blood!”

The fellow named Henry raised his axe high and bellowed. Behind him, the northerners charged with bizarre war cries, sending snow flying at every step.

They looked ready to march into war.

'Hmm. It's already over, though.'

Galahad gave a low murmur.

Gilberton was at their head. Perhaps he had been swept up in their mood, because he let out a bizarre war cry of his own.

“Sir Gilberton!”

He raised his sword high. The brilliant aura surging from its blade rippled in a rather splendid display.

Had he always been like this? Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

Their shouts reached a crescendo as they entered the village.

“Filthy Demons! You've hidden yourselves in fear!”

With Gilberton leading the way, they charged straight into the square. Only once they arrived did they fall silent.

Spotting Galahad, Gilberton hurried over.

“... Where is the Demon?”

“Over there.”

Galahad pointed at a clump of ash.

Gilberton narrowed his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Can't you tell?”

At that, Gilberton surveyed the square. Hideous corpses and piles of ash lay scattered everywhere. Anyone could see that it was over.

Clearing his throat softly, Gilberton sheathed his sword. He looked decidedly sheepish.

“You've been through a great deal. Are you all right?”

“Do I look all right?”

“All four limbs are still attached, so you seem fine.”

Galahad chuckled.

“Would you like a drink? It's excellent for pain.”

Gilberton offered his canteen. It gave off quite an aroma.

Galahad had wondered where that generous salary went. Apparently, it went on good liquor.

“No, thank you.”

“Well, all right.”

Gilberton discreetly brought the canteen to his own lips.

“And what have you done to deserve a drink?”

“I ran here very diligently.”

“Damiaaaan!”

A small shriek rang out. Gwen was clutching the blood-soaked Damian and sobbing her heart out. Apparently, she didn't realize he was asleep.

“This is sow-thistle extract. Applying it should help you heal.”

“Oh, thank you.”

After handing Galahad the crushed herbs, Tom went over to Damian. The moment he produced some jerky, Damian sprang up, though he had been lying with his eyes closed as if dead. Gwen's tearful eyes went round.

Just then, that fellow Henry approached. His face was twisted like a demon's, and the northerners behind him wore similar expressions.

They looked ready to beat someone to death on the spot.

Gilberton stepped in front of Henry.

“... What happened here?”

Henry's voice was tightly restrained. The hand gripping his axe trembled.

The evidence lay plainly all around them. Surely he wasn't too stupid to understand what he was seeing.

The missing company had become a Demon's servants and attacked the very person who had come to save them. Could there be a more terrible disgrace?

Henry must have realized it too.

Galahad flicked the ash from his cigarette and answered.

“They'd fallen victim to the Demon. I used magic to undo its tricks, and we fought bravely together.”

“... I see.”

Henry nodded, his voice still tightly controlled.

It was a clumsy lie that fooled no one.

“I'll carve this debt into my bones.”

'Carve it into his bones, eh?'

A suitably bloodcurdling expression for a northerner.

“Thanks to you, they'll be remembered as honorable warriors. Their families will receive at least a little money.”

“You have a way of making the obvious sound quite impressive, don't you?”

Gilberton's brows drew together at Galahad's remark.

Meanwhile, the northerners gathered the corpses, talking and laughing loudly. There was nothing gloomy about them.

Some brought wood from the surrounding area, as naturally as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A larger pile of firewood rose than before. The bustle was almost festive.

A huge blaze roared to life. Everyone drank from their canteens, danced, and recounted the fallen soldiers' valor.

It was even more of a festival than the earlier one.

Then Henry approached again.

“Let's dance.”

“No, thank you. I detest dancing.”

A dance invitation from a hairy man, of all things. When Galahad recoiled and refused, Henry laughed as if he had been stabbed in the stomach.

He reeked of liquor, but his eyes were clear.

“If you wish, I'll even offer you my wife.”

“No need. I'm already engaged.”

“Ah! So you are!”

Once again, he laughed as though there were a hole in his belly. The sound suited his fearsome appearance.

“Call for us, and we'll come running anytime.”

Henry gestured behind him as he spoke. The men, their faces flushed with drink, let out meaningless roars.

“Are you married, by the way?”

“Not yet.”

“I see.”

Cackling, Henry returned to the pyre.

Galahad simply puffed on his cigarette.

The northerners didn't cry. Instead, they talked loudly, laughed, and danced.

Amid that convivial atmosphere, one person was crying. Gwen.

“Why are you crying?”

Galahad asked in all sincerity. He couldn't understand crying over the deaths of people whose faces she didn't even know.

“P-people died.”

Galahad hummed softly at her answer.

Yes, that was a plausible reason.

Still, tears didn't accomplish much.

“If I had been stronger, they might have lived too.”

“... What?”

Damian nodded.

Gwen looked bewildered, then began crying even harder.

“It's not your fault, Commander! The Demon is the one to blame!”

“Hmm? What are you talking about? Of course it isn't my fault.”

Galahad spoke as he forcibly peeled the clinging Gwen away.

For a moment, her face went blank. The Galahad reflected in her eyes was expressionless.

“I'm telling you what happens when you lack strength. It could have been Damian lying over there.”

Damian nodded again. Gwen's crying stopped dead. She looked as though someone had punched her in the face.

The soldiers danced and talked boisterously.

Galahad watched them as he smoked. Gilberton kept sipping from his canteen, while Tom comforted Gwen.

“We'll have a unit dinner when we return. Your treat, of course.”

“Yes, well.”

Gilberton nodded reluctantly.

Just then, Damian clutched his stomach.

“I'm so hungry.”

For the first time, fear appeared on Gilberton's face.

* * *

'Whew.'

James let out a quiet breath.

Today was his first departmental assignment.

'The Operations Division!'

Even its name sounded impressive. Better still, his agent name was “Galahad,” the name he had always admired.

It felt as though everything would go smoothly now.

James opened the door and immediately bowed deeply.

“I'm Ja... I mean, Galahad! I'll be working in the Operations Division starting today!”

“Oh, you're the new recruit.”

A gentle voice welcomed him. He raised his head to find a woman with a kindly face.

“I'm Henette. I'm your senior.”

“Ah! A pleasure to meet you! I'm Galahad!”

“You're certainly full of enthusiasm. Relax. We have a lot of work in Operations, but the atmosphere is good. Just don't cause any major trouble.”

James nodded vigorously at the gentle explanation from the woman who had introduced herself as Henette.

Behind her, he could see people sitting at desks. In the dim room, they read or wrote by the light of mana lamps alone.

They didn't even look his way. No, they didn't seem to have the time to lift their heads.

James swallowed.

“Everyone's busy with their own work. Come this way for now. Let's introduce you to the division chief.”

“Yes! Understood!”

Sharp looks stabbed into him. Hollow eyes bored into James.

“Shh. Raising your voice is forbidden here.”

“Yes... Understood...”

“Good. You'll fit right in. I'm a good judge of people.”

James grinned at her gentle smile. With such a nice senior looking after him, his life at the Intelligence Bureau was sure to go well.

Henette led him to the very back, to a door with its windows completely covered.

“The division chief is rather sensitive, but he's known as the heart of Operations. As long as you do your work properly, he won't bother you. And his ability goes without saying.”

Her voice was full of respect.

The division chief was clearly an impressive man.

“Knock and give your agent name. Tell him you're new.”

“Yes.”

James checked his clothes and cleared his throat.

'All right, James. Your life at the Intelligence Bureau starts now.'

Murmuring to himself, he knocked firmly on the door.

KNOCK, KNOCK!

“Who is it?”

A weary voice came from inside. Henette whispered, “Tell him your agent name.”

James called out energetically.

“Galahad! The new—”

Saying the name Galahad had made him lower his voice unconsciously.

Just as he was thinking he had done rather well...

“Galahad?! Galahad can't possibly be here! Don't lie to me!”

A shrill scream burst from behind the closed door. The man vehemently rejected Galahad's name.

“Fuck! Why me?! You son of a bitch! Retirement?! After all the work I've done! Fuck!”

He was shouting in a fury now.

CRASH!

Something struck the door and shattered.

“Galahad! I was going to help too! I was even putting together a special team! It's true! I... I'll accommodate you as much as I can! I'll help!”

His voice suddenly turned smooth, like a merchant proposing a deal.

“Ahh! Galahad! You know how hard I've worked. Please, retirement now, of all times...”

Now he sounded on the verge of tears. His voice was dripping with them.

Something was clearly wrong.

“Um... Something seems...”

James turned and couldn't believe his eyes. Henette was fleeing into the distance.

Then it went quiet inside.

“Very well, Galahad. Now that you're here, I suppose retirement is unavoidable. It's an honor to be retired by you.”

The voice that had been tearful moments before was now calm.

The door slowly opened.

A man stood there with dark hollows beneath his eyes. His dazzling dress uniform and the medals on his left breast proclaimed his importance.

In that instant, James knew.

“Who the hell are you? Where's Galahad?”

His life at the Intelligence Bureau was fucked from the very start.