Chapter 5 - The Maid

'So this is the Northern Wall.'

Galahad gazed in genuine admiration at the white wall stretching endlessly into the distance, as though dividing the world in two.

"A friend told me I had to see the Northern Wall if I came north. It really is magnificent."

"... Why do you speak of the Northern Wall as though it were some tourist attraction?"

"That's how impressive it is."

"It is humanity's last line of defense against the Demons, after all."

Gilberton's eyes narrowed. Galahad chuckled at that shameless answer.

"Those crossbows are pointing this way, though."

"One can never be too careful."

Gilberton gave him a broad smile.

"True. One never knows."

Just then, the bearded man produced an enormous horn. After noisily wiping his mouth and smacking his lips, he blew into it.

BWOOOOOO!

The horn resounded with a mighty blast that threatened to wake the world.

Silver shapes appeared atop the wall. They were too far away to make out clearly, but judging by the silver, they seemed to be soldiers. Every last one clad in iron. Galahad marveled.

The soldiers climbed up one after another until they filled the battlements.

BWOOOOOO!

As the horn sounded again, the center of the white wall split apart with a heavy rumble.

Thick layers of snow fell away, revealing an enormous iron portcullis. It creaked upward slowly, sending snow swirling wildly through the air.

Great clumps tumbled down as though a snow-covered mountain were collapsing.

Galahad narrowed his eyes and watched.

BOOM!

A drum sounded in the distance. The soldiers raised their spears in unison. It was a perfectly synchronized sword dance—no, a spear dance. The sharp points gleamed in the sunlight. Then the spears, raised high, struck the ground. A heavy rumble spread as though an earthquake had struck, and snow swirled violently.

With a grinding creak, the portcullis finally reached the top.

BOOM!

Again the drum sounded and the spears struck down.

'Like a well-produced musical.'

Galahad was genuinely impressed. It was a magnificent display, though, honestly, he could barely see it through the blizzard.

BWOOOOOO!

The horn and drums sounded again. The spears struck down in time.

"Did they rehearse this for me?"

"... You merely arrived at the right time."

Judging by Gilberton's awkward cough, they had.

"I'm truly touched."

"... This is routine."

BOOM!

At last, the gate opened completely. At a glance, the scene beyond resembled any other city, yet it was entirely different.

The people wore thick furs that made them look like animals from a distance, and every one of them carried something like a harpoon or crossbow on their back.

The supplies being moved around all looked intended for war, too.

'They're preparing for war.'

Then the bearded man pointed his horn at Galahad and shouted.

"The Empire's mage has arrived!"

Galahad clicked his tongue softly at the sharp glares and jeers pouring in.

He waved to accompany that boisterous introduction, but no cheers followed. Instead, the jeering grew harsher.

Their eyes brimmed with hostility, the exact opposite of the admiring looks he received in the capital when people learned he was a mage.

The bearded man grinned in apparent satisfaction. What a childish attempt to spite him.

'They say northerners are real men. Apparently not all of them.'

Clicking his tongue softly, Galahad called the bearded bastard over. The man grinned.

"Next time, introduce me as a capable mage. Just 'mage' hardly does me justice, does it?"

The bearded man's smile vanished. His eyes seemed to ask, What the hell is wrong with this bastard?

"Or 'an outstanding mage' would do. I hate to say it myself, but I have quite an impressive record."

The bearded man shouted something unintelligible, then stomped away.

"What did he just say?"

"'That cursed scrap of Demon refuse dares to mouth off. Even his face makes me lose my appetite.' Why provoke him?"

"I was telling the truth. How is that provocation? But did he really say my face made him lose his appetite?"

Gilberton turned his head slightly away. So he hadn't. Galahad squinted at that pathetic display of jealousy.

'Finally here.'

Galahad murmured as he looked toward the distant inner castle.

He had crossed the continent in a carriage.

Wasn't that rather romantic?

Of course, beneath it all lay a sordid political struggle.

'Now I can finally meet that famous wife of mine.'

* * *

He could not.

After passing through the gate, Galahad was taken to an enormous annex and put in its largest room.

Gilberton warned him repeatedly that someone would contact him and that he was not to leave under any circumstances before then. Then he disappeared.

Fierce-looking men stood guard outside the door. They did not speak Imperial, so there was no communicating with them.

They simply blocked the doorway and kept Gilberton from leaving. When Galahad tried slipping out, they even thrust keen-edged axes at him.

'I'm locked up.'

He had traveled halfway across the continent, only to be shut in an annex the moment he arrived. Absurd as it was, this was one of the possibilities Galahad had considered. The very worst of them, at that.

'Do they mean to let me waste away?'

The room was large and bleak, furnished with only necessities such as a bed. One thing stood out, however.

'Why is there a chandelier? Am I supposed to throw a banquet?'

He stared questioningly at the ornate chandelier overhead, utterly out of place in the barren room. Whoever had decorated this place must have been a thoroughly nasty bastard.

Galahad sat in a chair and gathered his thoughts.

Would anyone contact him? He shook his head slightly.

His family wielded influence in the central regions, but not enough to extend it all the way to the North.

Besides, he was the third son, not the eldest. His status was utterly useless here.

He did at least have his reputation as a genius mage, but in the North, where magic was shunned, that was a liability instead.

In short, Galahad offered the Grand Duke no advantages whatsoever.

By contrast, the Grand Duke's eldest daughter, Adrianna, was a hero of the North. The youngest Swordmaster in history, she was continually adding to her accomplishments on the battlefield.

The Grand Duke might wish to keep Adrianna in check, but that was highly unlikely. His love for her was famous.

Galahad considered the situation from the Grand Duke's perspective.

Whatever power struggle had taken place, the Grand Duke had been unable to refuse a marriage to a count's third son.

'Naturally, he wouldn't be pleased.'

Sending a single narrow-eyed bastard to serve as escort, guide, and coachman was proof enough. Had this been a welcome marriage, he would not have sent just one man.

The North was declining, while its enemies, the Demons, remained strong. If relations with the Empire soured now, the barren North would be finished. That was why he had let Galahad into the castle for the time being.

'But he has no intention of actually going through with the marriage.'

He would leave Galahad shut in a room and postpone the wedding with one excuse after another. Then, after stalling long enough, if a way to annul the arrangement arose...

'He'll discard me.'

Galahad swallowed, his mouth dry.

That would probably satisfy them. The Empire had nothing to gain from marrying Galahad to the Grand Duke's eldest daughter in the first place.

Both sides would want no more than to save face.

Which meant the one losing out was...

'Me.'

He did not even know why he had been chosen in the first place. Galahad swallowed again, his mouth still dry.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Someone was at the door. When he opened it, a beautiful black-haired woman in a maid's uniform looked up at him, her face filled with fear.

"I'm Gwen, assigned to serve you, L-Lord Galahad!"

The woman who had introduced herself as Gwen spoke in a barely audible murmur. With her large eyes, she resembled a puppy caught in the rain.

She was unquestionably beautiful, but a gloomy air clung to her, as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

Galahad frowned at her thoroughly cowed demeanor.

"I don't need anyone to wait on me."

"W-well... I have to empty your chamber pot, and bring your meals..."

"Ah. So they meant I wasn't to take a single step outside."

At his words, the woman bobbed her head stiffly and shrank into herself.

Behind Gwen stood the armed men, every one of them with a weapon drawn.

Diligent workers, weren't they? He waved in greeting, but received only cold looks in return.

'Do people here not wave?'

The door slammed shut.

Gwen screamed and fell flat on her face, limbs spread wide. How did someone even manage to fall like that? Marveling, Galahad helped her up.

"Th-thank you."

As he steadied her, he sent mana into her to examine her. It was something of an occupational habit.

'That's a lot of mana.'

Of course, most people had some mana even if they were not mages. But Gwen had far too much for that explanation.

"Are you a mage?"

Galahad's eyes narrowed. Assigning a mage to serve as his maid had an obvious purpose—

Gwen's face crumpled instantly. She reacted as though he had insulted her parents.

"... Nooo. I'm not a mage."

Her voice trembled with tears.

"You're saying you're not a mage?"

"... I'm not like a mage... I'm absolutely not one of those mages, that cursed Demon filth. I don't know anything about magic! Really! Please believe me!"

As Gwen abruptly clung to his leg and sobbed, Galahad, a mage and therefore 'cursed Demon filth,' scratched his chin.

He had heard that the North had a poor opinion of mages, but this bad? Wasn't this practically how people had reacted to witches in the old days?

Galahad scratched his cheek, remembering how cheerfully he had advertised himself as a mage at the main gate. This was going to be exhausting. He might even fall victim to a hate crime. This was why being a mage was such a pain.

Still, with a reaction like that, she might genuinely not be a mage. Which meant that enormous mana reserve was pure talent.

Perhaps misunderstanding his scrutiny of her mana reserves, Gwen began trying to undress. Galahad hurriedly stopped her. He could not become the bastard who stripped his maid on his very first day.

"All right. You're not a mage."

Gwen thanked him for believing her and burst into fresh tears. She certainly cried a great deal.

'Then did the mana concentration give her those reserves?'

In any case, Gwen was not his immediate concern.

'They really do intend to keep me locked up.'

They had even assigned him a maid. They meant for him not to leave at all.

"Hmm." Galahad sat back down in the chair with a low murmur. There was nothing he could do about it right now.

Getting angry or despairing would not help.

It was a foregone conclusion that he would be spending the next few days in this room. He needed to find something he could do.

'The mana concentration is high.'

The first thing that came to mind was the concentration of mana he had just sensed.

Perhaps because this land bordered Demon territory, its mana was far denser than in the central regions.

He circulated his mana slowly. It felt heavy.

No mages recorded exact numerical measurements of mana.

Everyone used different standards, and the concentration of mana in the atmosphere changed constantly, making accurate records impossible. To prevent waste, most preferred magic circles and mana stones.

As a result, mages in this world felt more like engineers. That line of work earned them better treatment, so there was no reason to go wading into the muck.

Thus, though mages were more numerous than before, true mages had become rarer.

Galahad's solution to the problem of mana concentration had been simple.

Korean-style rote learning: shut up and memorize it.

It was the method he had cursed and despised most in high school, but nothing was quite as practical.

He had repeated the most basic spell, Mana Arrow, countless times, drilling the sensation into himself until he could cast it without thinking.

He defined his units of mana using the magic arrow as his standard. Thanks to that, wherever he went, he could calculate the concentration by casting a single Mana Arrow and using it as a baseline.

He had done that at six years old.

'About twice as high.'

Galahad murmured as he studied the Mana Arrow floating above his hand.

Twice the mana concentration of the central regions. An absurd figure.

A high mana concentration was both an advantage and a disadvantage.

Magic normally worked by using one's own mana to bind and harness the mana in the atmosphere. But if the atmospheric concentration was high, one's mana could instead leak out while casting.

To prevent that, a mage had to maintain an even higher internal concentration through a process called compression. Mana was also sensitive: compress it too strongly, and it solidified instead.

The already complicated process of casting magic became several times more difficult.

In short, it was an absurd amount of fucking trouble.

On the other hand, that higher concentration would greatly increase its power.

'Excellent.'

Galahad smiled sincerely.

It was a truly crude method, but an effective form of training all the same.

If he could maintain this high concentration, he would be able to increase the concentration of his own mana. His sensitivity to mana would improve considerably as well.

'It's been a while since I last trained.'

Galahad deliberately held his mana concentration at a precarious level. Even the slightest mistake could seriously damage his mana circuits.

The danger kept him keenly alert.

His mind gradually grew still.

As he worked his magic, all other thoughts vanished.

Galahad was a true mage.

* * *

'... He's smiling in this situation?'

Gwen stared wide-eyed at the light flashing around Galahad.

He was effectively a prisoner.

Here he was, confined in a foreign land far from the Empire, without even having seen the woman who was to become his wife—and he was smiling.

A faint smile rested on his lips. The emotion in his expression was a kind of rapture bordering on madness.

Gwen had never seen such a radiant face. What could he possibly be doing to make him so happy?

Her gaze naturally drifted to his hands. Light flashed around them.

It was unmistakably magic. Gwen could not tear her eyes from its splendor.

Magic was the filthy, accursed waste of Demons. As the offspring of a mage, Gwen had heard that until she was sick of it.

Being scorned as a filthy mage's child was an everyday occurrence, and she had faced threats to her life countless times.

It was only thanks to Adrianna that she could work even as a maid.

That was why Gwen hated magic more than anyone.

Surely she did. Surely she had to.

'It's beautiful.'

The crystal taking shape in Galahad's hand was so beautiful.

So beautiful that her eyes ached and filled with tears.

She could not look away. Its brilliance and beauty dared to rival even Adrianna's.

She wanted to know why that man wore such an expression.

Without realizing it, Gwen moved her fingers.

A tiny light lingered at her fingertips, then vanished. Even she could tell it was pitiful, but it brought a thrill and a sense of liberation she had never experienced in her life.

For the first time in a very long while, Gwen laughed aloud. No, perhaps for the first time ever.

Then the broom she had been holding fell with a loud clatter.

Snapping out of her trance, Gwen was overcome by profound self-loathing.

Magic had plunged her into suffering all her life. And now she had used her own hands to perform the very thing that had tormented her through her tainted bloodline.

Gwen dug her nails into her forearm hard enough to draw blood. Her mind, only just recovered, was drawn back toward the magic. Desperately, she squeezed her eyes shut and scrubbed.

CRASH!

Naturally, a dish broke.

* * *

Galahad wondered whether what he had just witnessed was real.

She had cast magic simply by watching him?

'... A genuine genius.'

He was sincerely impressed.

Had there been someone named Gwen? He thought there might have been.

'I want her.'

As Galahad looked at her and smacked his lips, Gwen squeezed her eyes shut.