Chapter 50 - Trust

Galahad flicked his fingers idly as he watched Damian stuff meat into his mouth.

When they first met, Damian had been sitting in a shabby hut in threadbare clothes, catching snowflakes in his mouth. Now his face was clean. The air of refinement that even his former grime had failed to hide had fully emerged, making him look like the child of a high-ranking noble. It was all thanks to Gwen and Tom's care.

The strange thing was that he remained painfully thin despite eating so much.

Damian was unusual. He was so untrained that he held his sword in a reverse grip, yet his skill was genuine. There wasn't the slightest hesitation in his blade.

He was a born predator. Strange, perhaps, but this was a world where people threw fireballs and imbued swords with aura. That much incongruity was understandable. In fact, there was an agent at the Intelligence Bureau much like Damian.

The problem was—

'Ash-gray aura.'

Damian's aura. That was not something Galahad could simply dismiss.

"Damian, what is your dream?"

"My dream?"

"Is there anything you want to become when you grow up?"

Damian chewed for a while, his bulging cheeks working busily. "You certainly eat a lot," Galahad murmured.

"Not really."

"Then how did you produce aura?"

Manifesting aura without a clear dream made no sense.

"I took a shit through my hand."

"Did Sir Gilberton teach you that?"

"Yes."

It was aura, for goodness' sake. Taking a shit through his hand?

Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

"All right. What were you thinking while you took that shit?"

"That I was taking a shit."

"I see. Could you show me now?"

"I don't need to shit here."

"Hmm..."

Once again, Galahad was at a loss for words. Then, seeing Damian pick up meat with his fingers, he handed him a knife and fork.

"It's easier with my hands."

"Everything is awkward at first."

Galahad kindly cut up the meat for him. Damian looked a little disgruntled.

"How many fathers did you say you had?"

"Four. Schrödinger."

"Yes, Schrödinger. Your memory is better than Sir Gilberton's."

Galahad chuckled. Damian still remembered the Schrödinger remark from their first meeting.

"Do you know who all four fathers are?"

"Two of them."

"And the other two?"

"She said they were customers from out of town. One was a complete stranger."

"Your mother must have been very popular."

"Yes, back then."

"You clearly inherited your good looks from her. Now, you spear it like this."

Having cut the meat into bite-sized pieces, Galahad offered him the fork again. Damian stabbed a piece, put it in his mouth, and chewed.

'Two out of four.'

Galahad murmured Damian's answer to himself. His birth surely had something to do with the ash-gray aura. A connection to the Demons remained the most likely explanation.

"Did your mother tell you anything about the complete stranger?"

"She said he was really small."

Galahad broke into a violent coughing fit. Damian speared five pieces of meat and put them in his mouth.

As Galahad continued coughing, Tom brought him a cup of warm water.

"Ah, thank you, Tom."

Tom bowed and stepped back. Wiping his mouth, Galahad stared at Damian, who was still eating meat as though nothing had happened.

"I see. A modest fellow. Did she say anything else?"

"She said he paid her a whole wad of money, like someone who'd never paid for it before."

"I see."

"Yes, though she blew it all gambling the next day."

"Your mother was quite the gambler."

"She only ever lost."

"All that matters is winning in the end."

"She lost in the end, too."

Out of habit, Galahad put a cigarette between his lips, then returned it to his pocket.

"That's a shame."

"It is."

Damian kept stuffing meat into his mouth, wolfing it down as if he had never eaten meat in his life.

'Is his father a Demon?'

There was nothing unusual about Damian's mana. If anything, he had less than most people.

The only remaining lead was the platoons Damian had served in.

'He said Demons got them, didn't he?'

But Gilberton had already finished investigating that. Damian answered questions honestly. If there had been anything to uncover, it would have come out during his interrogation.

Galahad needed more information.

'Ah, there's First.'

The Intelligence Bureau was undoubtedly very interested in Galahad's activities. They would have gathered information on Damian, a member of his unit, as well. First would have brought it with him.

'I'll have to ask him for it.'

First might seem stupid at a glance, but he was merely straightforward, not stupid. There was no way he was unaware of the situation. Getting information out of him would require a suitable trade.

Something suitable—

'Ah, there's that.'

His calculations complete, Galahad rose.

* * *

"... A fee to use the training grounds?"

First's face stiffened at Galahad's unexpected demand.

"Indeed. As you know, the Demon Realm training camp is quite effective, isn't it?"

Galahad was right. This Demon Realm training camp was incomparably more effective than the facilities First had spent a fortune building in the capital.

However...

"Didn't you say the Black Magic Society made this?"

First and Pumpkin had finished assessing the situation before approaching Galahad. According to what they had learned, the Black Magic Society had opened this Demon Realm to target the Seventh Battalion.

And now he was demanding a fee? First narrowed his eyes.

"Quite right. The Black Magic Society created it. But I was the one who suggested using it as a training camp instead of destroying it."

"You can destroy that?"

"Of course. Can't you?"

"... Of course I can!"

First nodded for the time being. If Galahad could do it, so could he. It was only a matter of time.

Then Galahad twitched his fingers. First's eyes widened at the dazzling sparks flashing between them. Before long, the dancing sparks took the shape of a flower.

Magic that precise, inside the Demon Realm?

Back at the Intelligence Bureau, the gap between him and Galahad had been steadily closing. It was inevitable: the more advanced one's magic became, the slower one's growth. By the end, Galahad had finally come within sight.

'That just now—'

It had been a casual display, but First could fully appreciate the skill behind it. The gap had grown wider than before. So much wider that Galahad's level was once again beyond his sight.

The reason was—

'The North.'

He had clearly grown stronger in the North's high mana concentration. Yet First did not despair at the vast new gulf between them.

'That's more like my rival, Galahad.'

He was genuinely delighted by his rival's progress.

"Now, I turned a Demon Realm that should have been destroyed into a training camp. The Grand Duke even appointed me its administrator."

Galahad dispersed the lightning flower as he spoke.

There was a flaw in Galahad's explanation. Though he was effectively on leave, he still belonged to the Intelligence Bureau. Everything he acquired on a mission belonged to the Empire through the Bureau. The North was no exception.

First did not point that out, however. The Demon Realm training camp was the fruit of Galahad's efforts. Taking advantage of it without offering anything in return would not be fair competition.

"I see."

First nodded.

"What sort of fee do you want? I doubt it's money."

"Information."

"Information? Ah, I see. Don't you have information clearance?"

Galahad tapped the ash from his cigarette at First's question.

"The Grand Duke is involved, after all."

First nodded at the explanation.

In a way, it was only natural. They had sent Galahad to marry into the Grand Duke's household, so they would have revoked his clearance as a precaution.

Still, stripping an agent of access to information?

'They've discarded him.'

Forcing him north and then revoking his clearance was outright abandonment. After everything Galahad had accomplished at the Bureau, to treat him like this—

First seethed.

"My father has been meddling again. I apologize."

"I doubt that's it. This posting was beyond the Director's authority."

Rather than simply accept the apology, Galahad corrected him. First forced the corners of his mouth upward.

"My father can't have had no influence at all."

"That's true enough."

Galahad agreed faster than First expected, but he nodded.

Leaking information was a serious crime at the Intelligence Bureau. If Galahad ran into trouble later, First could be implicated and punished alongside him.

But that was no concern to First. If Galahad fell down a thousand-fathom precipice, First would leap after him, even if no one believed he would.

Just as he had followed him north.

"Very well. I accept the deal."

First produced a notebook. Small though it was, it was a magical device that revealed the information compressed within when touched with a key.

"Thank you."

"It won't take me long this time."

First gave Galahad a fierce grin as he took the notebook. He had the Demon Realm, the perfect place to train. This time, he would catch up to him without fail.

"Yes, good luck."

Galahad answered lightly. His eyes were already fixed on the notebook. First hadn't even given him the key, yet it was open.

"Hmm. I see."

Galahad let out a quiet sigh as he read. Having memorized the entire thing, First knew which section he was looking at.

"Damian, was it? There was certainly something strange about the platoons that boy served in. Four platoons fell to Demons, yet the boy himself was unharmed?"

Platoons being attacked by Demons was hardly rare in the North. There were plenty of lone survivors besides the boy, too. But almost never four times in a row.

"So I looked into it, but there was no evidence of anything. Nothing came out of the interrogation, either..."

The intelligence from the North was not particularly good. Quite apart from the Bureau's limited investment in the region, the North itself did not keep accurate information. Even these records existed only because four of the boy's platoons had disappeared.

First had read it all, and most of it was useless. But seeing Galahad examine it so closely piqued his curiosity. Galahad was exceptionally skilled at analyzing intelligence.

"Found something?"

"The intervals are similar."

"There shouldn't be any intervals listed."

First narrowed his eyes. The information on Damian contained no time intervals, only things like which mission the incidents had occurred on. Even those were estimates. There was nothing about intervals anywhere.

"It lists the number of platoon members, doesn't it? If you draw up a mission schedule based on the number of companies and platoons in the battalion at the time, you can calculate an approximate duty roster."

First nodded. He wondered whether it was necessary to dig that deeply, but the method wasn't wrong. As Galahad said, it was a rough calculation.

However...

"There's a margin of error, though?"

"The shortest interval is what matters. Didn't the incidents occur after a certain length of time? For instance, no platoon was attacked on its first mission. Which means—"

Galahad tapped the notebook in response to First's objection.

"The discrepancy must be the time spent at the battalion base before the final mission. So whatever it is, it isn't powerful enough to attack a battalion base."

First nodded at Galahad's continued explanation.

"Then they are roughly the same. Similar timing makes it sound as though a Demon was watching them before attacking. Wait. Isn't that about how long he's been in the Special Operations Unit?"

Galahad closed the notebook at First's question. Just then, a crow cawed somewhere, and Galahad nodded.

"Something's come up. I need to go somewhere. Since you're using the training camp, take good care of it."

The calculated interval was close to the length of time Damian had spent in the Special Operations Unit. And now Galahad was leaving, which meant—

"You mean to lure it out."

Galahad disappeared without answering. First watched him go for a moment, then took up his sword again.

"Everyone up! You've rested enough!"

The collapsed soldiers flailed.

"Seriously, what the hell is that guy...?"

Faced with someone even worse than Gilberton, Heinz quietly whimpered.

* * *

"Now, get ready. We're leaving immediately."

At Galahad's order, Tom sprang up from where he had been playing music.

"Everything is already prepared!"

The brisk reply puzzled Galahad. He knew Tom was remarkably good at odd jobs, but he had only just given the order. How could the preparations already be complete?

"Ah, I've kept everything ready at all times! And I thought it was about time we left!"

"I see. Excellent! Load it into the carriage at once."

"Yes! I'll fetch Sir Gilberton, too!"

Tom bustled off.

Galahad sat down opposite the vacant-looking Damian and organized his thoughts.

Word had arrived from Number Eight at just the right time. The Society's president had yet to move, but an important executive directly beneath the president had come to the Fifth Battalion branch.

For now, Galahad intended to head there.

Waggling his backside enticingly all the way.

"Could we not go?"

"Why is that?"

"Just because."

Damian had already been through it four times. He seemed to sense instinctively that the time was approaching, making him uneasy.

"I see. I'm sorry, but no."

Damian's face fell. Clicking his tongue, Galahad drummed his fingers on the table. Damian lifted his downcast gaze back to him.

"Do you like life in the Special Operations Unit?"

"Yes. Very much."

Damian's eyes were unusually clear as he answered.

Galahad still did not know what the ash-gray aura signified, or what kind of conviction Damian held. It might be dangerous, but he would only know once he cracked it open. He should be thinking about how to roll a high number. Nothing was more foolish than refusing to cast the dice for fear of losing.

"Then protect it yourself. I'll do my best as well. You've trained hard, haven't you?"

"... Yes."

Despite his answer, Damian remained dejected. Galahad did not press him. An egg was worth more when it broke its own shell.

Just then, the door burst open and Gilberton entered with a blackened Gwen tucked under his arm.

Gwen was in charge of the intermediate-ranking demon-beast the Grand Duke had left them. Galahad had entrusted the beast, now inscribed with the demon-beast tamer's magic circle, to Gwen because she could communicate with the Egg of agony. Gilberton had been protecting her.

"Gwen, how is the demon-beast doing?"

"It was well behaved! Until Sir Gilberton beat up Kumquat!"

"Oh, it has a name now. Sir Gilberton, you can't go beating up Kumquack."

"Kumquat!"

"Yes, Kumquat."

"But it's a demon-beast, isn't it? And where are we suddenly going?"

There was a curious urgency on Gilberton's face. First's training of the soldiers had left him with less of a role.

"Back to the Fifth Battalion. The Special Operations Unit headquarters is complete, so we ought to have a look."

"What? Then what about this place?"

"I've left it with someone suitable."

"... Someone suitable?"

Galahad nodded at Gilberton's question.

First had been the agent ranked immediately below Galahad at the Intelligence Bureau. The gap between them was considerable, but he was still second only to Galahad among its agents. With the Seventh Battalion commander here as well, there was little reason to worry.

'And it'll be good for getting research results.'

The Demon Realm was an extension of First's existing training method. Besides, the man willingly endured the risk of his own body bursting. Leaving things to him was certain to produce good results.

There was no need for Galahad to stay here.

"Everything's ready!"

Tom's shout came from outside. Galahad rose.

"Damian, have you eaten anything?! Your cheeks are hollow!"

With his cheeks caught in Gwen's hands, Damian stared at Galahad. Galahad put a cigarette between his lips.

"Protect it yourself."

Galahad headed for the carriage. Just as Tom had said, everything was ready. He made his way to the driver's seat, where a slightly bewildered Gilberton took the reins.

"We're leaving just like this?"

"Would you rather hold a farewell banquet? What a dissolute fellow you are."

"No—that's not what I—"

"Everyone's aboard!"

"Then off we go."

At Galahad's casual command, Gilberton pulled the reins without thinking. The horses began to move slowly.

"The man who earned the Grand Duke's recognition!"

Salutes came from every direction. Unlike on their arrival, they were directed at Galahad. Gilberton swallowed uneasily at the fanatical reverence on the soldiers' faces.

"I'm rather popular, aren't I?"

He had made the same joke on their way in, but this time Gilberton could not object. It was true.

Amid fervent cheers, the carriage left the Seventh Battalion.

"It is strange, though. That Lady Adrianna left the Demon Realm as it was."

Galahad tapped the ash from his cigarette as he answered Gilberton.

"She said she trusted me."

"I see."

Lady Adrianna, leaving matters in someone else's hands out of trust? Having served her for quite some time, Gilberton found it unfamiliar.

'Well, it is the commander.'

As he muttered that to himself, something suddenly struck him as odd.

In other words—

"Lady Adrianna left the Demon Realm training camp this morning because she trusted you, and you've already abandoned the Seventh Battalion by evening?"

"Abandoned? I've appointed suitable personnel. Trusting me means trusting my judgment, too."

Gilberton narrowed his eyes at Galahad's unhurried reply. Hadn't Adrianna trusted Galahad to look after the Seventh Battalion himself?

All sorts of thoughts occurred to him, but...

"I see."

Gilberton simply held the reins. Trying to understand Galahad would only give him a headache.