Chapter 51 - Hostage

The orange lamp hanging from the carriage swayed, struggling to push back the heavy darkness that night had cast over the North. The clop of hooves through deep snow, the laborious turning of wheels, and Gwen's snores blended surprisingly well.

Galahad exhaled a deep lungful of cigarette smoke. The scent of lemon filled the air.

"Why are we traveling at night? It's dangerous."

Gilberton asked as he pulled on the reins. It was a simple question, not a complaint.

"Isn't the night nice and secluded?"

"... What?"

Ignoring his question, Galahad tapped the ash from his cigarette.

'There's a Demon targeting Damian.'

The next question was why.

If a Demon was targeting Damian, why had it left him alone? It had neither taken him away nor killed him, going out of its way to leave him unharmed. Then, once Damian joined a new platoon and a certain amount of time passed, it attacked again.

'Why?'

Galahad murmured under his breath. There had to be a motive. To understand it, he needed to analyze the results.

The result was that the soldiers had ostracized Damian despite his exceptional skill. He had been reduced to opening his mouth to catch snow. If Galahad hadn't taken him in, he would have starved or been beaten to death.

'Was that what it wanted?'

"What are we going to do if a demon-beast shows up?"

Gilberton's question broke his train of thought.

"I'd be glad if one did."

"What do you mean?"

"About Damian."

"Yes, the kid."

"Didn't he lose four whole platoons to Demons?"

"He did, didn't he?"

"What if a particular Demon was targeting Damian?"

"Why would a Demon target the kid?"

"Why are you asking me?"

At Galahad's click of the tongue, Gilberton's eyes widened a little, then narrowed.

"Didn't you say it didn't matter? When you first brought him along."

"I did."

"Then why do you care now?"

Galahad squinted at the question, which was unusually perceptive for Gilberton. He was right. Even if Damian had gotten four platoons wiped out, it hadn't particularly mattered. The investigation had turned up nothing.

The ash-gray aura had changed his mind.

"Because he's become more precious to me now."

"... You actually say things like that?"

Galahad chuckled at Gilberton's appalled expression.

"Well, if a Demon killed only Damian's platoon and sent him back..."

Gilberton trailed off for a moment. His already narrow eyes narrowed further.

"That's vicious."

"... Vicious?"

"Yes. Didn't it send him back deliberately so he'd suffer more?"

"Suffer, you say?"

"You saw him back then. He couldn't go back to the troops and just sat there. That's because all the other platoons refused to take him. Said he was bad luck. They actually beat him, too."

"I see."

"Fucking bastards!"

Gilberton spat the crude curse and seized the reins roughly.

It was an unpolished opinion, but it certainly made sense.

'Was it trying to break Damian's will?'

Indeed, when Galahad had offered him a place in the Special Operations Unit, Damian had refused, saying everyone who got involved with him died.

Then the intervals between attacks...

'Was it giving him time to grow attached?'

Four times, just as he thought he was getting a little closer to his platoon, it had been wiped out. Even someone with a strong sense of self would have had no choice but to blame themselves. All the more so for a growing boy...

'Is that what caused the ash-gray aura?'

Galahad tapped his cigarette.

If there was a being with that intention...

'It must be getting very excited by now.'

He could say with certainty that Damian had never had anyone as kind and warm as Gwen in his life. She cared for him devotedly, even giving him her own food. It was enough to make one wonder whether he was her child.

Then there were Tom and the brusque Gilberton. There could be no better time to inflict enough despair to break Damian.

"How dare they do that to the kid... I'll make those bastards pay."

Gilberton ground his teeth, his face full of anger. He truly was a simple man.

Galahad clicked his tongue softly and spread his mana out from habit. A moment later, he said,

"Oh dear. It seems your words have angered them."

"Angered who?"

"Those bastards."

Galahad rose. The biting wind whipped his hair wildly as he pounded on the carriage with his fist.

BANG! BANG!

"Everyone up! We have guests!"

The carriage door opened, and Tom emerged.

"Demon-beasts again?!"

His eyes looked a little vacant, as though he hadn't fully woken up yet. There were drool marks around his mouth, and he held a crossbow.

"This time..."

Galahad narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers. A bright flame shot upward like a firework. High overhead, it burst with a soft pop, driving back the thick darkness with its light.

What it revealed was...

"Demons. Very well-dressed ones."

Pale figures dressed like nobles stood there. The light should have startled them, but their faces remained indifferent, as though they had no emotions.

"Damn!"

Gilberton yanked hard on the reins. The horses snorted and swerved, flinging up the snow beneath them. The carriage lurched, then came to a precarious halt. It was an impressive display of skill.

"The knight, Gilberton!"

SHING!

Gilberton drew his sword. Blue aura poured forth without restraint, sending the darkness fleeing. Its light illuminated his contorted face.

The Demons frowned at him like nobles confronted with an uncouth lout.

Demons playing at being nobles...

"How interesting."

Galahad murmured as he put his cigarette between his lips.

"There are eight Demons! Is this the time to call it interesting?!"

"They're Demons pretending to be nobles. Don't you find that interesting?"

Gilberton's face filled with dismay. Galahad clicked his tongue softly. Demons were waiting for them in formal suits, putting on such an elegant air. How could anyone not find that interesting?

"There are eight Demons. Even if they're low-ranking, they're dangerous."

"Sir Gilberton, you have a habit of stating the obvious as though it were some great revelation."

As he chided Gilberton, Galahad surveyed the Demons.

They weren't from the Black Magic Society. The Society wouldn't have the resources to bother him right now. The chances of encountering such finely dressed Demons by coincidence outside the Demon Realm were slim. They had clearly approached with a purpose.

They might be after Galahad. He had certainly made plenty of noise since arriving in the North.

Yet they hadn't attacked immediately. If Galahad were their target, attacking the carriage would have been more efficient. The reason they had shown themselves instead of ambushing them...

'Must be Damian.'

Apparently, they cared a great deal about Damian.

'So I was right about a Demon being involved.'

Galahad sorted through his thoughts as he tapped the ash from his cigarette.

Just then, the carriage door started to open. Galahad shoved it shut.

"Ow!"

He heard a thump and Gwen's brief scream.

"Oww! I hit my head!"

"I see. Is Damian all right?"

"What? Oh, he's fast asleep."

"I see. Don't come out yet."

Galahad pushed the door again. It closed firmly with a thud.

"What's that one doing?"

At Gilberton's question, Galahad turned to see a Demon stepping forward alone, twirling its sword. With its long, pointed blade and immaculate dress uniform, it looked like a typical knight from the central regions.

"A clumsy imitation of the capital's knightly etiquette."

"Do those bastards in the capital make that much fuss drawing their swords?"

"In the capital, that's considered stylish."

"What utterly useless style."

"The wealthy always consider useless, bothersome things refined. Oh, Sir Gilberton, that Demon seems to want to cross swords with you."

Gilberton scowled as the creature pointed its sword at him.

"Teach that Demon a lesson for daring to imitate a knight!"

A Demon, daring to play at being a knight. Anger surged.

At Galahad's urging, Gilberton stepped down from the carriage. The deep snow soaked his boots. The Demon stood in the middle waiting for him, just like a real knight. Disgusted by the sight, Gilberton spat and adjusted his grip on his sword.

"I am Bel Anta of House Proxel."

"What fucking bullshit..."

Gilberton scowled fiercely as the Demon took its stance and introduced itself.

"And this is Sir Gilberton of House Galahad!"

"Since when am I part of House Galahad?!"

Gilberton bellowed and readjusted his grip.

Galahad narrowed his eyes at the Demon facing Gilberton with its sword raised.

'It looks like a noble. Do Demons have nobles, too?'

That was an interesting fact.

'Well, they have a Demon King, so I suppose they'd have nobles.'

The Demon held its sword at an angle and bowed its head. Ridiculously enough, it was doing a fairly good imitation of the capital's knightly etiquette.

Gilberton abruptly swung his aura-laden sword at it.

'Uncouth as ever.'

Galahad marveled quietly.

The Demon frowned slightly as it parried. Its sword collided with Gilberton's. Galahad couldn't be certain, but the opponent was a low-ranking Demon. He expected Gilberton to win in a single stroke.

But for the first time in a while, his prediction was wrong.

The Demon caught Gilberton's aura on its sword. A blade without aura should have been severed when it met one with aura, yet the Demon held firm.

'That doesn't look like a masterwork capable of withstanding aura...'

Then he saw a shimmer around the Demon's sword.

'An authority.'

Even after identifying it, the question remained. The opponent was a low-ranking Demon. Even with an authority, a low-ranking Demon shouldn't have been able to withstand Gilberton's aura so easily.

The contest continued. Galahad observed the creature and the Demons behind it. When the swords clashed, a Demon at the back furrowed its brow.

'Oh, I see.'

With a quiet murmur of admiration, Galahad waved his hand. His mana spread like a broad net, sweeping through the space between the other Demons and the one holding the sword. Highly concentrated mana flowed between them, as though they were linked by invisible threads.

'Are they funneling their power into it?'

If it was receiving power from the other Demons, that explained how a low-ranking Demon could face Gilberton. Pretending it was a fair duel while scheming behind the scenes...

'Just like real nobles.'

Galahad's lips curved upward.

Now he understood why eight Demons had appeared. They seemed to have done some research on the Special Operations Unit. This was likely their strategy for dealing with Gilberton. Presumably, they calculated that once they dealt with him, they could handle the remaining Mage and Tom.

'Arrogant as ever.'

Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

Just then, Gilberton's sword was knocked backward. His face twisted fiercely. He seemed unable to understand how his own blade was being pushed back.

But there was one thing they had overlooked. Swordsmanship wasn't all about aura.

As he now demonstrated.

Gilberton's blade slid smoothly along his opponent's sword, throwing the Demon off balance for an instant. It was only a fleeting opening, but Gilberton didn't miss it.

The Demon's head flew into the air. Gilberton withdrew his sword with a ragged breath.

'Incredible swordsmanship.'

Galahad was genuinely impressed. Gilberton truly was an excellent knight.

The Demons' eyes followed the airborne head. Soon it was rolling across the ground, staining the white snow red. Gilberton adjusted his grip, keeping watch over them.

The Demons gave a light round of applause.

Their plan had been thwarted, yet they were still so composed. Galahad spread out his mana from habit. His face stiffened at what it told him.

'It wasn't arrogance.'

He clicked his tongue.

* * *

"Sir Gilberton."

Without lowering his guard, Gilberton returned to Galahad.

'It was definitely low-ranking. How could it have that much power...?'

Gilberton clenched and unclenched his tingling hand. His opponent had unquestionably been a low-ranking Demon, yet its sword had been heavy. Had its swordsmanship been a little sharper, he might have been driven back.

When he reached Galahad, he suddenly sensed something strange. Normally, Galahad would have teased him: "Sir Gilberton, surely you shouldn't struggle against a mere low-ranking Demon?" Yet he was silent.

Gilberton turned to him and frowned. Galahad was always composed, but now his expression was rigid. To see even Galahad tense made Gilberton's hair stand on end.

"What's wrong?"

Gilberton asked as he adjusted his grip. Just then, a tall Demon stepped forward from the group. It had the appearance of a middle-aged man, complete with a mustache.

"It seems we've become more famous than we thought."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Tom, would you pass me Damian?"

Galahad tapped on the carriage as he spoke. Gilberton frowned at the baffling order.

"What on earth is going on?"

"We're surrounded."

"But there are only seven left."

Just then, the trees beside them shook violently. Figures in expensive clothing emerged between them. Their clothes and weapons varied. Some left their flesh openly exposed. They shared one feature: forks and knives at their waists.

Were those all Demons, too? Gilberton bit his lip hard.

"They're not Demons. Tsk. So these bastards are here as well."

"... You know them?"

"A thoroughly revolting lot who call themselves gourmets."

Gourmets. Gilberton frowned at the unpleasant sound of the word. Each of the figures Galahad had called gourmets held a well-maintained weapon. Instinctively, Gilberton knew they would be no easy opponents.

It was a perfect encirclement, with every direction blocked.

Their numbers had increased, but the silence remained. They said nothing, merely loosening up and adjusting their grips on their weapons.

Eight Demons had already been difficult enough. Now these bastards had joined them, too. Gilberton's lips went dry.

"What a taciturn bunch. Ah, one side intends to dispose of everyone but Damian, and the gourmets never did talk to their meat. Hmm, I see."

Murmuring to himself, Galahad brushed back his bangs. His customary composure had returned. The sight reassured Gilberton and made him even more anxious at the same time.

"Now, I've thought of a good plan."

Galahad abruptly climbed onto the carriage. Every gaze fixed on him. He greeted them leisurely, as though enjoying the attention.

"I'm Galahad, commander of the Special Operations Unit. A pleasure to meet you... Goodness, you really are a quiet lot."

Though no answer came, he continued without a care.

"I must have become quite famous, for Demons who clumsily imitate nobles and revolting gourmets to join forces."

Cold sweat ran down Gilberton's back as Galahad actually provoked them.

Still, there was no reply. The mustached Demon stepped forward. Its presence was sharper than that of the other Demons. Gilberton's palms grew sweaty.

Such a lack of response might have discouraged anyone else, but Galahad only raised his voice.

"Now, you would-be nobles must have been afraid of the Special Operations Unit. Enough to propose a deal to those disgusting gourmets. I imagine the terms were something like: you may eat everyone except Damian. Am I right? Oh, thank you. That gourmet over there just nodded."

The man he singled out hurriedly shook his head twice. Then Galahad tapped on the carriage with his foot.

Tom brought Damian out of the carriage. Galahad beckoned to him.

'... Why Damian?'

For the moment, Tom held Damian out to Galahad.

"Thank you, Tom."

Galahad grabbed Damian by the scruff and lifted him, handling him roughly, as though picking up an object.

"Ah, may I borrow your sword as well? Thank you."

At the polite request, Tom blankly handed him his sword.

"Excellent."

Holding Damian in one hand and the sword in the other, Galahad nodded in satisfaction. Gilberton and Tom stared wide-eyed.

Just then, the so-called gourmets began advancing, apparently finished warming up. The mustached Demon drew its sword. A chill rose from it, colder than before, enough to make Gilberton's hair stand on end.

Faced with the unmistakable danger, Gilberton swallowed hard and glanced at Galahad.

Surely Galahad could...

At that moment, Galahad hoisted Damian high. It was astonishing that such a thin body could produce that much strength. He waved Damian in every direction, as though showing him off. Suspended by his collar, Damian dangled precariously.

The advancing figures stopped at the inexplicable display.

Galahad pointed the sword at Damian's throat.

"Now, if you move, this poor boy will end up with a hole in his neck."

His lips stretched into a broad smile.

And on top of that...

"N-no! Please, not my child! I'll do anything! Please spare Damian! No!! T-take me instead—! Just spare my child!"

As the horrified Gwen clung to him, sobbing, shock spread across the Demons' faces.