Chapter 52 - Hostage 2

"Don't move! Take one step and I'll stab him!"

A tall, neat-looking man shouted as he pressed a cold sword against a small child's throat. The child, so underfed he was little more than skin and bones, swayed precariously in that rough grip.

Everyone froze at the utterly unexpected turn of events.

'...?'

Harold, a first-class gourmet, blinked.

So, right now...

'Is he threatening us with his own companion as a hostage?'

Belatedly grasping the situation, Harold narrowed his eyes.

The woman clinging to the man's leg was sobbing far too desperately for this to be an act. Tears poured down her face as she pleaded with him. That could not possibly be acting.

And then there was the untroubled smile of the bastard holding a sword to that scrawny child's throat...

This did not seem like mere playacting.

Which raised a question.

'But why threaten us with his own companion?'

Harold clicked his tongue at the fool.

"Stop."

The Demon issued the quiet command, its face slightly contorted.

"Stop?"

Harold adjusted his grip on his sword as he repeated the word.

"Yes, stop! Unless you want a hole in this boy's throat!"

The man shook the boy as he shouted. Harold's brow furrowed.

"The child's safety takes priority."

The Demon actually took a step back. Every Demon wore the same expression, as though they were all linked together.

"An excellent decision! I'm a very ruthless man!"

The man shook the boy excitedly.

'What in the world—'

Harold screwed up his eyes at this apparent reversal of their roles.

'This is why Demons...'

Demons made their calculations with absolute clarity. There were no gaps, no hesitation, and no room for compromise.

The gourmets had indeed come at these Demons' request, but that was not their only reason.

Their target was that fellow Galahad.

Ever since he had come to the North, the region had been in turmoil. Quite a few people wanted him dealt with. The gourmets were among them.

More importantly...

'This is a commission from Dawn.'

Harold's mouth went dry. Accepting several commissions had been the problem.

Who could have expected the Demons to suddenly decide to withdraw?

'If we insist on going ahead...'

Harold studied the Demon. It still looked emotionless.

The Demons obediently backed away.

If that boy was their priority...

'We'll have to fight the Demons too.'

It had been a perfect, inescapable trap. To ruin it with a single move...

'Impressive bastard.'

Harold felt a flicker of admiration for the man smiling with a sword at the boy's throat.

However...

"Do you think he'll really stab him? Humans are different from Demons. Could he casually stab a young boy who's his own companion?"

Harold pointed at the man as he asked. The Demon turned to look.

Under its gaze, the man curled his lips upward.

"What do you think?"

He twirled the sword, its blade tracing a graceful arc.

Normally, it would have been obvious that he could never stab the boy in the throat. This was his own companion, a young, scrawny child.

Except...

"Ah! No! Please!"

There was the woman pleading beside him, the man holding her back with an anguished expression, and even the knight turning away as though he could not bear to watch...

'... Why does it look like he really will?'

"The child's safety takes priority. I have no intention of taking that risk."

The Demon spoke firmly, still expressionless.

Harold bit his lip for a moment, then nodded. This would complicate matters, but...

'Let's get the Demons out of the way first.'

There was no need to fight them as well.

Harold gestured to the gourmets. Irritation filled their faces. Nothing was more humiliating than retreating with meat right before their eyes.

Just then...

"Oh? Those expressions look decidedly sinister! They say, 'Let's get these meddlesome Demons out of the way and ambush them when the opportunity presents itself!' And, 'We'll teach the boy a lesson too, for ruining our commission!'"

The bastard began spouting nonsense.

"Besides, gourmets never give up on prey once they've marked it. Isn't that right?"

He spoke as though he knew them. His voice was so incongruously relaxed that Harold swallowed hard.

The Demons turned toward Harold.

"... No, it isn't."

"Hmm, look at that twitch around his eyes. Humans' eyes twitch when they lie. You're lying."

At the man's further prompting, the mustached Demon drew its sword.

It pointed the blade at the gourmets, not him.

"You son of a bitch—"

Harold spat the curse in irritation.

There was no backing down now.

The Demons and gourmets clashed.

* * *

'...?'

Tom could barely keep up with what was happening.

He had come out in response to an attack to find Demons surrounding them, followed by the appearance of some bizarre people.

In that desperate situation, Galahad had suddenly put a sword to Damian's throat...

And the people surrounding them had begun fighting one another.

"That one's swordsmanship is impressive."

"Indeed. He seems to have learned from a promising knight in the capital."

Gilberton and Galahad were watching them and chatting as though nothing were amiss.

"Damian! Damian!"

"Gwen, pull yourself together. You're a Mage now. You shouldn't succumb to mental interference so easily."

"Huh? Ah?!"

Galahad snapped his fingers, and Gwen blinked. The tears streaming down her cheeks stopped, and her usual gentle demeanor soon returned.

When Galahad had taken Damian, he had briefly touched Gwen's head. He seemed to have done something then.

Shouts and screams erupted all around them. The so-called gourmets fought the Demons with a variety of weapons.

"They fight well."

Galahad sounded relaxed, as though none of this concerned him.

"Aura? Were those men knights?"

The gourmets were each emitting a different aura. Gilberton pointed at them as he asked.

"Failed knights, to be precise."

"... Failed?"

"They mass-produce knights in the capital. Defects arise in the process. Like those."

Gilberton's brow furrowed at Galahad's casual answer. He seemed offended by the notion of mass-producing knights.

"Can knights even be mass-produced?"

"They're farm-raised knights. Even the successes are weaker than naturally grown knights, and they can't develop any further. Still, they're stronger than soldiers."

"What on earth would anyone use such things for?"

"All sorts of things."

Just then, a prolonged scream rang out. It was the work of that mustached Demon.

The mustached Demon tore through them like a wolf among sheep. But the gourmets did not simply let it slaughter them.

They pressed it from every direction as though hunting a ferocious beast. Attacks and counterattacks followed in rapid succession.

The Demons were stronger, but the gourmets had greater numbers. The balance was quite suitable.

"Everyone, get ready."

"Pardon? For what?"

"They'll realize soon."

"Realize what?"

"That I'm not quite that heartless."

Galahad narrowed his eyes.

Tom nodded and loosened up. Gwen murmured an incantation, her lips moving. Gilberton let out a long breath and adjusted his grip on his sword.

Just then...

WHIZZ!

"Oh dear."

At the sharp sound, Galahad snapped his fingers.

THUNK!

A pointed bolt aimed at Damian struck something and fell.

"Look! What kind of hostage-taker blocks arrows for his hostage?!"

One of the gourmets shouted, waving a crossbow.

The fighting stopped. Every eye fixed on Galahad.

"You deceived us."

The mustached Demon spoke in a dispassionate voice.

Galahad responded, "Oh dear, you've caught me. Here, catch, Gwen."

He casually tossed Damian behind him. The boy's throat, previously hidden by the sword, was clean. There was not a scratch on it.

"Such a petty trick—"

The mustached Demon narrowed its eyes and leveled its sword.

"Don't blame me. You're the fools for trying to negotiate with a blackmailer."

Galahad snapped his fingers without hesitation. Something flew soundlessly through the air, and a gourmet collapsed.

"That spell... You...!"

The largest of the gourmets cried out in horror.

"Say, is that bald gourmet doing well? With his tongue torn out, he won't be able to taste anything anymore."

Galahad nonchalantly put a cigarette between his lips.

"Now, let's all work together to protect Damian."

At his calm words, Gwen shouted louder than ever.

"Explosive Fireball!"

A fireball larger than usual hurtled toward the enemy. A scrawny gourmet tried to cut it with his aura-infused sword.

The fireball exploded violently. Fierce flames devoured the surrounding area in an instant.

"Aaaaargh!"

That raw scream was the starting signal.

"That served me well. A fine sword."

Smiling, Galahad smoothly handed it back.

"You protect Damian."

Tom took the sword and nodded firmly.

* * *

'They caught on surprisingly quickly.'

Galahad clicked his tongue as he took out a cigarette.

Their numbers had fallen while they fought one another, though not as much as he had hoped.

He made a fresh plan and ran the calculations. Finishing quickly, he nodded.

"Sir Gilberton, capture that Demon with the splendid mustache. I'll buy you time."

"Yes."

At Gilberton's brief reply, Galahad chuckled and snapped his fingers.

An Ice Spike shot forth.

Though it should have been difficult to see in the dark, one gourmet turned his sword to block it. He was quite skilled.

CRACK!

Having sliced through the Ice Spike, the gourmet curled his lips in an unmistakable sneer. Galahad smiled back.

Then something lodged in the gourmet's throat. He toppled backward with a choking gasp. It was an Ice Spike.

Why? Shock filled the gourmet's eyes.

"I have two hands, you know."

Galahad smiled and waved his left hand.

Galahad took a deep drag on his cigarette and surveyed his surroundings.

Apparently reconciled already, the enemies who had been fighting moments earlier now mingled naturally as they approached.

"What fickle fellows."

He clicked his tongue softly and snapped his fingers again.

Another Ice Spike shot out.

This opponent swung his aura-clad axe in a short arc. He seemed wary of a second Ice Spike. He certainly learned quickly.

Just as expected, the aura-clad axe struck down at the Ice Spike. But wary of a second, the gourmet had put little force behind the blow.

Unfortunately for him, there was only one Ice Spike this time.

It was correspondingly thicker, however. And carried twice the force.

Horror spread across his face as his axe was forced back. Pushing past the aura-infused weapon, the Ice Spike buried itself in his stomach.

A low groan was all he managed.

The biting wind tossed Galahad's hair.

The Egg of agony throbbed violently.

Then the gourmets formed ranks: one in front, two behind, and three behind those.

The front fighter would deflect an attack first, and those behind would rotate in to block the spells that followed.

It was a formation originally designed to fight groups of Mages. They seemed to have chosen it to account for the speed of Galahad's spells.

'They really are quite capable.'

They were not called Mage hunters for nothing.

An ordinary Mage would certainly have struggled against them.

Unfortunately...

Galahad was not an ordinary Mage.

'This should be entertaining.'

Galahad snapped his fingers.

Sparks leaped between them in rapid succession.

CRACKLE! CRACKLE!

With those cheerful sounds, the sparks swelled in an instant.

In the blink of an eye, a magnificent lightning flower blossomed.

"Let's see you cleave lightning too."

Murmuring the joke, Galahad snapped his fingers.

The magnificent lightning flower bloomed in full along his fingers. Sparks stretched out as though growing through the dark night, like the branches of a flower.

The gourmets did not stop even at the sight of the approaching lightning flower.

The man in front summoned his aura and swung his sword valiantly.

The blossoming lightning cast their faces in yellow light. Those faces held confidence.

That confidence rested on the aura coating their swords.

Aura could normally cleave magic, after all.

There was nothing conviction could not cut.

There were, however, a few problems here.

First, these were farm-raised knights, not naturally grown ones. Their conviction had been instilled in them.

Such conviction could hardly have deep roots.

Second, as already mentioned, Galahad was no ordinary Mage.

THUMP!

'Yes, yes. Calm down, would you?'

He clicked his tongue at the impatient Egg of agony.

Just then, the aura-infused sword cleaved the lightning squarely in two. Elation spread across the man's face.

How laughable.

"Full bloom."

Galahad murmured the words.

The severed lightning scattered into fierce tendrils. The lightning flower's branches split into hundreds and spread wide.

That glorious bloom was despair itself.

The cluster of gourmets charging so energetically came to an abrupt halt. Behind them, lightning that had yet to dissipate lashed wildly.

Fragments of lightning coursed through them and scattered, illuminating everything around them.

Horror filled the gourmets' faces.

In the silence...

"Whew. Refreshing."

Galahad swept his hair back with a satisfied air.

His eyes followed Gilberton.

No, more precisely...

'The mustached Demon.'

He studied the mustached Demon crossing swords with Gilberton.

* * *

'What—'

The mustached Demon, Bel Urtang, narrowed his eyes.

This was Gilberton, one of Adrianna's close retainers. He knew the man was a highly skilled knight.

That was why he had brought no fewer than seven members of his household.

He had calculated that seven would be more than enough to handle him.

Events had taken a strange turn, leaving him with five household members.

In truth, even five should have been enough.

He had only brought seven in the first place because of the man called Galahad.

And yet...

'Why isn't this working?'

Bel Urtang muttered as he drew back his sword.

Even now, Bel Urtang's power was clearly stronger than the man's aura.

So why...

"Knight Gilberton!"

He could not understand why he was being pushed back.

Bel Urtang's authority was more powerful than his opponent's aura. His swordsmanship was orthodox, too.

This was a fight Bel Urtang should naturally have won.

Yet the man simply would not fall.

The reason was...

'His sword is faster than mine.'

Gilberton's blade was subtly faster. Bel Urtang could not comprehend it.

How could this man's sword possibly be faster than his?

Attacks and counterattacks followed in rapid succession.

At last, Bel Urtang's right arm flew into the air. Blood sprayed in a long arc. His sword tumbled across the ground.

"Disappointing."

Gilberton's sword pointed at Urtang's throat. Gilberton himself was hardly in pristine condition. His armor had been slashed in several places thanks to his reckless charges.

His eyes, however, still blazed.

"Why is your sword faster?"

At Urtang's question, Gilberton tilted his blade.

"You're a clever knight. That's why your sword is slow."

His sword was slow because he was clever?

Then the reason Gilberton's sword was fast...

"Are you saying your sword is fast because you're stupid?"

"What? You damned bastard."

Bel Urtang narrowed his eyes at Gilberton's sudden anger.

Hadn't he just said that himself?

Just then, a violent explosion erupted. Hot air tickled Urtang's cheek.

Turning his head, he saw the gourmets retreating. Galahad ran through their midst, looking a mess. His neatly swept-back hair was thoroughly disheveled.

"Sir Gilberton, could I borrow that for a moment? I have an urgent use for it."

Galahad spoke as he swept his hair back. Behind him, the gourmets and household members came running. He seemed to have thinned their ranks considerably, but Urtang's side still had superior numbers.

Victory still favored Urtang.

"Yes. Here you are."

Gilberton handed Urtang over. Treated like an object, Urtang narrowed his eyes.

Then Galahad seized him roughly by the throat. The grip was so strong that his breath caught.

Galahad hoisted Urtang high.

Then...

"Now, we've done this once already, so I trust you'll understand quickly. Move, and this fellow's head will burst."

He resumed his familiar, courteous threats.

The approaching enemies stopped dead at the sight of Urtang dangling by his throat.

Some narrowed their eyes. Others adjusted their grips on their weapons.

"It's the same bullshit as before! Don't stop!"

"Ah, right."

At someone's shout, Galahad murmured softly and grasped Urtang's left shoulder.

He tapped it lightly with a finger.

Fierce flames erupted from Urtang's left shoulder.

The flames blazed fiercely enough to drive back the darkness, and the smell of roasting flesh brought everyone to a halt.

Charred in an instant, Urtang's left arm fell off.

In the heavy silence...

"Ah, this time I mean it."

Galahad added the words casually.

'What is this?'

Urtang narrowed his eyes.

Then Galahad pulled him close, bringing him right before his face as though to inspect him.

With cold, sober eyes fixed on Urtang, he asked,

"Well? Does it still seem like a joke?"

There was not a trace of laughter in his voice.