Chapter 56 - Counterattack

'Dawn, eh.'

Galahad murmured under his breath.

He had originally intended to win them over through mental interference. It had worked even on Demons. There was no reason it would fail here.

But the situation had changed.

Very much for the better.

"Mana stones, you mean? We have met our quota."

Helcarton's eyes sharpened slightly.

'A quota. So they pay a fixed share.'

Galahad nodded lightly.

"Your old quota, perhaps. But haven't you botched things several times lately? Naturally, your quota has to increase."

Galahad clicked his tongue openly. Helcarton's eyes narrowed into deep creases.

"We used our own supplies."

Helcarton's reply was tightly controlled. At this fitting show of resistance, Galahad's lips curled upward.

"I know. But is everything you possess entirely yours to use? What about the ground we've lost in the North through your failures? The sheer shamelessness."

"That..."

"Are you going to say that has nothing to do with you? You'd best watch your words."

Helcarton's face reddened. He bit his lip so hard that a dimple formed beside it. His eyes turned vicious.

The atmosphere grew ugly, but—

"Hmm, that's an odd expression. Do you have a complaint?"

For now, Galahad was Dawn. The other man was the Black Magic Society.

Who held the upper hand was perfectly clear.

After a moment of twitching lips, Helcarton forced an awkward smile.

"None."

"Of course not. Goodness, you had me worried for a moment. I thought you might be some conscienceless bastard who'd made this mess of the North and still had the gall to complain."

"Bastard... Ha. Hahaha."

"Smiling usually brightens a face, but yours only gets more hideous. Try not to smile."

Galahad patted Helcarton's shoulder.

"Tsk. Do you think I'd simply tell you to increase the quota without offering anything?"

A faint light appeared in the man's eyes.

"The sacred ground is still open, isn't it?"

"... But the Seventh Battalion is stationed there."

"You needn't worry about that."

A complicated expression crossed Helcarton's face. Galahad watched him quietly.

Mages were strange creatures to begin with. Magic's allure was to blame. Nothing was more powerful than magic.

And these men had gone beyond merely becoming Mages to join the Black Magic Society.

Their ambitions could hardly be modest.

Galahad leaned close to whisper in his ear.

"I'm concerned that the Society's president isn't fit for the position."

Helcarton's eyes widened almost to bursting.

"Not fit for the position?"

"Isn't that so? After this string of recent failures, someone must take responsibility. Don't you agree?"

Ambition gleamed in his cloudy eyes. Galahad smiled and brushed off the man's shoulder.

"What do you think?"

The question left him silent for a time. Galahad waited quietly without pressing him.

The man's head dipped deeply, then rose.

"I see. In truth, I intended to clean out the Black Magic Society."

"... Clean out?"

He looked Galahad up and down questioningly, as if to ask, 'But you came alone, didn't you?'

Smiling, Galahad snapped his fingers.

The potbellied man's head swelled like a balloon as he lay desperately writhing on the floor. The men around him backed away with small screams.

POP!

His swollen head burst. Red blood splattered across the faces of those nearby.

It was thanks to the magic circle Galahad had inscribed earlier, but these idiots hadn't understood the circle in the first place.

To them, it would look as though he had burst a man's head with a snap of his fingers.

"You—!"

The Mages aimed their staves at Galahad. Ignoring them, he simply watched Helcarton.

"I thought there was no suitable replacement for the president, but..."

His subordinate's head had just exploded.

Yet the emotion that surfaced in Helcarton's eyes was neither fear nor anger.

It was elation and ambition.

"It seems there is someone suitable."

Conviction shone in Helcarton's eyes.

The ability to burst a man's head with his fingers and decipher the demon-beast tamer's magic circle offered only a little supporting evidence.

At the heart of his conviction lay his own desire.

Mental interference was all the more effective at times like this. It was the same principle by which oil strengthened fire magic.

"Don't you agree?"

Galahad patted his shoulder and fed mana into him.

Helcarton's eyes gleamed still more brightly. What little reason he had left slipped away, but he seemed not even to notice.

His desire to become president had blinded him.

Silence lingered for a moment. Helcarton's eyes darted about.

When he finally spoke again, Galahad let out a quiet laugh.

"The president is extremely cautious. He is wary even of me, his trusted subordinate. And there are far too many defenses. Going to the main assembly hall would be very dangerous. At the slightest hint that something is wrong, he is certain to flee on his own. He did it in the central region, too..."

Helcarton spoke through gritted teeth.

"In the central region, too?"

"Yes. When a certain organization shook the Black Magic Society, the bastard ran off alone. He is bound to have prepared a bolt-hole."

Galahad knew all too well how skilled the Black Magic Society was at running away.

If Helcarton was right, going after the president wasn't a particularly good option.

"Even now, with the Society on shaky ground, he sent me instead of coming himself, didn't he?"

'There's some resentment there.'

Galahad clicked his tongue softly at Helcarton's bitter words.

"Then we'll have to draw him out."

"He will never come out."

Helcarton's voice was firm. Galahad smiled.

"There's no such thing as never."

Not understanding, Helcarton frowned.

"Ah, do you have a way to communicate with the president?"

"Yes..."

Helcarton took out a round object. It looked like a small stone enclosed in a jewelry case.

At first glance it was quite crude, but Galahad knew its value.

Indeed, he could hardly fail to know it.

"A communicator."

To think he would see one here. Galahad sighed softly.

A communicator was an extremely valuable magical device. Or rather, given the materials it required, it could be nothing else.

Possessing one meant—

'They have plenty of money.'

Come to think of it, even Corton had given Galahad mana stones and gold coins.

The Black Magic Society went without saying.

Above all, what mattered was that they were in the magic-stone mining business.

The North lacked a great many things, but money was the scarcest of all.

Its ignorant inhabitants dismissed magic and failed to appreciate mana stones, yet the magic-stone deposits were the North's greatest asset.

If they could get the mines fully operational and distribute their output, the North's finances would surely improve by several orders.

The Black Magic Society would make excellent laborers to underpin the North's wealth.

'And they'll even work for free... '

Galahad smacked his lips and touched the communicator.

"To use it—"

"Ah, I know how."

Helcarton frowned at Galahad's reply.

Communicators were so expensive and so difficult to operate that hardly anyone used them. Furthermore, each one worked differently.

How could he possibly know how to use this one?

Then the communicator in Galahad's hand vibrated faintly. There was even a distinct rhythm to it.

Helcarton himself struggled to operate the device, yet this man was using it with such ease.

'Dawn, indeed.'

His trust grew a little stronger.

* * *

In a dim cavern known as the grand assembly hall, the Society's president sat in silence.

His thoughts were as tangled as the wrinkles around his nose.

It was because of the recent string of failures.

'Idiots... '

They couldn't even manage such a simple task. The curses came unbidden.

There wasn't a single one he liked.

Not a single useful one among them.

But there was a bigger problem.

'Lie low for a while, they say.'

It was an order from Dawn.

'... How dare they!'

The wrinkles covering the old man's face deepened.

The Black Magic Society had once prospered in the central region.

Now people whose existence he hadn't even known of back then were giving him orders.

'All because of those bastards from that organization!!'

The old man coughed violently, so hard that blood appeared at his mouth.

The bastards who had hounded the Black Magic Society so relentlessly had brought everything crashing down. Leaving those glorious years behind, he had been forced to flee to the barren North.

Still, perhaps heaven had not abandoned him. After discovering magic-stone deposits in the North, he had begun to recover his strength.

That was when a man from a place called Dawn appeared.

The old man was the founder of the Black Magic Society.

He revered the pursuit of ever greater heights and had never balked at anything that would make him stronger.

That was why he had been confident in his strength.

Until he faced the man from Dawn.

["Is that all?"]

The man was a monster.

No.

A Demon.

The gulf in power was overwhelming, beyond anything the old man had ever experienced.

Dawn's unilateral orders wounded his pride so badly he could taste blood, but—

'There is nothing I can do.'

His already weary head weighed still more heavily on his neck.

Just then, the nearest of the communicators set before him flashed.

It was Helcarton, one of the more useful of his trusted subordinates.

He had sent the man to deal with the demon-beast tamer's magic circle.

In the North, where demon-beasts roamed like wild predators, the tamer's magic circle was extremely valuable.

He didn't want to give it up, but...

'I'll have to tell him to return.'

Things were bad enough already. He could not disobey Dawn.

Then the communicator began to vibrate with a series of taps. The Mage seated beside it decoded the vibrations.

"Hic!"

After deciphering the message for some time, the man gave a violent hiccup. His face, as he transcribed the communication, was white as a sheet. As if he were terrified.

The unusual reaction made the old man's brow furrow.

"What is it?"

"W-well... I know I wrote it down correctly, but..."

The old man narrowed his eyes and brought his staff down.

Bloody tears streamed from the stammering man's eyes. He collapsed without so much as a scream.

A man a short distance away took his place, trembling all over. The instant he saw the paper bearing the message, he froze.

"Bring it here."

When the old man clicked his tongue, the man started and respectfully handed him the paper.

'What could it possibly say... '

Muttering, the old man began to read—and froze.

Its contents were far beyond anything he had imagined.

[This is Helcarton. We no longer need an old, sickly president. From today onward, I, the fresh blood, am president. To prove it, I will retake the sacred ground.]

The old man reread the paper several times.

'What in the... '

Then the communicator vibrated again.

As if sending it once weren't enough, he was sending another message.

The old man waved his hand. The communicator floated lightly over to him.

He carefully analyzed its vibrations.

A moment later, the communicator shattered.

It was expensive, but the old man was in no state to regret its loss.

The new message was even worse than the first.

"The bastard must have a death wish."

This was more than a matter of anger.

If Helcarton caused trouble now, it would mean defying Dawn's orders. This was a matter of survival.

For the first time in a very long while, the old man rose.

Everyone looked up at him in surprise.

"We are going to the sacred ground."

The old man adjusted his grip on his staff.

Set into it was not a mana stone, but a huge, dark-red egg.

* * *

'...?'

Crow tilted their head.

Crow considered themself quicker on the uptake than most people.

Especially when it came to reading a situation.

That was why Crow had survived Galahad when the others at the branch died.

Crow read situations well and made quick decisions.

That had certainly always been true, but—

'... Why?'

Right now, Crow couldn't follow what was happening at all.

Galahad was surveying the Seventh Battalion alongside the Black Magic Society, fully prepared as though to attack at any moment.

'?'

Crow tilted their head the other way.

Galahad had certainly protected the Seventh Battalion. Hadn't he even built up a following there?

That was unquestionably true, yet here he was, siding with the Black Magic Society and preparing to attack it.

And what was more—

"They're only newly appointed company commanders, after all. The others aren't even worth considering. The Seventh Battalion's commander is the only problem."

He was being utterly earnest about it.

Even pointing out their forces.

'... But why?'

Crow tilted their head again.

"Damn it! Would you hold still? You're distracting me!"

Corton snapped irritably.

Crow's brow furrowed at his surly voice.

Crow loathed idiots.

Crow also loathed greedy people.

Corton was both stupid and greedy.

It was only natural to loathe him.

Crow wanted to drive an Ice Spike into his face right then and there, but fought desperately to hold back.

Crow wasn't stupid enough to ruin things over mere emotions.

"By the way."

Corton ventured to speak. When Crow ignored him, he raised his voice.

"I! SAID! BY! THE! WAY!"

For a moment, Crow was so furious that an incantation rose to their lips.

Forcing it back, Crow turned to find Corton looking extremely tense. His hand trembled around his staff.

"What?"

Corton glanced around, checking the others' reactions.

Then he asked cautiously,

"Is Galahad really with Dawn?"

"Aagh!"

Unable to hold back, Crow struck Corton on the head.

Not using magic was the last of Crow's restraint.

"Aaaagh!"

* * *

Turning at Corton's scream, Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

Number Eight and Corton were tangled together, throwing punches.

'They get along surprisingly well.'

Well, they did have something in common.

Both were blinded by desire.

'That's a trait of Mages in general.'

Galahad chuckled and surveyed the situation.

The Black Magic Society members were making their preparations. Some chanted incantations; others adjusted their grips on their staves. Their faces were grim with resolve.

Beyond them, far in the distance, stood the Seventh Battalion.

The traces of the previous attack had not been fully erased, leaving its fortifications shabby and riddled with holes.

It looked precarious at a glance, but that man was inside.

To lure the president out, they needed to put on a convincing performance.

Of course, he couldn't afford to lose his precious miners in the process.

Both sides needed to act and exercise suitable caution.

That called for a detailed discussion of the plan, but Galahad hadn't bothered to send a letter explaining it.

Far away on the ramparts, First was already beaming in his direction.

'He's positively delighted.'

Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

Just then, a familiar white hawk flew over. With feathers so glossy they looked oiled and deep-set eyes, the bird was handsome enough to merit the word despite being a hawk.

'Adrianna?'

The hawk settled naturally on Galahad's shoulder.

He stroked it as it rubbed its head against him, then untied the letter from its leg.

[This is Adrianna, commander of the First Battalion. There have been no particular problems at the First Battalion. I would like to ask about progress at the Demon Realm training camp, which was entrusted to Special Operations Unit Commander Galahad in good faith. Of course, the Demon Realm training camp is a facility the Grand Duke entrusted to Special Operations Unit Commander Galahad. As commander of the First Battalion, I have no authority to interfere. I am writing not because I distrust you, but in case you require any assistance. Adrianna, commander of the First Battalion.]

Even her handwriting had no unnecessary flourishes. Yet it still possessed a splendor that suited Adrianna perfectly.

"Ah, could you give me some paper and a pen?"

"Yes, sir!"

Galahad borrowed a pen from a passing Black Mage.

Eyes shining, the Mage handed him paper and a pen.

"This is red."

"That's because it's blood..."

"Don't you have ink?"

At Galahad's pointed question, the Black Mages scurried into action.

Soon he had some ordinary ink.

Galahad dipped the pen deeply into it and scrawled across the paper.

[I am doing a truly splendid job of protecting the Seventh Battalion, so don't worry about a thing. Both you and Father-in-law know how capable I am, don't you? Today is a day when I miss your warm hand. —Your dependable fiancé. P.S. Your handwriting is quite adorable.]

Having written the letter without once pausing his pen, Galahad tied it to the hawk's leg.

The hawk flew over the Black Mages and vanished.

"Now, everyone, get ready! Tonight, the sacred ground will be ours!"

The Black Mages answered Galahad's shout with a resounding roar.

Galahad smiled in satisfaction.