Chapter 7 - Imperial Bastard

'He won't pull any more weird shit, will he?'

Looking at the annex Adrianna had entered, Gilberton suddenly felt uneasy.

“Hmm. Should I cut his throat or dig out his heart?”

A petite woman with her hair in two braids jerked her head irritably. It was Mardian, whose obsession with Adrianna was pathological.

“No. I will crush his skull.”

Hermun, a man as massive as a bear, spoke in a low rumble. The air around him seemed to grow heavy.

“Fuck off. I'm going to scoop out his guts and spread them on bread.”

“You fuck off. Dealing with anyone who insults Adrianna is my job.”

Gilberton clicked his tongue quietly at their pointless squabble.

“Galahad. What sort of man is he?”

Lunabern asked in a calm voice. All eyes turned to Gilberton.

“That's right! Gilberton! I specifically told you to kill him on the way here! Just say bandits or wolves ate him!”

Mardian berated him in a shrill voice. Her obsession with Adrianna was notorious. They didn't call her Mardian the Mad for nothing.

“What sort of bastard is he?”

What sort of man was Galahad?

“A fraud.”

Galahad made frivolous jokes and boasted about being an outstanding Mage. But judging by how he had struggled against a mere lord with a little Demon blood, he was clearly a fraud full of bluster.

“We have to kill him! He'll use that wicked tongue to deceive innocent Lady Adrianna! I'll rip it out!”

“A fraud, eh? A nobody, then.”

Another torrent of bloodthirsty remarks followed.

'Though there did seem to be something about him.'

Every time Gilberton saw the man, he felt an unease like a thorn lodged in his throat. He swallowed the rest of his words.

The annex door opened, and Adrianna emerged. Mardian twitched like a dog desperate to take a shit.

“What did he do? I'll go cut his head off right now. Or at least an arm—”

Adrianna slipped one hand behind her back. At that subtle reaction, Mardian's face stiffened.

“He took my hand.”

For the briefest moment, Adrianna wore an expression none of them had seen before. Then her usual blank look returned as though nothing had happened.

The atmosphere turned sharp in an instant, but Adrianna seemed unconcerned. She had never taken an interest in anything unrelated to the front lines.

“But wasn't he a Mage? That would make it even more painful—”

Adrianna nodded at Lunabern's question.

Everyone present knew she burned mana. Even people who weren't Mages often fainted from the horrific pain of the slightest contact with her.

And the more mana someone had, the worse the pain became. Yet a Mage had taken her hand...

“He must have screamed in agony! Ahaha! Idiot! That's what he gets for daring to touch Lady Adrianna!”

“He must have pissed and shit himself! Stupid bastard! A shame I missed it.”

They all loudly mocked the foolish Mage. Knowing that pain themselves, none of them questioned it.

As the story grew ever more exaggerated, until someone claimed the Mage had died in agony with his tongue hanging out, Adrianna spoke.

“He interlaced our fingers. Said he wanted to know how it worked—”

At her matter-of-fact words, everyone who had been making such a racket fell silent.

Even Mardian the Mad had only ever managed the lightest hold on her hand. Yet a Mage had interlaced their fingers...

Different expressions crossed their faces: anger, irritation, disbelief. But beneath all of them lay shock.

Even Mardian could only open and close her mouth.

'He really is fucking insane.'

He had taken on that strange air when he killed the lord, too. And now he had interlaced his fingers with hers because he wanted to know how it worked...

Gilberton laughed aloud before he realized it. Adrianna turned her gaze toward him.

“Gilberton, stay here and protect him.”

It was an unexpected order.

Adrianna always put the front lines first. She wouldn't even spare herself from serving there. Yet she was assigning Gilberton, an important combatant, as a bodyguard. It was unlike her.

“... Yes. Understood.”

Though puzzled, Gilberton nodded without asking.

“The rest of us will return at once.”

“You won't see His Grace before leaving?”

“We've received reports of suspicious Demon movements. We return immediately.”

Adrianna shook her head in answer to Lunabern.

“Hasn't your power weakened, Lady Adrianna? There's no way he could endure that pain!”

Mardian shouted, her eyes full of disbelief.

Adrianna shook her head, but it was no use with Mardian in such a frenzy. Her hand was already resting on the back of Adrianna's.

The others had been thinking much the same thing. How could anyone endure that pain? A Mage, no less. The idea that Adrianna had weakened sounded plausible.

“I'll show you that my love is greater than that bastard's...”

“Aaagh!” Mardian gave a piercing scream and passed out. Her eyes rolled back, and drool spilled from her mouth.

Lunabern sighed and gathered her up.

'Just how insane is that bastard?'

Gilberton clicked his tongue in quiet astonishment.

“I haven't fully recovered yet. I'll stay a little longer before returning.”

Hermun spoke with a murderous expression that made it obvious he was planning something. His face was full of rage.

Hermun was as tough as a Demon, yet he hadn't recovered? It was plainly an excuse. He didn't even seem interested in hiding it.

As always, though, Adrianna paid no heed. Hermun wasn't what mattered to her.

“Understood. Return once you've recovered completely. Your health comes first.”

'This is going to be a nuisance.'

Gilberton clicked his tongue as Hermun adjusted his grip on his axe.

Then it occurred to him that watching Galahad take a hit might be rather pleasant.

Surely one hit would be all right.

Hmm. Yes, probably.

* * *

'... Mana burns.'

Galahad sighed, looking at his tingling hand.

The burning of his mana had been horrific beyond description. It felt as though someone were painstakingly roasting every one of his blood vessels with a blowtorch.

'She burns mana just by touching it. How does that make any sense?'

It wasn't a figure of speech. His mana had actually burned.

Even after attending the academy and serving in the Intelligence Bureau, Galahad had never heard of such a thing. If he told a Mage in the capital, he would surely get beaten with a staff.

In magical theory, mana was immutable. Magic merely added properties to it through formulas or incantations; it did not transform mana itself.

Pure mana was sacred, noble, and unchanging.

Yet Adrianna had quite literally burned pure mana.

This was a historic discovery. As a Mage, Galahad had had no choice but to take her hand.

'There's something here.'

With a trembling hand, he took out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He snapped his fingers out of habit, but nothing happened.

'I'm out of mana. If I'd held on a little longer, I might have died.'

Galahad smiled bitterly.

“Anyone there?”

“Do you need something?”

The reply came from behind him. He looked up to see Gilberton staring down at him as though he were pathetic.

How long had he been there? The alarm spell hadn't gone off. Oh, right. No mana.

“Don't you know how to knock?”

“I did.”

He must have been too absorbed in magic to hear it.

It was Galahad's chronic affliction. Whenever magic was involved, he could scarcely control himself. It was both a weakness and the driving force that had brought him this far.

“Have you got a light?”

“Doesn't fire come out of your fingers?”

“All my mana burned up.”

Clicking his tongue quietly, Gilberton took something out. It was a small flint.

“How primitive. Haven't you got a lighter or matches?”

“This is the North.”

Primitive indeed. Galahad clicked his tongue at the answer. Gilberton struck the flint in front of his face.

CLICK, CLICK.

It was a little dangerous, but it lit the cigarette nicely. A refreshing lemon scent filled the air.

“You certainly have a lot of cigarettes.”

“They're mana cigarettes.”

Gilberton looked as though he didn't understand, but Galahad didn't bother explaining. It was a difficult concept to explain to a non-Mage in the first place, and there was no need. Gilberton didn't ask further.

“What did you think?”

“Of what?”

“Lady Adrianna.”

Gilberton's question sent Galahad's thoughts back to Adrianna. The ability to burn mana. Ah... His thoughts began racing once more.

“I asked what you thought of her.”

Gilberton's disgruntled voice broke through his reverie. The cigarette had gone out halfway down. Clicking his tongue, Galahad took out another and put it between his lips.

Gilberton offered the flint again, but Galahad shook his head and snapped his fingers. A faint flame rose from his fingertip.

“Didn't you say you had no mana?”

“That's why I smoked a mana cigarette.”

Gilberton narrowed his eyes. Galahad took a deep drag.

“So what did you think?”

Pushy, wasn't he? Galahad clicked his tongue and answered.

“Fucking gorgeous.”

“I told you she was the most beautiful woman on the continent.”

“Yes. Prettier than the Imperial Princess.”

“... You've met the Imperial Princess?”

“As it happened. If you ever meet her, steer clear at all costs. The woman's insane.”

“More boasting.”

Gilberton clicked his tongue quietly. He didn't seem to believe him. Galahad didn't bother explaining.

“So that's all?”

Gilberton asked again, as though waiting for a particular answer.

Galahad considered for a moment. Adrianna's looks certainly deserved to be called the finest on the continent, but her looks weren't what interested him.

It was her ability to burn mana.

“I want to touch her again. A little longer this time—”

“...”

Gilberton's face immediately twisted. Seeing the disgust on it, Galahad realized his words had sounded a little strange.

Still, the reaction was entertaining, so he didn't correct himself.

He slowly exhaled smoke. His dizzy mind gradually settled.

'Burning mana...'

Galahad took out his leather notebook and checked its contents. Gilberton craned his head to look, but that didn't matter.

“What language is that?”

“The language I used back home.”

“Wasn't your home the capital?”

“It was.”

“...?”

Having answered offhandedly, he examined the notebook.

[The Demon King burst into flames and staggered violently.]

'So that was Adrianna.'

Of the three crises the Demon King had faced, this had received the most emphasis. Probably. He wasn't certain.

He had once devoted himself to fire magic, thinking the Demon King was weak to fire. Even now, fire magic remained his specialty.

'Coming north was the right choice.'

After all that grueling work in the Intelligence Bureau, he had found nothing. Yet he had gained such a major clue as soon as he arrived in the North. He grinned, feeling as though a tooth that had ached for years had finally come out.

Adrianna was the key. He needed to stay close to her somehow to study that ability.

'What's the problem? I'm her fiancé.'

Galahad clapped his hands softly and smiled.

“I'd like to touch my fiancée. Would you take me to her?”

“...?”

“Ah, I meant I'd like to see her. A slip of the tongue.”

Galahad rephrased at the disgust on Gilberton's face.

“... Lady Adrianna has returned to the front lines.”

She'd already gone back? Was this what they called playing hard to get?

Galahad sprang to his feet.

“Excellent! Then let's go to the front. I've been curious about it anyway.”

“Do you think the front is some hill behind your house? Besides, you're confined here by His Grace's orders.”

“I'm confined?”

“Don't pretend you didn't know.”

“Hmm. Then I'll have to see the Grand Duke first to get this restriction lifted. Take me to him.”

“... His Grace is busy. If you make an appointment now, you might see him in about a year.”

Gilberton stared at Galahad with a look that said, 'Is this fucker an idiot?'

He didn't seem to be joking. A year was far too long.

'Should I turn this place upside down?'

He looked at the wall beside him and seriously considered it. He had already surveyed all the routes on his way in. There were about five ways he could cause an upheaval. Causing upheavals was his specialty.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Someone knocked on the door. The politeness ruled out Gwen. Gilberton opened it.

The visitor was a middle-aged man with a stylish goatee.

“Imperial bastard! His Grace summons you!”

The goateed man spoke in rough Imperial.

Galahad looked at Gilberton and grinned.

“Ah, as a matter of fact, I booked an appointment a year ago.”

Gilberton's face twisted.

He really was fun to tease.

“Ah, but my name isn't Imperial Bastard. It's Galahad.”

“Imperial bastard! Follow me!”

This time, Gilberton snickered.

* * *

'Why has the Grand Duke summoned me?'

Galahad tidied his appearance in the mirror. Lack of sleep had left dark hollows beneath his eyes. When he put a cigarette between his lips to clear his foggy head, the goateed man hastily intervened.

“Tobacco! Imperial bastard! Have you lost your mind?!”

His Imperial sounded like a literal translation.

“It's not tobacco. It's a mana cigarette. It has a wonderfully fragrant lemon scent. His Grace will like it too. Nobody dislikes the scent of lemons.”

“No! That! Restrain yourself!”

Faced with such adamant refusal, Galahad smoked the rest in one drag and put it out.

The Grand Duke's summons was unexpected. After keeping him locked up all this time, why call for him now? Adrianna's visit was the most likely reason.

'She said she'd come in secret, but he knows everything.'

Was she a little dim, despite those perfect, icy looks?

“Imperial bastard! Your hair! Slick it back!”

“It's not Imperial Bastard. It's Galahad—”

Clicking his tongue at the goateed man's bark, he applied oil and slicked his hair back, fully exposing his handsome face.

He winked at himself in the mirror. Behind him, Gilberton made a quiet retching noise. Such petty jealousy.

He followed the goateed man toward the Grand Duke.

The Grand Duke's residence was so enormous that walking through it seemed endless. It made his nickname, the King of the North, understandable.

The interior was packed with soldiers and knights. It was difficult to tell whether this was a residence or a military training camp.

Hostile stares followed Galahad wherever he went. Some men even hurled insults at him.

“Gilberton, those fellows just insulted me. Go give them a scolding.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Not me. Them.”

“All-talk bastard.”

“Hmm, that'll do. Your merciless insults seem to have made them repent.”

“Sleazy bastard.”

Their military strength exceeded what the Intelligence Bureau's reports had indicated. And this was only the Grand Duke's residence, not the front. There had to be far more troops stationed there.

Even the Intelligence Bureau had gaps in its knowledge. Galahad murmured in admiration.

They soon reached an enormous door. Two armed knights stood before it.

“Wait.”

A man with fierce, hawklike eyes barred his way. His beard was white, but his size and presence were menacing. A veteran warrior.

The goateed man explained, but the white-haired knight ignored him and gestured to Galahad.

“Any weapons?”

Galahad chuckled. Asking a Mage whether he had weapons? These northerners certainly knew nothing about Mages.

Still, ignoring the question might embarrass the man, so he offered the cigarette butt in his coat. The knight's face crumpled.

The knight held out a thick pair of handcuffs. Galahad recognized them: mana-suppressing cuffs.

'They have these here?'

Mana-suppressing cuffs disrupted the flow of mana. Made by applying a property of high-ranking Demons, they were something he had only seen back when he was a newcomer to the Intelligence Bureau.

Seeing them here brought back memories.

“Imperial bastard! Mage bastard! Put them on! The cuffs!”

At the goateed man's rough translation, Galahad put on the cuffs.

'It's been a while.'

His early days at the Intelligence Bureau suddenly came back to him. They weren't memories he particularly missed. His fingers tapped against the cuffs.

“From here! Alone! Go! Imperial bastard!”

“Look... It's Galahad, not Imperial Bastard. Already shut it, have you?”

He clicked his tongue quietly at the door that had slammed shut.

The room was large and spectacular. Its splendor didn't come from luxuries like jewels.

Swords and spears stood everywhere, and the corpses of horrific monsters were displayed on the walls. If there were a museum of stuffed Demons, this would be it.

'So this is what Demons look like.'

With so few Demons in the Empire, he had rarely had a chance to see one. The Intelligence Bureau mostly dealt with humans anyway.

A Demon did turn up on rare occasions, but another department handled those. Galahad's department—

The presence of another person interrupted his thoughts. At the far end of the room, a man reclined in an enormous chair.

Given the setting, he had to be the Grand Duke. It would be rather strange otherwise.

Perhaps his coat was made of Demon hide; a huge head sat on each shoulder, baring sharp fangs. It looked quite warm.

He looked less like a nobleman than a famous Demon hunter. Even beneath the heavy coat, his solid muscles were apparent.

With his strong, tigerlike features and piercing gaze, this was the Grand Duke, ruler of the North.

'He doesn't look busy.'

Hiding his thoughts, Galahad paid his respects.

“I greet the Empire's Eternal Shield.”

He heard the Grand Duke rise. The heavy footsteps, tinged with the clink of metal, reminded him of an executioner.

Galahad resisted the urge to scratch his neck.

The Grand Duke had no reason to take his head. Not because his head carried too much weight, but because it carried too little.

Compared with the political complications involved in arranging his engagement to Adrianna, Galahad's life weighed next to nothing.

Had the Grand Duke been too incompetent to understand even that, the northern front would have collapsed long ago, swallowed by the Empire or overrun by Demons.

Having finished his calculations, Galahad slowly raised his head.

Vivid blue eyes stared down at him. Meeting them felt as though his own eyes were burning.

'She doesn't take after her father at all.'

Had even a trace of that fierce face made its way into hers, she could never have looked like that.

Galahad forced the corners of his mouth upward.

Then the Grand Duke's shoulder moved. The instant Galahad saw it, every calculation vanished from his mind, and trained instinct took over.

His wrist turned smoothly. Their hands brushed past each other, crossing.

The Grand Duke's enormous hand stopped beside Galahad's head. A sharp chill prickled at his temple.

“A wolf of a man.”

The Grand Duke chuckled, looking at Galahad's hand aimed at his throat. A blade of condensed ice had appeared in it before he knew it.

“An occupational hazard.”

Galahad answered, struggling to suppress his tension.