Chapter 76 - Red Ginseng Candy

'Gray aura...'

Gilberton narrowed his eyes and adjusted his grip on his sword. Before him, Damian stood with a sword pointed at him—not the crude weapon he used before, but a finely crafted one. The color of the aura coating it caught his attention.

Aura came in many colors. Adrianna's was white, for instance, while Gilberton's was blue. Even the Imperial Princess's was pink. There were more colors than anyone could name, but they all shared one trait.

They were bright.

For conviction could not be dark.

Yet Damian's aura was ash-gray. Even the most generous observer could not call it bright. It was as gloomy as the heavy clouds on a rainy day.

The men in the Seventh Battalion who had received Demon power had produced ash-gray aura too, but theirs was merely aura mixed with Demon power—an impure substance that barely deserved the name.

What Damian held now, however, was unmistakably aura.

Aura was conviction. It was solace for those who refused to give up even in the mire. For such a thing to be dark...

"You must have had a hard life, kid."

Gilberton smiled bitterly.

"Sir Gilberton, Gwen and I cannot help you. If things get dangerous, ask the rookie for help."

Galahad's voice came from behind him. A quick glance revealed him and Gwen busily working on something.

Even so, asking that dim-witted rookie for help?

"He's still just a kid. I can handle him alone," Gilberton replied, adjusting his grip.

"Hmm, he may look like one, but that wrinkled old man from earlier is inside him. A thoroughly filthy old man, still so greedy at his age that he lusts after a boy's body."

"... What?"

Gilberton chuckled at the aged exclamation that burst from Damian's mouth. Galahad really was a master at getting under someone's skin.

"Keep a firm hold on him. I'll find a way."

"A firm hold, you say..."

Gilberton lowered his stance and pointed his sword at Damian.

"I'll teach him some manners."

His voice was firm. Blue aura blazed up like fire.

"Very well. If you have trouble, ask the rookie for help."

"There's no need. I am Gilberton, a knight. Surely you don't think I'd lose to a mere Damian?"

"Is that so?"

"You uncivilized humans. Tsk."

Damian clicked his tongue and flicked his sword. Ash-gray aura carved a long furrow through the floor.

In the next instant, he was right in front of Gilberton, swinging his blade.

'What the...?'

Gilberton hurriedly drew his sword back. Ash-gray and blue aura mingled, the two starkly different forces savaging each other as though each coveted the other.

A great chunk of blue aura was torn away. Gilberton's eyes narrowed. Their blades crossed again, and more blue aura was ripped off.

'This is...'

Biting his lip, Gilberton summoned his aura again. Blue surged forth, pushing the ash-gray back.

But only for a moment.

Another handful of blue aura vanished.

Gilberton swung his sword in a wide arc.

BOOM!

The heavy impact sent Damian sliding far backward. Unlike his usual self, he maintained a stable stance.

His swordsmanship was impressive. It was textbook technique rather than practical combat swordsmanship—the exact opposite of Damian's usual style.

But his swordsmanship was not the problem.

The ash-gray aura was eating Gilberton's.

"Delicious."

Damian licked his lips. The ash-gray aura rippling along his blade was larger than before.

'It... ate my aura?'

Gilberton looked down at his own sword. The blue aura was slightly smaller, as though someone had taken a bite out of it.

Aura that devoured aura. This was practically...

'A monster that eats knights.'

Sweat gathered in his sword hand. A chill ran down his back.

"Your aura tastes better than your face would suggest."

The creature murmured in a cloying voice. Its ash-gray aura billowed, as though smacking its lips.

It ate aura to increase its own size. Gilberton's brow furrowed deeply at the unimaginable phenomenon. A single exchange had already put him at a disadvantage, and his opponent's aura had even grown.

'Does it grow stronger the more it crosses swords with knights?'

Though they had exchanged only a single bout, he instinctively understood his opponent.

Why Damian had suddenly become like this, what that bizarre aura was—the situation was terribly complicated. Trying to understand it made his head hurt.

But the commander had said he would find a way.

And Gilberton was a knight.

So...

"Gilberton, a knight."

He simply readjusted his grip.

* * *

'Interesting.'

Galahad murmured to himself as he watched Damian cross swords with Gilberton.

Gilberton was an excellent knight. He was as steadfast as he was stupid, and that steadfastness made his convictions firmer than other people's. His aura was tougher than anyone's.

And Damian's aura was tearing into it and eating it.

'Aura that devours aura...'

The two auras clashed again. The blue shrank. It was only a handful, but Galahad noticed that it had become a little smaller than before. Conversely, the ash-gray aura grew by precisely the amount it had consumed.

Aura that devoured other aura and grew accordingly...

'A knight's natural predator.'

Knights were the Demons' greatest enemies. If this was their natural predator...

'Should I eliminate him?'

Galahad's eyes narrowed. Leaving him alone carried far too much risk. If Damian fell into Demon hands, he would grow into a dreadful calamity.

Galahad snapped his fingers twice. He disliked the idea, but he was not foolish enough to shirk a necessary task simply because it displeased him. Emotion had to be excluded from judgment. Only then could he make the right decision.

He coldly weighed the risks against the possibilities.

But...

["I told you. Being with me is dangerous."]

His eyes tightened.

["You're far too sentimental."]

He clicked his tongue softly.

He could not give up on Damian. High risk meant high value, after all. Galahad was not so fainthearted that he would give up beforehand out of fear of danger.

"Use Proxel's authority. Since you'll be using it through the Egg of agony, you should be able to transmit my power."

"... What?! You're giving Damian power?!"

Galahad nodded at Gwen's incredulous question.

"Wh-what if I can't?"

"Then it's 'Sorry, Damian.'"

Gwen's eyes widened. Unlike usual, she did not cry. She merely bit down hard on her lip. She looked angry.

"I'll do it."

"Good. I'm counting on you."

Galahad bent forward slightly and focused on the Egg of agony.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The Egg of agony stirred violently, as though urging him not to bother with all this effort and simply eat the boy to settle matters. It whipped up his excitement and shook his mind fiercely.

'So you're overstepping your bounds after all.'

At his low murmur, the Egg of agony stopped dead.

He could feel its gaze. His lips curled upward. A weight settled around his heart, as though it were threatening to burst it.

Galahad laughed softly.

'Cut the bullshit.'

He waved his right hand. The magic circle shone brightly, and the Egg of agony squirmed. He brought his right wrist against his heart.

As it drew closer, the Egg of agony thrashed violently. Ignoring it, he circulated still more mana. Life force spewed from the egg. It hurriedly seized his heart, but...

'Wouldn't that violate the contract?'

The Egg of agony froze.

The contract stipulated that he would kill Adrianna "if Corton wished it."

Corton dreamed of becoming the Black Magic Society's president and was diligently mining ore to achieve that goal. If Adrianna died now, someone else would clearly receive the credit. No one coveted credit more than Corton did. He would certainly wait until he became president before making his wish.

Galahad had made a precise calculation, and he trusted it.

In short, the Egg of agony bursting his heart here would be a clear violation of the contract.

'You may have become more useful, but at your core, you are a tool for contracts. Can you act in breach of one?'

THUMP.

The Egg of agony trembled faintly.

'I only humor you when I have the leisure. I have no time to play now, so shut up and do as you're told. Before I tear you out—'

Galahad aimed his finger precisely at the left side of his heart.

The Egg of agony knew instinctively that this madman really might punch a hole in his own chest.

It fell silent.

'Wouldn't it be better to behave yourself without being told?'

Galahad clicked his tongue softly.

THUMP...

"It says... it was joking."

"Tell it I dislike unfunny jokes. What matters now is Proxel's authority. Can you do it?"

"Yes, I think I understand it."

"Oh, well done, Gwen."

"But it's dangerous. This is..."

Her lips moved soundlessly. A variety of emotions swirled in her eyes. She was a good girl.

"Gwen."

"It's really dangerous. It feels like connecting—"

"Danger is my specialty," Galahad said, undoing his shirt cuff.

"Now, let's begin."

He smiled. Gwen's expression grew considerably more serious. Then she drove her finger deep.

SQUELCH.

Galahad's vision flickered.

* * *

SHHHHH...

The roar of heavy rain battered his ears. A musty smell of wet wood and earth filled the air. He was inside a shabby house.

Galahad ducked slightly. The ceiling was so low that his head had nearly touched it.

Loud laughter came from farther inside. A man and woman's cheerful laughter shook the whole house. Galahad frowned and looked around.

GROWL!

Something was huddled in a corner. It was so emaciated that, for an instant, it looked like a corpse.

Galahad habitually reached for a cigarette, but found none. Clicking his tongue, he sat down beside the boy.

When he looked up, he saw the shoddy ceiling. It had been so carelessly built that water dripped ceaselessly through the gaps.

DRIP. DRIP.

The boy watched the droplets. Galahad quietly watched too. A drop grew steadily larger, then fell.

Then the cries of pleasure stopped. The bedroom door opened, releasing a wave of stale heat.

A flushed, bald man emerged, adjusting his waistband. Spotting the boy, he clicked his tongue and tossed him something, as though feeding a dog.

It was a piece of bread, half covered in mold. The boy snatched it up and frantically stuffed it into his mouth.

Not long after the bald man left, a curly-haired man arrived. He wore a rather stylish beard. Without so much as acknowledging the boy, he went into the inner room.

"Quite popular, isn't she?"

"She lowered her prices recently. Another prostitute showed up, so she was losing customers."

"Is that so? She has quite a head for business."

The boy nodded, then started coughing. He hurried over to where the water dripped, opened his mouth wide, and caught the drops.

BOOM!

A thunderous noise from somewhere shook the house violently.

Galahad clicked his tongue and stood. The damp ceiling touched the crown of his head. The boy stared at him.

"Get up. We should leave."

"Why?"

The question was entirely sincere. He seemed unable to see any reason to leave this place.

Galahad had not exactly enjoyed a happy childhood himself, so he had nothing to say. Nor was he the sort to make emotional appeals.

He searched his pockets again. There it was at last. In his hand was a cigarette with a faint lemon scent.

He put it between his lips. He tried striking a light, but the rain dripping through the ceiling had soaked it, making it difficult to ignite. Only after a while did he manage it.

Taking a deep drag, he looked down at the boy, who had curled up even tighter than before.

Galahad clicked his tongue.

"That's an order."

The boy's eyes widened. He swallowed, as though the fresh scent had made his mouth water.

"Oh, your wishes don't enter into it."

Galahad snapped his fingers. Nothing happened.

That rather spoiled the effect. Grumbling, he swung his fist. It sank into the waterlogged ceiling, sending fragments flying and widening the hole.

SHHHHH!

The rain grew louder. Lukewarm water poured down.

"No!"

The boy cried out urgently. Galahad smiled.

"Sorry, but it's too late."

He swung his fist again, enlarging the hole. Then he grabbed the broken ceiling and tore it apart. The shabby roof collapsed outright.

Heavy rain battered him relentlessly.

"Refreshing, isn't it?"

The boy narrowed his eyes at the question. On closer inspection, it was a smile.

Smartly dressed figures surrounded them, looking around as though searching for something.

"Ah. Over here."

Galahad waved. The moment they spotted him, the figures charged toward him menacingly.

"Oh dear. We've been found."

"You're the one who knocked it down."

The boy looked incredulous.

"It's my specialty."

Galahad rummaged through his pockets. It ought to be somewhere around here...

Ah, there it was.

He took out a piece of candy. A very red one.

"Eat this. It'll give you strength."

He tossed the candy, and the boy eagerly caught it in his mouth.

"Ugh..."

His face instantly turned miserable.

"What's good for you always tastes bitter."

Galahad cackled.

Countless footsteps sounded behind him. Galahad spread both hands.

"Now, I'm in danger. Save me, Damian," he said shamelessly.

"Sure, big brother."

Damian giggled.

* * *

'Pathetic.'

Gilberton narrowed his eyes and flicked his blade. His opponent's sword came in at an angle.

To put it kindly, it was orthodox swordsmanship. Its distinctive form clearly marked it as an advanced style—the sort nobles learned.

But it was far too orthodox. That made it transparent.

It was no match for Gilberton, who had honed his blade on the front lines.

The problem was the aura. It had steadily grown by devouring Gilberton's, until it was now practically a greatsword. Meanwhile, the aura on Gilberton's blade had been reduced by half.

His swordsmanship was barely keeping him in the fight, and even that was becoming increasingly difficult.

"How much longer?!"

Gilberton shouted through gritted teeth. His sword felt heavy. His palms split, spraying blood.

"Th-the commander's asleep!"

Gwen's shrill voice came from behind him.

'Asleep at a time like this? What does that even...?'

It was absurd, but Galahad had said he would find a way, so he certainly would. Gilberton's job was to hold out until then.

The problem was...

"I'm growing bored now."

The gap between them was widening. Now merely blocking a single strike was enough to make his legs buckle.

Gilberton eyed his opponent through narrowed eyes. The ash-gray aura now surged beyond the blade itself. His own aura, by contrast, could barely maintain its shape.

["If you have trouble, ask the rookie for help."]

Gilberton glanced aside. Noad, the rookie, stood waiting with sword in hand.

'Why not come help earlier? How frustrating.'

He grumbled to himself for no reason. But this was the dim-witted rookie. A little help would not change anything at this point.

"Run. I'll handle this."

He spoke firmly to the rookie. This was an opponent even Gilberton could not defeat. Adding that dim-witted newcomer could hardly change that.

RATTLE.

The rookie shook that helmet as though trying to say something.

Just then, his opponent aimed at Gilberton. The ash-gray aura billowed as though opening its jaws wide.

Gilberton raised his sword to meet it.

The immense ash-gray aura came toward him. It had grown so large that it resembled a wave.

He clicked his tongue softly and adjusted his grip. Burning pain flared through his torn palms. His aura was now almost invisible.

Then a figure in thick armor stepped in front of him.

The rookie. That back looked strangely familiar.

Very strangely...

"I told you to run! You stupid..."

Gilberton flared with anger.

Then the rookie drew a sword. The light upon its blade was...

Pure white.

Aura was conviction.

Only one person possessed a sense of justice so pure that it shone white.

'... The rookie is Lady Adrianna?'

For the first time, Gilberton dropped his sword.

* * *

"So, maintaining the city means—"

The fox-masked figure looked up. The person opposite had abruptly risen.

A lunatic who wore a crown despite being a Demon. His head was turned toward something.

'Damn brat.'

The fox-masked figure muttered a curse. Someone had clearly caught the ruler's attention.

Using an authority, the figure sensed that the mana concentration had dropped sharply. Only one person would do something so barbaric.

'Adrianna? Why is that bitch here?'

That would explain why the ruler had suddenly stood. Adrianna must have drawn his attention.

'Not yet.'

The fox-masked figure bit down on a lip. If Adrianna and the ruler clashed here and now, it would certainly throw the balance awry.

Rather than let that happen...

'Should I dispose of the ruler? Ah, that would be far too much trouble.'

A quiet groan escaped the mask. Still, contact between the ruler and Adrianna had to be prevented somehow.

The figure loosened up both hands.

Just then...

"Belhardenia, you've finally come."

The ruler smiled deeply.

'Belhardenia? That's the revered name of the first human Mage.'

The first human Mage could not possibly have come here. That person could not move.

'Then who is he looking at?'

The fox-masked figure tilted their head. In any case, it did not seem to be Adrianna.

Quiet relief followed.

Overtime was the last thing they wanted.