Abduction (1)
Variables existed at any hour, in any place.
And that was a problem even Harad, regressed as he was, could not escape. If anything, it might prove more fatal for him. A stranger could shrug off the unexpected, but for Harad, every deviation meant the future was being rewritten.
Not that he could simply stand by and watch. He had returned to the past precisely in order to change that future.
A regressor had to be the one making variables — and the one keeping every last variable under his control.
Ceria had been a variable, plain and clear. So, too, was the week she had cost him. But the one suffering for it right now was not Harad.
Piiiiek!
Buldongi puffed out its cheeks. Whether a bird could even make such a gesture was a needless question — that thing was a magic beast. A magic beast, at that, sprouting flame instead of feathers.
Piik!
When Harad offered no reply, Buldongi puffed up its whole body, like a hedgehog raising its quills — except what bristled up in place of quills was fire.
"Be understanding, now."
At that one remark, Buldongi deflated.
Pip.
Buldongi regarded Harad as its parent. Or at the very least, as something every bit as precious.
There was a familiar comfort in the way it nuzzled its cheek against the back of his hand. The fire standing in for Buldongi's feathers was crimson flame — and that flame had lost a little of its vigor.
"Your fire's dimmed some. Been starving, have you?"
Pip.
Buldongi nodded.
Harad held out his palm. Flame rose from it, and Buldongi pecked the fire away in eager little bites.
"Did you manage to eat anything while I was gone?"
Buldongi shook its head even as it ate. A week without food, then.
And yet it's in this fine a shape.
Buldongi's condition was better than he'd expected. He had assumed it must have hunted something down, because any ordinary creature pushed to a week of starvation would be in genuine danger. Given Buldongi's nature — unable even to drink water — it should have been far worse.
Or is it fine precisely because it needs no water?
Buldongi truly was an extraordinary magic beast.
"Cheaper to keep than I'd thought."
That was one of the creature's virtues. The fewer headaches something caused, the easier it was to raise.
Piiiiek!
Buldongi cried out all of a sudden. Clever thing — it seemed to have taken his words to mean he wouldn't be feeding it properly from now on.
"Don't worry. You'll get fed whenever I have time to spare."
And today, he had time to spare. The flame flowing from his palm deepened in color. Crimson flame. The moment Buldongi confirmed it, its beak began pecking faster.
"...A genuine magic beast."
The face of Horn, Vice Commander of the 2nd Knight Order, who had been watching the whole scene, had stiffened somewhat.
That Harad came and went through the Boundary by way of the tunnel was now common knowledge among the knights. Even that much had astonished Horn.
But Harad had gone a step further.
"Remarkable. You've actually tamed a true magic beast?"
Even the beast's feed was magic — flames, no less. Flames that had once seared Horn himself.
"This one's a special case. Feeling tempted?"
"Not in the least."
Horn answered without a beat's hesitation. Magic beasts were the enemy.
"Does His Highness the Grand Duke know as well?"
Borrowing the tunnel and keeping a magic beast were two different matters.
"The Grand Duke's daughter does."
"Ah — if she does, then all's well."
Only then did Horn set his mind at ease and study Buldongi openly.
Such was the trust they placed in Elaine — a trust rivaling what they held for Grand Duke Aratus himself. An excess of faith to lay on a girl of twenty, enough that Elaine could hardly help feeling its weight.
"Could you tame a horse beast too?"
Horn's eyes shone like a child's. He had claimed not to be tempted in the slightest, but his curiosity was clearly beyond his control — a curiosity born of having learned, through Harad, that magic beasts were no longer the mere underlings of magicians.
An ordinary horse died the instant it set foot in the Boundary. Yet within the Boundary, beasts that looked for all the world like horses surely existed. If only they could fill a saddle, it would be a windfall for the knights.
"A fine notion. But best not to hope for too much."
A method for taming magic beasts. At the very least, the Harad of his past life had never known one. Buldongi was simply one of a kind.
"By the way — are you here alone?"
The tunnel lay beneath the Flowerbed's Flesh, yet Horn was by himself. Three-man teams were the bare standard. Besides, the tunnel demanded watch around the clock; the 2nd and 6th Knight Orders covered it in three shifts, papering over their thin manpower with the strength of Cassion, Horn, and the 6th Order's commander.
"I'm the Vice Commander. I ought to play the part my position demands."
When Horn had crumpled so helplessly in his spar with Harad a while back, weakness hadn't been the problem — carelessness had. A man who had thoroughly mastered the art of countering magicians, Horn was strong enough to face a 4th-tier magician single-handedly.
"You've had it rough. I'm sorry for it."
From the 2nd Knight Order's perspective, Harad had saddled them with an extra duty — and a thoroughly tiresome one at that, the kind that meant dragging oneself out of bed before dawn.
"Think nothing of it. It's only right."
Horn looked utterly unbothered. If anything, a flicker of pride crossed his face.
"The rest of the 2nd feels the same. The tunnel was your find, after all."
Finding the tunnel had been Harad's doing, and the 2nd Knight Order had gladly taken up its watch. They had already accepted him as a comrade.
"I didn't think I'd made that good an impression on your lot."
The 1st or 3rd Orders might be another matter, but Harad had proven precious little to the 2nd. Cassion's true identity was classified, after all.
"You're the Commander's friend, aren't you?"
"...Friend? Me?"
Harad pointed at his own face.
"That's right. That alone is more than enough. You know how much the Commander despises magicians."
How remarkable must a man be, to cut through that hatred and earn the title of friend? That was what Horn meant.
"I see."
Harad didn't bother correcting him. If being close to a fool was enough to be counted a comrade, so be it. Keeping company with fools was nothing new to him, even in his past life.
"Any plans coming up?"
Horn asked out of nowhere.
"What sort of plans?"
"The festival's nearly here. Festive days ahead."
"Doesn't the subjugation come first?"
"The subjugation's a festival in its own right."
The new year was close at hand. Subjugation and festival alike awaited the North.
"Harad — doesn't it amount to a holiday, for you?"
"I should think so."
Harad would have no part in the subjugation. His identity was a guarded secret — the soldiers would never be told, and neither would the rear-support orders. Clearance on who Harad truly was extended only as far as the knights of the Great Wall.
"And your people would be resting too... hm. No, I suppose not. I feel bad all over again."
Ordinarily the 2nd Knight Order would have been on holiday as well — if not for that tunnel.
"No need to feel bad. We run three shifts. Everyone has their hours to play. And when you get a chance, come have a meal... ah. That'll be hard, won't it."
"Hm?"
Harad cocked his head. Horn was carrying on as though Harad were some terribly busy man.
"Aren't you right in the thick of it, timewise? Say no more — I understand."
"...?"
"Then why come alone today? Where's Lady Ellen?"
"Busy, from the sound of it."
The subjugation and the festival — it was time for Ellen to return to her proper duties. That was exactly why Harad had come to see Buldongi alone. Today she hadn't come to eat at Kubel's annex. After spending every day at Ceria's side until yesterday, her backlog must have grown sizable, and more work would come pouring in from here on.
"Busy, you say?"
Horn tilted his head.
Ellen was a distant branch of House Serzila and an agent of the Intelligence Bureau — yet for all that, she never once set foot outside the territory. To anyone watching, she looked the very picture of an idle layabout.
"There's such a thing, is there."
"Ah, but then again — being with the Intelligence Bureau, perhaps she bears burdens we know nothing of."
Horn bobbed his head along with his own reasoning. "And you, Harad — you'd know all about them."
Then, for whatever reason, he leveled a sly, knowing look at Harad.
"So the rumors were true after all, I take it."
"Rumors?"
"Aye. But are both of them true?"
Apparently there were two rumors in circulation.
"Probably just what you're thinking."
Harad didn't bother asking what they were. Likely gibberish on par with that 'friend of Cassion' business.
"Good."
Good over what, exactly?
"Mind yourself around the 1st Knight Order, just in case. Those fellows run a sharper breed than us in the 2nd."
"Isn't calling a knight 'sharp' an insult?"
"It is."
"..."
"Which is exactly why I say watch yourself. They might go and pull something strange."
It was a loaded, ominous piece of advice.
The North was a land that overflowed with vitality.
That was not a truth exclusive to Serzila Territory. Even Northerners living in places colder, crueler, and more dangerous than this burned with the same vigor. For vitality was heat.
Living in the North did not, by itself, make one a Northerner. The Elaine of his past life had once said as much: only those who kept faith with the North's duties and defied death until the very day it claimed them could be called true Northerners.
Rick the tunneler had been a fine Northerner. He had striven to keep those duties, and even in an age when death meant liberation, he had hungered for life.
In any case, the vitality of this already-lively territory was being stoked hotter still. These people, truer to the present than anyone alive, would throw themselves just as completely into the coming subjugation and festival.
The festival had originally been a celebration of the subjugation force's safe return — but that meaning had long since gone hollow. At some point, the revelry had begun to be held before the subjugation rather than after. Because the subjugation could not fail.
"I hear the Grand Duke's daughter will be leading the subjugation force again this time."
At the heart of that Northern tradition, naturally, stood Elaine — the Grand Duke's daughter, beloved by all the North. The fervor of the North's love for her could stand shoulder to shoulder with the faith of the Church itself.
The Elaine of the past had been grateful for that love. She had loved them back in full measure. And she had felt the weight of it, too.
He hoped it would be different this time. Elaine had every right to enjoy that love to its very last drop.
Even the unusually crowded streets offered the occasional familiar face. Knights — off-duty ones, most likely. When it was time to play, they played; that ethos ran deep in Serzila. No one knew when death might come, so when the chance to enjoy oneself arrived, one seized it properly. The knights of the North were the most vital souls in it.
"...?"
But from one particular knight, Harad caught not vitality but something uncanny.
The man was shooting a sideways glance at Harad, who had just brushed past him. A knight of the 1st Order.
Scos?
A face he knew. He couldn't very well hail him — the moment their eyes met, the man strode off at a brisk clip.
What was that about?
Harad found himself thinking of Isota and her mask. It was suspicious enough that he half-wondered whether someone had disguised themselves as Scos. But Isota was dead, and Scos of the 1st Knight Order was a knight he could cross paths with any day of the week.
He didn't bother giving chase.
This was the first festival he would greet in this life. He had no great intention of enjoying it, but he had no wish to spoil it either. The more the celebration brimmed with life, the happier Elaine would be.
"You've come, Harad."
"Keeping well?"
Harad smiled at Kubel, who had opened the door for him. For the first time in a week, a delicious smell wafted from Kubel's annex. While Ceria had been in residence, Kubel and Shura had been forced to hide away in an Intelligence Bureau safehouse.
"You've been through a lot. They say children often fuss when their bed changes."
"It was you and Lady Ellen who had the hard time of it, not me. Shura slept ever so soundly."
And yet the smile Kubel wore as he said it was somehow stiff.
"Something happen?"
"Ah, n-nothing at all."
There was, though. Kubel's eyes slid away, and Harad's gaze thinned as he studied him.
"Th-the rumors, you see..."
The rumors. No doubt the same ones Horn had mentioned.
"Out with it, then."
"I heard things are going swimmingly between you and Lady Ellen."
"Me?"
"Y-yes. A gentleman who's apparently the Commander of the 3rd Knight Order was saying..."
Harad listened with half an ear while his gaze roamed the annex. There was warmth in the air — not the dull warmth of a stove, but raw, fresh heat. A fire had been burning here until just moments ago. Cooking, most likely.
"That one invites misunderstanding. Ah — though I did hear there were two rumors."
"Y-yes. The other is that you've fallen for the disciple who was visiting until recently..."
"Me?"
Harad's brow knotted. His gaze went on sweeping the space behind Kubel all the same. A delicious smell had been drifting out from the annex since before he'd set foot inside — a spicy smell. Shura couldn't eat spicy food. Ellen hadn't eaten here today, and she wouldn't make it for dinner either. Kubel knew that much; Ellen had given them notice the night before, mid-play with Shura.
"So someone's been eating here. Several someones, at that."
"..."
"And you heard the rumors from them, I'd wager. Come, then — who is it?"
Kubel looked away. No — he turned his eyes on someone in hiding.
"Sharp-eyed bastard!"
someone bellowed. From the kitchen.
"Grab him!"
Another man had been flattened against the wall to the left of the door. He shoved Kubel aside and lunged to seize Harad — and Harad's boot drove into his solar plexus.
"Gahk."
In an instant, the presence of people erupted on every side. Two of them came from the yard — already closing on his back.
Harad reflexively began to conjure his magic, then stopped himself. The man doubled over by his kick was Gulen.
The 1st Knight Order?
Watch out for the 1st Knight Order. Horn's warning flickered through his mind.
"This is exactly why I said someone ought to keep a proper watch on him!"
Gulen managed the words while wheezing between coughs.
"What in the..."
Then someone engulfed Harad in a crushing bear hug. The muscle on the man was staggering.
"Got him!"
Delic. It was Delic.
Another knight yanked a jet-black cloth down over Harad's face — the kind thrown over a condemned man's head.
"We have captured Harad, who dared let his eyes wander from his own disciple!"
Tursten. That one was Tursten.
"It's a festival!"
At that, the hidden knights roared their assent.
"You're being abducted, sir."
Gulen whispered at the ear of Harad as he was hauled off.
"Madmen."
The rumors.
That was why Harad was being abducted.