How to Handle a Calamity
Rubbing his bleary eyes on the morning walk to work, Reed immediately sensed that something was amiss in the streets of Morasil.
What's going on?
A pall of dread hung heavy over the populace. People huddled in tight clusters, murmuring in grave, hushed tones, and here and there he even spotted families loading up handcarts and fleeing the city.
The atmosphere inside the workshop was no different. The stonemasons sat slumped over morning broadsheets, letting out one heavy sigh after another.
Reed approached Loty, who was anxiously biting his nails and bouncing his knee.
"Senior? Did something happen?"
Loty grabbed Reed by both shoulders, violently rattling him back and forth.
"R-R-Reed! It's a disaster! They're forecasting a monster wave!"
"A m-monster wave?!"
"Yes!"
"...And what exactly is that?"
"..."
Reed had played along with the panic purely out of courtesy, but he genuinely had never heard the term before. Deflated by his lack of comprehension, Loty stared at him with a look of bitter disappointment.
"Right. You're not from around here, are you? And considering the last one was fifteen years ago... To put it simply, it's a phenomenon where the magical beasts throughout the Demonic Borderlands suddenly lose their damn minds."
A monster wave. Known elsewhere as the Wild Hunt, or the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.
"Usually, beasts keep to their own territory, right? But during a monster wave, all of that goes out the window. They gather into swarms. Even predators and prey that would normally tear each other to shreds will pack together side by side!"
Reed's brow furrowed.
Bears roaming alongside stags, cats prowling in harmony with sewer rats—that was essentially what it amounted to. Even granting that magical beasts were fundamentally different from common wildlife, it was a profoundly unnatural aberration.
"Once they form a swarm, they rampage across the land in droves, hunting human flesh. Hamlets get flattened like kindling, and entire cities have been wiped off the map."
"Damn."
The monster wave was the most terrifying catastrophe of the Demonic Borderlands, and the single greatest wall impeding western expansion. Occurring in cycles ranging from as brief as five years to as long as several decades, every resurgence dealt a crippling blow to the frontier.
Suddenly, Reed recalled the colossal stone barricade he had passed through on his journey from Asterritz into the western frontier.
"Wait, that massive rampart erected on the border..."
"Ah, you mean the Great Wall? Exactly. The first Emperor had it built specifically to hold back the monster waves. It was only thanks to the Great Wall that the Empire could finally prosper in peace."
Reed nodded slowly as the pieces fell into place. A massive headache was certainly heading their way. Even so, it seemed to him that Loty was trembling far more than necessary.
"Still, wouldn't a metropolis like Morasil be safe? The Governor himself resides here."
Loty shook his head vigorously.
"You don't get it at all. The longer the interval between waves, the more catastrophic the scale when it finally hits. It's been fifteen years since the last one, which means this wave is going to be an absolute nightmare."
"Even so, surely the beasts can't breach walls of that height..."
"Reed, do you and I live inside the inner city?"
"Ah."
The three concentric stone walls encircling Morasil were towering marvels that could rightfully be called impregnable. Yet the overwhelming majority of Morasil's hundreds of thousands of residents lived outside those inner battlements. The only people permitted within the sanctum were titled nobility, magnates of staggering wealth, or figures who had rendered extraordinary service to the frontier.
While this stood as a stark testament to Morasil's ruthless class divide, it was born of a genuine trauma: the Demon Worshippers.
Decades ago, cultists had unleashed a virulent plague known as the Black Death within the inner city. Half the population inside had perished, and the entire frontier enterprise had nearly collapsed overnight in the worst terror attack in western history. Ever since, entry into the inner city was governed by strict permits and draconian background checks.
"During one previous wave, a beast swarm actually reached the outskirts of Morasil," Loty murmured, his voice dropping. "And the Governor refused to open the gates."
"Because Demon Worshippers might slip in among the refugees?"
"Precisely. So many people died out in the open back then..."
"Cold-blooded. Brutal."
From the perspective of an administrator, it might have been the rational choice, but Reed couldn't bring himself to look upon it favorably.
Just as the two sat muttering in the corner, the workshop doors swung open.
Guildmaster Darahalt strode inside. Seeing him fully dressed in a formal doublet rather than his usual leather apron, he had clearly just returned from an official assembly. A heavy shadow hung over his weathered face, and he blew out a long, weary breath.
The stonemasons instantly swarmed around him.
"Guildmaster!"
"Guildmaster, what's the verdict?"
"Phew. I just came back from the high council convened by the Governor. Fortunately, the administration had already drawn up a comprehensive contingency plan."
A collective sigh of relief rippled through the hall. Nothing quelled panic quite like hearing that the man in charge had a plan.
"Every guild and guild-affiliated organization in Morasil, including our own, has pledged full cooperation to the Governor's office to weather this storm. It is summer now, and the wave is projected for next spring. We still have time on our side. Provided the preparations stay on schedule, we should be able to hold the line."
Darahalt brandished a thick ream of parchment in his calloused hand. The masons tracked the fluttering pages with rapt, hopeful gazes, as if those very sheets held their salvation.
"Right! We've no time to squander, so I'll lay it out plainly. Loty. Garland. Hund. McCarthy. Rilke. Step forward."
Loty and four other senior apprentices edged to the front with uneasy, hesitant steps, their faces tense with the dread of having bungled an assignment. But the words that rumbled from Darahalt's chest caught them entirely off guard.
"You lot have learned all the fundamentals we can teach you here. It's time to pack your bags and hit the road."
"...!"
It was the declaration of their elevation from apprentice to journeyman.
Once an apprentice had mastered their trade, they were expected to embark on an itinerant journey across various lands, honing their craft in the field before returning to claim the full status of a master craftsman. A trial by fire, of sorts.
The young men broke into surprised grins, though an undercurrent of apprehension quickly crept in. Loty, true to form, spoke up first.
"Um, Guildmaster... with a monster wave on the horizon, isn't wandering the countryside outside a bit suicidal?"
Darahalt shook his head with an exasperated scowl.
"You thick-headed fool! Do you think public order will be better or worse after the horde finishes trampling the province? It's far safer to travel right now than in the aftermath! How can you not see that?"
"R-Right. Of course. Silly me."
"Besides, skilled stonemasons are going to be in desperate demand very soon. The reconstruction efforts once the dust settles will be monumental. His Excellency the Governor personally requested that we expand our roster of certified artisans as quickly as possible."
A polite request on paper, but an ironclad command in practice.
Even so, for Loty and the other apprentices, it was an unexpected stroke of fortune. Truth be told, their technical skills had long surpassed the apprentice threshold. They had merely been held back by the guild's rigid custom requiring at least six years of bonded service before granting a journeyman's credentials.
Naturally, Reed mused wryly. Apprentices can be worked to the bone for practically nothing, whereas a journeyman demands proper wages and respect.
That was the inherent exploitation of the apprenticeship system: squeeze cheap labor out of youths for as long as humanly possible. From what Reed had gathered, the Stonemasons' Union was actually remarkably generous; more predatory guilds were notorious for withholding trade secrets, using boys for domestic drudgery, and kicking them to the curb once their youth was spent.
"Next names, step forward!"
Darahalt continued barking out directives without pause.
A bridge needed construction here. A defensive rampart required reinforcement there, and such-and-such crew was assigned to it. Official requests for mutual aid had arrived from neighboring sectors.
Once every assignment was handed down, the craftsmen scattered to prepare their gear.
"Well, at least we won't have to worry about a lack of work anytime soon."
"This is our chance to rake in some serious coin!"
"Loty, congratulations, you bastard!"
Amid the clamor of departure, Reed remained rooted in place. Darahalt had caught his eye and given him a discreet nod.
Quick to read the room, Reed stepped up to the master's desk.
"You wanted to see me, Guildmaster?"
"Aye. A requisition order came in for you as well. They're assembling an advance beast subjugation force, and they specifically asked for you to serve as a technical officer."
"A technical officer?"
During imperial campaigns, artisan specialists like carpenters and masons were routinely conscripted for siege and engineering operations. Rather than serving on the front lines as infantry, technical officers were tasked with assembling ballistas, throwing up palisades, or bridging ravines. They were treated with considerable deference, even by ranking military officers.
Still, it was an abrupt assignment for Reed.
Seeing Reed blink in surprise, Darahalt gave an apologetic grimace.
"I know it's sudden, lad. After that sewer survey you handled, I intended to spare you from this sort of hazardous nonsense, but... the directive came from the top. They singled you out by name."
"By name?"
"It seems one of the high-and-mighties was quite taken by your performance in that duel."
Julian's defeat was still bearing unexpected fruit, it seemed.
Darahalt looked guilty, but inwardly, Reed was far from displeased.
Well, if it gives me an opportunity to gather offerings, that suits me fine.
In truth, he had been fretting lately over his sparse offerings to Ur. Marching with a subjugation vanguard would present a steady harvest of slain beasts to offer to the soil.
And if I make a favorable impression on someone in the Governor's circle along the way, all the better.
Sensing Reed's unbothered acceptance, Darahalt let out a breath of relief.
"Phew. I'm sorry, lad. Consider this a debt I owe you."
"No need to call it a debt, Guildmaster."
"Head over to the Pioneers Guild. They have all the specifics."
With that, Darahalt hurried off into the rear offices, clearly inundated with urgent business. He was bound to be buried under administrative chaos for weeks to come.
Reed took his leave and headed straight for the Pioneers Guild.
The guildhall was in an uproar that rivaled an active war zone. Where ordinary laborers and civilian contractors normally milled about, hardened mercenaries now packed the floor shoulder to shoulder.
"Form a line! I said, get in line!"
"The giant spider hunting party is fully rostered!"
"What's your specialty? Healing magic? You're hired!"
One man's crisis was another's gold rush.
The impending monster wave had sent the market value of sellswords through the roof. Towns and fortified settlements across the Demonic Borderlands were already dispatching emissaries clinking with sacks of gold, desperate to lock down reliable mercenary outfits. Naturally, rates had skyrocketed.
Veterans of proven reputation could name their own price, and even greenhorns were demanding anywhere from one-and-a-half to double their ordinary pay.
The mercenaries were playing hard to get, weighing lucrative offers to milk this golden hour dry, while guild clerks strained their vocal cords trying to lock down every competent blade they could find.
What a madhouse.
Reed slipped past the jostling crowd and mounted the stairs. A clerk who had grown familiar with his face offered a polite smile and escorted him up to the second floor.
There, several senior guild executives, including Smith Leak, stood huddled in quiet conversation. Every face among them was etched with profound gravity.
Taking a quick breather from the madness?
The moment Reed stepped onto the landing, all eyes snapped toward him. Smith pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and stepped forward with a welcoming expression.
"Mister Smith."
"Ah, you've arrived, Reed. Congratulations on the duel, you must have been exhausted from—"
"Oh, my heavens! So you're the famous mage, Master Reed! It is an absolute pleasure to meet you."
A plump, middle-aged woman cut in abruptly, barging right between them. Startled, Reed took half a step back as she beamed at him with exaggerated warmth.
"I am Dorian, Vice Branch Chief of the Pioneer Guild East Gate Branch."
"Ah... hello. I'm Reed."
"The honor is all mine! I had the privilege of watching your duel the other day—goodness, what astonishing power! I was simply blown away!"
"Haha... is that so?"
Her flattery was so suffocatingly thick that her ulterior motives were practically stamped across her forehead. Reed offered a stiff, noncommittal smile and shifted his gaze toward Smith.
"I actually came to discuss official business with Mister Smith, so if you'll excuse us—"
"That is precisely what I wished to speak with you about! Tell me, Master Reed, are you truly aware of your own value?"
Thrown off by the unsolicited topic, Reed blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
"Because I am! To possess such transcendent skill at such a tender age! You are destined to become a towering figure in the reclamation of this frontier! Others may be blind to it, but I see your genius clearly!"
Dorian puffed out her chest, smirking as if she were privy to an exclusive revelation.
"In short, Master Reed, you are far too vital an asset to this guild to remain under Smith's humble wing. Oh, Smith is a decent fellow, to be sure, but his rank is modest, his discretionary authority is terribly limited, and... well, his administrative methods can be rather stiff and rigid, wouldn't you say? Ho ho ho!"
Dorian shielded her mouth with a delicate hand, casting a disdainful sidelong glance at Smith. Smith's complexion darkened to a sour ash.
"It simply wouldn't do for someone of your stature to be paired with someone outside your league. Therefore, as Vice Branch Chief, I shall oversee your affairs personally from this day forward. That sounds marvelous, doesn't it?"
In plain terms, she had smelled prestige and profit on Reed and was blatantly hijacking the connection for herself.
Smith clenched his jaw so hard his molars creaked. Everything in him screamed to protest the injustice, but Dorian was the second-in-command, while he held only a junior seat among the executive cadre. The Pioneers Guild was an imperial bureaucracy; it tolerated no open insubordination.
The other executives nearby either looked away or gave weary, knowing sighs. Their expressions read plainly: There she goes again.
Clearly, this was not Dorian's first rodeo. Shameless opportunism was likely the very ladder she had used to climb to her current post.
Reed watched the display quietly, a single eyebrow arching upward.
Well, look at this.
Interpreting his reaction as receptive curiosity, Dorian smiled brilliantly and extended a manicured hand.
"I look forward to a wonderfully fruitful partnership."
Reed paused for a beat, smiled, and took her hand. Dorian's smile widened in triumph. Behind her, Smith closed his eyes in bitter resignation.
Then Reed spoke.
"I'm afraid I must decline. I've never been fond of ranking people into 'leagues.'"
"...Pardon? What do you mean?"
The smile on Dorian's face fractured like brittle ice.
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll continue handling my affairs through Mister Smith. I haven't found his methods to be particularly stiff at all."
"H-Haha... You must be misunderstanding. Once you hear the sheer breadth of institutional support I can personally authorize—"
"Oh, and one more thing."
Reed cut her off without hesitation.
"Mister Smith and I were in the middle of a conversation when you barged in and talked over him. I suggest you mind your manners in the future. I might let it slide, but mages as a rule are terribly touchy about basic courtesy."
"..."
Whether mages were actually sensitive about such things was entirely irrelevant. Reed was a mage, and he was declaring it to be so.
Dorian's face flushed a violent, mottled crimson, choked with a toxic cocktail of humiliation and fury. Yet unlike Smith, Reed was not her subordinate. Furthermore, by her own admission, he was a rising star poised to carve out a massive reputation in the frontier. She could not afford to antagonize him openly.
"I... I see. Perhaps another time, then..."
Dorian spun on her heel and practically fled down the corridor.
The remaining executives stifled snickers of vindication before turning toward Reed with newfound respect in their eyes.
To reject her without even a second's hesitation...
The rumors of his unyielding loyalty weren't exaggerated. He really is the sort of man who declared war on the Magic Tower just to defend his comrade's honor!
Damn you, Smith, you lucky bastard...
A web of profound misunderstandings was forming in their heads, but Reed was blissfully unaware. He simply watched Dorian's retreating back with deep satisfaction.
Not long ago, he had been a ragged orphan scraping out an existence in the slums. Now, he could make a high-ranking official of an imperial guild choke on her own spit with a few quiet words.
So this is the intoxicating thrill of power, he thought. I definitely need to train harder.
Unaware of the dark, petty satisfaction brewing inside the young man, Smith stood there in utter, reverent awe, completely shedding his usual cold, clinical demeanor.
Once the others dispersed, leaving the two of them alone, Smith stammered, "I... I never dreamed you would defend me like that, Master Reed. Objectively speaking, aligning yourself with the Vice Branch Chief would have yielded far greater advantages..."
"A man doesn't abandon his people, Mister Smith. Not after everything you've done for me."
It was simple truth. Smith had provided invaluable intelligence regarding the Demonic Borderlands and had offered crucial logistical aid during the clash with the Black Blade Syndicate. While none of it had been purely out of the goodness of Smith's heart, a foundation of genuine transactional trust had been forged between them.
Dorian, on the other hand, was a leech. The moment she perceived utility, she latched on without shame. Reed didn't necessarily despise opportunists—in fact, he rather admired brazen pragmatism. But admiring someone's audacity was a world apart from placing your back in their hands.
Above all else, all other reasoning aside...
She was just damn rude.
And when someone was rude, you shoved their insolence down their throat. That was the unvarnished spite of a boy raised in the gutter.
Smith chewed on Reed's words for a long moment, pinched the bridge of his nose to steady his composure, and bowed deeply from the waist.
"I swear to you, I will dedicate myself entirely to assisting your endeavors from here on out."
"No need to bow that deeply... but yes, I look forward to working together."
"Right!"
Smith straightened up, burning with far more zeal than usual.
"You came regarding the subjugation vanguard, yes?"
"Yes. Guildmaster Darahalt told me the Pioneers Guild had the details."
"Then allow me to walk you through the deployment from the beginning."
Smith pulled a thick dossier from a desk drawer and laid it open.
"The expedition you will be attached to is co-commanded by Baron Adil and Sir Rowain. Each commander will field forty troops, divided between private retainers and contracted mercenaries. In addition, there will be technical officers such as yourself, along with a cadre of priests dispatched by the Sun Church. Factoring in logistics personnel, merchants, and teamsters, the entire force exceeds one hundred men."
"That's substantially larger than I expected."
Over a hundred armed personnel mobilized for a hunt? That was practically a small-scale military campaign.
"What on earth are we hunting that warrants such numbers? An ogre? A cockatrice?"
"Goblins."
"...What?"
The wind left Reed's sails instantly.
Rallying an army of a hundred men... for goblins? Just basic green pests?
Reading the sheer disbelief on Reed's face, Smith took on a deadly serious tone.
"The most fundamental countermeasure against a monster wave is preemptive culling. We must whittle down the beast populations before they can coalesce into swarms."
"Well, that's basic logic."
"However, the Demonic Borderlands are vast. Exterminating every beast is an impossible task. Therefore, we categorize them by threat tier and systematically eradicate the highest-priority targets first."
Smith paused, letting his next words carry full weight.
"And during a monster wave, goblins rank near the very top of the threat index."
"...Goblins do?"
"The goblins of the Demonic Borderlands are shockingly cunning. In past waves, high-caste goblins have actually served as the supreme commanders of massive beast hordes. In the worst recorded wave in history, a goblin-led horde overran the outer districts and reduced Morasil's outskirts to ash."
Reed shut his mouth.
Physically, goblins were pitiful. They possessed neither razor claws nor towering frames. But in warfare, intellect was often a far deadlier weapon than brute force.
"Thirteen separate subjugation vanguards have been mobilized to purge thirteen major goblin colonies. The Governor's objective is to completely eradicate every primary settlement before spring arrives."
Only then did Reed grasp the strategic gravity of the operation. This was no trivial pest control.
"Understood. I'll take it seriously. By the way... was it you who recommended me for this deployment, Mister Smith?"
"No. The directive came straight from the upper echelons. It seems someone of high station was favorably impressed by your duel. It is likely a test of sorts. Should you perform admirably, you will secure an immense amount of political capital."
"High station, huh? What, did the Governor himself take a shine to me? Hahaha!"
"Haha! An amusing thought indeed."
Reed chuckled at his own absurd joke. The supreme administrator of the Western Frontier personally handpicking a slum orphan? Preposterous.
With the strategic context clear, Smith proceeded to lay out the logistical framework. Listening to the details, the mission sounded remarkably straightforward.
Their combat strength was overwhelmingly superior; crushing a primitive goblin den with an army of that caliber seemed almost trivial. Moreover, the Pioneers Guild had prepared everything with meticulous precision—rations, medical supplies, wagon trains, command structures.
The Pioneers Guild is surprisingly competent when they put their minds to it, Reed thought, considerably reassured.
"Well, it doesn't sound too difficult," Reed said with a light shrug. "Seems there's nothing much to worry about."
"..."
"...Why the silence? Is there a catch?"
When Smith suddenly clamped his mouth shut, a prickle of unease ran down Reed's spine. Smith adjusted his glasses, hesitating awkwardly before leaning in close.
"In truth... there is one rather troublesome complication."
"Which is?"
"The two leaders co-commanding this expedition—Baron Adil and Sir Rowain... their relationship is somewhat strained."
"Strained? How bad could it be?"
Smith shut his eyes tight and winced.
"Baron Adil had an affair with Sir Rowain's wife."
"...?"
Reed immediately revoked his praise of the Pioneers Guild's competence.