Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 26
Chapter Title: The Imperial Citizens Need a Bit of Humor (3)
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I'd just left the palace when I hurriedly wheeled my horse around.
And headed back to the glass garden.
Up until then, Igor had still been standing stock-still in the glass garden, lost in thought. But when he spotted me, his eyes went wide.
"I forgot to hand this over."
I felt like I could die of embarrassment, but I held it together, acting as casual as possible while offering him the box.
"It's called an arquebus. The folks from the Zikseil Principality handed it over to me as ransom money."
"So that's why you showed up looking so flustered."
I didn't deny it.
"It has more drawbacks than advantages right now, but with steady improvements, it could very well upend the entire course of the war."
"You're saying a weapon like this actually exists in the world?"
Igor eyed the box skeptically at first, but his expression finally shifted.
"Fortunately, the Empire still seems to undervalue it."
If the Empire had properly assessed the arquebus's potential, they would've squirreled it away for a decisive moment. The fact that they'd handed it off to me as mere ransom said it all about how they viewed it.
Even Numan from the Landsknechts—the Emperor's own mercenary corps—had turned up his nose at the sight of an arquebus.
The Empire's formidable mage corps and technological prowess had ironically become a hindrance.
Why bother with this flawed contraption when they had far superior options aplenty?
"The Doppelzoltner boys holed up in the outer fortress know how to use it. They might not want to touch it, so maybe offer them some coin..."
"I'll handle that much. You're worrying about everything under the sun, traveler."
Chastened by Igor's words, I dropped to one knee.
"Then I'll take my leave and see you upon my return."
It was awkward saying goodbye twice in one day, but I couldn't just bolt without a word.
"...You haven't forgotten anything this time, have you?"
"......"
Twice as embarrassed by Igor's teasing rebuke, I fled the palace like my life depended on it.
I handed the royal gift horse off to Ramir and began packing my gear.
It took about two days.
The preparations weren't all that complicated, really.
Hauling around a bunch of Thracia-made gear would only draw unwanted eyes, after all.
With the bare minimum sorted, I headed to the bank.
"I figured next time you came in, it'd be as a general—and lo and behold, you really are one now!"
I mumbled some reply to the familiar banker's greeting and checked my balance.
"...That's all mine?"
"Huh? You're right. What's going on here?"
Even the teller looked baffled as he relayed the figure.
And no wonder—a staggering sum had been deposited in my name.
"Bonuses, bonuses, bonuses, bonuses. All from the royal coffers. There's some tax refund mixed in too. Oh—and a massive vacation stipend hit just yesterday? Whoa! There's a letter of credit stamped with His Majesty's seal! General, what kind of adventure have you been on?"
Did this guy not read the papers? He was prying for the whole story.
"Withdraw all the vacation pay. Mix of Hermann gold and silver coins. Possible?"
I brushed it off and got to business.
"We can, but the exchange rate'll sting a bit. Still okay?"
"Yeah. Doesn't matter. And invest the remaining balance—keep about thirty percent liquid, the rest in my usual spots."
Out of nowhere, the banker shot up and grabbed my hand.
"You're a saint, General. I've been making small donations myself thanks to you. But with all the casualties from this war, I was getting worried about the fund."
Turned out the war's heavy losses had strained donations.
"The people of the capital need to know what a stand-up guy their general is."
I finally pried loose from his endless praise and left the bank.
From there, I swung by headquarters, sent Johanna von Bauer to Major Sanov, grabbed just Numan and Natasha, and hopped the next coach south.
We arrived at Bellifena Port—the spot Igor had mentioned—just in the nick of time.
As I scanned for our welcoming committee, a familiar figure appeared in the distance.
"What brings you here...?"
"What kind of question is that? Forgotten which unit you're in already?"
General Langrid greeted me impassively, dressed in crisp civilian clothes instead of her uniform.
Come to think of it, it wasn't all that strange for her to show up.
My mission overlapped neatly with her role as head of imperial intelligence and counter-espionage.
"Just the three of us traveling together?"
She glanced at Natasha and Numan before handing me a document.
"Not a bad lineup."
She seemed to grasp our cover story at a glance from my companions alone.
"But it's short. We're not heading to the Three Kingdoms—the far side of the continent."
With that, she passed me a meticulously sealed envelope.
"Ship transfer in Malta and your cover identities. Once there, link up with the welcoming party and move with them."
"How far?"
"To the Empire."
I grimaced.
More people meant more baggage.
Especially strangers unaccustomed to this line of work—they'd just be dead weight.
"I vouch for their skills. Or rather, I don't need to—you know better than I do."
What was that supposed to mean?
Swish.
A stealthy presence crept up behind me.
Before I could think, my body reacted on instinct.
I spun, hand flying to my sword at my waist—
Clack.
—but it was blocked before I could even swing.
"Aw, man. You're not as sharp as you used to be, boss."
The cheerful tone and voice rang familiar.
"Back in the day, you wouldn't have let me get this close."
It wasn't just the voice.
For a man, he was short, with a round forehead and cheeks that made him look even younger.
"Boris?"
The seventh of the sixteen Joker Commandos, Boris, grinned ear to ear.
"What are you—?"
"Explanations later. First, can you get Natasha sis and this scary funny-lookin' uncle off me?"
Numan and Natasha had him pinned—sword to chest, staff to waist.
"Aaaah! Sis! It's me! Boris! Oof! Hot! This woman's nuts!"
Quick on the uptake, Numan sheathed his blade.
But Natasha kept pressing with her staff, faint waves of heat pulsing—any longer, and Boris might actually cook.
"Natasha. Enough. He's one of us."
"Brother or not, touch my Yannick and you're done."
"Sis, really? I didn't even draw!"
"You swung."
"...Natasha. Please."
With a tsk, Natasha finally pulled back her staff, lips pursed.
"Man, sis hasn't changed a bit. Kinda sweet, actually. Boss, at this rate, it's a miracle you two haven't tied the knot... Wait, no—boss, why the sword? Okay, okay, zipping it. Just happy to see ya."
With the blade off his throat, Boris let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Reunion over? If you need more time to catch up, I'll step aside."
General Langrid, standing off to the side, spoke up with clear annoyance.
"Sorry about that."
I shot Boris a glance as he eyed Numan up and down like a curiosity, then turned to her.
"Don't tell me the ones waiting in Malta..."
She nodded.
"His Majesty seems keen on mending ties with the giants."
"Meaning...?"
"A touch of humor might just soften relations, no?"
Everyone knew imperials were stiff and humorless—but this wasn't literal.
It was code, plain and simple.
Translated: I'd disbanded the Joker Commandos myself, but Igor had revived them on orders.
In other words, the Malta crew were my old subordinates.
"Why the long face? Reunion with your old crew—shouldn't you be thrilled?"
Because I was the one who'd disbanded them.
"Boss, boss. Those guys weren't cut out for normal lives anyway. What'd you expect?"
Boris mimicked Natasha's speech, chuckling.
"Thought we were all thriving just 'cause you hit the big time? Those loose screws?"
But his playful tone belied gloomy eyes.
"As if. Maria got shanked taking any old back-alley gig. Hinke vanished on a mission with another commando unit. The rest? Same story. Only seven of us left, including this trio. Heh. Don't make that face. Without you, we'd have croaked way sooner. Thanks to you, we played human a few extra years."
I'd scraped together a fortune, shoved it in their hands, and sent them off to live clean in the light.
Instead, they'd crawled back to the shadows—and half died doing it.
"...You idiots."
The curse slipped out.
"Oh yeah—seen Remi and Paco? They were hyped when you called 'em up, packing for the north all la-la-la."
Come to think of it, when I'd joined Igor's direct command, I'd pulled two old subordinates for duty. No word since—I'd figured they'd forgotten the battlefield and settled down.
"You wouldn't say that if you saw Remi and Paco. Them... Never mind. I'll check myself later."
"Those two? Already in Malta. Intel had 'em wandering not far from here, so I sent folks to fetch 'em ahead."
"Ugh. When will that couple ever learn their directions?"
Boris sighed at General Langrid's remark.
Something had happened I didn't know about? But their sense of direction was still hopeless, so maybe not.
Whatever it was, I'd hear it straight from them soon enough.
Malta wasn't far.
"Let's move out, then."
Growing bored of our old tales, Langrid urged the group along.
No plans to overnight here, so we headed to the harbor where ships bobbed at anchor.
There, we boarded a small merchant vessel—a Thracia privateer masquerading as one, better known as legal pirates.
The ship didn't sail right away, lingering at the dock another day.
"Transfer in Malta, two resupplies, straight to the Empire. Return overland through Schweiz—no Malta stop—then ship home to Thracia. Clear?"
We reviewed the plan in the interim.
"Round trip's about 120 days, leaving 60 for the op."
"Plenty."
"If things go south, Reisläufers at each rally point one through three. Link up and punch through."
"Understood."
"Miss the return window? You're on your own—no merc help. Stick to the timeline, no exceptions."
Langrid drilled us, over and over.
"That's it."
With business done, she disembarked.
No one else budged, so I followed to see her off.
"Next time, let's drink till our noses twist off."
A dry farewell laced with hopes for a safe return.
"Told you, no booze with generals."
"You drank fine before. Now you clam up? That's half the fun of ribbing you."
We parted with matter-of-fact nods.
Neither mentioned goodbyes outright.
An unspoken taboo, born of superstition.
Wave, wave.
She vanished beyond the dawn-lit pier.
I boarded, and come next dawn, our ship slipped the harbor.
Five days' sail brought us to the Pirate Kingdom of Malta, refuge of the Holy Hospice Knights' descendants.
"Hooo."
Breathing deep the salt-laced air stirred old memories.
Hello there, my dear pirate friends. Long time no see.