Who Examines the Examiner (1)
Shock and terror didn't last long.
Panic is forbidden for an immigration officer.
We are the ones on the front line who shape a nation's first impression, which means we must keep our composure no matter what the situation.
"Ahem, hem!"
In just two seconds I had smoothed my expression back into place, and I spoke with the calm air of a man who'd been expecting this all along.
"Greetings, Your Holiness. It is a true honor to meet you in person at last. It must have been a long journey — I trust the travel hasn't worn on you."
Of course, my inner thoughts were quite different.
Kyaaaaaaaack!!!
Behind the smile, I was letting out a soundless scream.
O, gods above.
What on earth is happening right now?
Why is the Saintess here, of all places, standing first in line before me?
This isn't how the custom works!
When a head of state or a noble visited the border, special treatment was the baseline expectation.
They wouldn't have to wait in the general line — they'd go straight to an examiner, or better yet, their entire entourage would be processed as a group so they could enter swiftly.
We couldn't skip the inspection itself, but beyond that, every possible convenience was to be extended to them.
At minimum, that much courtesy was required before you could call it VIP treatment.
They, in turn, naturally assumed they'd receive such treatment, so the whole procedure ran flawlessly smooth.
That's why dignitaries would usually send word ahead through an envoy and then drift in at their leisure. Never earlier than the appointed time — an hour late at the very least, even on a fast day.
It was an annoying custom, but the great and powerful arriving late was one way they displayed their authority.
Frankly, it suited us just fine too.
The Saintess should have been no different. She stood above even the dignitary of a nation.
She was the living symbol of the Holy Order itself, no less.
And yet...
"Ahaha, not at all. Our brothers and sisters in the north are waiting for us — I had no leisure to hesitate."
Then why are you standing right in front of my eyes?
"...I see. That is a truly admirable spirit."
Keeping my smile fixed in place, I turned my gaze to the holy knights standing directly behind the Saintess.
"With the knights guarding the pilgrimage, I imagine you've had nothing to worry about. I pray your journey continues peacefully here in the Crossline Kingdom as well."
A pleasant blessing, and words of praise for their labors.
Of course, the subtext was entirely different.
You lot know the customs, don't you? Then what in the world is this situation?
What were you doing while this woman stomped straight through the entire protocol and marched up to the front line? Did nobody try to stop her? That was the message, delivered with a smile.
Handle things this way and it becomes our problem, you understand? Yes?
Then the oldest-looking knight, the one with the scar over his left eye, answered in a low voice.
"We merely followed His Holiness's will."
A textbook reply in a stiff, formal tone.
But his expression said everything.
And how, exactly, were we supposed to stop her?
It was the same face I wore whenever the Foreign Minister was chewing me out.
Exhaustion, embarrassment, and resignation.
Ah.
Right, of course.
They were people who ultimately had no choice but to follow orders.
My anger melted away in an instant. Yes, I knew that feeling well.
What could you possibly say when your superior announced her intentions? All you could do was pray that no incidents occurred along the way.
When the Saintess's stubbornness proved impossible to talk down, they'd evidently been dragged along at the very front of the column.
Fellow sufferers, then.
The heart of the one caught in the middle is always a weary thing.
You have it rough, sir.
Thank you for understanding. We had no choice either.
When I gave a small, knowing nod, he bowed his head slightly in return, carrying an apology in the gesture.
And so, between two men who had never met before, an inexplicable comradeship was quietly blooming — when the Saintess spoke up.
"This is my first time going through Crossline's inspection. I'm a little nervous. What if I misspeak?"
"Ah, th-that's quite all right."
The business at hand, arriving without a moment's breathing room, snapped my mind back into focus.
The Saintess was an entrant seeking to set foot in our Crossline Kingdom.
And entrants must undergo our inspection. Without exception.
Race, rank, gender, age, origin, creed — none of it mattered.
The absolute ironclad rules of the Immigration Authority must be upheld.
So who carries out those ironclad rules?
The immigration officer.
And who was standing in front of her right now?
Who indeed.
...Me, that's who.
Having grasped reality at last, I spoke.
"W-would you excuse me for just a moment, Your Holiness?"
Time for a deep breath.
Taking on a super-heavyweight like the Saintess right out of the gate was too much. Bad for the heart.
I needed to brace myself.
Besides, she was not alone.
"Ooh, the Saintess herself stands up for us...!"
"Who's that stiff-necked fool, holding his head so high in front of our Saintess?"
"Why is he blocking us at the gate? Is he an infidel or something?"
"An infidel? An infidel, you say? Where!?"
The dozens of believers lined up right behind the Saintess were glaring at me with eyes full of religious fervor — no, closer to outright madness.
One wrong word here and this wouldn't end as a diplomatic faux pas; I'd be seized by the hair and dragged off bodily.
At a moment like this, there was exactly one thing the chief officer of the Southern Border could do.
"Officer Olfactory. Something has come up that requires my attention — would you take over here?"
Offering up a sacrifice.
I'm sorry, Officer Olfactory.
But my surviving is better for the Immigration Authority, isn't it?
Please sacrifice that fine body of yours for my sake. My left arm, the limb I trust above all others.
However, the reliable werewolf who should have been standing at my left was nowhere to be found.
"...Officer Olfactory?"
Instead, a familiar voice floated over from far away.
"Come, come, over here! Line up here and we'll process your entry in no time!"
That damned wolf had, at some point, gathered people way over there and was already conducting inspections.
How long has the gate even been open? How did he already have a fresh line formed?
"No, Officer Olfactory, I just need a word with—"
"Pilgrims to the right! General entrants to the left! Please form two lines! Swift, accurate entry processing — no one does it better than this Officer Olfactory!"
That son of a bitch was grinding his teeth and refusing to look this way.
He was ignoring my summons outright, doing everything he could to avoid being tangled up with me.
Damn it, his instincts are disgustingly sharp.
But processing entrants was not a one-man job.
Which is why I stationed one more person, just in case.
I had one more trump card up my sleeve.
A seasoned, experienced veteran, unshaken by anything.
The pride of our Southern Border, my trustworthy right arm!
The beautiful elf of sublime loveliness!
"Officer Auditory. If it's you, I can trust you with this place—"
"Oh my, all the way from the Mahalan Kingdom? The bread they make from their flour there is simply delicious, isn't it~?"
The five-hundred-year-old alcoholic elf hag was already standing on the opposite side from Officer Olfactory, summoning crowds like a demon and stamping entry approvals with a long, resonant ka-chunk.
It felt like both of my arms were being severed at once.
In utter contrast to her usual languid demeanor, she had turned her back on me completely, radiating busyness.
"...I can hear every word you're saying. Don't ignore me."
"Ohohoho. Of course not. Elves love bread too, you know."
"Hey, pointy-ears."
"Next in line, please~."
This from the woman who can hear wingbeats beyond the horizon, pretending not to hear someone speaking right beside her.
Turns out there really isn't a single soul in this world you can trust...
I treated them so well, and this is how they repay me?
My father was right.
In this trade — no, in this world — there are no eternal comrades and no eternal enemies.
"It seems the others have already begun..."
While I stood there gnashing my teeth in silence, the Saintess glanced around and opened her mouth.
Scritch, scritch, scuttle.
Before her death-sentence of a sentence had even finished, the attendants scattered from my side like cockroaches.
In under a second, the only people remaining in front of the Saintess were me and my personal aide.
"Shall we begin then, Officer?"
With a radiant smile, I had been chosen.
Ah. I want to go home.
Why did home feel so desperately far away today, of all days?
Vowing blood revenge on those two bastards later, I forced the corners of my mouth upward.
"...Yes. My apologies for the wait. Right this way, please."
And so the biggest catch of the day fell to me.
"Phew. Very good. We're almost finished now."
At the man's words before her, Erzena turned her gaze to the hourglass sitting on the table.
Not even half the sand had run through yet.
Please state your name, place of origin, and reason for entry. I will allow five minutes.
The questions were so formulaic they were almost boring.
There had been no additional probing, no suspicion whatsoever.
Well, of course not.
All the necessary information would already have been relayed in writing through the envoy beforehand.
All that remained was to cross-check the details on the documents, and if nothing was amiss, a simple search of her belongings and she'd be waved through.
Besides, with a status like Saintess, even the act of suspecting her was nonsensical on its face.
Still, it's been quite an entertaining spectacle.
Erzena tapped the table with a fingertip and shifted her gaze to the man scanning the ledger.
"Let's see, Er... Er... ah, here it is."
Slightly tired-looking dark circles under his eyes.
Black pupils sliding left and right like a machine as they tracked down the written characters.
Soft hands with not a single callus, suggesting he had never trained in any martial art.
And a decently handsome face that looked to be around her own age.
The expression he'd worn when the gate first opened had been quite the sight.
Watching him blast through the stages of shock, disbelief, despair, resignation, and acceptance in the space of two short seconds, she had found herself laughing before she knew it.
It had been a very long time since she'd seen such honest emotion on another person's face.
He looked at me like I was a ghost.
It wasn't reverence, or jealousy, or that strained, burdened look people always wore — it was raw, naked feeling, vivid beyond measure.
Thanks to that, Erzena's mood had lifted a little.
Watching him strain every nerve to somehow avoid her had even been fun.
The way he treated her, as though she were a lethal poison that would kill on contact.
Surrounded only by the eternally solemn Mohaim, the punctiliously formal holy knights, and ordinary believers who counted even a passing word from her as a lifelong blessing, being treated this way was beyond novel — it was positively thrilling.
Perhaps that was why Erzena now studied Nadin with eyes steeped in curiosity and doubt.
Is this man the Central Officer?
She couldn't be certain.
According to Mohaim, the Central Officer had become a senior examiner at the youngest age ever recorded — but the girl she'd seen heading off to inspect cargo earlier had looked far younger still.
If we're talking youngest, it must be that girl they called Officer Gustation.
And yet something didn't fit with saying no, either.
Whoever examined a Saintess should, at the very least, be one of the highest-ranking examiners present. That was simply the courtesy owed to a VIP.
Which meant the man before her was the most senior examiner of this Southern Border.
Or at least, the highest-ranked among the examiners on duty at this moment.
But if that were true, he couldn't be the youngest ever.
Faced with the contradiction, Erzena furrowed her brow.
Maybe I should just come out and ask.
There was still time left.
And this examiner had finished all of his official questions.
Now would be a fine moment to exchange a little casual conversation.
The words Are you the Central Officer? itched at the edge of the Saintess's lips.
But then she remembered the promise she'd made to Mohaim just yesterday.
"Your Holiness. Do not forget that the reason we visit the Crossline Kingdom is not the Talent Awakener."
"Can't we at least check in passing, while we're on the road?"
"You may not. If you wish to verify the rumors about that man, you may do so at any time later. For now, I ask that you remain focused on the northern expedition."
"What if we happen to meet and I ask then?"
"Now is not the time to be grasping at—"
"Aaaah! Truly, if, if, if we juuuuust so haaappen to meet this Central Officer person, then it's fine to check then, right? Hm? Yes?"
"Haah... Very well. If it truly comes to that, then once, you may."
The pilgrimage's purpose was the northern expedition.
Confirming whether the Central Officer really was a Talent Awakener was nothing more than her own private interest.
Prying into it now and drawing suspicion for no reason, risking exposure of their true purpose — the purging of the Evil God Cult — would only make things harder.
Right. Mohaim is correct. I'll ask after the expedition is over. It won't be too late even then.
It was a pity, but the time would surely come, so Erzena resolved to hold her tongue just this once.
Once her sublime work was complete, there would be no one left who could stop her.
Just then, the examiner, having at last finished the paperwork, spoke.
"Erzena Selaphe."
"Yes."
"Your truthful testimony and guaranteed identity have been verified. Accordingly, this officer judges that you correspond to no grounds for restriction whatsoever with regard to entry."
The final stage of the entry process was drawing near.
A light smile.
A faint sense of relief — finally, I can be free of her — had surfaced on the man's face.
At the sight of it, Erzena laughed inwardly once more.
How cute.
He tried to hide it, but it was written all over him.
Stamping the entry seal onto the documents with a firm press, he declared:
"Welcome to the Crossline Kingdom."
Thud.
But something was wrong.
Despite the stamp, no [ENTRY PERMIT] had appeared on the documents.
"Huh?"
The examiner tilted his head, examined the stamp, and then said:
"Ah, drat. My apologies. The ink in the entry stamp has dried out completely."
"That's quite all right. There's still time, after all."
Saying it as though it were nothing, the Saintess turned her head to look at Mohaim.
I kept my promise.
Very good. You bore it well. Continue just so.
The two of them gave each other a thumbs-up at precisely the same moment.
Everything had gone smoothly.
Without a single problem.
"My gratitude for your generous patience. I shall remedy it at once. Attendant?"
At the examiner's words, the attendant hurried over.
"Yes. I'll fetch a fresh one immediately, Central Officer."
Central Officer.
Erzena's head whipped around.
At the same instant, Mohaim too went rigid with shock and rushed forward.
"The Central Officer?"
"It's you?"
For the first time, the Saintess's voice rose.
Her trembling lips barely held back a grin.
She screamed inside.
Found him!
And as for Mohaim —
Good heavens.
He felt the sky falling in.