The Pig Hunt (3)

"A pig hunt..."

At the mention of the operation name, the Five Senses Officers glanced at one another for a moment. The Taste Officer raised her hand cautiously.

"But... do we have to handle this on our own?"

She looked around with a worried expression.

"If they've already left by carriage, we have no idea where they went or how far they've gotten..."

The Touch Officer voiced his agreement.

"Now that he's fled into the kingdom proper, the area we'd have to search is far too vast. Our office alone can't manage it."

They weren't wrong. Unless you were superhuman, chasing a man down head-on was close to impossible — and we were neither soldiers nor generals, so few of us were any good in a fight anyway.

"But worry not. You don't think this officer would do this alone, do you?"

The power of a civil servant does not come from physical strength. That was the power of soldiers and commanders. A civil servant's power was organization — the various institutions, the partner agencies under us, and our web of connections. Those were the tools at our disposal.

"Attendant."

"Yes, Central Officer."

My personal aide emerged from just behind me, his face twisted with guilt.

"I'm so sorry. I should never have left your side, no matter what happened..."

"The fault is mine for saying I wanted to be alone. Go get that face of yours seen to."

"But your face, Central Officer...!"

He wasn't wrong — my face was a mess of split lip and half-wiped blood.

"You really should treat that first—"

"Forget it. Right now, request emergency meetings with the chief officers of the northern, eastern, and western borders."

This was no time to worry about my looks. Besides, this face would only make me more useful.

At my words, the attendant quietly activated the crystal orb.

About five minutes later, three faces rose into view.

A bearded old man — the chief officer of the West. A blunt young dragonewt woman — the chief officer of the North. And a spirit woven from wind — the chief officer of the East. Each of them oversaw one stretch of the Crossline Kingdom's borders.

I addressed these singularly colorful individuals with a short greeting.

"It has been a long time, seniors."

The reply did not come at once. Instead, they stared at my face for a moment, then asked with grave expressions.

A picture is worth a thousand words. A long-winded explanation of an emergency is tedious and pedantic — it doesn't land, and it doesn't stick. But one look at my mangled face, and anyone would grasp at once that this was a genuine crisis. The effect was certain. I had their full attention in a heartbeat.

I seized the moment.

"At this very moment, a saintess of the Holy Church has been abducted just outside the Southern Border. The kidnapper assaulted this officer, entered the country without authorization, and is currently at large within it."

"The abduction of a saintess is an enormously serious diplomatic matter, which is why I must ask for the cooperation of every border ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠officer here."

With that, I laid everything bare — the kidnapper's appearance, right down to the saintess's current state. Now was not the time to hold anything back. This was a situation that called for putting every card on the table and asking for help, and the justification was ample. If something had happened to the Church's honored guest while passing through our country, they could well pin the blame squarely on us.

Having heard the full story, the wind spirit scratched her head as she spoke — and followed it with an answer I had never anticipated.

"...Pardon?"

"Wh-what on earth do you mean?! I'm telling you the saintess has been kidnapped!"

With those words, the Eastern officer fell silent.

'What's the problem here?'

I couldn't understand it. It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable request. The Northern officer, reading my expression, spoke up.

"Pardon? But—"

Illegal entry. Terrorism.

The instant I heard those words, I understood what she was telling me.

Externally, the Holy Church had no formal relationship whatsoever with our kingdom. Which meant that, strictly speaking, an incident outside our borders was none of our business — or more precisely, that a state institution had no justification for stepping in. The most we could offer was lukewarm cooperation. What was more, since it had happened outside the Southern Border, the other borders would find it awkward to get involved at all.

But shift the focus to illegal entry and terrorism?

Then everything changed. It became our business.

It was all the same incident, in the end — but the justification shifted entirely depending on who you named as the primary target.

We must not center the request on the abduction of a saintess. The focus belonged on the man who had dared assault an immigration officer and enter the country without authorization.

That was what she was telling me.

"Th-then—"

The moment I opened my mouth, the Northern officer tapped her crystal orb and said,

She was formally granting me a second chance.

I gathered my breath and spoke.

"...This case is illegal entry! The suspect assaulted an immigration officer and entered the country without authorization — it may equally be regarded as an act of terrorism! Therefore, as chief officer of the Southern Border, I hereby request your cooperation!"

"A ban on departure for any individual with violet eyes, enforced across all borders, and traffic controls on pig-transport vehicles."

At my cleanly sharpened request, a satisfied answer finally came back.

With their respective answers, the connections severed one by one. Only the Northern officer remained.

The dragonewt of the Northern Border, Dhin Askyrin, curled the corner of her mouth just slightly.

It was a dragonewt's own brand of encouragement — the encouragement of a senior, and of a fellow keeper of the borders.

"Thank you, ma'am."

And with that, the transmission ended. The Five Senses Officers, who had been watching from behind, let out sighs of relief.

"That's a weight off. I feel a little better now."

"No. Not yet."

"Huh?"

Who in their right mind would build a net this enormous and then wait eons to catch anyone? There is an order to catching a fugitive effectively. First, you construct the net. Second, you gradually tighten it. Third, you form a pursuit team and run them down. And we had only just finished the first step. From here on, that damned bastard would not be slipping out of the Crossline Kingdom easily. The minimal fence was in place. The next stage was closing it in.

"Attendant."

"Yes."

There was no time to waste.

"Connect me to Margrave Reyes."

The Southern Border fell within the domain of Margrave Reyes. The very fact that we could conduct entry inspections without a hitch was, in a sense, thanks to him. If the entire border had been turned into a net, then the next move was to tighten it down onto this very territory where we stood.

In less than five seconds, the Margrave's secretary appeared in the orb.

"This is the Reyes County officeee. Please state your business."

A slightly drawn-out voice, dripping with boredom.

"This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠officer is Nathan Kell, Central Officer and chief officer of the Southern Border. I request an immediate meeting with Count Reyes."

"Have you an appointmenttt? The Count is a very busy maaan."

At that spectacularly uncooperative attitude, my expression puckered.

"This is an urgent matter. I ask for your prompt cooperation."

The secretary heaved a great sigh and answered sourly, as if to say she'd seen my kind a hundred times before.

"Haaah. Without an appointment, you may submit a meeting request three days from n— KYAAAAAK!"

And then she saw my face. She sprang up from her seat, convulsing.

"...It's an emergency. Connect us at once."

"Y-yes! Undershtood! C-C-C-Couhount! COUNT!"

What did I tell you. A picture is worth a thousand words.

In under a minute, the Margrave's office was reflected in the crystal orb.

"Greetings, Count. Nathan Kell, Central Officer."

"A private audience with you — it has been a while. What on earth could be so urgent that—"

And my face worked on the Count too.

"...What happened to your face?"

"It is connected to the matter I am about to raise."

No preamble. Straight to business.

"At present, the saintess..."

I stopped. Justification. Think of the justification. A Margrave, even more than the Immigration Office, would concern himself with duty and justification. I switched tracks at once.

"...At present, an illegal entrant has forced his way into the Southern Border in the midst of a violent disturbance. After assaulting this officer, he smuggled out a creature of considerable strategic value and fled into the interior of the country."

"Assaulted you? And then fled? No — wait. Strategic value?"

"Circumstances were unfavorable. I was attacked in the middle of internal confusion... I believe the perpetrator is a person of exceptional capability."

To the visibly startled man, I laid out the situation as it stood — omitting the saintess's abduction and the pig. Having heard everything, his expression turned grave.

"I see... So this is what has happened within my own territory."

"Within the border, inside the Immigration Office — which is indeed your territory, Count."

Put another way: a terrorist has just set foot on your land, so help me, and quickly.

The Margrave slowly shook his head.

"If you come barging in unannounced, looking like that, begging for aid — anyone would be hard-pressed, myself included. Isn't this all rather abrupt?"

"..."

"However..."

In that small pause, I could feel him running calculations behind his eyes.

"Helping you could prove a fine opportunity to demonstrate my loyalty to the crown once more."

And there, I understood exactly what I had to do.

"Precisely so. The Immigration Office will prove the Count's cooperation, plainly and unequivocally, before the entire world."

Merchant Secret Technique: Scratch Where It Itches.

Reyes was a man as steadfast as the border guard itself. His family had defended the South for generations, and he took fierce pride in fulfilling his duty to protect the nation as the true 'Margrave of the Marches.' But hardly anyone ever praised him for it. Who bothers to thank a man for duty and obligation? People simply take it for granted.

That was precisely the itch I intended to scratch.

"Besides, the fact that such a malcontent dares exist within my land grates on me considerably."

"Oh, Count — criminals, in your territory! How dreadful. Your domain is such a pleasant, well-kept land, after all."

The words were flowing unusually well today. Maybe it was taking that punch.

"If you are requesting aid this desperately, then the situation must truly be dire."

"The moment this incident occurred, this officer thought of no one but you, Count. Are you not the just and unyielding Shield of the South? The only soul worth relying on is you, Count."

And for the crowning touch — there's no one but you. I scraped vigorously at an appetite for recognition he had never once been allowed to feel.

"But what do you mean, a creature of strategic value?"

At the Count's final question, I held my silence for a moment.

"...A creature that could redraw the very map of the kingdom."

What beast alive was bigger than the saintess of the Holy Church? Draw her to our side, and she became a trump card capable of flipping the trial and the pilgrimage in a single stroke.

'Minus the small matter that she is currently a pig.'

I was not lying. I was simply not telling the whole truth.

"Hmm..."

The Margrave frowned at my answer. And at last, he made his decision.

"What would you have me do? For the sake of the kingdom's well-being, I shall assist you with my full strength."

That's the man. I brought out the heart of the matter at once.

"Deploy your soldiers, if you please. Control every highway, every bridge that crosses a river, and every major junction."

Fleeing by carriage meant that sealing off the major roads would place constraints on nearly all of his movement. And if we controlled the rivers, then even if he abandoned the carriage, his feet would be bound regardless. It was the most airtight method of tightening the net imaginable.

"That I shall do. But that alone will make it difficult to actually pursue the entrant, will it not?"

"That's..."

The sharp observation stopped my tongue. I hadn't seen that coming. Come to think of it — even with his feet tied, we had no manpower to give chase. The third step was the crux of the whole plan.

Just then, the Margrave spoke.

"I shall lend you my cavalry. Fifty men. Use them as you see fit."

"C-Count!"

Had anyone ever seen such a magnanimous man?

"I am the sword that guards the marches. And now some mangy stray dares to strike a border officer and go strolling across my land. It puts me in a foul mood, I'll have you know."

"Oh, quite right! A wicked criminal must not be permitted to ruffle the Count's spirits! Who in creation would dare commit such an outrage against the Shield of the South!"

Long live the Margrave. Cheering inwardly, I raised my hand in salute.

"Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your cooperation!"

"Resolve it cleanly. If you need anything more, tell my secretary."

And with that, the transmission ended.

Doom-doom-doom-doom-doom.

Roughly forty minutes later, the thunder of hooves shook the very earth as it came toward us.

"We come bearing the command of Count Ihan Reyes, the lawful guardian of the South! Give us your orders!"

"Welcome, you who serve the Shield of the South!"

Never in my life had I dreamed I would be this glad to see fifty grown men. I shouted to them:

"Time is short, so I will be brief!"

After a rapid-fire explanation of the situation, I gave them the points they absolutely had to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠remember.

"The suspect is capable of transformation and disguise! He could be any race, any sex — do not lower your guard against a familiar face!"

"But as far as we have confirmed, the violet eyes cannot be changed. Commit this to memory. Violet eyes! They are rare enough to identify at a glance!"

"Furthermore, the pig he carries is of extremely high strategic value. Along with the suspect's arrest, you are under orders to capture the pig alive!"

The soldiers, every one of them having understood, nodded in answer.

"Which direction did that insolent bastard flee? We'll track him that way!"

"That's..."

At that moment, the Smell Officer stepped forward in front of me.

"That, this officer will handle."

"Smell Officer?"

He drew in a breath.

"I smell blood. Quite strongly, at that. So long as it doesn't rain, I can track it. Leave it to me, Central Officer."

Blaszek was a werewolf. Superhumanly good with scents — hence the title, Smell Officer. If he had caught the scent, he would chase it to the edge of the horizon. There was no reason whatsoever not to hand it to him.

I nodded.

"Then I entrust it to you. And — Taste Officer?"

"Hweh? Y-yes?"

At the sudden summons, the Taste Officer came scampering out.

"Can you ride a horse?"

"Yes. I've ridden since I was three."

A nomad born and bred — she could ride as naturally as she walked. I pointed to a horse tied off in the corner.

"Then give this officer a ride."

"...Yes????"

"This officer cannot ride."

"Uh... then... does that mean you're coming with us?"

"Hearing Officer and Touch Officer will hold the office."

Right now, the only ones with guaranteed mobility were the Smell Officer and you, the nomad. In other words: the remaining two would hold this position, and the Taste Officer would carry me along behind the pursuit team. And to learn what manner of pig the saintess-pig truly was, I had to go in person. The feeling came to me with absolute conviction.

"O-okay! I'll go get a horse, then!"

Her eyes sparkled, and she darted off — returning shortly, leading a horse with practiced ease. As I climbed up behind her, the Smell Officer suddenly drew in an enormous breath.

"Snnnnnnnnnnnnfff—"

Deep enough that his chest swelled to its very limit. At the sight, I hurriedly clapped my hands over my ears.

"Taste Officer — cover your ears. Now."

"Huh?"

The Hearing Officer and Touch Officer had already done so. And the instant the Taste Officer barely got her hands to her ears—

"AWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

A wolf's howl shook heaven and earth, ringing high into the sky.

The fur across his entire body stood on end, claws bared and gleaming. It was the werewolf's signature ritual announcing the start of a hunt — a declaration that from this moment on, he would surrender everything to instinct and chase one quarry and one quarry only. He launched forward and began tearing down the road at a furious sprint.

"Blood smell... BLOOD SMELL!"

With that ragged voice, the Smell Officer vanished into the distance in the blink of an eye.

"Follow the werewolf! Everyone, move out!"

Doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom.

Fifty riders thundered after him. The Smell Officer ran on all fours, bellowing like a madman.

"The Central Officer's blood! BLOOOOOOOD!!!!"

A cry gone completely feral echoed across the land.

It was time to hunt the rat in the trap — no. The pig.

Meanwhile, Shahal was going out of her mind.

It had been about two and a half hours since she'd slipped away.

"This road is closed! Turn back!"

"Tch."

That made four. Roadblocks had sprung up out of nowhere, and every single route out of the Margrave's territory was being sealed off by soldiers.

"At this rate I'll have to loop around even wider."

Cursing under her breath, brimming with irritation, she wrenched the reins around. To leave the county, she had to cross the river — but every bridge she tried for was blocked. The main roads, too, were coming under control one after another.

"Should I ditch the carriage?"

Traveling alone, she could take the narrow paths, and her range of movement would be unlimited. But getting to the North with the saintess meant covering a considerable distance. Abandon the carriage rashly, and her arrival would come far later than planned — and there was no telling when this pig might turn back into the saintess.

"Damn it..."

Caught between options, Shahal scowled and sank into thought. And then, from somewhere far off, a strange sound reached her.

"BLOOD!!"

A voice — someone's shout, bellowed from a great distance, the sound flying across the miles until only a faint echo of it remained.

"Hm?"

Shahal turned her head. And she witnessed it.

"BLOOD!!!"

Far away, at the far end of the highway, the werewolf from yesterday came tearing toward her, eyes blazing bloodshot.

"...Huh?"

Shahal made a dumb little sound. The werewolf's roar rolled across the land, thunderous and unbroken.

"BLOOD!!!!!"

Behind him came the drumbeat of hooves from no fewer than fifty cavalrymen.

Doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom-doom.

And among them, face painted in blood, rode the man she had kicked to the ground yesterday.

"We'll sweep every last inch of that road! Look for violet eyes — violet eyes only!"

"Find the illegal entrant! Find the bastard who dared lay hands on the Officer and feed him to the dogs!"

For the first time in her life, Shahal felt fear. Not the fear of a mission gone wrong — the primal, animal fear that she might actually die.