Taming the Firebrands (2)
The scorching heat, hot enough to burn everything to ash, died down in an instant.
At the same time, the two spirits blinked a few times and turned to stare at each other.
[D-did that human just speak our language?]
[I must be hearing things.]
I opened my mouth once more.
[You heard correctly. I would ask that you two not be alarmed.]
My lips moved, but no sound came out. Instead, a faint vibration of mana flew directly from me and touched them.
Their panic turned to astonishment, and then to sheer disbelief.
[This is— this is impossible. Not fairy-tongue, not anything. How can a human speak the spirit language?]
[Are you a spirit-tamer? Or a mage?]
[But he doesn't carry the scent of our kind.]
The blazing face lunged forward right up to mine, sniffing me several times. And then—
[Wait, this creature doesn't even have mana!]
It recoiled as though it had laid eyes on something that should not exist.
[You there. What in the world are you?]
Seizing the moment, I deliberately took a single step forward and spoke.
[Allow me to introduce myself once more. My name is Nathan Kell.]
I straightened my posture and smoothed down my uniform, lightly singed by the heat.
[I am the Chief Immigration Officer of the Southern Border.]
Now that we could converse, it was time to solve the actual problem.
It was around the age of fifteen that I first noticed something strange about myself.
"Woof woof woof woof."
"Arf arf, grrrrr, arf!"
"Woof woof."
The words of a werewolf that should have sounded like nothing more than barking — I had begun to understand them.
"Roasted meat's fine and all, but fresh meat with the blood still dripping is the best, I'm telling you. Humans just don't get it."
"I gave the pig I caught yesterday as a gift, and he freaked out. Made the whole pack look bad. Bet he'd love beef, though."
"Goblin bones aren't bad either. The crunch is exquisite."
At first I thought I'd misheard. After hearing nothing but dog barks my whole life, suddenly hearing speech made me wonder if I was dreaming.
But I wasn't.
At seventeen, I began to understand Runic, the language used by the magical race of elves.
"Yeaagh! Liara Denikh Hoshdarnia!"
"Feari Srumathes!"
That was mostly what the elegant voices echoing from the dueling grounds amounted to.
"Yeaagh! Hot-hot Flame Breath!"
"Freeze-freeze Ice Wall!"
Imagine if the human mages of the Mage Tower learned that their arcane, exalted language was actually nothing but gibberish of that caliber. They'd spent decades studying the profundity of Runic and the truths of the world — only to discover they were mastering a vocabulary on the level of a kindergarten playground. They'd bite their tongues and die on the spot.
And then, in my nineteenth year, I became able to understand every language in this world — and to speak all of them as well.
By that point, one realizes this has crossed over from the realm of genius or madness into something else entirely.
"A Latent Talent Manifestation. Congratulations."
That was what the priest at the cathedral said, withdrawing his hand from the crystal orb — a visit I made on the faintest hope. My family could not utter a single word.
Latent Talent Manifestation.
A miracle granted by the gods, a phenomenon said to appear only in the chosen few.
And it had happened to me.
That, plus the fact that the kingdom, having learned of it, specially recruited me as an immigration officer — that's the whole story, short as it is.
From the son of a common-born merchant to the highest-ranking officer of the Southern Border Immigration Office.
A tale with an absurdity so far-fetched it wouldn't even work as a cheap back-alley novel.
[E-even if you can speak our tongue, nothing changes!]
[That's right! We don't know how you did it, but it doesn't cool our anger one bit! Our fury burns as hot as ten thousand blazing suns!]
Having finally collected themselves, the two spirits roared, spewing out pillars of flame and heat once more.
Trying to hide their shock now was a bit transparent, admittedly — but the fundamental problem remained unresolved, so I supposed they were entitled to it.
[I understand. That is precisely why this officer is here. Tell me what has angered you two so deeply, and I will assist you with the utmost sincerity.]
The moment I finished speaking, the spirits jabbed furiously toward the Gustatory Officer in the distance, practically boiling over.
[That detestable girl of water will pay for insulting us, and until she does, we shall burn without end!]
[Yes! We'll burn and burn and BURN! Roaring and blazing!]
Hold on. Water?
Why was the word water coming out of their mouths? The thing fire spirits hate most in all the world is water.
A girl. Water. And an insult.
The moment I pieced together the keywords from their brief outburst, a scenario took shape in my head.
The Gustatory Officer, still green behind the ears, misspoke and brought up water in front of fire spirits. And they took it as an insult.
Plausible. By far the most likely explanation.
The Gustatory Officer had been an immigration officer for less than a month, so her knowledge of other races' customs and etiquette was still lacking. No doubt she'd committed a gaffe without even realizing it — like seeing a werewolf and going, "Awww, puppy paws!"
Obvious. ignorance-fueled racial blunders — the classic mistake of rookie immigration officers.
This is exactly why I told the other officers to keep an eye on the Gustatory Officer.
And these little bastards had thrown a "Friday" party, tossed their supervisor's orders to the dogs, and run off?
No. Not now.
I suppressed the fury rising in me just as fiercely as the fire spirits'. Now was not the time to lose my temper — I could do that all I wanted on Monday. Right now, the apology came first.
[This officer will apologize on her behalf. The officer in question is still unfamiliar with other races, which I believe is how this happened. I will retrain her properly.]
[Unfamiliar? You people think an insult that vile can be excused as mere unfamiliarity?]
A snort, and fire came blasting out of it. The spirit behind stomped its feet in thunderous agreement.
Hm. Something's off.
The fire spirits' anger was excessive — far too much of it.
Even if they were furious, they wouldn't normally vent rage with enough force to scorch everything around them. Not even if water were the topic. No matter how much they hate water, a fire spirit isn't a creature that easily flies into a rage unless it's water itself that's involved. Their temperaments are gentle enough that they've earned the nickname "friends of the hearth."
Normally they flare up once, then die down. So what reason could they have to rage like this?
There shouldn't be one — unless someone had threatened to douse them with water.
...Huh.
No, come on. Surely not.
They couldn't have. Actually done that.
[...If it's not too indelicate a question, might you tell me exactly what the officer did wrong?]
[You don't even know, and yet you apologize to us?]
[This officer merely found it difficult to judge from one side alone. One must also hear the account of the one who suffered the insult.]
[That insolent creature threw water at us! Buckets of it! Water, WATER!]
So they really had.
My anger swelled as high as the pillars of flame shooting skyward. I turned my head and roared at the Gustatory Officer, who had been standing there blankly listening to our entire exchange.
"Gus. TO. Ry Officerrrrr!!!"
"Y-yesyesyesYES!!"
She shot up as if struck by lightning and scurried over to my side.
"Wh-what, what what seems to be the... problem...?"
"Are you out of your mind? You threw water at fire spirits!?"
"Gah! N-no, how did you even—?"
Dammit. Did I hear that right?
"Did you, or did you not, do this? Tell me you didn't."
Praying she would say no, I asked through gritted teeth, putting force into every single syllable.
And the Gustatory Officer, in a voice dwindling into the ground, delivered an absolutely magnificent answer.
"W-well, you see, water puts fire out, so... I was just trying to help cool everyone down faster..."
Oh, for the love of—
"Do you drink the ocean because you're thirsty? Do you set your house on fire because you're cold?"
Think about it for even a second — what do you suppose happens when you splash water on a race whose very existence is fire?
That's attempted murder. Well, attempted spirit-slaughter.
"Where on this entire earth is there a single person who doesn't know fire and water are mortal enemies!?"
"I'msosossossorry!"
"That's common sense, that's not even— hoo... No. We'll discuss this later. For now."
Oh, my blood pressure.
Hold it in. Now is not the time. I can thrash her as much as I want later — right now, soothing the spirits in front of me came first.
[Our deepest apologies. This is clearly this office's mistake.]
[Too late for that. We gave that girl ample opportunity to apologize, yet she never said a single word to the end! We demand punishment!]
The fire spirits, thoroughly worked up now, belched out even more heat with the air of intending to burn down everything in sight.
[And what punishment would that be?]
[She threatened our lives, so she must give up her own. We shall purify that girl's body with fire.]
Oh no. This is bad.
"Um, Chief Officer? What are they saying?"
"They say they will only be satisfied if they burn the Gustatory Officer alive."
"Hiiiiik!"
At the unvarnished translation, the Gustatory Officer convulsed and hid behind me.
"P-pleasepleaseplease spare me please spare meee!"
"Overturning a decision spirits have made is extremely difficult."
I'm sorry. I didn't expect them to be this furious either.
[Would it not be possible for you two to show her mercy and forgive her?]
[Not a chance! Hand over the girl!]
Inflexible to the last. Nothing for it, then. I would have to call in the border guards. Even with the language barrier broken, if they wouldn't accept an apology, we'd have no choice but to use force.
Just as I moved to signal my attendant with a flick of the hand, the spirit spat out one more remark.
[Do not think we will let such insolence pass unpunished on our homecoming road, humans, a road that should have been peaceful!]
Wait. Homecoming road?
At those words, a solution streaked through my mind like lightning.
There it is — I can see the way out!
[Might I ask how long you intend to stay in the Crossline Kingdom?]
[Hm? Hmm... We've come a long way, so we'll rest for three days before heading to the Western Active Volcano Region. We hear the Red Dragon's egg is about to hatch.]
Three days. Quite a long time.
Which meant they'd certainly need to secure lodging somewhere, and they'd have to eat, and all of it would add up to expenses.
[Have you already found somewhere to stay?]
[We were about to look. Though I doubt any establishment would take in fire spirits like us.]
The other spirit nodded along with a worried look.
There was the problem. And I had the power to solve it.
Which meant there was only one thing to do.
Begin negotiations.
[If it pleases you, this office will provide, as an act of apology, the finest lodging in the kingdom for the duration of your stay — along with firewood.]
[Wha—?]
Behold: the Merchant Secret Techniques, taught to me as the eldest son of a merchant house.
The Freebie Blitz (i.e., loading the gift table to bursting).
The staple food of a fire spirit is firewood. They'll eat anything that burns, but what they love most is good firewood.
And it was late autumn right now — the season when firewood prices soar to the heavens.
Then there was the lodging. A normal bed would go up in flames the moment they lay down, so they'd need an inn built of stone. And stone inns are expensive — nearly double the cost of a regular one.
In other words, three days here would cost them a small fortune.
What if I offered to clear both of those thorny conditions right off the bat?
[The Crossline Kingdom welcomes all who enter with peaceful intent. But having committed so grave an insult against you, we would be honored if you would allow this office to attend to your comfort for the duration of your stay, as an act of contrition.]
[U-uhm... but we have suffered an insult, and a fitting punishment is still—]
Red began to seep into the blue flames.
Proof that the fury was dying down.
See? Dead-on strike. Fire spirits wear their hearts on their flames — terribly convenient.
Now, to land a follow-up hit on those wavering hearts.
[If you wish, we can provide a room with its own hearth. You will be able to rest in perfect comfort.]
[A — a hearth? Truly?]
[And with that, four blocks of charcoal a day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack!]
[Really and truly!?]
Charcoal, which outranks firewood — charcoal that burns long and hot, pure in flavor, delicious to consume.
This was 1+1. No, 1+3.
Even the stingiest, most miserly, small-hearted skinflint alive couldn't turn this down. No — even a vengeful spirit who holds grudges for a lifetime and never forgives would go "hmph... I suppose I have no choice" and let it go at this.
The flames turned completely red.
One step from orange. Time to deliver the decisive blow to those hearts shaking without any pretense at all.
I spread out four fingers, and then, gravely, grandly:
[...We will make it hardwood charcoal.]
Checkmate.
Flames as beautiful as the evening sunset rippled before my eyes.
No longer two furious blue-flamed young men, but two gentle-faced, orange-flamed women nodded in deep satisfaction.
[We shall forgive the young officer. It was an offense born of ignorance — so long as she is careful from now on and takes this as a lesson, all will be well.]
[We thank you for a generosity worthy of the descendants of flame.]
Look at that benevolent smile. Beautiful beyond words.
I grabbed the back of the Gustatory Officer's neck — still watching the whole scene in complete incomprehension — and forcibly bent her into a bow.
"Wuh? Chief Officer?"
"It's settled, so bow."
From there, everything resolved as smoothly as water flowing downhill.
Only after I stamped their entry documents, and only after my attendant — sharp-eyed fellow that he is — produced a "Ministry of Foreign Affairs guarantee voucher" on the spot, fireproofed it, and handed it over, were the fire spirits finally permitted to step across the border.
[Welcome to the Crossline Kingdom. We wish you a most pleasant stay.]
[Same to you, human who speaks the spirit tongue.]
Once the spirits had gone far enough, the Gustatory Officer let out a long breath.
"Is it... over?"
"Yes. Resolved nicely. And now there's just... the matter of your punishment remaining."
One more blow still to land.
The decision of what to do with the Gustatory Officer, who had caused the whole fiasco.
"...What?"
Her relieved expression froze solid on her face.
"Gustatory Officer. Do you know what the official punishment is when an immigration officer commits a grave error?"
At my voice, pitched low, she trembled all over and managed a reply.
"S-sumsumsumsumsummary... execution...?"
"Correct."
"Chief Officer, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again!"
"Apologies won't scoop the water back out of the air."
The crime of dragging me out just before quitting time and forcing unpaid overtime upon me. The crime of committing the lunacy of splashing water on fire spirits — and then contributing absolutely nothing to the resolution of the problem. And on top of that, the crime of burning through additional Immigration Office budget.
The severity of these offenses, my friends, is truly dire.
How could I possibly let them slide? Punishment was unavoidable.
But the situation was a goddamn mess.
"However... you have barely been commissioned a month, and the Hearing Officer who was supposed to mentor you did leave work early, after all."
The real problem is those bastards who ditched a rookie and ran.
After brief deliberation, I passed my sentence.
"You will remain here with this officer from today until Monday and undergo retraining."
"Yes, ye — yeeeeeeESSS??? "
At words like a thunderclap from a clear sky, the Gustatory Officer's face turned deathly pale.
About as pale, in fact, as the fire spirits had been blue.
"This officer will surrender his own weekend as well, so you will report here today, tomorrow, and the day after. I will be educating you very thoroughly indeed."
The weekend wasn't the point. How can a creature call itself an immigration officer without knowing the most basic etiquette between races? So we teach it again. We teach it until it's carved into her skull.
And the one silver lining in all of this was that the fire spirits' rampage had left no one hurt and no actual incident behind.
If real damage had occurred here and it had spiraled into a diplomatic crisis, even I couldn't have contained it.
That would have meant execution, no questions asked. But since I'd stepped in and put out the fire myself, there was no need to report anything to my superiors. In other words, bury the whole thing right here.
Of course, in exchange, I was going to make absolutely certain this nomad girl never made the same mistake twice.
Having heard a punishment as terrifying as a death sentence, the Gustatory Officer shook her head wildly.
"I-I'll just submit my resignation! No, I'll go smash my head against the fire spirits right now!"
"Not permitted. The situation is resolved, and this officer will not accept your resignation."
Not a chance.
Ah — though, to be fair, there was one other option on the table.
"If you prefer, I can file a report with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs this very moment and have you officially executed—"
"I-I'll take it! I'll take the retraining!"
"...Very good."
Should have said that from the start.
And that was that.
—Grab.
I seized the back of the Gustatory Officer's neck. And then,
—shuuuuffle.
Dragged her off to the deserted immigration office.
"WaaaAAAAHH..."
The bleating of a lamb being led to slaughter never once escaped into the outside world.
And so, over the weekend, the Gustatory Officer was made to read the entire twelve-volume Collected Characteristics of the Continent's Races until she could recite them by heart.
Next up: the Hearing Officer, the Tactile Officer, and the Touch Officer who had all skipped out without a word of report.
You bastards are next.