Friends (1)

Two days later, in the Intelligence Department's operations room.

Melanie and her agents stood around the table, their expressions grave.

"What's the status of the murders reported over the last two days?"

She pointed at the northern map spread across the desk.

One of the agents answered.

"Twenty-eight homicides confirmed so far, moving slowly from the Great Forest toward the Skadi Empire. Unidentified bodies are still being discovered as we speak."

"Then the Black Hand's headquarters must be somewhere in there."

Various markers were scattered across the map — local informants, embedded agents, the military forces of each nation, even the locations of key figures.

Melanie picked up a raven marker and placed it on the spot labeled Great Forest.

"As far as we've determined, the Evil God Cult's stronghold is somewhere in the Skadi Empire. It's only a matter of time before the Black Hand pushes into their territory."

Next, a small demon marker settled over the Skadi Empire, the largest expanse on the map.

The distance between the raven and the imperial border wasn't far. Roughly three handspans.

Melanie looked down at the arrangement and spoke.

"Pull every infiltration team among our northern agents back to the border. Anyone who had direct contact with the Cult — mark them as deceased and erase their identities."

"Understood, ma'am."

The agents nodded with stiff faces.

She gathered all the markers bearing the Crossline Kingdom's insignia and moved them to the kingdom's border.

"Get safehouses and new identities set up for our local informants as fast as possible. We need to save at least half of them or it'll come back to bite us later."

"Would the Black Hand really kill our informants too?"

"Vengeance doesn't make exceptions. Until they've got Hatensilla, anyone connected by even a fingernail's width is a target. And I refuse to lose any more valuable human assets."

The Black Hand already knew the Crossline Kingdom was involved here. They had known, and answered the request anyway.

Even so, it wouldn't matter to them. There are no exceptions in a full-scale war.

"Suspend all investigation into the Evil God Cult for the time being and keep a thorough distance. Under no circumstances may we expose our identities."

But the Cult knew nothing of any of this.

The faintest hint of our involvement, and that grudge would turn squarely upon us.

"Let them bleed each other dry. And if the balance between them breaks — that's when we send our agents back in."

Using barbarians to fight barbarians.

The operation Nathan had proposed was a truly brilliant strategy.

A way to deal with the North's biggest headache and the pretext for the Holy Order's crusade in one stroke, without ever lifting a finger himself.

Thanks to Erzena's heroics, things had played out a little differently from the original plan — but the result was flawless.

And Eliza's promise to hunt down the former Saintess wasn't just talk, either.

That carried the potential to open a connection with the Black Hand.

If ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they gained a point of contact with the North's largest assassination guild, their intelligence network would only widen further.

"We can't let this opportunity slip. You all know this is a race against time."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good. Then let's reconvene in three days. That's all for today. Dismissed."

With that, the agents filed out of the operations room with crisp salutes.

Only after the last of them had gone did Melanie unbend her rigid posture and collapse into her chair.

"Haaaham... I haven't been sleeping at all lately, and my back is killing me..."

The moment the tension drained away, the yawns came tumbling out.

She'd pulled all-nighters two days in a row now, and dark circles hung heavy under her eyes.

Melanie gazed at the crystal orb with a weary face.

"Nathan..."

A faint smile crept across her lips.

Just two days ago, he had contacted her.

Nathan almost never called her by name. Nine times out of ten it was nothing but her title.

Only when he was genuinely grateful, or genuinely desperate, did the name 'Melanie' leave his mouth.

So when he opened with her name like that, it felt as though every ounce of her hard work had been repaid in a single instant.

That wasn't all — thanks to his flawless translation of the cipher book, other operations were progressing too.

She'd cleared away a long-standing headache and received Nathan's thanks all at once.

As far as I'm concerned, that's plenty of a reward already.

But fortune hadn't stopped there.

That was what Nathan had said, sheepishly scratching his cheek.

The moment she heard it, Melanie had nearly screamed.

Nathan was coming. Of his own accord, no less.

The real reason for her exhaustion was, in fact, this.

Designing the operation had taken about four hours. The remaining forty-four had all been spent on Nathan.

'Before long' means he's coming sometime this month, right?

She'd racked her brain harder than she had during the great purge of the South's criminal syndicates, and two full nights had slipped right through her fingers.

What should I wear? Where should we meet? What should we eat?! Intelligence Department, MOVE!!!

She had mobilized the full might of the Intelligence Department to find the finest restaurant, the optimal hour, and the perfect outfit.

So that no matter when Nathan arrived, she would be fully prepared.

And the victory underwear, too.

She stole a glance at the mirror on her desk.

Curves that no business suit could hide, and a smooth, sleek silhouette caught her eye.

The tantalizing, provocative harmony of serpent and woman.

...Heh.

That would surely strike a young man like Nathan as a fatally dangerous charm.

No — absolutely it would.

She had confidence.

Not that I wanted to go this far, honestly.

That man was delicate.

A pitiable man who still carried wounds in his heart, yet endured his sorrow and kept living.

That was why Melanie had intended to watch him calmly and extend her hand slowly, rather than charge in the way she had at the start.

But now she no longer had the luxury of patience.

Because during that crystal orb conversation with Erzena, she had overheard something she could never have allowed to slip past.

Nathan.

Not the Central Officer. Not an Examiner.

Nathan.

Why did that woman call him by name?

Unless you were family or friends, addressing someone by their bare name was rarer than most people realized.

Doing so uninvited was a grave discourtesy — doubly so in a diplomatic relationship.

Erzena, a former Saintess, could not possibly have been ignorant of that.

Which meant, unmistakably, that Nathan had given her permission.

She could feel where this was going.

"Hmm..."

This faintly sour feeling settling in her stomach.

She turned her memories over.

The expression Erzena wore when she said his name had been startlingly similar to her own.

"...I don't like it."

Her mood plummeted in an instant.

What on earth were institutions like Temporary Asylum even for?

Clearly, Nathan had done it to protect the former Saintess. Her head understood that. Even so, something about it sat wrong.

Deciding she needed to change the mood, Melanie shifted her gaze to the paperwork on her desk and skimmed through the periodic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reports from the kingdom's domestic agencies.

Most of it she already knew.

Except the last line.

"Verification requested?"

The serpent's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Information she didn't know?

She unfolded it at once.

It detailed how vast a volume of mail the Royal Post Office delivered across the nation.

And there in the middle of it, one oddity jumped out at her.

"...That's an awful lot of parcels bound for the Southern Border."

Ordinary business mail to the border went out once every three or four days.

A courtesy, to keep administrative processing efficient — everything bundled together at once.

Only urgent reports or documents demanding emergency action ever broke that cycle.

"But this was sent every single day."

Express delivery, four times over — four consecutive days, no less.

As far as she knew, exactly one person had sent urgent mail to the Southern Border recently.

Her. To transmit the intelligence on the Evil God Cult.

"But I only sent it once."

Which meant someone other than her had done it four times in a row.

She paged through the sender registry for those two days.

And at the very end of the document, she found something strange.

"..."

An expunged entry.

"Information erased so thoroughly that even I can't verify it?"

Melanie muttered, half in disbelief.

In that instant, a chill of foreboding swept through her.

Erasing information beyond even the Intelligence Director's reach ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was an impossibility.

She held access to every record in the kingdom. This simply should not happen.

The serpent narrowed her eyes.

"...Don't tell me."

There was exactly one case like this.

One case where, despite the mandatory reporting of all information, the rules could simply be ignored.

When the royal family acted in secret.

At the same moment, in a certain room of the royal castle.

- Thud, thud, thud, thud.

A young woman was circling the room in wide, serious strides — lap two hundred and eighty-six.

"Ugh..."

Elaine Castor made a sound, her expression grave.

The words wouldn't come.

That was when it happened.

- Knock, knock.

A knock at the door.

- Bang.

At a flick of Elaine's hand, the distant door flew wide open and the girl standing beyond it was whisked inside.

"P-Princess! Hwaaek... I'm, I'm b-back... aaah..."

Her personal maid, Hannah — panting as though her last breath might give out, set down the towering armful of stationery she'd been hauling.

"Haaaah... I'm gonna, gonna die-ee..."

Utterly spent, she collapsed in a boneless heap onto the floor.

Who knew how many times she'd now made the secret trip to the Royal Post Office.

And who knew she was capable of lugging around a stack of paper that weighed nearly half her own body weight, every single time.

Thanks to that, there wasn't a day the maid's two arms didn't ache like overworked eggs.

"Uuu..."

As her reward for all the trouble, Elaine dragged a chair over with telekinesis and seated her.

"Th-thank you, Princess."

Hannah draped herself over the chair without the slightest ceremony.

"..."

The princess stared at her in long, silent reproach.

"Eheheh... Princess."

Hannah gave a sheepish grin.

Then she dug into the front of her dress and produced something.

"A reply came again this time!"

A letter from the Southern Border.

Elaine's face brightened in an instant.

To think he'd written back this quickly.

She snatched up the envelope, tore it open, and read through it in a breathless rush.

"Mmhm!"

I see.

"Ah!"

So that's the kind of work an Examiner does.

Having finished the letter in less than thirty seconds, she read it again.

Wondering what he might have been thinking as he wrote it. What posture he might have sat in.

Then her eyes drifted to the line at the very bottom.

"...Heheh."

The corners of Elaine's mouth curled up wide.

After her second letter, an utterly unexpected gift had come back to her.

The Central Officer had written her a reply.

It wasn't nearly as long as the letters she sent, but there was no doubt whatsoever that he had written it himself.

From your friend.

No one else in the world could have written those words.

From that day on, Elaine's world had grown brighter still.

It was no longer a one-sided soliloquy.

Truly — she and the Central Officer were holding a conversation.

Though the letter-length ratio remained an overwhelming 99 to 1.

For the past four days, she had spent the happiest hours of her life.

Those green eyes that had been listless for so long now sparkled more brilliantly than ever before as she read her friend's letters.

"...Sniff."

Watching her, Hannah was suddenly seized by emotion and pulled Elaine into a tight hug.

"Princess... please never forget that I'm always cheering for you."

"Ehh?"

It had been exhausting.

Sneaking out a royal signet ring to mail letters under the strictest secrecy.

Smuggling a mountain of stationery to Elaine every day without getting caught — it had all been so hard.

I don't even know how I managed it.

Every trip left her stomach knotted and her sweat pouring. It was espionage work fit for an Intelligence Department agent, nothing less.

And yet she hadn't complained once.

It had simply been far, far too long since she'd seen the princess so full of life.

Hannah sat back in her chair and pointed at the clock, calling out.

"Her Majesty the Queen comes at seven, so we've still got time! Hurry and write your reply! If we're quick, we can send it out again today!"

The current hour was five.

With the suppressing priests in tow, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her mother was still two hours away.

Elaine nodded at that.

"Okay!"

By now, even Hannah had come to enjoy it.

What a wonderfully romantic thing it is, to become someone's friend through letters.

To carve into written words something that could never be spoken aloud — that honest, unnamable something — was a truly beautiful thing.

All the more so for Princess Elaine.

For a girl who had lost the ability to speak after tragedy struck, letters were both her means of communication and her way of facing the world.

And now, that world was widening, little by little.

Hannah gazed intently at the young woman pouring her whole heart into her writing.

- Scratch, scratch, scribble, scribble.

How long had it been since she'd seen that smile?

That endlessly lovable laughter she wanted, more than anything, to protect.

Her chest ached sweetly.

I want to stay here by your side.

And someday — someday she hoped would come — the day the Princess could speak again.

Hannah wished for it, deep in her heart, and wished again.

For her friend's happiness.

She wasn't sure she had the right to wish for such a thing, but wishing it all the same, she clenched her two fists tight.

That was when it happened.

"You... what is all this?"

A razor-sharp voice cut in from behind them.

At the same moment, the bodies of Elaine and Hannah froze solid.

That plummeting sensation of a heart dropping straight through the floor.

Both of them knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

Someone they feared beyond all measure — and yet knew all too well.

A being from whom warmth could never be hoped for, and whom they ached for anyway.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

It was the voice of her mother.