Friends (2)

"Th-this is..."

A flustered voice.

Eyes darting around the room.

Faces tinged with just a hint of nerves.

"What in the world is all this?"

My voice rang out across the open ground in front of the Immigration Office.

Three days had passed since the Using Barbarians to Fight Barbarians operation wrapped up so successfully, and the Southern Border had finally recovered a long-lost peace.

The pilgrimage has left, Black Hand has been dealt with, no other international incidents pending.

Ah, sweet, sweet peace.

This quiet daily routine, where all I had to do was stamp documents without a single thought or worry in my head — I had missed it more than words could say.

After how hard the past few days had worked me, surely I deserved some time to rest.

Besides, today wasn't even my day for evening duty.

Which is exactly why I thought I could finish up clean and head straight home.

So why, at the very tail end of quitting time, did a luxury transport wagon the size of a small building have to appear?

It stood nearly as tall as the border-defense golems.

Are they shipping a dragon egg in there or something?

The sheer intimidating presence of its size was no joke.

I addressed the girl standing in front of the wagon.

"You're telling me you intend to take this enormous carriage through departure processing entirely on your own?"

"Yes!"

A girl with a rather cute scattering of freckles, a large witch hat pulled down deep over her eyes, beamed up at me brightly.

"The Mages' Academy is excavating a deep ruin along the southern coast!"

With that, she handed over the armful of paperwork she'd been hugging to her chest.

"We started last year, and they say we're on the verge of finding something big this time! So we're bringing in additional equipment!"

Additional equipment.

Which meant this had happened before.

I searched my memory for a moment.

Come to think of it, the Magical Excavation Department crossed the border once about a year ago.

I vaguely remembered it — dozens of personnel hauling out several large wagons apiece, and me drowning in paperwork until dawn because of it.

Not exactly a fond memory.

With a short sigh, I turned my eyes to the documents.

It matched my memory exactly.

"The Royal Mages' Academy and the Department of Magical Excavation... hmm."

Two institutions famous in our kingdom for devouring more budget than anyone else.

And sure enough, the cargo manifest on the very next page was ostentatious beyond belief.

"Nine mana detection devices, twenty-nine deep-sea breathing apparatuses, twelve modified defensive magic tools, fifty protection scrolls..."

Expensive artifacts and magic tools poured out of the list without end.

Any single one of them was worth comfortably more than two months of a commoner's living expenses.

I knew the Mages' Academy was rich, but I had no idea it was to this degree.

There was more value packed into that one wagon than the entire fortune of my family's trading company.

Keeping that fact firmly in mind, I asked her:

"And you're carrying all of these priceless things in a single wagon? That will be dangerous."

For a merchant house, the dangerous scenarios came down to two.

One: arming yourself with such an absurd excess of guards and defensive spells that you might as well be shouting your cargo's worth to the world.

Two: traveling with a single wagon and not a single guard at all.

The former practically advertised that high-value goods were on the move, making it an easy target for large bandit organizations. The latter was nothing more than a money sack rolling down the open road.

Which was why the sensible course was usually two or three wagons with a modest escort. What I was looking at now was squarely case number two — and a textbook example of it, at that.

"If you wish, I can connect you with a mercenary company we trust."

She seemed more anxious than a baby left on a riverbank.

I had a feeling that sending a girl this young off alone would haunt my dreams.

But the girl just giggled and picked up a stone from the ground.

"It's fine! The President of the Mages' Academy cast a protective spell on it personally!"

And then she flung the stone at the wagon.

- CRACKLE!

A tremendous arc of lightning burst from the wagon and reduced the stone to powder.

"..."

"Hehe, pretty impressive, right?"

A brief silence.

Quietly, I drew an X across the paperwork and spoke.

"Failed on safety grounds. Departure denied."

"WHAAAT!?"

Granted, artifacts this valuable would naturally have protections arranged by the Academy.

That part wasn't the problem.

The problem was the raw power of it.

"Under entry and exit regulations, magic applied to a conveyance must not be lethal in nature. What I just witnessed, however, could only be described as a lethal enchantment."

If it could blow a stone to pieces, I hardly needed to speculate on what it would do to a person.

At my words, the young witch's eyes went wide and she cried out.

"It's a defensive spell! De-fen-sive! It blocks things! It's like a shield!"

"A shield can beat a person to death just as well. Magic this powerful carries more than enough potential for abuse."

Magic was more dangerous than any weapon.

All the more so when it wasn't something cast and finished, but something installed and left in place.

It was hard to see, and its destructive force could defy imagination.

For it to be used strictly defensively, someone had to be able to guarantee that would be the case.

And that someone had to be a member of the Mages' Academy — not the young witch standing before me.

"I'll need the Academy's certification that this spell is purely defensive. Did you bring documentation attesting to the wagon's harmlessness?"

"Ah, no... I didn't know I'd need that..."

"Or, failing that, could someone other than yourself — someone who actually understands this magic — come and testify to it?"

Perhaps because she'd been tripped up from a direction she never expected, the young witch answered with a face on the verge of tears.

"The President cast it herself, so... and I can't go all the way back to the Royal Castle now..."

And that was when it happened.

"Oh my — are you from the Mages' Academy?"

The Hearing Officer, having just finished processing the last arrival of the day, drifted over to our side.

"Y-yes, I am. I'm from the Royal Mages' Academy."

At the girl's tearful reply, the elf's blue eyes flashed for an instant — and then, in a grave tone I had never once heard from her, she asked:

"Which class?"

"Pardon?"

"Which class are you?"

At the sudden question, the girl's face flooded with panic.

"T-two thousand and ninety-first class, ma'am!"

"Oh my."

The Hearing Officer drew herself up straight and put on a supremely confident expression.

"I'm eight hundred and first. Lovely to meet you, junior~."

"E-eight hundred and first!?!"

With a shriek, the young witch's back bent to a perfect ninety degrees.

"It's an h-h-h-h-honor to meet you, Senpai!"

Only then did it dawn on me that the Hearing Officer had once been a member of the Mages' Academy herself.

"Hearing Officer, now that I think of it — you were with the Academy before you became an examiner, weren't you?"

"That's right. If it weren't for Director Hailin, I'd probably still be there~."

She answered with a giggle, then turned back to her junior.

"Who's the current Academy President?"

"Daika Ren, ma'am!"

"Daika, Daika... doesn't ring a bell. What class is she?"

"F-fourteen hundred and forty-seventh, ma'am!"

"...Ma'am?"

"Ma'am!"

The girl who had been weeping and fidgeting was gone.

All that remained was one member of the Mages' Academy, eyes squeezed shut, shouting with everything she had.

"Hmhm... So they've stopped teaching the addressing protocol at the Academy these days, have they?"

A voice that slithered like a snake across the ground — sly and sinister beyond measure.

The Hearing Officer narrowed her eyes, smiled an ominous smile, and turned to me.

"Central Officer? Would it be all right if I took over from here~? I'll handle the cargo inspection too."

"Pardon? Why all of a sudden?"

What was wrong with the woman who normally sprinted out the door at top speed to go drinking?

This was a request she had never once made in all our time working together.

Under my suspicious gaze, she simply shrugged.

"It's been a while since I ran into a junior from the Academy. I'd like to talk with her a bit more."

"Ah, I see. Well then."

I had no reason to refuse.

With a former Academy member on the job, even the more tangled procedures could be streamlined.

Besides, inspecting every artifact and magic tool in that wagon would obviously take forever.

And I wanted to go home.

"Ah, awawawa..."

Only the young witch shook her head desperately, her face full of pleading.

Then the Hearing Officer drove the wedge home.

"The spell on this wagon is a defensive enchantment called [React Lightning], and I, personally, guarantee that it is used strictly for self-protection~."

Exactly the answer she'd been praying for.

A former member of the Mages' Academy had vouched for the spell in question herself.

Ignoring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the girl's desperate stare with a gentle smile of my own, I spoke.

"Enjoy your time together, you two. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be heading in."

And that was that.

"Now then — first, why don't you tell me which class stopped teaching the addressing protocol?"

Faced with her towering senior's question, the junior could do nothing but tremble.

"That concludes today's operations. Everyone, thank you for your hard work."

"Thank you for your hard work!"

"Uuuuughaaa!"

Ten minutes after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd declared the end of the workday.

I sat down at my desk and pulled open the bottom drawer.

- Groooan.

Inside, a thick stack of letters from the princess was packed in tight.

I stared down at them in silence.

...No letters coming lately, though.

It had been two days now.

Two days since the letters that had flown in like clockwork every single day abruptly stopped.

I leaned back in my chair and let my thoughts drift for a while.

Did she get tired of it?

She wrote to me every day and always said she'd be waiting for a reply.

Frankly, it had been a bit much.

She sent them by express delivery, in staggering volumes, every single time.

Thanks to my request that she improve readability, she'd finally gotten spacing and sentence structure under control — but the overall chaos of the writing remained ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exactly the same.

And nothing we'd exchanged over the past few days was particularly important.

My daily life. And a rambling confession of what it felt like for her to finally have a friend.

Nothing but scattered, pointless, trivial chatter.

She seemed oddly fascinated by my day-to-day life, so I'd written out what an examiner's routine looked like — and apparently she'd found that endlessly entertaining.

Still, it had been a long while since I exchanged letters with anyone, so I did rather enjoy it myself.

Elaine's final lines drifted back through my memory.

Well.

Would a day like that ever come?

To meet you, I would inevitably have to face the royal family again.

King Leo Castor and Queen Helena Castor.

Two people I had absolutely no desire to cross paths with, as things stood now.

Perhaps someday, if the chance arose.

But the time was decidedly not now.

Not until the Holy Church affair was settled, and not until the King's movements came into the open — until then, I had to be careful.

I didn't know why, exactly, but the Intelligence Department had seen fit to send me warnings twice over it.

With that thought, I turned my head toward Erzena.

"Erzena. I'm getting off work early today — how about we eat out?"

By "out," I meant the restaurant-tavern we'd visited together before.

However the Royal Castle chose to churn, our concern began and ended with the Southern Border.

We'd been busy, after all, and we'd never even gotten to celebrate wrapping up the Black Hand affair — seemed like a good occasion for a dinner out.

The woman who had been humming a tune against the wall answered with a smile.

"Sounds lovely. Let's stop by there today, and then run by the market for a moment."

"The market? Are you out of household supplies already?"

She couldn't have burned through them that fast.

But Erzena shook her head and said, dead serious:

"I'm going to clean the house."

A bolt from the blue.

Cleaning, she said.

"...Pardon?"

"Now that I have a bit of free time, I really ought to get things sorted out."

Oh, mercy.

To spend these golden hours of leisure on that.

How could anyone utter such a horrifying sentence?

I scrambled for an excuse.

"Erzena, I'm dreadfully tired today, you see..."

"I'll say a healing prayer for you. There, settled."

Blocked.

"No, it isn't physical exhaustion, it's more of a mental—"

"You did say that with no incidents or disasters lately, you've been in a wonderful mood?"

Blocked again.

"..."

Her hand was already clutching a scrap of paper listing the cleaning supplies we'd need to buy at the market.

"We live in this house together — it's about time we started living in it cleanly."

Zeal was blazing bright in those golden eyes.

Sound reasoning.

I had no comeback whatsoever.

She was a guest staying under my roof at present. I could hardly leave someone under my protection languishing in a filthy house.

Head hanging low, I answered.

"...You're right. We'll clean together, then."

At the sight of me, the Smell Officer and Taste Officer immediately started snickering.

"Already this thoroughly housebroken? His future looks bright."

"My mother always said a wife should be firm and decisive."

It was getting tiresome to even respond anymore.

"All right, all right, let's head out. Everyone, thank you for your hard work today."

I was just about to wrap things up with more of that same meaningless small talk when—

- Creeeak.

The door of the Immigration Office opened.

A small-framed woman, the hood of her robe pulled down deep over her face.

"Is... is this the Immigration Office?"

She looked around her uneasily.

"Yes. Welcome to the Southern Border Immigration Office. However, official operations for today have concluded. My apologies, but departure processing will resume tomorrow at six in the morning."

I answered gently.

It was past hours now — unless it was an emergency, she would have to come back tomorrow.

"..."

But the only reply was silence.

The woman stood frozen in the doorway, motionless, saying nothing at all.

Something was off.

...She's carrying no luggage.

Travelers almost always carried something with them.

The nearest village was half a day away even at a run.

And yet she had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠come with nothing but the robe covering her face, empty-handed.

As if she were trying to hide something.

"If you're waiting for someone who entered today, all arrivals have already been processed. I'd recommend searching for them in the plaza."

"..."

No response.

And then it happened.

"...!! Hold on."

The Smell Officer's head snapped up abruptly, and he sniffed the air.

"...Blood."

The werewolf's low growl rumbled as he fixed his glare on the woman.

At that single word, every expression in the room hardened.

"Central Officer. Erzena. Fall back."

He passed slowly between us and planted himself in front of her.

- Thud. Thud.

Then, making no attempt whatsoever to hide his wariness, he addressed her.

"State your business."

Faced with a man nearly twice her height, the woman had to crane her neck a long way upward.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the werewolf's claws and fangs. Then she opened her mouth.

"Are you the Central Officer?"

Not one of the Five Senses Officers moved.

Not a single head turned toward me.

Instead, each of them quietly began preparing to handle whatever unexpected thing might spring at them from the front.

The Smell Officer spoke again.

"State your business first."

"There's something I can only say to the Central Officer."

"We don't answer questions from someone who won't even identify herself."

"This is urgent."

"That's your problem."

The werewolf growled.

"Take off the robe and show us who you are. Until then, you'll hear nothing from us."

A stern warning.

Someone concealing her identity, coming to find me at an hour when everyone else had gone home.

There was no reason to treat her kindly.

There had been quite enough trouble lately as it was.

"..."

Out of options.

The woman held her silence for a long moment, then slowly raised her hands and drew back the hood.

"...May I speak now?"

Her face emerged into view at last.

A girl stood there — one who had not yet shed the last traces of childhood.

And then...

"Good heavens."

"Oh no..."

"Dear God."

Erzena clapped a hand over her mouth.

The Taste Officer and Touch Officer froze where they stood, and even the Smell Officer standing at the front went wide-eyed.

"...You. Who did this to you."

The werewolf dropped to one knee at once, bringing his eyes level with the girl's.

A cold sense of dread crawled up my spine.

That was when I finally saw the wrongness in the girl's face.

And I, too, let a curse slip out.

"God, what a—"

The deep crimson staining the girl's cheeks could never have been a blush.

Her split lip was clearly no accident.

The mass of bruises below the nape of her neck could not possibly have come from a fall.

And her swollen left eye left no room for any excuse at all.

"..."

"..."

"..."

Silence.

There was no need to say aloud what this meant.

Everyone already knew.

"Who the hell did it."

The Smell Officer's growl came out in a voice nothing like his first one.

Eyes brimming with fury and heartbreak alike fixed on the girl.

"What kind of filthy bastard would do this to a child your age?"

The girl answered.

"Central Officer."

A voice calling for me.

Though she had no way of knowing which one I was, she called my name.

A voice that sounded as though it had endured and held on for so long, just to deliver a single message.

Thrusting out a miserable, torn scrap of a letter that she had clutched tight in her hand toward the Smell Officer, the girl said:

"...Please help my friend."

And in those final words, there was weeping.