Chapter 6
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: An Offer You Can't Refuse (2)
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"Why?! No, why the hell is that?! Why is the Saintess joining a pilgrimage group? She should just stay at the cathedral praying!"
- Central Officer, calm down. That last remark could be blasphemy.
"This doesn't make any sense! The very symbol of the Holy Church—what wind blew her all the way north with that massive entourage?!"
- Officially, it's to encourage the Holy Church's northern branch.
"Then they should've sent an archbishop! Or at least a cardinal! Why the Saintess herself... Arghhh!"
Okay, let's think about this simply.
The Saintess is currently in the southern part of the continent.
Obviously. The Holy Church's main base is down there.
But now she's heading north with a pilgrimage group of about a thousand people.
There's one place she absolutely has to pass through. Where do you think that is?
Where else? Right here in the Crossroad Kingdom.
And to enter the Crossroad Kingdom, who does she meet first?
Who else? Us immigration officers.
What does that mean?
It means we have to inspect the living symbol of the Holy Church.
And would someone like that show up here alone? No way in hell.
"There'll be paladin orders for protection, priests and monks as bonuses, civilians tagging along to witness her miracles as a given, and merchants sniffing out profit opportunities..."
I racked my brain harder than ever before.
"With a massive caravan to handle food for that many people, extra personnel for weapons, medical teams... even roughly estimating..."
It's definitely not just a thousand.
At least fifteen hundred. No, two thousand.
In short, that damn Minister was telling our peaceful, quiet Immigration Control Office to handle a two-thousand-person inspection bomb plus a VIP like the Saintess.
The only immigration officers at the southern border right now are me and the Five Senses Officers.
Five people total to manage a group that size? Way too much.
"What the hell are the Foreign Affairs Ministry and Intelligence Bureau doing? Isn't this their job? At least request some cooperation—"
- Intelligence is tied up on a secret op in the north, and Foreign Affairs is fully deployed negotiating with the eastern nomads. You're all that's left in Immigration Control.
"Ah."
Why are those bastards always busy only when a massive crisis like this hits?
Seeing my expression, the Minister spoke in a chiding tone.
- Look on the bright side. When in life do you get to inspect a Saintess?
"Even having a superior visit the workplace is awkward as hell. How do you think it'll be with a Saintess? Could you welcome the king to your office with open arms, Minister?"
- I'd quit first.
He made the exact same face I was.
"Does she have to come through our country? Have to?"
- Can't tell her to climb the mountains. You know why we're the Crossroad Kingdom. This is the only safe, fast route.
He was right. Why were we the Crossroad Kingdom?
A nation perched at the safest pass through the continent's most treacherous mountain range.
Without passing through us, crossing to the other side of the continent was next to impossible.
In other words, the Saintess passing through the Crossroad Kingdom was unavoidable fate.
- This is a job only we can do, Central Officer.
The Minister stared at me wordlessly, exhaustion plain on his face.
He was already pouring his body into handling this mess.
- The eastern nomad issue is headache enough, and now this grabs me by the ankle.
Looking at the stacks of teacups and documents beside him made it hard to breathe.
'Damn it. Can't say no when my boss is like this.'
I could voice complaints, but refusal was off the table.
Besides, the Saintess and her pilgrims were already headed this way. Like it or not, we'd meet them.
It was inevitable. A job only we could do.
And with Intelligence and Foreign Affairs already at full capacity, we couldn't slack off either.
I let out a deep sigh, then spoke in a subdued voice.
"So it's our job anyway, huh."
- That's right. Hang in there.
"You'll make sure we get the compensation you mentioned."
- As if I'd welch. Finish this without incident, and you'll get your accident-free bonus and performance pay for sure.
He nodded as if it were obvious, then added,
- And I'll tack on another hundred days.
Wait. What?
"...Pardon? A hundred days?"
- Yeah. Total of 197. If the Saintess crosses the border without issue and heads north, another hundred makes 297.
"Th-that means..."
The Minister held up three fingers.
- Three days from now, you'll hit accident-free 300 days.
Wow, what a generous uncle.
- So, feeling motivated now?
I immediately straightened up and saluted.
"I'll send the Saintess flying to the north in one day flat."
- That's blasphemy. Your enthusiasm's over the top.
Whatever. I don't believe in gods. I believe in accident-free days. 97, 197, 297—that's my god.
"I'll handle any mission. Give me your orders."
- You have one job. Make sure nothing happens at the southern border. Good or bad, doesn't matter. Once she passes the south, mission accomplished.
"For real? Just the south?"
- The north is for the officers there. They're just handling exit, so less pressure.
Generous success criteria. And triple the rewards.
Where do you find a boss like this? Where do you find a deal this sweet?
No reason to refuse. Not that I could anyway.
"We'll give it our all. You won't be disappointed."
- Bring me the best results. You know what happens if an immigration officer screws up, right?
"Should I start drafting the performance pay and bonus budget?"
Instead of answering, the Minister stared at me like I was insane.
Whoops, my true feelings slipped out.
- Don't get cocky. One mistake, and even I can't cover for you.
"Noted."
- I'll await your report when the pilgrims arrive, Nathan Kell, Immigration Officer. That's all.
"Take care, Minister."
With brief farewells, the crystal orb went dark.
"Accident-free 300 days..."
After about four seconds of silence, I bolted from the office, yelling at the top of my lungs.
"All Five Senses Officers, assemble! Special mission!"
So much for going home tonight.
-Crackle.
As the light from the crystal orb faded, Carton Grayson closed his eyes and leaned back against his chair.
A brief moment of rest after hours of work brought a heavy sigh.
"Hoo, this workload shows no sign of letting up."
"Minister, more tea?"
He didn't answer his secretary's question. She'd already set down the twenty-fifth cup in front of him.
With a nod of thanks, he gulped it down. Setting the empty cup aside, he muttered without thinking.
"Nathan Kell..."
Saying the name brought back what the man had just said.
- I'll send the Saintess flying to the north in one day flat.
"Kukukuk, madman."
Laughter echoed in the office for the first time in ages.
What lunatic would say that to his face? In a stiff routine report, no less—'the Saintess's neck,' really.
It was so absurd he couldn't even scold him.
'Even if it was just talk, I didn't expect a guy this fearless.'
No, honestly, he'd broken a cold sweat thinking the kid might actually try it.
There wasn't a shred of deceit in those maniacally gleaming eyes.
One nod from him, and a week later it'd be, 'The paladins have a bounty on my head.'
His secretary approached, deeply concerned at the Minister's rare laugh.
"Um... Minister? Shall I call a doctor?"
"No, I'm fine. Feels good, actually. One more cup, please."
Suppressing his chuckles, Carton sipped the twenty-sixth cup and sank back into thought.
'Nathan Kell. If anyone can handle it, it's him.'
Nathan Kell.
Number two in Immigration Control, overseer of the southern border.
He still remembered.
The fresh-faced kid in his crisp white uniform, awkwardly saluting.
- H-hello, sir! I mean, this officer is Nathan Kell!
Just four years ago, he was nothing special—a barely adult boy.
Average physique. Average looks. Son of a common merchant. Top graduate of the Merchant Academy.
Nothing noteworthy.
Just another number among the kingdom's citizens, not worth a second glance.
Intelligence hadn't even known he existed until their investigation.
Then the miracle happened.
- Minister, breaking news! A Talent Awakening! A Talent Awakener has appeared!
A Talent Awakening—the impossible miracle.
And his Talent? 'Linguist,' fluency in every language in the world.
How many races were there? How many languages?
'Understanding and speaking them all means immense potential.'
In Intelligence, code-breaking would be trivial. In Foreign Affairs, he'd be the perfect diplomat bridging every race.
Both agencies went berserk trying to recruit him.
'Triple Immigration's salary, work in the palace—dream conditions for a commoner.'
Foreign Affairs even sent envoys to his family home.
Intelligence offered a baronetcy, even arranged a marriage to a baron's family if he wanted.
Unprecedented offers.
A love letter from the kingdom to a commoner, unfit for his station—or perhaps the first of its kind.
But his answer stunned everyone.
- I want to go to Immigration Control.
- ...What?
Even Carton couldn't comprehend.
'I tried to refuse at first. A Talent Awakener in Immigration? Like pearls before swine.'
Immigration's role wasn't less important than Foreign Affairs or Intelligence.
But it didn't suit his Talent at all.
What use was universal language fluency for inspecting goods and people by the book?
There was Common Tongue, interpreters, even pictorial signs. Why bother?
Carton himself had called Nathan in multiple times for career advice.
- Don't waste that Talent. I'll find you a position that fits.
He'd cajoled dozens of times with bigger, better rewards and patriotic appeals.
But Nathan's response was always the same.
- I'm sorry, Minister. I've made my decision.
A merchant's son turning down money, titles—just to serve as an immigration officer.
Incomprehensible.
Why? Why suffer in some backwater?
As far as he knew, Nathan had no reason for it.
Except one wildcard.
"Haillin Metaharasin..."
The current head of Immigration Control.
The strangest immigration director in history, by rumor.
Carton still remembered.
While Foreign Affairs and Intelligence dangled offers, she'd said just one thing.
- I'm curious about that boy's dream. I'll talk to him alone.
And that was it.
One short conversation, and Nathan decided.
"Immigration Director... how the hell did you cook him?"
Did she plant affection? Seduce him? Blackmail?
Whatever it was, the bold kid chose his path himself.
And two years later, at twenty-one,
He took the disgraced southern border overseer's post—the youngest ever—after an execution for dishonor.
Unanimously elected by his subordinates.
In the following year, he busted fifteen hundred illegal entrants and smugglers, crippling half the kingdom's underground networks that thrived on it.
He even exposed high-level Immigration bribes shielding those groups, stripping their immunity to enable punishment.
And he formalized spirit and fairy entry procedures himself through direct interpretation—previously just token checks.
All after one young man took charge.
Impossible achievements for a newbie in his early twenties.
'Linguist wasn't his only Talent.'
His father's continent-spanning merchant group? Or self-taught?
No way to know.
But the chaotic southern border entered a second golden age.
So even with the Saintess's visit looming, Carton felt less urgency than before.
Nathan would handle it.
To cross the continent, everyone had to pass through the Crossroad Kingdom.
And the first they met? Immigration officers.
As long as Nathan was at the border, the worst wouldn't happen.
One worry aside.
Carton eyed the continent map on the wall.
Dozens of arrows pointed north from armament zones across the land.
War supplies gathering in the north—news less than ten days old. Now the Saintess heads there on pilgrimage.
"Too perfect a match for coincidence."
He glanced at the urgent Intelligence cipher from just before the report.
[Signs of Evil God Cult revival. Further investigation required.]
Short, urgent script.
His brow furrowed again.
"Bad feeling about this."
Saintess's pilgrimage, northern war prep, Evil God Cult stirrings.
Ominous words swirling as he picked up his quill, drafting orders for Intelligence to dig deeper.
Hoping their intel was mere coincidence this time.
But two decades in state affairs told him otherwise.
There was no such thing as coincidence.
Ever.
"Send me home! Home home home home home!"
"Down with the evil boss forcing overtime!"
"Down with him! Down with him!"
"Awooooo! Awooooooo!!"
Meanwhile, the Five Senses Officers' reaction to the special mission was... heated.
"How many times do I have to say I'm not going home either!!!"
In the chaotic shouting match, only my aide wept silently, penning a letter to his wife: 'Let's put baby number two on hold for a bit.'