An Offer You Can't Refuse (2)
"Why? No—why, I ask!? Why is the Saint joining the pilgrimage? Shouldn't she be off praying at the cathedral!"
"Central Officer, calm yourself. That last remark could qualify as blasphemy."
"It simply defies common sense! The very symbol of the Holy Church, of her own accord, dragging that many people all the way to the North?"
"The official reason is a courtesy visit to the Northern branch of the Holy Church."
"Then send the archbishop! At the very least a cardinal! Why the Saint herself... Ugh, aaargh!"
Let's think this through simply.
The Saint is currently in the southern part of the continent.
Naturally so. The Holy Church's headquarters is in the South.
But now she intends to travel to the continent's north with a pilgrimage of roughly one thousand people.
Which means there is a place she must pass through. Where would that be?
Where else? Our very own Crossline Kingdom, of course.
And to enter the Crossline Kingdom, who must she meet first of all?
Who else? Us. The immigration officers.
What does that mean?
It means we will be the ones inspecting the living, breathing symbol of the Holy Church.
And would a being like that show up here all alone? Absolutely not.
"There'll be a knight order for her protection, plus priests and monks as a bonus, and the commoners coming to witness the Saint's miracles go without saying, and the merchants who catch the scent of money will come swarming in too..."
I racked my brain harder than I ever had in my life.
"A wagon train long enough to feed a force that size, additional personnel for the weapons and supplies, medical staff to fill that out as well..."
Even a rough back-of-the-envelope calculation put us far past a thousand people.
At minimum, fifteen hundred. No—two thousand.
In summary: that bastard Minister was ordering our peaceful, quiet immigration office to handle an inspection bomb of two thousand people plus a headline act called the Saint.
The immigration officers currently stationed at the Southern Border were me and the Five Senses Officers.
Five people in total. Far too few for a crowd of that scale.
"What about the Foreign Ministry and the Intelligence Department? Isn't this squarely their jurisdiction? At the very least you should be filing a cooperation request—"
"Intelligence is running a covert operation in the North right now, and Foreign Affairs is in full deployment negotiating with the Eastern nomads. The only ones left are you lot at Immigration."
"Ah."
Why is it that those bastards are only busy whenever a disaster of this magnitude breaks out?
The Minister, reading my expression, spoke in a tone of gentle admonition.
"Look on the bright side. When in your life will you ever get the chance to inspect a Saint?"
"I'm ready to die of discomfort just having a superior at my workplace—what do you suppose a Saint would do to me? Would you greet Her Majesty the Queen with open arms if she walked into your office, Minister?"
"I'd sooner hand in my resignation."
He wore exactly the same expression I did.
"Do they have to pass through our country? Have to?"
"I can hardly tell them to cross the mountains. You know as well as I do why we're called the Crossline Kingdom. Ours is the only safe, fast route."
He was right. Why were we the Crossline Kingdom, after all?
A nation nestled in the safest corridor of the most treacherous mountain range on the continent.
Without passing through us, reaching the other side of the continent was next to impossible.
In other words, the Saint crossing the Crossline Kingdom was nothing short of unavoidable fate.
"It falls to us and no one else, Central Officer."
The Minister stared at me in silence, exhaustion written plainly across his face.
He, too, was already running himself ragged preparing for this very affair.
"The nomad situation in the East is already more than enough of a headache, and now this lands on my plate as well."
Looking at the teacups and documents piled high beside him made it hard to breathe.
Damn it. I can't exactly refuse when my superior is working himself to the bone like that.
Complaints I could voice; refusal I could not.
Besides, the Saint and her pilgrimage were already on their way here. However much I dreaded it, we would meet in the end.
Something that would happen whether I liked it or not. Something that only we could do.
And with both Intelligence and Foreign Affairs at full deployment, we had no grounds to dig in our heels.
I let out a long sigh and spoke in a low, resigned voice.
"So it falls to us regardless."
"It does. I'll be counting on you."
"The compensation you mentioned— I trust it will be honored in full."
"Don't insult me. See this through, and your no-accident record and performance bonus are guaranteed."
He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, then added:
"And on top of that, I'll credit you another 100 days."
Hold on. Come again?
"...Pardon? One hundred days?"
"That's right. 197 days total. Should the Saint pass through the border without incident and proceed north, another 100 days on top—297."
"Th-then that would mean..."
The Minister held up three fingers.
"In three days, your no-accident record hits 300."
Wow. Now there's a generous man for you.
"Well? Feeling a little passion now?"
I snapped to attention and saluted on the spot.
"I'll grab the Saint by the back of her neck and have her in the North within a single day."
"That's blasphemy. Your passion seems to have gotten a bit out of hand."
As if I cared. I don't believe in gods. I believe in the no-accident board. Not 97 days—197. 297. That's a god.
"I will complete any mission you assign. Give the order."
"There's exactly one thing you need to do. Make sure nothing happens at the Southern Border. Nothing at all—good or bad. The moment the Saint clears the South, I'll count it as a success."
"Are you serious? Just the South?"
"Leave the North to the inspectors there. They'll only be handling outbound processing, so the burden will be lighter."
A remarkably lenient standard of success. And triple the reward on top.
Where in the world was there a boss like this? Where in the world was there a deal this outrageously good?
There was not a single reason to refuse. Though, of course, refusal wasn't an option in the first place. But regardless.
"I will give it my utmost. You may set your expectations high."
"Bring me the best possible outcome. You know full well what punishment follows an immigration officer's blunder, don't you?"
"Shall I start by drafting the performance bonus and incentive budget?"
In lieu of an answer, the Minister stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
Oops. That was my honest thought slipping out.
"Don't get cocky. Slip up, and not even I can shield you from the consequences."
"I will bear it in mind."
"Then I'll await your report when the pilgrimage arrives, Immigration Officer Nathan Kell. We're done here."
"Take care, Minister."
With that brief farewell, the crystal orb went dark.
"A 300-day no-accident record..."
After roughly four seconds of silence, I sprinted out of the office and bellowed with every ounce of strength I had.
"All Five Senses Officers, assemble! Special assignment!"
And so, once again, quitting time sailed off into the distance.
"Resigned."
As the light radiating from the crystal orb faded, Cartion Grayson closed his eyes for a moment and leaned back into his chair.
A heavy sigh escaped him in the first break he'd gotten in hours.
"Whew. This work shows not the slightest sign of ever shrinking."
"Minister, shall I pour you another cup of tea?"
He didn't answer his secretary's question. She had already set her twenty-fifth teacup down in front of him.
He gave a small nod of thanks and took a light sip. Then, setting the empty cup down, he murmured despite himself.
"Nathan Kell..."
The moment the name left his lips, what the man had said to him just before came flooding back.
I'll grab the Saint by the back of her neck and have her in the North within a single day.
"Kuk, kukkuk. Utter lunatic."
For the first time in ages, laughter burst out in the ministerial office.
What madman on this earth could say such a thing to his face? And in the stiff formality of a regular briefing, no less—the back of the Saint's neck?
It was so absurd he hadn't even managed to stop him.
I know it was just talk, but who knew the boy had so little sense of self-preservation.
No—in truth, there had been a moment when he'd broken out in a cold sweat, terrified the boy might actually do it.
Those eyes flashing with madness had held not a shred of a lie.
Had Cartion merely nodded along, he had no doubt that a report would have arrived a week later reading, 'The knight order has placed a bounty on my head.'
Hearing the Minister laugh for the first time in nearly a month, his secretary hurried over, deeply alarmed.
"Um... Minister? Shall I fetch a physician?"
"Ah, no, I'm quite all right. I finally feel alive again. One more cup of tea, if you would."
Having barely calmed his snickering, Cartion sipped his twenty-sixth cup and sank back into thought.
Nathan Kell. If it's that man, I can trust him with this.
Nathan Kell.
Second-in-command of the Immigration Bureau, and overseer of the entire Southern Border.
He still remembered it. The sight of that impossibly young man in his white dress uniform, snapping an awkward salute.
Ah, good day to you! I am— no, this officer is Nathan Kell!
Until just four years ago, he had truly been nothing—a boy barely come of age, that was all.
Ordinary physical ability. Ordinary looks. Son of a commoner trader. A top student at the merchant academy.
Beyond that, nothing worth noting.
One kingdom citizen who existed only as a number on a ledger, not even worth a second glance.
Until the Intelligence Department looked into him, Cartion hadn't even known the boy existed.
But then an unthinkable miracle occurred.
Minister, urgent report! They say a Talent—a Talent Awakener has appeared!
A Talent Awakener—that most impossible of miracles.
And that talent had been none other than Universal Linguistics: the ability to command every language in the world.
How many races were there in this world? How many languages?
Understanding and speaking them all means the boy possesses monstrous potential.
In the Intelligence Department, code-breaking would become trivial. In Foreign Affairs, he could become the perfect diplomat to bridge every race on the continent.
Upon hearing the news, both agencies had been tripping over themselves to recruit him.
Triple the salary of the Immigration Bureau, and a posting in the Royal Castle—terms a commoner could never dream of.
Foreign Affairs had been serious enough to send an envoy to Nathan's family home.
Intelligence had gone so far as to offer a viscountcy—and even to arrange a marriage into a baronial house, if he wished.
Terms of unprecedented boldness. Befitting nothing of his station—in a sense, the kingdom's greatest overture ever extended to a commoner.
But his answer had caught everyone off guard.
I wish to join the Immigration Bureau.
...What?
Even Cartion hadn't understood.
At first I tried to refuse him. A Talent Awakener in the Immigration Bureau? A pearl necklace around a pig's neck.
The Bureau's role was no less important than Foreign Affairs or Intelligence.
But it suited his talent not at all.
What use was Universal Linguistics in the disciplined work of inspecting goods and people?
There was a common tongue, there were interpreters—there were even pictorial guide signs. So why?
Cartion himself, naturally, had summoned Nathan repeatedly and urged him to transfer.
That talent must not be squandered. I will secure you a post worthy of your abilities.
Dozens of enticements—greater rewards, better terms, all in exchange for devoting himself to the nation in a worthier place.
But every time, Nathan's answer never changed.
I'm sorry, Minister. I have made my decision.
A merchant's son who spurned money, spurned a title. He would simply serve the nation as an immigration officer.
It was a decision almost impossible to comprehend.
Why on earth? Why go to some backwater and suffer like a dog?
As far as Cartion could tell, Nathan had no reason whatsoever to make such a choice.
With one single exception.
"Hailin Metaharashin..."
The current Director of the Immigration Bureau.
The woman rumored to be the strangest immigration officer in history.
Cartion still remembered that day.
When Foreign Affairs and Intelligence dangled every conceivable offer and reward to win Nathan over, she had said exactly one thing.
I find myself curious as to what that boy dreams of. Grant me a brief word with him in private.
And that was all.
With that single short conversation, Nathan made his decision.
"The Director of Immigration... how in the world did she win him over?"
Had she instilled devotion in him? Seduced him? Blackmailed him, perhaps?
Whatever the reason, that cheeky young man had ultimately chosen his own post.
And two years later, in the year he turned twenty-one,
that boy accomplished the unprecedented: seizing the post of Southern Border Overseer—at the youngest age ever—after his predecessor was executed in disgrace.
Elevated, moreover, by the unanimous acclaim of the officers under his command.
In the single year that followed, he apprehended over fifteen hundred smugglers and contraband shipments, and went on to strangle half of the domestic criminal underworld that had made such trafficking its trade.
He exposed the senior Bureau officials who had been secretly taking bribes and covering for the underworld, stripping them of their immunity and making punishment possible at last.
At the same time, he plunged personally into interpretation work to formalize the entry procedures for spirits and fairies, which until then had been handled only as a formality.
Every last one of these things had happened after that single young man entered the Bureau.
Achievements no one could believe had been wrought by a newcomer in his early twenties.
Universal Linguistics was never his only talent.
Was it because his father led a trading guild that roamed the entire continent? Or was it another talent the boy had awakened on his own?
Cartion couldn't say for certain.
But whatever the source, the once-chaotic Southern Border was now enjoying its second golden age.
Perhaps that was why, even with the massive affair of the Saint's visit upon him, Cartion felt less restless than before.
Whatever happened next, Nathan would handle it.
One way or another, to cross the continent, she would have to pass through here—the Crossline Kingdom.
And the first souls to meet her would be immigration officers.
As long as that man stood at the border, Cartion was certain things would never escalate to the worst.
With one sole cause for worry.
Cartion turned his gaze to the continental map hanging on the wall.
Upon it, dozens of arrows pointed north. Arrows radiating out from the weapons-manufacturing districts across the continent.
Less than ten days had passed since word arrived that war materiel was massing in the continent's north. And now the Saint was setting off on a pilgrimage to the North.
"For a coincidence, the timing lines up far too neatly."
He turned to the urgent dispatch that had arrived from the Intelligence Department just before his briefing.
[Signs of the Evil God Cult's revival. Further investigation required.]
A coded message, written in a terse, hurried hand.
The moment he read it, Cartion's brow furrowed yet again.
"I don't like the feel of this. Not one bit."
The Saint's pilgrimage. The North's war preparations. And signs of the Evil God Cult's revival.
Muttering those ill-omened words to himself, he took up his quill once more and began drafting a letter ordering the Intelligence Department to investigate further.
Praying, from the bottom of his heart, that the Department's findings this time would prove to be nothing more than pure coincidence.
But judging by nearly twenty years of experience in state affairs, there was no such thing as coincidence in this world.
None whatsoever.
"Send us home! Home home home home home!"
"Down with the tyrant bosses who force us into overtime!"
"Down with them! Down with them!"
"Awooooo! Awooooooo!!"
Meanwhile, the Five Senses Officers' reaction to the special assignment was, to put it mildly, passionate.
"How many times must I tell you—this officer can't go home either!!!"
Amid the pandemonium of everyone screaming over one another, only my poor aide wept openly, quietly scribbling out a letter to his wife: 'Let's postpone the plans for a second child for the time being.'