The Red-Eyed Noble Lady (3)
"You want me to... forge a person?"
The agent who had been strong-armed into accepting the invitation stared at me with wide eyes.
I gave a solemn nod.
"To be precise, I would like you to create a false identity."
Constructing a fictional person and layering them over a real one — commonly known as a ghost identity. It was a technique the Intelligence Department used to protect local informants in danger, and a method that sat precariously on the edge of the law.
He spoke with great care.
"Central Officer... this may be a bit much, even for the Administration Office to ask of the Intelligence Department."
He was right. This was not the sort of favor I should have been asking for. Scrutinized closely, it fell outside my authority — it could even be called a crime.
"I have no intention of using it for anything illegitimate."
"I don't wish to doubt your sincerity, sir. You've never once asked for a favor before, after all. But... if it's a matter of personal protection, isn't there the asylum system for that?"
The asylum system. Fair enough — that was true. We had administrative procedures in place to protect people too. That was exactly how Erzena had come under the Immigration Office's protection.
But that only applies to humans, or to species listed in the regulations.
Dragons — an ancient race — appeared nowhere in the codes. To be honest, I hadn't even known they still existed until now.
And the asylum system had an inherent flaw: sooner or later, its records always flowed upward to the higher authorities. From the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and then on to the Royal Castle.
Anything concerning Menassil could never be allowed to follow that path.
If word of this got out, it could quite literally plunge everything into chaos.
Foreign nations coveting the symbolism of a dragon, factions hungering for its power, opportunists drooling over the fortune it could fetch — it was obvious the kingdom, already balanced on a knife's edge, would be turned upside down. And that wasn't all. There was no predicting how the various peoples inside the kingdom would react, either.
Only this 'ghost identity,' which the Intelligence Department alone could provide, was the method that left behind the barest minimum of records.
"It has to be a ghost identity. There's no alternative."
"Haah... this is not a conversation for the field, sir."
So it really wasn't something that could be improvised on the spot.
"Identity forgery is beyond a field agent's authority. And if it were a mere commoner, perhaps — but a noble house? That would require a considerable amount of groundwork as well."
The agent stated it flatly.
"You will need authorization from above."
In other words: take it up with my superior. Which suited me perfectly — with Melanie, things would go far more smoothly.
"Then might I consult with the Director of Intelligence right now?"
"Ah, that would be better, sir. The Director will be delighted to see you, actually. She's been dreadfully worn out lately."
Saying this, the agent fished out a crystal orb. Just as he was about to pour his mana into it, something seemed to occur to him, and he turned to me.
"Oh, by the way... I heard Lady Erzena and Her Highness aren't at the Administration Office either. Has something happened?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"On my way here just now, I noticed the Border Defense Captain standing in front of your house. He wasn't moving at all — I believe he's entered some kind of standby mode. Is that connected, by any chance?"
Right — he'd come because of that news, and he'd said he had something to tell me.
Good grief, the rumor mill works fast.
I racked my brain.
"Well... you see, uh..."
Last night, a dying dragon showed up, shut down your golem, and keeled over. Elaine and Erzena revived it, and it's currently staying here with its egg.
Needless to say, that was not something I could say. So instead, I said this:
"Things got rather... strenuous last night, and both ladies were worn out. They're still sleeping."
"You exerted... yourselves?"
"There was business to attend to in the night. A major event."
It had certainly been a big deal, so technically not a lie.
"A-a major event, you say?"
The agent eyed me with a thoroughly awkward look. Had all his visits to the Immigration Office already infected him with certain unsavory assumptions?
"Please, connect the orb."
The signal tone had barely rung a few times before the response came. A face appeared in the light — Melanie, haggard and bleary with exhaustion.
— Agent R. How'd it go? Is Nathan all right? What's going on with those women?
She didn't even check who was on the other end before dumping her words out.
"Melanie. A pleasure to speak with you."
— ...Huh?
At the sound of my voice, she froze completely.
"I was just speaking with an agent, and I had a request to make directly, so I contacted you."
— ...Ending transmission.
The orb went dark.
And roughly ten seconds later—
— Wuuum.
It lit up again.
— Hey there, darling.
With the lighting suddenly softened, Melanie appeared on screen, hair let down. She sipped her tea with an air of perfect composure, as if nothing had happened.
"...I do apologize if I startled you."
— It catches me off guard when you pop up out of nowhere sometimes, but hey, this works out. There's something you need to hear anyway.
I decided it was best not to mention that she was drinking plain hot water — she hadn't even torn open a tea bag.
— Listen up. Last night, the defensive magics of the Western region and the Southern Border were breached. Both of them, in very quick succession.
"..."
Defensive magic. I remembered it well.
⚠ Abnormal mana flow detected. The aerial defensive magic of the Southern Border has been breached. ⚠
The Border Defense Captain had said exactly that, right before clashing with Menassil. I was certain of it.
— And yet... both spells show only the incoming mana currents. There's no trace of anything slipping back out.
Her expression grew tense.
— Very few beings could punch through defensive magic that quickly. It may even be connected to the collapse of the western volcano.
"...Do you truly think so?"
— You never know. The dragon the western commander spoke of might be in our kingdom right now.
That dragon is right here, actually. Currently taking an afternoon nap upstairs, hugging its egg. I suppressed the urge to blurt it out.
— The Intelligence Department is conducting a joint search with the Mage Society, but keep your guard up regardless.
"...I shall bear it in mind."
— So. What did you call me for, darling?
When I relayed the same request I'd made to the agent, she arched a single eyebrow.
— That's odd. You're not the type to make a request like this.
"The situation leaves me little choice."
— Sorry to be suspicious, but I do have to hear the reason.
"I can't disclose all the details, but there is one person who absolutely must remain hidden."
— One person, then. High-value asset?
She went straight for the value of the person. The Intelligence Department did not grant protection lightly. They shielded only those judged useful to the state and the institution — but in exchange, they guaranteed that safety with absolute certainty. That was the greatest difference between them and the Immigration Office.
The value of Menassil.
The answer came immediately.
"On par with Erzena and Her Highness the Princess."
— ...
Did I really need to explain a dragon's worth?
— All right. If you're putting it that way, there must be something to it. Do you have an identity in mind?
"The last surviving member of the fictional House Terenas — Madam Menassil Terenas, a noble lady."
Melanie's face went rigid.
— A noble lady? A woman?
"An elderly gentlewoman, quite advanced in years."
— Oh, elderly? And here I was worrying over nothing.
Her face eased at once. Her age was a cool one thousand two hundred and ninety-one. And since she'd said her remaining time was short anyway, it wasn't even a lie.
— But a noble lady, hmm... You picked a rather delicate identity. Any particular reason?
"Because it suits her best."
If the woman currently upstairs were a commoner, that would be far stranger. Her very presence radiated an aura you couldn't place — she was, if anything, born to be a high noble.
"Can it be done?"
— It'll take some time. If we were piggybacking on the names of down-and-out nobles drifting through this country, no problem — but fabricating one from scratch is real work. And...
She hesitated a moment before continuing.
— Could we change the name? 'Terenas' is ancient. You know it's a name the ancients used back in the Age of Myth, right? It feels far too off to use now. And where on earth did 'Menassil' even come from — hold on.
Melanie, who had just noticed the missing tea bag and was calmly brewing herself a fresh cup mid-sentence, stopped dead. Then, slowly — very slowly — she repeated the name she'd just spoken aloud.
— Mena...ssil?
Someone of Melanie's caliber would certainly know who ruled the volcano.
— A high-value asset on par with the Princess and the former Saint... that name... and now the Southern Border's defensive magic breached...
The clues clicked together in her mind. Her eyes wavered without restraint.
— D-d-d-d-darling?
Her voice strained with every ounce of willpower to stay composed.
"Yep."
— Is it what I think it is?
"I really couldn't say?"
It is. What you're thinking is exactly right. But I couldn't hand the Intelligence Department the full story about Menassil — she didn't want her identity known to anyone beyond the people of this household. Her identity, and the existence of the egg, were best kept buried as deeply as possible.
So — I just need to plant a subtle hint.
I would not say: there is a dragon in my house. Instead, I said this:
"I suppose I should provide you with some helpful information for crafting the ghost identity."
I laced the words with a hint.
"The lady who is to be called... Madam Menassil was ambushed by bandits near the western volcano, and forced to flee for her life in haste."
Everything that had happened, right down to how I'd been forcibly chosen as her protector.
"Unfortunately, she is the sole surviving member of her house. And with the volcanic activity having claimed her estate as well, she made an urgent appeal to me for aid."
Except for one single thing — the egg. That much had to stay hidden even from the Intelligence Department.
"That is the profile I intend to have built. How does it sound?"
There you go — all of this is pure make-believe from my own brain. It's the story of a fictional person. Understood?
— ...
Melanie, who had already grasped every ounce of my meaning, began to turn a deep shade of black. Compressed to its essence, what I was telling her amounted to this:
There's a dragon in my house. And now you know about it too. Let's die together.
We're partner agencies, after all.
— Darling... you're joking, right...?
That was probably the face a person made upon being betrayed by someone they trusted. Or maybe the face they made when struck by lightning out of a clear sky.
"Oh, and one more thing... I'd like this story kept from ever leaking out. That is her wish."
The dragon wishes it.
A crease formed between Melanie's brows. Checkmate.
As Director of Intelligence, she was obligated to collect, classify, store, and report every document and every scrap of information within the kingdom. Which meant everything, sooner or later, had to be put on paper and sent up the chain.
But a dragon was a different beast entirely.
[The last dragon, aged and dying, is in the Crossline Kingdom.]
A single sentence capable of summoning the eyes of the world — every danger, every profit, every pretext, every desire. For the Intelligence Department, this was information more dangerous than a bomb, and it had just become an absolute, un-leakable state secret.
And I had just thrown it in Melanie's face.
Melanie drank her tea in silence. Except—
— Gllrrrgleeee.
The hot tea that should have gone into her mouth poured freely down her chest instead.
"Uh... Melanie? Are you all right?"
— Yeah. Fine.
"Isn't it hot? You're spilling the entire cup."
— Yeah. Fine.
"..."
This woman is broken.
Only after a long while did Melanie recover her composure, and she spoke with a very, very, very deep sigh.
— ...Give me three days. I'll figure something out.
In the end, the Intelligence Department was the only one to trust after all.
— But in exchange... can I ask you just one thing?
"Of course. Go ahead."
— Why on earth would a being like... that single you out specifically and ask you for protection?
"..."
This much, I couldn't answer.
I was a victim too, after all. How was the chosen one supposed to know why he'd been chosen?
Meanwhile, in the western volcanic region.
— Kugugugu...
The second survey party, made up entirely of desert folk, at last arrived at the collapsed volcano. The man standing at the very front took in the hellscape before him and murmured, breath caught in his throat.
"Good gods. This isn't merely a volcano being destroyed — it's as if someone tried to bring heaven and earth down together."
"Ash has begun mixing into the desert sands. The aftershocks reached our oasis — and they were no small matter."
"Any survivors?"
A desert woman from the advance team pulled down her hood and shook her head.
"None so far. Thankfully, the people of the village at the mountain's foot evacuated just before the collapse and are safe. But strangers — bodies we've never seen before — keep turning up, one after another."
She pointed toward a dig site far off, where workers were clawing through ash and cinders. There, alongside corpses burned crisp and black, dozens of bodies lay buried and crushed, surfacing with every scoop of a shovel.
The captain clicked his tongue at the sight.
"No need to guess. Just a pack of fools from foreign lands. Obviously they came blundering in, babbling about catching the Draka."
Draka — another name for the dragon, the name of reverence given by the tradition-minded desert folk. He looked down at a broken sword that caught at his feet as he walked.
"The Draka's natural predator is time. And these fools charged ahead and made corpses of themselves..."
Just as the man said, every exhumed body was clad in full battle gear. The woman shuddered briefly, then rapped the back of her neck three times with her right hand — the gesture she made when driving back fear.
"Could it really be dead? The last Draka?"
"Who knows. Isn't that why we've come all this way to find out?"
That was when it happened.
— FWUMP!
A withered, shriveled hand suddenly shot up out of the ground.
"GYAAH!? Wh-what the—what is that!?"
— Squirm. Squirm.
Unlike the corpses scattered all around, this hand was alive — and moving. Everyone in the survey party understood at once what it meant.
"A-a survivor! There's a survivor down there!!!"
"What!? Where — where!?"
"Help me pull! We have to get them up!"
The team swarmed over, seized the hand, and hauled. Slowly, a figure emerged into the light — a man.
"Hack, hack! Haaaah—hack!"
Covered in wounds, skin scorched black and seared, in a truly wretched state, he at last clawed his way back onto the earth above.
"Water — bring water, WATER!"
"Good heavens... how can one body bear so many wounds...!"
He was the first — and the last — survivor to be found in the rescue dig that would continue for the next two days.