The Power Carried in Words (2)

Next morning.

"Good morning, everyone."

"Oh, the Central Officer is in? Huh? You came to work alone today?"

When the Touch Officer saw me entering the office without my attendants for the first time in ages, he tilted his head in puzzlement.

"Ah, well, about that."

No matter how much I knocked and called, neither of them answered—probably still fast asleep.

"They seemed tired, so I came ahead of them."

Not that I'd done anything to wear them out yesterday. Or so I told myself.

Just as I was dismissing the matter and moving to close the office's front door—

"Please don't shut the dooooor!!"

From far down the street, I could see the Taste Officer sprinting toward me in a desperate scramble.

I stole a glance at the clock. Exactly one minute remained until the start of the workday.

She made it to my side with a hair's breadth to spare, some twenty seconds left on the clock.

"Hooah... I'm not late!"

But the moment she tried to step inside the office—

Clang!

The guards posted in front of the office suddenly crossed their spears to block her way and barked:

"No entry! Identify yourself!"

"Aaaagh! I-I'm the Taste Officer, sir!"

"Present your access pass!"

"My pass... it should be in my left pocket... huh?"

The Taste Officer hastily thrust a hand into her trouser pocket, and her face drained to a ghostly white.

"You don't have it?"

"Uh... that is... I think... I left it at hooome..."

While she was fumbling through excuses, the twenty seconds ran out, and one of the attendants holding the attendance sheet drew a long, unbroken red line through her name.

"Taste Officer, you're marked late."

"Waaaah!"

At the sight, the Hearing Officer, who had already come inside, let out a deep, exhausted sigh.

"Haah... This is why I told you to leave the house five minutes earlier than usual."

A new procedure had recently appeared at the Immigration Office.

Specifically, all examiners were now required to present their access passes to the newly deployed guards before entering for the day.

At the Southern Border, we'd let it slide since we had only five examiners on staff, but a proper office normally had several dozen.

To keep intruders from sneaking in among the ranks, access passes were ordinarily issued to everyone with authorization.

Honestly, this is what real security looks like.

Everything up until now had been extremely slipshod. This was the way it was supposed to be.

Thinking that, I passed the still-detained Taste Officer and stepped inside—only to find someone standing before my desk.

"Central Officer."

A soldier with a somehow familiar face saluted me.

"I was stationed here as of yesterday with additional forces. It is an honor to see you again, Central Officer."

"...Ah."

Only when I saw the emblem of the Margrave's house pinned to his chest did the memory surface.

The cavalry captain who had helped us during the Changeling incident.

I quickly realized whose orders had brought him here, and returned his salute with a short nod.

"We owe Count Reyes another great debt. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Not at all. If Director Hailin requested it personally, it must be something truly serious. The Count likewise ordered us to cooperate willingly, if only for the sake of order within his territory."

He gazed out at the street with a troubled expression.

"A terror warning in such turbulent times. The world certainly is in a sorry state."

"..."

Terror warning.

A word with absolutely nothing to do with what I was actually guarding against had just come out of his mouth.

But rather than correct his thoroughly mistaken assumption, I simply nodded.

"...Well, there was the Changeling incident before, and the recent unauthorized artifact case as well. Additional security is only reasonable."

The dragon hunter's existence had been confirmed, and he was now the prime suspect behind the Gold Rush.

The situation was spiraling into considerable complexity.

I can't reveal the whole truth and request their cooperation.

"There's a dragon here, and we need troops to stop the hunter"—that would never do.

Within the kingdom itself, there were more than enough people who would want to exploit Mnassil for their own ends.

The fewer people who knew, the safer she would be.

Which meant that Mnassil coming to the Immigration Office was out of the question.

Even with a ghost identity, the moment anyone saw the egg that never left her side, suspicion was inevitable.

And there are dragonewts among the entrants, too.

If, by some terrible stroke of luck, a dragonewt laid eyes on her inside the office, her identity would be exposed on the spot.

Hadn't Incansus recognized her instantly by her scales, without a single word exchanged?

And so I had devised a plan.

— Please concentrate all security personnel on the Immigration Office and its immediate surroundings. Several days ago, we received a letter threatening a terrorist attack.

In collaboration with the Intelligence Department, we fabricated a false terror threat to provide our justification.

Having heard Hailin's request, Margrave Reyes would reinforce the guard forces across his territory. Then, brandishing the fake letter, we would station seventy percent of those troops near the office.

The first thing bandits raiding a trade caravan target is never the lone, isolated wagon. It's the wagon under the tightest protection.

Show anyone something wrapped up tight and swaddled in ironclad security, and they can't help thinking something precious must be inside.

We would turn that instinct against them.

All we had to do was drag every eye in the city toward us.

With the dragon hunter's arrival a matter of when, not if, the plan was to lower our guard at my own house in plain sight—so that its defenselessness would raise no suspicion at all.

But that didn't mean I'd left my home completely exposed.

The fire spirits have finally ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠recovered their strength, and they're with Lady Mnassil.

The friends who had devoured our entire stockpile of firewood over the past two weeks.

They had finally come to their senses.

When angered or endangered, fire spirits erupt with pillars of flame that reach toward the heavens.

And they would be glued to Mnassil's side twenty-four hours a day—which meant an alarm that never went dark.

If anything happened to her, they would become, quite literally, living beacons and signal us instantly.

Besides, the border defense troops had accepted Incansus's orders as well, taking charge of guarding both my home and the frontier until this operation concluded.

I leaned slowly back in my chair and sank into thought.

Everything is ready.

The Margrave's guards filling the streets and the grounds of the Immigration Office, inside and out.

The border defense golems, freshly synchronized to their new duties, posted at the frontier and around my house.

And though Melanie had said nothing outright, no doubt the Intelligence Department's covert agents were lurking nearby even now.

Even if I couldn't be the trump card myself... still.

Every preparation was complete.

All that remained was to wait for the dragon hunter to come to us.

If there was one thing that nagged at me, despite everything—

"Ughhh... every single morning, this is torture..."

"The guards make me too nervous to even have a drink anymore."

—it was the Five Senses Officers, sulking over two weeks of being unable to slack off with the soldiers, and the decidedly stricter immigration screening standards.

But there were good sides too.

"Now, the time is seven o'clock sharp. Immigration screening will now begin. Waiting entrants, please proceed down the left corridor—"

Clip-clip-clip-clip.

"...Thank you. And departing travelers, to the right—"

Whoosh.

The one thing I truly enjoyed was watching visitors who normally wouldn't obey a single word turn as docile as lambs.

Even a rough, menacing-looking entrant came up to the barely-adult Taste Officer and said:

"Ah, good day to you, Officer. Lovely weather for crossing the border today."

Good heavens. Such impeccable manners.

In all my life, I had never seen entrants this polite.

Well, considering guards with spears stood at every ten paces, and the border defense troops had come down from the ramparts entirely to mount their watch, no one dared so much as squeak.

"...Welcome to the Crossline Kingdom."

"Thank you, Officer!"

Ah. So this is the power of authority.

How utterly tempting it is.

Just as I was savoring the taste of power for the first time, the Taste Officer, having cleared one more entrant, spoke up wearily.

"How ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠long are we supposed to stay on alert like this? It feels like the pilgrimage all over again—waiting with no end in sight..."

"Don't worry. It won't take long."

I answered briefly, then glanced down at the mail from the Royal Post Office that had arrived on my desk.

Sitting on top was a single note, sent express by the Intelligence Department.

"Perhaps... it might be sooner than I thought."

That evening.

Just before quitting time.

Tap. Pitter. Pitter-patter-patter.

Raindrops began to fall one by one from the sky, and in less than five minutes, it was pouring down as though the heavens had torn open.

"Whoa, it's raining!"

"Ughhh... I don't want my clothes getting soaked. Let's just hurry home."

The people who had been idly enjoying their leisure scattered in a panicked scramble, each racing toward home.

The street, packed and congested with crowds, took barely a minute to empty into vacant nothing.

And in the middle of that hollowed-out street stood a massive man, draped in a tattered, worn-out robe.

Thud-squelch. Thud-squelch. Crunch.

In his right hand he gripped a long spear, its blade honed from the claw of some great beast, and he walked on without pause.

No one paid him any attention. No one told him to take shelter from the rain, or warned him that carriages were passing and it was dangerous.

But the man did not care.

Such trivial concerns and warnings could do him no harm whatsoever.

For something far more important was trembling faintly against his chest, within his grasp.

Vmmm.

The armor beneath his robe and the spear were humming, resonating as they sensed the aura of their own kin.

Kaban Vladbich.

Having crossed the Urakaras Mountains in barely two and a half days to reach the Southern Border by the shortest possible route, he slowly swept his surroundings with his burned, ruined left eye.

In the volcanic region, the dragon's aura had lain so thick over everything—the master of the mountain having nested there for a thousand years—that detection had been impossible.

But this place is different.

This place lay far removed from the volcano.

No aura of fire. No aura of dragon.

Black ink splashed onto black paper goes unnoticed—but a single drop of black ink on white paper betrays itself at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once.

Vmmm.

Already, the armor and spear were resonating with a strength they had never shown before.

Weapons and armor forged from a dragon's corpse react fiercely to the aura of their own kind.

Trembling with a sorrowful keening, as if begging their bearer to avenge their kin.

Grrraaahk.

Kaban squeezed the weapons' whimpering tighter, mastering it, then cast a sidelong glance over the guards standing in the rain-soaked street.

The South was undeniably different in atmosphere from the West.

The number of soldiers is extraordinary.

Heavy garrisons at a border were nothing unusual. And this was the Margrave's territory besides.

A domain had to display its military might or be taken lightly by rival nations and foreign powers.

And yet, something subtly alien hung in the air among the soldiers.

Their expressions.

Kaban narrowed his eyes and studied the guards posted nearby.

"...Nnngh, it's cold."

"Stay sharp. There's no telling where the suspect might turn up."

Truly disciplined soldiers should hold an eagle's stare, unmoving, rain or no rain.

But these men kept glancing about restlessly, as if afraid of something, wary of something, searching for something.

Kaban knew those eyes very well indeed.

The eyes of frightened prey.

The posture of those who pray that some presence will not appear.

At the sight, conviction settled over Kaban.

The dragon is somewhere near here.

Beings from the age of myth radiate menace by their mere existence.

Common guard soldiers could never shrug off that pressure as if it were nothing.

Which meant ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the men's unconscious, fear-steeped bearing was itself proof that a dragon lurked nearby.

But exactly where?

That was the great question.

An wounded dragon hiding itself somewhere alone—that is impossible.

He had driven mithril straight into its heart.

Even if it lived, it could not truly be living.

And yet, passing from the West all the way here to the South, not a whisper of news reached my ears.

Which left only one conclusion.

Someone is hiding the beast. Or else...

Someone had found the dragon's corpse first, and was concealing the fact.

Either way, it was something that grated on Kaban immensely.

The one mercy was that his armor and spear were guiding him along the path with perfect clarity.

Vmmm.

As if drawn by something, the spearhead tilted slightly forward.

Following the spear's pull, he shifted his steps—and flicked a glance at the notice board standing at his side.

Slowly soaking through in the rain, the posted notice read:

Trivial information.

But when he pushed through the downpour and turned the corner, he flinched, unable to suppress a start.

VMMMMM!!!

Because the spear had begun to tremble like a mad thing, aimed at the building that had just appeared before him.

Kaban slowly raised his head and read the nameplate at the building's entrance.

"Hm."

A strange coincidence.

Letting the rain beat full against his face, Kaban bared his yellowed teeth in a grin.

"Truly, the heavens have granted me my destiny."

There is no such thing as chance in this world.

All things are bound in inevitability.

And yet the worthless scrap of information he had read and tried to erase from his memory not a moment ago pointed to the very place this spear was leading him.

Was even the heavens themselves signaling him, plain as day, to finish off the master of the volcano?

"It has been long, so very long... O master of the volcano. Now, at last, let us bring this to an end."

No matter where you hide, I will find you in the end.

"And that egg—the egg that shall open the true Age of Man—shall be mine..."

When that day comes, all the world will sing my praises and exalt me as a hero.

Wearing a smile that bordered on rapture, Kaban slowly pushed open the door of the Immigration Office.

As though it were a gate leading to glory.

Creeeak.

At the same instant, someone called out to him.

"Here to depart the country, sir?"

"...What?"

It took less than two seconds for the illusion to shatter.