Hired in One Second
Garen's mouth opened, slowly.
"I..."
I swallowed against a dry throat. If he turned me down here, it was going to be more than a little humiliating.
"...Very well. I accept."
Huh? Just like that?
For a second I doubted my own ears. This was no pocket change. A hundred gold a month, and on top of it the right to resign whenever I pleased. The terms favored no one in the world but me.
A chill raced up my spine. There was something to this. There is no such thing as a free meal.
"...Excuse me, Count. If it isn't too forward, might I ask exactly what this work is?"
What if the old man was a fraud, only pretending to be Garen Valmore? The suspicion was, I thought, perfectly reasonable.
He must have felt the wariness in my eyes. Garen let out a short, empty laugh and drew something from inside his coat to show me.
"First, I ought to settle the matter of who I am."
What he held out was an elegant identity plaque of smoothly finished ebony, the letters inlaid in silver.
I leaned in. The name was cut with not a hair of error, and beneath it sat a small, vivid crimson crest. The moment I saw that mark, every suspicion I had collapsed.
That's the seal of the imperial house.
An identity plaque issued officially by the Empire cannot be forged. Complex magic is worked into the plaque itself, so that anyone who is not the true bearer—or anyone who tries to pass off a counterfeit—is exposed at once.
"Does this put your mind at ease?"
"Yes, Count."
My manner had turned respectful, and Garen nodded as if satisfied.
"Good. Then I'll tell you what you'll be doing."
He let the silence hang for a moment, and then dropped a remark like a bomb.
"How would you like a post at the Imperial Palace? Only for a time."
"...The Imperial Palace, my lord?"
The palace? Me? A part-timer from a cafe?
"Aye. If your luck holds, it's a post where you might even be granted a noble title. And even should you retire, the title remains yours."
A noble title. I was past tempted. My heart was hammering.
Even the lowest rank, a baronetcy, would set a man a world apart from any commoner. It was a shortcut, one step closer to the only goal I had in life: a comfortable, easy existence.
All of it, though, was far too unreal.
"Why... would you make an offer this good to me?"
Was he after my kidneys? I asked it stiff with nerves.
Garen's answer was simplicity itself.
"Because your face is a handsome one."
"...Pardon?"
The sound that escaped me was pure idiot.
"Attendants in the service of the palace must, as a rule, be fine to look at. They are the face of the Empire, and more often than not they are the ones who receive foreign envoys and guests. I simply judged that a face as striking as yours would be more than enough to raise the standing of the imperial house."
"I see."
Hm. A plausible reason. Still, I had the distinct sense there was more scheming under it. Digging any deeper would be rude, though. A high noble had already shown me this much favor. Pry further and wound his pride, and there was no telling what might follow.
And... well. If it really starts to look dangerous, I can always quit.
I held the strongest card there was: the right to walk away whenever I liked. Once the arithmetic was finished, I held out my hand to Garen.
"I'll be in your care."
He caught my hand in a firm grip. It was a hard, rough hand, the kind that belonged to a man who had lived with a sword.
"Aye. Work hard, then."
For some reason the words sounded loaded. ...Well. What could possibly go wrong?
And so my strange companionship with the former Commander of the Imperial Knights went on, toward the capital—the heart of the Empire.
The jolting of the carriage eased, and the world beyond the window began to grow loud. The sign that we had arrived.
The capital of the Babel Empire: Edengard.
The greatest power in the world, in name and in fact, and the center of a story where every sort of incident was about to burst out like an RPG quest.
"Whoa..."
"The capital really is splendid."
It was a different world from the provincial towns. Marble paving ran on without end, and white spires climbed as if they meant to pierce the sky. The streets were packed with people in clothes of every color, as if some festival were underway: clowns breathing fire, minstrels pouring out sweet songs, merchants hawking all manner of curious goods, and adventurers with swords at their hips. I felt exactly like a country hick who had just come up to the capital.
"Calm face, for all that."
Garen was watching me with an odd look.
"Not at all. I may look like this, but inside I'm about ready to faint from the shock."
A bald-faced lie, of course. Splendid, yes, but it was nothing to the neon blaze of Gangnam in Seoul after dark. To me the view was a well-made medieval theme park, and neither more nor less than that.
"Are we parting ways now?"
"What are you saying? Come along quietly. Didn't I tell you I'd make you a palace attendant?"
"Pardon? Right this moment?"
"The sooner, the better. Don't dawdle about and lose the way. Stick right beside me."
"Do you take me for a child? I'm not quite that hopeless."
"Haha. Only a jest."
Hm. Was this old man always the type for lame jokes? In the original novel he had seemed forever stern and taciturn.
Right... it has to be because I'm handsome.
It couldn't be anything else. In a world that worshiped looks, my face walked in under a max-level buff from the very first impression. And how warmly I had played along inside that carriage these past two days. It was no exaggeration to say Garen and I were fairly close by now.
I followed at his back for a while, and the stares gathering on me grew more and more blatant. Murmurs. Gasps of admiration. Even the shy laughter of women. Nothing troublesome came of it, though. With Garen walking beside me, stone-faced, all they could do was swallow and look on in helpless longing.
A short time later, an enormous wall rose before my eyes. The Imperial Palace. Built of pure white marble, the wall climbed so high its top was lost to sight, and soldiers in silver armor stood a grim watch before the vast main gate, dressed in gold. The moment they caught sight of Garen, they moved as one and offered their respects.
We passed the gate and came into the heart of the palace, and the guards—their faces bare now above their helms—saw us and snapped to attention together.
And then—
"Hail!"
Dozens of voices became a single ringing shout and filled the vast palace court.
The nearest of them, a royal guard with a captain's insignia on his shoulder, stepped forward and bellowed.
"Count Garen, we welcome your return!"
Garen's face stayed blank. He gave a single nod and tapped the approaching captain lightly on the shoulder.
"You've worked hard."
At that one kindly line, the guard captain—who looked fit to wrestle a bear—straightened his back as if overcome and bowed his head low. Then his eyes shifted toward me, and he spoke with open caution.
"The one beside you... forgive the liberty, but who might he be?"
"Ah. A young man I've newly taken on as a palace attendant."
"Ah! My deepest apologies!"
The captain started and bent ninety degrees at the waist. I didn't so much as answer. I tipped my head as coolly as I could manage and walked on after Garen.
"Thinking of playing the noble already?"
He asked it through a low laugh.
"I ought to get used to it early. A palace attendant has a certain authority, wouldn't you say?"
"Empty talk."
Garen clicked his tongue.
"Even so... you draw eyes wherever you go."
At that I looked around. Somewhere along the way we had entered the palace's central garden, and nobles in clothes that looked expensive at a glance stood about in twos and threes, talking. Every one of them was stealing glances at me. A noblewoman fanning herself with elegant grace. An old count deep in a grave conversation. Even young ladies laughing bright and high. A few who met my eyes startled, flushed, and jerked their heads away.
"It must be because I'm handsome."
"Heh. Stark mad."
Garen shook his head, but I was perfectly at ease about it.
The palace, though—now that was something else. Far larger and grander than the Vatican's great basilica, which I had only ever seen in photographs. White marble columns ran on without end beneath a dome dressed in gold. Far off, a golden lion wrought on an enormous crimson banner streamed in the wind. That had to be the mark of the Babel Empire.
Oh. Would you look at those knights.
What caught the eye most of all were the knights patrolling every corner of the garden. So these were the Palace Knights, the ones who had boasted superhuman martial power in the original novel. I was still staring, half out of my wits, when Garen stopped before a certain enormous door.
"We're here. In we go."
The office I entered after him was, unexpectedly, plain. I had assumed a room in the palace would be buried in treasure. What met my eyes was nothing but books crowding the walls and mountains of paperwork. And at the center of all of it stood a middle-aged man.
He had his nose buried in the documents. Sensing us, he lifted his head—and the first thing out of him was a deep sigh.
"Garen. Next time, at least knock before you walk in."
"Hahaha! Do you and I really need to fuss over a trifle like that?"
"Truly hopeless."
Friends, were they? Then who on earth was this man?
The middle-aged man shook his head, then turned his gaze on me. His eyes widened, just a little.
"And... who is that handsome young man beside you?"
"Brought him to introduce to you. A young man who will be a palace attendant. Well? Not to your liking?"
At that, the man looked me over from head to toe and answered at once.
"He passes."
Passed? Just like that?
Startled, I shot a glance at Garen. He looked just as thrown, as if he hadn't expected it either.
"...Is it really all right to decide that easily, Cassian?"
"Is there a problem? It is plain as day that the gain from that young man entering the palace will far outweigh any loss."
The middle-aged man called Cassian said as much, then rose and came toward me, offering his hand.
"Cassian Nordius. I currently serve as Chancellor of this empire."
My mouth opened, and nothing came out.
What? The Chancellor?
For an instant, my head went pure white.
"Hm. Does taking my hand displease you?"
"Ah—no! It's an honor!"
I all but lunged on reflex and seized Chancellor Cassian's hand. He nodded once, as if satisfied, and indicated a sofa nearby.
"Sit."
"Yes. Yes."
I did as I was told and planted myself on the plush cushions. Chancellor Cassian then drew a single sheet from the stack on the table and held it out. The heading was perfectly clear.
"We sign at once."
"I—one moment."
"What is it?"
His brow drew in, ever so slightly. Displease him here and I was finished. I knew that. This was still my life on the line.
"There's something I already discussed with Count Garen. About the wage, and the terms."
At that, Chancellor Cassian's cold eyes turned on Garen.
"Garen. What did you discuss."