The Winter of Limbus Pit (5)
“Damn it.”
The scene that unfolded was overwhelming. To the eyes of Wangcho, Tao Chen, it was less a battle and more a slaughter. Spent shell casings, a rarity in this gutter, rained down, and the engine whine of chain-swords echoed with the sickening sound of bone being cleaved.
— “Why are people with guns coming here!”
— “You bastards! Do you have any idea who’s backing us?!”
Occasionally, there were those who would puff out their chests, relying on their backers. But Wangcho simply blew the head of one such clown off with his hand-cannon and replied calmly.
“If you’re waiting for the merchant guild that watches your back, they aren’t coming. You crossed the line too far.”
“What…?”
“You don’t seem to get it. Well, that’s you lot for you.”
Wangcho sighed and swung his hand-axe. That made five. It wasn’t that Wangcho’s skills had rusted; it was simply that a single hand-axe could not keep pace with the lethality of firearms.
The most impressive sight among them was the performance of the one called the ‘Director’.
‘What in the hell is that?’
Wangcho’s gaze drifted to the weapon the Director held. It couldn’t be called a gun because the muzzle was blocked, replaced by a blackened crystal orb at the tip. Yet it wasn’t a magic staff either, as it was connected to a mana reactor on his back by cord-like tubes.
‘He holds it like a gun, but it looks like a magic staff… what are you supposed to call that thing?’
Just by looking at the shape, he couldn’t even guess what it was. He had heard that all magi-tech equipment was like this, though.
As soon as the Director entered the theater, he checked the gauges hanging off his back and began scribbling chaotic equations into a notebook. After ten minutes of calculating variables while under the cover of his subordinates, he finally joined the fray.
"Step back. Kristarubr, provas tibdona."
⟨ Incineration ⟩
With a short chant, the staff erupted in flames. Dozens of the swarming clowns were engulfed in fire, and even the ‘White Face’ that had resisted for a moment turned to ash in an instant. In the middle of the sea of fire, Wangcho stared at the Director in horror.
“Hey, mister, were you a Mage?”
“A half-wit like me cannot be called a Mage. I cannot use magic without the assistance of a measurement device.”
“That’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
Whether you conjured magic on the spot or used a device to assist in the creation, to Wangcho, both were monsters of the battlefield. The certainty that he would be roasted alive the moment he became an enemy of this Director was just a bonus.
Advancing with that momentum, the Director marched straight toward the boss of the clowns.
“Ohoho! Look at these guests who don’t know their manners! You people are— Hieeeek—!! Hot! Hot, hot!”
Narenkönig, the King of Fools, was jiggling his belly fat under a tattered silk vest while introducing himself. But before he could finish his sentence, the Special Forces Director unleashed fire upon him.
“Hgaaaak—! Stop it!”
Still, as someone at the entry level of the 1st-Class, he endured the flames, transformed his scepter into a flail, and charged. But Wangcho wouldn’t let that happen.
“Die quietly, you disgusting bastard.”
Thwack!
Wangcho’s hand-axe embedded itself into the back of his head. The Clown King pitched forward, scraping his face against the floor.
“Ugh! Hgaaaak!”
Narenkönig rolled frantically to extinguish the flames on his body. The Director watched the fat clown quietly, then snapped his fingers to snuff out the fire.
“Eh? Mister? Did you run out of mana?”
The Director didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on the charred King of Clowns. Eventually, when the smoke began to fade from Narenkönig’s body, the Director approached the giant lump of charcoal.
“Haa… haa…”
“Narenkönig.”
“Wh, what?”
“Do you know the difference between a madman, a human, and a beast?”
The Director knelt before Narenkönig, who was barely clinging to life.
“Wh… who are you…”
“That was what you used to say to me. If there is a difference between a madman, a human, and a beast, prove it yourself.”
As he spoke, the Director’s hand moved to his gas mask. With a hiss, the pressure seal of the mask covering his face was released. The bare face revealed amidst the white steam was horribly distorted. His cheeks were a mess of burn marks and tangled stitches, and his mouth was torn all the way to his ears and sutured shut.
“N, no way…!”
At that moment, other members approached from behind the Director. One took off their gas mask. They had no nose. Another took off their gloves. They had only three fingers. Another loosened their neck guard. Where their vocal cords should have been, there was only a mass of scar tissue.
The Director stood his team members up like a folding screen and pulled the axe from the back of the Clown King’s head.
“I… no, we still haven’t found the answer to your question.”
The Director pulled a thick magi-tech grenade from his coat.
“But I’ve learned one thing for sure.”
The Director forced Narenkönig’s mouth open. There was a sound of a jawbone dislocating, but he didn’t care, shoving the grenade into his mouth.
“With a rope, a gold coin, and a dagger, one can become a beast for someone else as much as they like.”
The Director recalled the small-statured merchant wearing a crow mask. It was a snowy day, just like this one.
— “You choose the dagger? Hmm… Understood. If it is revenge you seek.”
— “You really… keep your promises.”
— “Urrgh…!! Ugh!!”
The Director pulled out the dagger he had received that day and drove it into Narenkönig’s heel.
“Ugh…!”
“The account is settled with this.”
The other subordinates each drove daggers into the tendons of the people they had dragged in. Engraved on their daggers was the word Vergeltung (Retribution).
Having finished their tasks, they returned to the members who hadn’t removed their gear.
— “Good work.”
— “Is it not our turn yet?”
— “Just wait. Where did you say you were from?”
— “Rotmund.”
Wangcho had the impression that the expressions of the members who had removed their masks were somehow bright. Meanwhile, the Director twitched his distorted mouth a few times.
“Let’s see you prove it this time. Let’s see how hard it is for madmen to hold back their laughter.”
He coldly snapped at the fallen clown and turned his body. The Ironclad members, and Wangcho, who had been standing there blankly, followed behind him.
Thud, thud.
And when they walked out to the theater entrance, the fishing line hooked to the tip of the Director’s finger was pulled taut. On the stage, Narenkönig’s desperate groan, having noticed the line, could be heard.
“Ughhhhh…!!”
The Director pulled the line without looking back. With the sound of the line unspooling, a clear metallic chime rang out from inside the theater.
Ting.
The third day since the heavy snowfall began. This year, as always, I was trapped in the mansion, killing time.
‘Ah, I’m itching for a snowball fight.’
Unfortunately, not only did I lack friends to have a snowball fight with, but one couldn’t pursue romance in snow that was soaked with filthy smog. If you get hit by a snowball the wrong way, you don’t just catch a cold; you get deep-seated bone sickness. You could end up with an isekai version of Minamata disease from a snowball fight. I’m not joking, really.
Above all, the character I’m stuck playing is a quiet, depressed one… If I had to define my role, I’m the one who gets hit by snowballs thrown by tomboys like Eri. I’m not the one throwing them.
To be even more precise, I shouldn’t be going outside at all. I’m the character who drinks tea in my room and occasionally checks the reports the butler brings up.
“Young Master. It has been resolved well.”
Just like right now. …Wait. What was resolved?
“The cleaners you personally hand-picked were quite thorough, so the cleaning was very neat.”
“Cleaners… you say.”
I knew what the Head Butler was talking about. It meant they had made an example of the clown bastards who touched me. Well, considering their equipment, it was a matter of course. I hadn’t thought they would fail their mission from the start, anyway.
As I nodded, the Head Butler continued his report.
“I have already spoken to the Security Bureau in advance, so you will not have any troublesome post-procedural matters.”
I froze for a moment at that report. Ah, right. I had forgotten. Calling my private soldiers through the Head Butler was fine, but I hadn’t thought about the aftermath. My head had been too hot with anger at the time. Fortunately, it seemed the Head Butler had handled this part on his own.
I continued the conversation naturally, as if I had trusted the Head Butler from the start.
“As expected of you, Head Butler. But might I ask how you handled it?”
“Yes. We decided to donate it in the name of the Security Bureau as a special scholarship for the Hero Academy.”
The Head Butler’s work was impeccable. Even if you are a noble, you aren’t allowed to kill people inside the walls at will. It is a society where, nominally, the law exists.
‘Even in the Middle Ages, where barbarism and romance coexisted, it wasn’t as if nobles could just kill people as they pleased.’
However, exceptions exist for everything. This Empire has a somewhat peculiar ‘custom’.
“Instead, the Security Bureau has agreed to turn a blind eye regarding a certain ‘opportunity for honor restoration’.”
Nobles are granted their titles because they have the power to protect people from the magical beasts outside the walls. But if a noble who has been granted such a title is beaten up and crying somewhere, the face of the Empire that granted the title becomes a laughingstock. So, this macho Empire presents two choices to a noble who has been bitten by their inferiors.
Either live as a disgraceful, super-cowardly person who borrows public power to take revenge while remaining beaten, or prove the machismo latent within the noble’s inner self. The latter, which has become a custom, is called an ‘opportunity for honor restoration’.
“You’ve worked hard. How much did the donation cost?”
“It was not a significant amount. Since it was an H-Sector matter, the Security Bureau didn’t have much interest. A five-year scholarship was sufficient.”
And to carry out this custom, one must show enough sincerity to cover the eyes of the Security Bureau, even if only for a moment. In my case this time, I showed that sincerity through a donation that served as bail money.
“You did well.”
“You are too kind.”
Thanks to him, I didn’t have to think about the aftermath. Now, what I had to worry about was the reward for my subordinates who had successfully completed the mission. I toyed with the handle of my teacup and thought about the reward I should give them.
‘I have to make sure they don’t feel slighted…’
The higher you climb, the more you must avoid creating emotional rifts with your subordinates. Especially when those subordinates are armed. How many third-rate supporting characters have I seen in countless works or history who fell miserably after treating their subordinates poorly or being stingy with them?
This genre of misunderstanding is no exception. No, rather, they are the very reason for my plausibility, so I should take better care of them.
‘The prize money is something the company gives, too…’
But money won’t do. They must already be receiving generous bonuses from the company, so I don’t think they’d feel much excitement if I added a tip on top of that. I need to provide a reward in a slightly different direction.
‘Hmm…’
After much thought, I was able to come up with a reward I could personally give them.
“Head Butler.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
“Could you look into a dessert shop in Civitas Square that children might enjoy?”
“…If I may be so bold, may this old man dare to ask your intention?”
“The mission is over, so I assume some new children have come in, haven’t they?”
These Ironclad fellows. They’ve had a strange habit since the old days. They always pick up orphans or slaves at the mission sites. People who were trapped somewhere or abused. Whenever I sent them on missions, they would rescue such people and gift them a new life. And this fact is probably not something only I know.
“You don’t have to play dumb, Head Butler. You knew, didn’t you?”
“I apologize, Young Master.”
The Head Butler hurriedly bowed his head. Strictly speaking, the soldiers’ actions were madness. Leaving the operational zone, unnecessary waste of resources, and the influx of unidentified personnel. If you follow the corporate logic that values security and efficiency as life, they would have no excuse even if their heads were physically severed right now. What employer would tolerate soldiers paid with their own money goofing off during work hours and dragging in unverified outsiders?
No matter how kind an employer I am, this was clearly an overreach. And the Head Butler, who knew this and didn’t report it to me, could never be free from this charge either.
“I didn’t intend to deceive you.”
“I know. That is why I haven’t said anything.”
But I had been condoning the Head Butler and their arbitrariness while knowing this. The people I saved end up saving others, and those who are saved end up injecting loyalty toward me on their own. This was because it was a very classic cliché for building power in misunderstanding or territory-building genres. Besides, there was no reason to nag them when they were doing good work.
But that quiet good deed was now over.
“You don’t have to hide it from me anymore. Isn’t it strange from the start? Why should one have to be careful when doing good work?”
“Young Master…”
“So, I will replace the reward for this mission by sending snacks for the children. That would be fine, right?”
“An excellent choice, Young Master.”
For reference, sending snacks meant I would now openly permit it. Furthermore, it meant I would now contribute some money as well.
“…How much would an orphanage cost?”
“Pardon?”
“No. I’m just talking to myself.”
I didn’t forget to drop a hint that if they did even better, I would build them an orphanage. In this world, an orphanage isn’t a place you can build just because you have a little money. Since it’s inside the walls, space is limited, so real estate prices are going crazy. It’s not a world where people have enough kindness left to build a home for rootless orphans when they are struggling to survive themselves.
In such a place, a hint that one could build an orphanage was not something that could be said easily.
‘I’m really putting my heart into this one, too.’
Since the Head Butler knew that well, his eyes went wide.
“Young Master…? Are you truly serious?”
“I believe I told you to forget it.”
“My apologies. This old man has been getting forgetful with age lately.”
The Head Butler hurriedly bowed his head. Seeing that thorough and perfect butler look flustered for a moment, it was worth preparing the surprise.
“Then please handle it as I said.”
“As you command, Young Master.”
The Head Butler turned his back to me. Then, suddenly, as if he had remembered something, he looked back this way.
“Young Master. By any chance, is there anything else you would like to say?”
“Hmm…”
I thought about it for a moment. Why would someone who usually receives orders and exits cleanly act like that? ‘What are they expecting?’
I recalled the grammar of the misunderstanding genre after a long time. The protagonist makes a decision without thinking due to a trivial trigger, the loyal subordinate executes it well, and when everything is finished well, what did the protagonist do next…? Ah.
‘I forgot to say thank you.’
I haven’t had much reason to say thank you to anyone other than my family lately. It was a word that didn’t stick to my mouth because I wasn’t good at saying it even in my past life. I adjusted my posture, conscious of the appearance of a dignified protagonist.
“I was preoccupied, so I forgot. Please convey my thanks to them as well.”
I set down the teacup and spoke with the most polite smile I could muster.
“Thank you for this time as well.”
“….”
The corners of the Head Butler’s mouth rose slightly. It was the correct answer, indeed. In the misunderstanding genre, a single word of praise works better than a pile of gold coins. I made eye contact with the Head Butler and smiled. The Head Butler smiled along with me.
“…You are too kind.”
But something was strange. The Head Butler was clearly wearing a benevolent smile, but his expression didn’t feel bright. Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other for so long. That smile felt like a facade, not the sincerity I was used to. How should I put it? It was like the expression of someone who realized that the gift they received was beautifully wrapped but empty inside.
Before I could even think about why the Head Butler was reacting that way, the Head Butler opened his mouth.
“Then I shall take my leave.”
The Head Butler bowed his waist a little deeper than usual and closed the door quietly. I stared at the closed door for a long time.
‘Something feels off.’
But no matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t come up with a reason for the Head Butler to react like that. In the end, after much deliberation, I decided it was just my imagination and picked up the cooling teacup again.