Dark Moon
Guardian Saintess Marta and London's First Sword, Sir Fuckshibal.
Both were powerhouses no one in this world could afford to ignore.
Knowing that, every unit member froze solid, staring only at the hologram.
"Don't tense up. I'm not ordering any of you to face the Guardian Saintess or London's First Sword. All you need to do is demonstrate your skills at the commemorative ceremony. Prove your usefulness at the event."
Speaking without a trace of emotion, Instructor Vinous flipped the hologram.
The event schedule scrolled into view. A brief rehearsal would begin at nine in the morning, and the main ceremony would start at one in the afternoon once lunch was over.
"The ceremony will be broadcast worldwide. Make sure you don't make fools of yourselves."
Vinous pointed to one item on the schedule.
Five in the afternoon: introduction of the new magic special forces unit.
"We've been allotted thirty minutes. During that time, we'll demonstrate our magical firepower. Also, No. 31 and No. 211 will spar for ten minutes."
The unit members' gazes swung toward me and No. 31. The girl with purple hair and crimson eyes sat perfectly straight in her chair. Even with her name called out, she showed not the slightest flicker of reaction.
I raised my hand.
"What is it, No. 211."
"I understand this is a demonstration spar. But do No. 31 and I really need to fight each other?"
"Because it is a demonstration spar. Aren't you and No. 31 the two strongest in the unit?"
"Excluding the instructors, yes."
"There's no point in instructors like me stepping forward. What the higher-ups want to see is your power."
What they really wanted to see was the project's results, more like.
I quietly lowered my hand. Judging by the look of things, the decision was already final. Even if I said I didn't want to, it wouldn't be accepted. When they said jump, I jumped. That was my current position.
"No. 31 and No. 211. Even if it's a demonstration spar, give it your all. Killing is forbidden, but minor injuries are fine. Show your combat power to His Majesty the King and the people."
"Yes."
"I'll do my best."
No. 31 and I answered.
Vinous continued explaining the rest of the ceremony.
Once the briefing ended, Vinous called me aside.
"No. 211."
"Yes, Instructor Vinous."
"The instructors of Unit 667, myself included, hold you in high regard. You're an excellent soldier."
"…Thank you for the praise."
"I'll be direct. Lose the spar at this ceremony."
"…Is this related to someone high up?"
"It is. You know No. 31's status is high, don't you?"
"Just how impressive is her background?"
"I can't say. All I can tell you is that it's far higher than anything you're imagining."
I hadn't planned on winning the spar anyway. I needed to hide my power. But hearing it put this way still stirred up a flicker of defiance.
"…I'll follow the order."
"I trust you, No. 211."
"Yes."
I cooled myself down. Kept my reason ice-cold. I had to lose the spar. Hide my power, and prove to Instructor Vinous that I had no will to rebel.
This isn't an opportunity.
The ceremony would be live-streamed. Use that to expose Unit 667 and the Battle Mage Project? I was certain it wouldn't accomplish much. This world belonged to those in power. Even if I exposed everything, no one would help me.
Those so-called human rights activists are all bought and paid for.
I knew that from the original work. Human rights activists were slaves to power and money.
And I couldn't accept revenge through that kind of method.
Simply killing them wouldn't be enough.
They needed to suffer more than I ever had.
"I'll take my leave now."
"No. 211."
"Yes, Instructor Vinous."
"Just keep doing what you're doing. If you keep going like this… you could be assigned to the Capital Defense Force."
The Capital Defense Force. The military unit charged with defending the capital of the Freesel Kingdom. Word among soldiers was that a posting there guaranteed your future. Especially if your first assignment was the Capital Defense Force? You'd basically boarded the golden elevator to the best life possible.
"…I'll work hard."
"Lastly, tomorrow you, No. 31, and No. 212 will be assigned a mission. You'll hear the details from the instructor in charge tomorrow."
I saluted him and went outside.
It had been a while since I'd been on a mission with No. 212. Working with No. 31, on the other hand, was familiar. Since she and I were the strongest in the unit, we often got assigned together.
This mission was noble escort duty.
Three days of protecting a noble. No. 31 and I had done escort missions before, but this was our first time guarding a noble.
The protectee was Baron Ptelgar.
A lower-ranking noble of the Freesel Kingdom. A businessman who ran a machine parts factory.
Currently his factory was shut down. The workers who were supposed to be working had gone on strike. And in three days, Baron Ptelgar would negotiate with the workers' union.
"For crying out loud, I have to hole up at home because of the bastards who live off my scraps… This is truly the worst."
Baron Ptelgar was a middle-aged man, fat and bloated. Sitting on the sofa, he looked me, No. 31, and No. 212 over. Since this was an external mission we were wearing masks, but even with their faces covered, No. 31 and No. 212 had outstanding figures and an aura that screamed beauty.
But Baron Ptelgar immediately averted his gaze.
He must have heard something about No. 31. Or maybe he simply didn't want to get tangled up with the military. Even nobles couldn't casually ignore the army. My guess leaned toward the former.
"I heard all of you are Battle Mages."
"All three of us are 3-Class Battle Mages."
"I know. I wouldn't have accepted you otherwise. Well, you should be useful enough."
He reached to the side. A woman in sexy lingerie placed a beer glass in his hand. Looking at the atmosphere, she wasn't a lover. Probably a prostitute.
"We're familiar with the basic information for this operation. We'll escort you for the next three days, Baron."
"A friend of mine praised how you handle things. I trust you'll do fine on your own."
Gulping down the cold beer, he seemed to be in a good mood.
"…Baron. I have a personal question, if I may?"
"What is it?"
"I heard three days from now is the final negotiation. There have been over ten opportunities to negotiate so far. Why haven't you accepted the workers' demands?"
"What are you? My bodyguard, and you're taking their side?"
"No. Please don't misunderstand. I heard the workers' strike has been going on for nearly four months. Even if you take some losses, wouldn't accepting their demands be more profitable?"
"Aha. So that's the kind of question it was. Heh. Interested in business, are you?"
"……"
"It's nothing special, so I'll answer. As you said, when the factory stops, the losses keep piling up. Massive losses. It's not just about the products that should have been finished that day. The biggest problem is losing the trust of connected companies. Customers disappear."
"…I heard the strikers' demands are improved working conditions and a five percent wage increase. Isn't that reasonable enough to accept?"
Originally it had been improved working conditions, a fifteen percent wage increase, hiring additional staff, performance bonuses, and so on. As negotiations dragged on, the workers' demands had been scaled back.
"How insolent."
"…Excuse me?"
"Those pig-dogs who've been living off the money I earn dared to rise up against me, demanding more feed. That behavior is so outrageous I can't stand it!"
"……"
"Your little brain probably can't understand. They wrecked a factory that brings in hundreds of millions of credits every year over something that trivial. But I'm different from the likes of you. I have money and connections. I can just start a new business."
"So the final negotiation… the outcome is already decided."
"Heh heh. That's right. I'll renounce my rights to the factory. It'll go to auction and a friend of mine will snatch it up cheap. My friend will receive business subsidies from the Ministry of Industry."
I didn't think those subsidies would go to the workers.
"The reason the workers are targeting you, Baron…"
"Even among pig-dogs, there's occasionally one with a working brain. If I die, factory ownership goes to the local government instead of auction. The local government will get the factory running again and sell it off to someone."
"From the workers' perspective, having the factory go to the local government is better."
"Better than losing their jobs entirely, yeah. Haha. Done with the questions?"
"Yes. Thank you for answering."
"If you're done, get to work. I'll be enjoying myself in this room for three days."
We turned and left the room.
Just before the door closed, the prostitute's theatrical moans rang out. No. 212 looked away as if it was pathetic, while No. 31 showed no reaction at all. We returned to the room assigned to us.
Back in the room, we projected a hologram onto the table and reviewed the situation.
No. 212 manipulated the hologram as she explained.
"This is the mansion layout. Four floors total, nineteen rooms. The basement has a wine cellar and a food storage. The baron's bodyguards, excluding us, number twenty. Half are mana users, the other half are specially trained mercenaries."
I nodded.
It looked thorough on the surface, but there wasn't much substance. That was why Baron Ptelgar had paid the military for escort troops. He didn't trust his own bodyguards much.
"Still, with this many bodyguards, we won't have to do boring patrols."
"One of us still has to take night watch in rotation. We can't trust these bodyguards."
As the briefing wound down, I looked at No. 31 and asked.
"What do you think?"
"…About what?"
"Assassins. Will they attack within the next three days?"
Baron Ptelgar had hired us out of anxiety without any actual intel that the workers had hired assassins. From what I could see, the odds of them not coming were higher. These workers had already been on strike for four months. Where would they get the money to hire assassins?
"They'll come."
"…Based on?"
"Instinct."
"……"
I nodded with a serious face.
Her instincts were hard to ignore. In all the missions I'd done with No. 31 so far, her gut feeling had paid off more than once or twice.
"No. 212. What about you?"
"Bill Claxon, the workers' representative leading the strike, is backed into a corner. People backed into a corner… tend to make extreme choices sometimes."
"So you think assassins will come. Good. Let's take this more seriously then. No. 212, install surveillance cameras inside and outside the mansion. No. 31, set up a barrier around the baron's room. I'll step out briefly and get a feel for the terrain."
They followed my instructions without any particular complaints.