The Devil of All Nations

Imperial Year 279. Pentas Prison.

Leila gazed absently at the landscape swaying past the carriage window, then turned her eyes to her bag, drew out a sheaf of documents, and began to read. She had already gone through the report dozens of times, but she figured it beat wasting the hours staring blankly outside.

The papers in her hands contained information on the man she was about to meet.

Is letting a man like this loose in the Empire really the right thing to do...?

The worry that he might prove a poison lingered, but Leila shook her head. She was someone who carried out the orders handed down from above, not someone who sat in judgment of them.

Having swiftly banished her doubts, she read the report again, hunting for any scrap of information she might have missed — anything that might tilt the coming negotiation even slightly in her favor.

Leila always frowned at this particular passage and checked the author's name. A report was supposed to record facts and nothing else, and the writer's poetic flourishes never failed to make her scowl.

Having once again committed that name to memory and resolved to report it to her superiors, she turned her gaze to the annexed documents.

Even a glance at a handful of the major battles summarized in the report was enough to make Leila's head start aching. The unbroken record of victories left no doubt that he was an exceptional strategist — but the contents ran so far off the rails of common sense it was almost absurd.

The Battle of Felderen, in which he struck the enemy's rear, had taken him rather far afield, but cutting an opponent's supply line was a fundamental tactic. That much, at least, she could understand.

But the other battles? What was one even supposed to make of those?

Abandoning a castle — where the defender held every advantage — to fight a frontal battle in the open. Setting an entire plain on fire with a murder-suicide as the accepted cost. Had she not seen the results, her first response to tactics like those would have been a string of curses.

That said, extreme or bizarre tactics were hardly all Elliot ever used. Plenty of his battles followed precise operational control or textbook orthodoxy.

His inclinations were so scattershot as to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be unknowable — but in the end, it meant he was simply accustomed to producing the results he wanted.

Leila pieced the man together as she read.

For one thing, he was thoroughly vicious. He excelled at sowing chaos with attacks that amounted to let's all die together, and at prying open an opponent's weaknesses. And then...

He's taken every hardship there was and borne it all himself.

If she thought only of the damage he had dealt the Empire, chewing him up and spitting him out wouldn't be enough. Set that aside, though, and he had been worked by his kingdom so relentlessly it almost inspired pity.

Victory and defeat aside, the sheer number of battles he had fought would have been difficult for a grizzled veteran of several decades to match. It told her how many battlefields he had careened through in so short a time.

Elliot had been in his mid-to-late twenties when the Keilen Kingdom surrendered. To have packed a career of that density into those years, it was no exaggeration to say he had been present at nearly every battle the kingdom fought.

He had spent the greater part of his life on the battlefield, unable even to properly tend his own territory. No matter how extraordinary his abilities, a body and a mind consumed at that rate would not hold.

The fact that he had been appointed commander of the Dukan Plains — where fighting was already underway — the moment he forced an end to the defense of Deltaoshi was proof enough of how brutal a life he had led.

It's not in the report, but I should keep in mind the possibility that he's mentally ill.

Perhaps a worn-down mind had been what fed those extreme tactics. She would not judge him hastily until she saw him for herself, but Leila resolved to approach with caution.

"Dame Leila. We have arrived."

Roused from her thoughts by the coachman's voice, Leila rose from her seat and stepped down from the carriage.

Sturdy walls that could have passed for a fortress under heavy guard, and a bleak atmosphere in which not a trace of life could be found. Leila quietly took in her surroundings.

"Welcome to Pentas Prison, where we collect every last serious criminal who stands against our great Empire. I am Warden Gelle."

"A pleasure, Warden Gelle. Leila Cloud."

"Dame Leila's name is well known to me, of course. What an honor to receive so famous a personage here at Pentas — though not, I should add, as one of our collectibles. Ah, ah — I mean no slight upon Dame Leila's loyalty, nor any insult."

Leila ignored the warden's wretched attempt at humor, handed over her orders with bureaucratic efficiency, and allowed herself to be shown in.

She passed through a pair of massive double doors and descended underground.

The corridors had been designed as a labyrinth to prevent escape, and their progress was painfully slow. All the while, the warden's mouth never stopped running.

"Pentas is a ten-floor subterranean structure, and the space grows narrower the farther down you go. The more dangerous collectibles are kept on the lower levels. Designed by Dwarves and Gnomes, this facility—"

He was no tour guide, and his endless bragging about the prison held not the slightest interest for Leila.

Wondering if this, too, might be a form of torture, she scanned the inmates as they passed through the corridors.

The claim that more dangerous individuals were kept farther down was, at least, no lie. On the first underground floor, men tossed vulgar remarks at the beautiful Leila or grew visibly excited at the sight of her; with each floor they descended, fewer and fewer of them reacted as she went by.

But Leila knew exactly how chilling that was. A barking dog was far less frightening than a wolf crouched in the grass, watching.

The eyes of prisoners who folded their boiling desire inward and quietly waited for an opening put her senses on a knife's edge.

She had left her weapons behind for security, but her fingers still twitched habitually toward the sword that should have hung at her hip. The warden laughed at the sight.

"Even an excellent soldier like Dame Leila can be faint of heart, I see. No need to worry. We thoroughly educate our collectibles — train them not to bare their teeth at the Empire on a whim. Besides, they're wearing restraints that seal their mana. What could they possibly do?"

Listening to him, Leila resolved to report the warden's mental condition to her superiors as well.

People of that sort were plenty dangerous even without mana. What about those eyes looked "educated"? He was coasting on a facility built by Dwarves and Gnomes, and a warden this short on vigilance had no business managing them.

They passed the ninth underground floor and started down the stairs to the tenth, and a man's sobbing voice drifted up to meet them.

A few of the inmates above had groaned under torture, but the sound reaching them now was considerably stranger — and far more eerie.

The warden sneered at the sight of Leila tensing at a noise so clearly unlike the others.

"Spine-crawling, isn't it? I can hardly blame Dame Leila for being on edge. This is, after all, the deepest heart of Pentas."

The farther they descended the dark stairs — so dark she could barely see her own feet — the louder the man's weeping grew. Muttering was mixed in with it, as if he were talking to himself, and it suggested that Elliot's mental state was not sound.

Pentas's tenth underground floor held fewer inmates with each level down, and at present it held only Elliot. The warden chuckled under his breath, but even he seemed unused to coming this deep; a tightness showed in his face.

When Leila reached the bottom, she found a man hanging off the iron bars, sobbing, and another man soothing him from inside.

"Hic... hic... What do I do, Mr. Elliot? Sena's still so coooold... I even gave her that cake from Julian's shop she said she wanted, and she didn't even look at me. What if she's found another guy? I really... hic..."

"I already told you it's fine. Girls who work at taverns deal with people for a living — they're good at handling men and women alike. She said she wasn't interested, but she took the cake, didn't she? She might play it cool to your face, but I guarantee she loved it behind your back. Trust me and keep pushing. You're getting through to her."

The guard who was supposed to be supervising the prisoner was hanging off the bars, getting romantic advice from the man inside.

Leila had never imagined she would walk in on a love-counseling session in a prison. She quietly glanced sideways. The warden, who had been rattling off the glories of Pentas, turned his head without a word.

"Ah, Lewis... looks like we've got a visitor."

At Elliot's words, the guard called Lewis startled to his feet and snapped a loud salute to the warden — but the warden's pride, crumpled beyond recovery, did not bounce back.

Ignoring the warden's noisy outburst, Leila met Elliot's eyes.

Red irises gleamed through a shaggy fall of hair, studying her with open interest. He was not smiling, and yet the eyes themselves seemed to carry a faint, flickering amusement.

After a brief commotion, a crude wooden chair was set before the bars, and Leila sat down across from Elliot.

"Leila Cloud. I've come to deliver orders from above, Elliot Trayer."

She passed a bundle of papers through the bars, and Elliot read them in silence. While he read, Leila continued.

"You are a man who inflicted enormous damage upon the Empire. Even so, your superiors have a high estimation of your abilities, and they have decided to employ you as an instructor at Legandia Academy."

Elliot said nothing, reading the documents and nothing else. Leila waited even after she had finished speaking, and it was a long while yet before she heard his voice.

"Now that's an interesting offer. An academy, huh... I genuinely did not see that coming."

Elliot's voice was clearer than one would have expected from a man called the Devil of All Nations. Smiling, he pulled a single sheet from the papers and held it up.

"I thought the Empire banned slavery two hundred years ago. Was I wrong?"

"Slave contracts exist, limited to serious criminals. The contracts are drawn so as not to gravely infringe upon personal liberty. They are not the slavery other nations imagine. If I had to put it into words, it is a somewhat coercive labor agreement."

"That's just a slave with extra steps."

Elliot gave a short laugh and went back to reading the slave contract in his hand.

The contract, laden with numerous clauses, did indeed — as Leila had said — permit a slave a considerable degree of freedom.

The Master's coercive power, however, and any action that might threaten the Master, had been forbidden under a countless stack of provisions. Looking over clauses written with such meticulous, situation-by-situation care to prevent any abuse of liberty, Elliot laughed, struck by how very like the Empire it was.

The slave contract Leila had handed him was a temple-issued Subordination Contract. Sign it of one's own free will, and one became a perfect slave, bound by the compulsion of the gods. Because it was a contract guaranteed by the divine, most high-grade slaves were bound by this document.

"You will be attached to the academy, but so long as you do not do anything strange, your life will be little different from that of any Imperial citizen. A far better existence than ending your days inside a prison, I should think."

"I've never taught anyone. And I've never so much as set foot in a place like an academy."

"Unexpectedly modest of you. The adjutants of yours currently active in the Empire had poor reputations before they met you. You raised every one of them inside your unit."

"Oh? Who's still around? Joshua and Melanie should be, and Selma? Are Wyatt and Juan still kicking too?"

"Go outside and confirm it yourself."

At Leila's if you're curious, sign, Elliot gave a short laugh.

"You smoke?"

Leila shook her head at the question out of nowhere, and Elliot held out a hand toward her.

"Then you brought those cigarettes for me. Mind if I have one?"

"...You've got a good nose."

For a knight who treated his body as something of importance, Elliot was unusually addicted to tobacco. He had no preferred objects or foods, but cigarettes were the one indulgence he clung to — Leila had read as much in the report, and had brought some to help win him over.

She took the cigarettes from the pocket at her chest and passed a single one through the bars. When she drew out a match to light it for him, Elliot waved her off.

Crack.

A small noise of colliding mana, a tiny spark blooming at his fingertip — and Elliot took a drag of a cigarette for the first time in a long while, then coughed roughly.

It was a comical sight, his face twisting as he hacked — but Leila, the warden behind her, and the guard all recoiled with identical expressions of shock.

The old chair scraped noisily across the floor. Leila's body dropped reflexively into a draw, and only then did she remember she had no sword. A chill ran through her as she pulled up her mana.

Elliot was wearing restraints that sealed his mana. There was no question of that. And he was using magic without the slightest hesitation. The man across from her was a knight who had carved his way through countless battlefields — not merely a strategist, but a powerhouse who had repeatedly broken famous knights of other nations.

The warden, his face ashen, hid behind the guard's back and rolled his eyes, hunting for an escape, when Elliot spoke.

"Warden Gelle, relax. Cough, cough — ah, damn... this is viciously strong... Don't worry. I'm not planning to run wild. If I wanted out, I'd have left a long time ago."

"How did you undo the restraints?"

Leila did not drop her guard. Elliot showed her the cuffs on his wrists.

"Magic can be broken once you grasp the pattern. They've been using the same thing for seven years. If I couldn't find the pattern, I'd be an idiot."

"But even that would require being able to use mana to—"

"Do I really have to give you the whole mana exists throughout the world speech? Even if you can't use mana, there are quite a few ways to gather a little of what's around you, however briefly. With limited materials, it's truly only an instant — but still."

Leila watched him explain it as if it were nothing, hesitated a moment, then righted the fallen chair and sat back down.

The situation was not good. A Subordination Contract took effect only if signed of one's own free will, without pressure or threat — which meant she had to make him sign it voluntarily.

And now, thanks to something she had not anticipated, the atmosphere had swung to Elliot. He might well start making stranger demands still.

"So that's why it was so clean."

"Hm?"

"You've been maintaining hygiene with magic, haven't you? The clothes are worn, but there isn't a speck of dust on them. Hardly any filth in the cell, either. No stench, unlike the floors above. Given the state of that idiot warden's mind, he would never have ordered a cleaning, so I'd been wondering. Now I know why."

It was a detail she had noted the moment she stepped onto the tenth floor. Elliot looked at her with what seemed to be genuine interest.

He tipped his head as if considering, stared into empty air, let out a small, long breath, and turned his face forward again.

"How about we send the others away and have a nice private chat, just the two of us?"

The warden and the guard tensed and looked to Leila at the suggestion that she converse alone with an unconstrained monster. Her expression did not change. She told them both to withdraw.

"Um... shall I at least leave you my sword...?"

The guard held out the blade at his own hip, but Leila shook her head.

The man across from her had been called a devil only a few years ago. A weapon in her hand would not give her a chance. All she could do was hope the Dwarven-made facility was as sturdy as advertised.

Once the two of them had left the tenth floor, Elliot put on an easy, slippery smile and drew close to the bars.

"Why do you want to take me out of here?"

"Your superiors have a high estimation of your skills, and—"

"No, no. That's not it. Why do you think I asked to talk one-on-one? I want the intention hiding behind the orders."

"I am not in a position to know any such intention. I know only what is written in the orders."

Elliot watched her in silence, taking her measure, then lifted the corner of his mouth.

"So you're just an errand girl delivering a piece of paper? They must've figured I'd be starving for a woman, sending me a girl with nothing going for her but a pretty face. The Empire sure knows how to pick 'em. No extra services with the orders? A striptease, maybe? Go on, shake that ass for me."

"... ..."

Even at the insult, Leila simply looked at his face. No shame, no anger — a blank expression. Elliot shook his head.

"Sharp eyes, doesn't lose her composure, remembers her priorities even when something unexpected happens and acts on them. A first-rate talent, and you want me to believe you're just a carrier pigeon? That doesn't add up. You've been given ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠discretion. Let's hear the intention."

"I am honored to be praised by a figure of the previous generation, but I do not understand why you assume there is some other intention. The Empire values talent, and it values the people who will educate that talent equally."

At her words, Elliot raised one finger.

"First. You're trying to give me an extremely generous contract. I can see you're afraid I'll refuse. That means you have to get me out of here. You have to extract a single instructor, no matter what? That's strange."

"... ..."

He raised a second finger and went on.

"Second. I've been locked up for seven years. Put another way, it's been a mere seven years since the kingdom fell and was absorbed into the Empire. I say this as the man in question, but you're going to put a human being who was treated as that kingdom's hero on public display? The political situation isn't fully settled yet. There'll be idiots dreaming of the kingdom's revival, and former kingdom citizens who've become Imperial subjects will be stirred up."

"You will become an instructor under a new identity."

"What are you talking about? You think my identity will stay secret while I'm out there working in the open? If that's what you think, it just means the Empire that used to be so clever is on its way down. Did Edelian retire or something? There's no way an Empire that prides itself on reason would make a choice like—"

He stopped mid-sentence and fell silent, thinking. Then he looked at Leila and smiled.

"It isn't the Empire. Just one person up top handling this on their own. The master you serve? Introduce me to whichever idiot it is."

"The orders bear the official seal of the institution. This is a matter the Empire has authorized."

"You didn't deny that it's one person's unilateral decision."

"No. This is something the Empire did."

Elliot did not believe her denial. When he had insulted her master, he had seen — only for an instant — the strength enter her eyes.

"Fine. Empire or master, whichever it is — tell them not to bring me tedious little chores and waste my time."

"You are ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠considerably tedious yourself."

Leila let out a long breath and stood from the chair. It was the moment a new line would be added to Elliot's report: Has a talent for getting on people's nerves.

She glared at him — slouched against the bars, smiling — and struck the iron with her open palm.

A deep resonance rolled out, and the blast of air sent Elliot's hair streaming. A playful expression, making it perfectly clear he was teasing her, flickered into view for a moment before the hair fell back over it.

"I do not, as a rule, care for negotiation."

"So you're going to beat me into submission?"

Elliot grinned. Leila smiled faintly in return.

"Why did you show me that you can use mana?"

"Well..."

"Because you had already decided to accept the offer."

Leila seized the collar of the now-silent Elliot and yanked him forward. Close enough, through the bars, that she could snarl in his face.

He had hidden the fact that he could use mana all this time, and had revealed it in a situation far too absurd. It was too large a card to have played merely to swing the mood of a negotiation. Which left only one reason.

He was going to leave anyway. A hidden card was useless.

This was not a performance to extract better terms, either. That slippery smile of his told her it was nothing more than a bit of mischief, meant to needle her.

Close enough that their breath touched, Elliot looked down at her and smiled.

"That's kinda sexy. Mind if I steal a kiss? Call it my last condition."

"I'll tear you apart before the Empire ever gets the chance."

"Now that just sounds dirty."

Leila released his collar and tossed him a quill. Elliot shrugged and signed the contract without the slightest hesitation.

"I'll be in your care, Master."

"I'm temporary. You'll be transferred to the Headmistress of Legandia Academy."

"Then take care of me until then. What's the name on my new identity?"

Leila, who had been turning to leave and call the warden, looked back.

"Rye Redford."

"Ryan, Rian, Rise, Rice. 'Rye' is way too common a sound. Don't you have another name?"

"Would it be more common than Elliot?"

Leila smiled as if ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠laughing at him, and walked out again.

The war hero who had been Elliot, and was now Rye, nodded — he'd give her that one — and stuck between his lips a cigarette he had stolen from her pocket.