The Barbarian Question
Volkan's appearance was just as vicious as it had been in the game. He stood a full head taller than me, bald and dark-skinned, with forearms as thick as an adult man's thighs—
He looked like a king of the barbarians.
His personality, however, was a completely different story.
"This is my first time on back gate duty, so I've heard. It isn't work that demands much effort—don't push yourselves. Just watch what I do today."
His accent and speech patterns were strange, but Volkan was endlessly kind and gentlemanly.
If that's a barbarian, then what does that make Milo?
"……Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"You just looked at me the way women do—"
"It's your imagination. Wait, do people actually look like that?"
I pointed at Volkan and asked.
"Yes, Volkan loves helping and caring for others. That's why his nickname is Pushover. Pushover."
"Pushover?"
In the game, Volkan was the one who went around wearing intestines like a necklace.
And that Volkan's nickname was Pushover?
"Yes, he's so bad that even though everyone in Unit 42 groans at the thought of duty, Volkan raises both hands in celebration. They leave everything to Volkan and go off to rest. The bastards."
"They dump everything on Volkan and go rest?"
"Yes, they sleep right out in the open. They've got themselves a proper Pushover. You're supposed to handle your own shifts. The damn dogs. Twee-!"
Milo spat on the ground.
Well, even now, with two rookies like us on hand, Volkan was still gathering all the supplies needed for the shift by himself. He certainly looked the part of a Pushover.
Just then, Milo added with a sly grin.
"Still, I'm glad we're on shift with Volkan. I was exhausted, but now I can rest."
"Didn't you just say you're supposed to handle your own shifts?"
"Ah, come on, it's fine—we're in the same squad."
I reminded myself, once again, that Milo was a rotten piece of work.
That said—
'They dump everything on Volkan and go rest?'
I was beginning to understand why the back gate fell so easily to Volkan in the game.
If the back gate guards handed their work to Volkan and went off to nap, then whether the gate opened or not came down entirely to Volkan's state of mind.
'Was that deliberate, too?'
Regardless, unlike the other villains of Unit 42, Volkan was an early-game villain.
It would be best to reform him as quickly as possible.
That said, with Hanswel around—the Principal's proverbial trigger button—there was real risk in running around trying to rehab Unit 42's villains and drawing attention to myself.
If it came to it, I'd have no choice, but ideally I'd lure Volkan into making the first move against me. That was the cleaner play.
'I need to manufacture a pretext.'
My opponent was Volkan the barbarian. Poke him enough and his true nature would surface quickly; then I could reform him.
Poking him was the easy part.
'I'll just do what Evangeline does.'
I nodded to myself and followed after Volkan.
The Academy at night was the polar opposite of how it felt by day.
The moon was clearly up, yet it was abnormally dark.
The Chairwoman's doing.
Witches hate the moon. They fear the full moon above all—because the moon strips away a witch's veil.
The Chairwoman, mother of witches, naturally despised it as well.
And so she had hidden the moon over the Academy.
That was why the Academy's nights were so dark.
'About time I got a response.'
When I'd applied to join the guard, I had tossed a witch-bait worthy of the Chairwoman onto my application form.
The bait should have reached her by now. The lack of a response so far was probably due to her caution.
The Chairwoman was extraordinarily careful. How careful? She wouldn't leave her office except for events like the entrance ceremony.
But the response would come soon enough.
She was, after all, the mother of witches.
Just then, we arrived at the back gate.
The Academy's back gate was less ostentatious than the front, yet still larger than the main gates of most cities. Even at night, the area was crowded with people.
"All supplies, groceries included, come through the back gate. That's why it's busier at night than during the day. There are two full squads of elite guards stationed here, and four times that many ordinary guardsmen."
Volkan explained helpfully. Just as he said, the area around the back gate was a jumble of carts and wagons, shaped like an open-air market.
"Oh, Volkan! There you are!"
A guard who spotted Volkan waved with a grin—then caught sight of Milo and his face crumpled.
"And Mi—lo came along too, huh."
"What's with that tone? You wanna throw down?"
"Haha, Milo just finished the morning shift, so he's a bit touchy. Please understand."
Volkan smoothly defused Milo's raised fist, clearly well practiced.
"Ahem. Volkan, I need you on inspection. We're short-handed today."
"If you're short-handed, then you run your legs off. You wanna throw—"
"Of course. Leave it all to me. Haha."
Volkan gathered up Milo without missing a beat and headed toward the inspection post.
Back gate security was organized into three teams. One watched the surroundings from atop the gate itself, while the other two inspected incoming carts and wagons.
We were assigned to one of the inspection teams, which consisted of five elite guardsmen.
"Oh, it's Volkan! And—yikes! Milo!"
"You little—"
"Haha, hard at work as always, I see."
"Ahem, Volkan. We've got more inspections than usual today, and my condition hasn't been great lately—"
The guardsman, catching sight of Volkan, opened with the practiced ease of long habit.
He didn't even bother pretending to be tired—he just smirked, plainly thrilled at the prospect of slacking off. And Volkan, without a flicker of reaction, nodded along.
"I'll keep watch, so go rest, even if only a little."
"Haha, that's our Volkan."
The guardsmen cracked jokes as they stepped aside.
It was my opening. I raised my hand and delivered a line straight out of Evangeline's playbook.
"Doesn't that violate the duty regulations?"
The guardsmen stared at me. Who the hell is this guy?
"The regulations call for teams of five. If the entire team walks off, isn't that a violation?"
"Who is this punk?"
"Hehe, he's a rookie. Still learning the ropes—"
"Rookies shouldn't run their mouths about things they don't understand."
"What does being a rookie have to do with following the regulations? I'll be filing a report with the Inspectorate."
At the mention of the Inspectorate, the atmosphere froze in an instant. There was even a glint of murder in the eyes turned toward me.
A rookie, on his very first shift, sticking his nose in and invoking the Inspectorate—the situation was provocative enough that anyone, not just Milo, would have been tempted to throw a punch.
And Volkan—
"You've already memorized the duty regulations? Such admirable dedication to the job. I must learn from your example."
His eyes gleaming, he praised me.
Something had gone very, very wrong with his reaction.
Worse, Volkan even bowed his head and stepped in to mediate personally.
"The duty regulations are sacred. These are uneasy times—it's possible someone may be sent down from above. Just to be safe, could two of you remain? Inspections alone I can manage by myself, so simply keeping watch would suffice."
"Ahem, well, given the times, he has a point."
"Whether we rest up top or down here, it's all the same—"
The hostile atmosphere dissolved in a heartbeat, all thanks to Volkan.
And to top it off, Volkan raised a thick thumb in my direction.
"An excellent suggestion. It's clear a real talent has joined our squad."
This was going to be harder than expected.
Still, there was plenty of time.
"Since it's your first inspection, just watch what I do today. If anything puzzles you, ask me anytime."
Volkan tethered Milo and me to the side and began the inspections alone.
He crouched down to check the undersides of wagon floors, combing through every single one without missing a spot. And even so, he was faster at it than the five-man team next door.
Once Volkan started inspecting, the line of backed-up carts began flowing through smoothly.
Guardsmen and merchants alike cheered at the sight of him.
"Volkan! Volkan! Volkan!"
His name rang out from every direction.
Volkan neither preened nor preened in delight. He simply carried on with the inspections, silent and steady.
I watched him closely, searching for a single flaw—and found not so much as a crack.
'This isn't good.'
I wiggled my fingers for no particular reason.
"What's the matter?"
Milo asked through a long yawn. I pointed at Volkan.
"Notice anything strange about Volkan?"
"Huh? Strange like what?"
"Like him being a barbarian."
At the word barbarian, Milo's face went rigid.
On the continent, it was an exceptionally insulting term. So insulting, in fact, that it cut deeper than cursing someone's parents.
"……Volkan is not that kind of person."
Milo said, dead serious, his face full of displeasure.
"That kind of person?"
"Yes. Granted, Volkan's skin is dark like a barbarian's, but you shouldn't judge a man by his skin color. Volkan may be dark on the outside, but he's white as snow on the inside."
Milo declared this casually racist statement with complete confidence.
"I never went that far. Anyway, so there was nothing unusual?"
"No, sir. What could there possibly be?"
Milo asked in a very careful voice, his face full of unease.
"I don't know, but you always seem to know something about everyone. ……Is there something about Volkan?"
I turned my gaze toward Volkan.
He was flat on the ground, checking the underside of a wagon.
He looked like the very picture of a diligent guard. He did not look like a villain destined to smash down the Academy's front gate and roll out a red carpet of blood and flesh.
Unfortunately.
"Give him a knock and we'll find out."
"……Sir? A knock? You mean keep an eye on him, not—"
Instead of answering, I started walking toward Volkan.
"Ah, damn it, it's really not Volkan—"
Even as he grumbled, Milo loosened up his fists and fell in behind me.
It wasn't exactly reassuring.
'Calling Volkan a barbarian—'
Milo silently marveled as he watched Grave.
What kind of beings were barbarians?
They tore people apart and ate them raw. They kidnapped children to work as slaves. They violated anyone regardless of age or gender—monsters worse than demons. Those were barbarians.
And Volkan was supposed to be one of them?
Granted, Volkan's dark skin did give off that impression.
But that was appearance only.
Volkan was cultured enough to cut his bread with a knife and eat it with a fork. There was no way he was a barbarian.
Still, because it was Grave—the man who saw through everything—who had raised the question, Milo couldn't help thinking, could it be?
Just then, Grave came to a stop in front of Volkan. Volkan, who had been checking a wagon, turned his gaze toward him.
"Since it's your first day, just watch from behind. You worked the morning shift—you must be tired. Feel free to rest a while. I'll keep it secret from Scarlet, so don't worry."
Volkan said in his kind, gentle voice.
Not only refusing to work the rookies to the bone—he was telling them to go rest?
If that Volkan was a barbarian, then what on earth was Grave?
"I have a question."
"Hehe, eager to learn, aren't we? Very well, ask me anything you like."
But this was Grave—the man who had tracked down Republicans through the most outlandish methods. Milo was genuinely curious how he planned to identify a barbarian.
Then Grave looked at Volkan and asked.
"Are you a barbarian?"
Milo's jaw dropped.
He was asking the question that ranked below cursing a man's parents. Among mercenaries, simply asking are you a barbarian? was equivalent to challenging someone to a duel.
And he was asking it. Out loud. Point blank.
If it had been Milo standing there, his fist would have already been flying.
But Volkan did not throw a punch.
"No. People often misunderstand because of my skin, but I was born in the Empire and raised in the Empire. I am an imperial subject."
Volkan answered in his ever-courteous voice.
That's our Volkan.
There was no way a man like that could be a barbarian.
Then Grave looked at Volkan again and asked, utterly indifferent—
in the same flat, monotonous tone one might use to ask after someone's health.
The problem was, the content was anything but monotonous.
"Oh, then were your parents barbarians?"
Milo's vision went white.