Walking Textbook - 4

Until now, my Academy routine had been simple enough. Wake up early with sword practice, eat breakfast, show up at the club room at a leisurely hour, loosen up a little, then wander over to the vice president's office and spend time with Margarethe.

After that, it was just a matter of waiting around until club hours. A peaceful, idle life — so long as no surprise events came crashing down on me.

"The Adume clan and the Gariltio clan were rivals. They clashed constantly over leadership of the Lanca tribe. In front of the Heaven-Defier they pretended to restrain themselves, but behind the scenes it was chaos, from what I understand."

"Oh, is that so!"

A new item had been added to that simple routine: an exciting, pulse-quickening discussion session with Gerhardt.

Technically it was more of a one-way information dump, but the listener's reactions were so good that I ended up getting into it myself. It would be pretty sad to pour out everything you know and get a blank "so what?" in return. Not that that was going to happen — Gerhardt had been the one to ask for this in the first place.

"Please, eat while we talk."

"Thank you very much."

"Thank you, Miss Christina."

In the middle of our conversation, Christina set a simple spread of tea and snacks on the desk.

The grim expression of a master's student was her default setting, but her mood seemed decent enough — her voice carried a faintly brighter note.

I'm glad she's happy.

The bare minimum of human conscience kicked in. If I hadn't cleaned up after treating her thesis like so much trash, that master's student might well have bitten her tongue and collapsed. I had saved a life, hadn't I?

Honestly, if she just quit this lifestyle altogether she wouldn't have to live under any threat of death. Still, it was the path she had chosen — not my place to say anything.

"Is the thesis preparation going well?"

"Yes! It's all thanks to you, Inspector!"

"I'm not the one writing it. You're too kind."

I let out a short laugh at her booming answer. I was the one who had thrown out a perfectly good thesis, and Christina was the one writing a new one. Receiving gratitude for that was more than a little embarrassing. I had gotten her an extension, sure, but that was only bringing a negative back up to zero.

I knew full well the shock and pure rage of having to rewrite a thesis. I had written an undergraduate graduation paper myself, after all. Even a paper that everyone else sails through will leave you with uncontrollable fury if something goes wrong — so for a master's thesis? I didn't even want to think about it.

"If any problems come up while you're writing, feel free to ask me anything. I'll be here every day anyway — might as well earn my tea and snacks."

"Haha. Your presence alone is more than we could ask for, Inspector."

Gerhardt answered with a smile, but he notably did not say that I didn't need to bother. The more Christina asked me new things, the more knowledge came spilling out — he had no reason to discourage that.

Are all of them like this?

I couldn't tell whether this was just the standard intensity of scholarly passion, or whether Gerhardt was exceptionally driven.

Given the sheer stubbornness it took to pour everything into northern research — a field catastrophically short on historical records — I was leaning toward the latter. You needed more than ordinary ability to throw yourself at something that niche.

Why aren't people like this in the administration?

A deep sense of grievance washed over me. Academy instructors were civil servants on paper, sure, but they weren't bureaucrats grinding away in the actual administration.

This talent. This passion. Wasn't it only right that they serve the Empire in the administration? What a waste.

That night, a call came from the Minister.

"Excuse me?"

I flinched on instinct. Whenever a major disaster hit, I had a habit of hearing things like "What the hell are you doing right now?" — so my body tensed before my brain could catch up.

But once I settled down and thought it over, it wasn't a setup for a dressing-down. It was a genuine question. What was I actually doing with myself?

Looking closer, even his expression was mild. He was clearly not angry.

"I've been getting by without incident. I only wish every day could be like this."

"Not at all. As of today, my dream is to become the King of Thieves."

And damn it, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after everything I had been put through? I had suffered enough that the Empire ought to be paying me a pension even if I never worked another day.

The Minister seemed to realize he hadn't actually meant it as a dig either, and let out a short snort of laughter. He was the type who would have become a salary leech ages ago if the opportunity had ever presented itself.

After chuckling for a moment, he got to the point.

"Ah, that?"

I had been wondering why he was calling all of a sudden — so he had heard about it.

Civil service society got narrower the higher you climbed. The head of the Compilation Bureau would have told the Minister of Education, and the Minister of Education would have told him.

It wasn't that there was any particular agenda behind it. In the endless grind of daily work, a bit of gossip had simply come up. I had done the same thing myself on occasion.

"There's an assistant teacher at the Academy. I asked them to accept her thesis a little late."

I was just about to explain, but the man had no patience. At this rate he was going to die young.

I may have regularly wished for his sudden death, but if he actually keeled over it would be a problem. That Crown Prince bastard was just waiting for an opening to shove me into any seat that opened above me.

"Well, you see."

At any rate, I laid out the whole story. I had casually tossed out a few pointers while the kids were studying, and a teacher had come running — the snowball that started it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all. I had nothing better to do, and spreading knowledge about the North seemed like a good thing, so I had agreed to advise them.

And then, with a single sentence, I had cast a fragile master's student into the abyss — an Academy ghost story that would live on for generations.

"As a human being, how was I supposed to just walk past that?"

Let he who could look upon that scene and feel no guilt cast the first stone at me.

See? Even the Minister couldn't quite bring himself to throw a stone — he just let out a low sigh.

After a stretch of silence following that sigh, he spoke as if something had just occurred to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him.

"Christina."

I hadn't asked about that.

Ordinarily, when nobles exchanged introductions, stating your family name was a matter of course. At the very least, you were supposed to note which house the other person belonged to — basic courtesy.

But my first meeting with Christina had been anything but normal, so I still didn't know her surname.

"I don't know it."

After landing that dig with perfect naturalness, the Minister stroked his chin and continued.

"...What?"

The revelation was so far beyond anything I had imagined that my mind simply blanked out.

The shock from yesterday had nearly unhinged me. The master's student I had shoved into the abyss turned out to be my direct superior's niece by marriage?

"There was an expression — 'the eight steeds that the Heaven-Defier commanded.' It's one of the few surviving records of the Gaar tribe, but I couldn't figure out what those steeds actually referred to."

Fortunately, Gerhardt kept talking, which gave me something to hold onto.

"It wasn't referring to horses. It was referring to people. The eight strongest warriors under the Heaven-Defier's command."

I started writing the names down on paper, one by one. The eight steeds under Kagan — roughly called Kagan's Eight Steeds — those combat machines.

Some of them I had taken down one at a time. Others I had barely managed to suppress when a whole cluster of them had the rotten luck to be traveling together. And one of them had managed to escape with his life.

"The Eight Steeds were: Chaujid Solrgo Ure, Sarei Dobra Tala, Udesr Jairug, Lanca Adume Kiritai, Jalair Mog Karial, Mog Timuen, Ordo Kuman Ilai..."

Monsters who, without Kagan, could each have claimed the title of Khan in their own domains. In a situation where every scrap of our capacity was already insufficient against Kagan alone, keeping these ones in check had been exhausting beyond words.

"And lastly, Udesr Dorgon. Those eight."

The only survivor among the Eight Steeds. And not just any survivor — Kagan's own blood.

Not distant blood, either. His son. Lineage and ability both at the final-boss level — enough that Kagan had entrusted him with command of the Keshik.

Still pisses me off just thinking about it.

That was still the reason the Empire couldn't take its eyes off the North. Of all the people who could have survived, it had to be the biggest headache of the lot.

I barely swallowed a sigh and shifted my gaze from the paper to Gerhardt. Seeing the bright, shining light in his eyes eased my mood a little.

It was strange, in a way. In the North those names had been so cursed you half expected them to show up in your nightmares — but now that they were dead, someone was hearing them and lighting up with joy. So this was what they meant by a man leaving his name behind when he dies?

Things that become useful only after death.

Go on, then. Be fertilizer for an imperial scholar's growth.

"Thank you so much. On my own, it would have taken me years to figure this out..."

I smiled awkwardly as Gerhardt bowed his head again.

Tell him one thing and he thanked you on the spot; tell him two and he bowed four times. His manners were impeccable — so much so that the person watching started to worry about the excess of courtesy.

Better than having none at all.

I forced myself to think positively and turned my gaze toward Christina.

What the Minister had said yesterday. The name Christina. The job of assistant teacher. An impractical field of study.

There was no need to dig any further. I didn't know the surname, but if everything else matched, that was the answer.

"Miss Christina?"

"Ah — yes!"

Christina, who had been diligently scribbling something down, jerked her head up in a hurry.

"It's a little embarrassing, but we never properly introduced ourselves, did we?"

"Ah... ah...!"

Christina seemed to catch on at last, nodding vigorously. This was our first formal introduction.

"Christina Airas!"

Yep. That's her.

Confirmed. That was the surname the Minister's wife had used before marriage.

So I had handed a massive dump of misfortune to the Minister's niece by marriage... So that was how it was...

I'm going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lose my mind.

And from that day on, I began giving Gerhardt and Christina advice with even greater passion than before.

Honestly, if she had just been some relative of the Minister's, I wouldn't have cared that much — but his wife's niece was a different story entirely.

"He may be clumsy with words and a little rough around the edges, but he has a warm heart."

"Of course, my lady. I know that well."

"Thank you. Having a subordinate like the Audit Department Chief puts my mind truly at ease."

The Minister's wife was such a good person that it was almost a mystery how the two of them had ever become a couple.

Damn it. How the hell did everything end up connected like this?