Chapter 16
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Mole Cricket
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The forest was so dark that not a single ray of light penetrated it. The snow falling through the trees looked gray instead of white. It was as if ash were falling.
“Just the right atmosphere for a demon.”
Galahad smiled in satisfaction and put a cigarette to his lips.
“Ah, I brought torches. Everyone take one.”
Tom handed out the torches. The thick smell of burning oil filled the air.
“I will take the lead.”
Gilberton drew his sword and stepped forward.
“No need. You'll just be in the way, so step back.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Giving up a little too easily, aren't you?”
Gilberton shrugged.
Galahad chuckled and spread his palms. He compressed and released his mana, compressed and released. It was a warm-up.
With a flick of his fingers, a small mana arrow materialized above them.
*Gulp.*
“Wipe your chin, Gwen.”
Startled, Gwen wiped her mouth. Her urge to use magic seemed to be growing stronger. A desirable phenomenon.
Galahad walked on, checking the size of the mana arrow.
Mana always flowed from areas of low concentration to high.
If the mana arrow shrank even slightly, it meant the surrounding concentration was growing denser.
He gauged its size to determine his direction and moved forward.
“Aaaaaah!”
Gwen had fallen into a pit.
“I found it!”
Covered in dirt, Gwen beamed.
“This is from a Mole Cricket Demon.”
Tom said, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“A Mole Cricket Demon?”
“Yes, sir. They're creatures that burrow underground, and they leave pits like that behind.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ah, it's basic knowledge you have to memorize to survive on the front lines. Mole Crickets are such a pain that once they appear, you might as well give up on the entire area.”
“Anything else you know about them?”
“Well—they're hard to find because they burrow. They're a real nuisance because they hide underground, then pop out to drag people away.”
Galahad nodded and jumped into the pit.
“You've come to rescue me!”
He pushed aside Gwen's outstretched hand and poked at the walls. They were all solid.
*‘No clues here.’*
He clicked his tongue and climbed back out.
“What about me?! So mean!”
Gwen took Tom's hand and climbed out.
“Gilberton, do you know anything?”
Gilberton stared down into the pit with a serious expression. He was, after all, a knight seasoned on the front lines. Galahad thought he might know something, but—
“This demon digs.”
“Never mind. My mistake for asking.”
“Ah, Mole Crickets are extremely sensitive to sound.”
Tom added awkwardly. Gilberton shot Tom a sidelong glance. Tom, tense as he was, didn't seem to notice.
“Sound, you say—”
Galahad looked at Gwen. Brushing the dirt off her clothes, Gwen's eyes widened.
“…A fart?”
“No, sing a song.”
“Oh! A song?! Ahem!”
Gwen didn't hesitate and began to sing immediately.
It wasn't that Gwen was a bad singer. The problem was that she gave it *too much* effort. It had a certain heavy metal vibe.
“IN A BEAU-TI-FUL GARDEN! A HANDSOME PRINCE! HIS HIGHNESS JIRMAN AND THE BEAU-TI-FUL!”
Gwen, quickly lost in the music, belted out the song. Damian winced.
Galahad paid her no mind, focusing on his mana as he walked. How long had they been walking?
By the time the prince and princess in Gwen's song had married and their daughter had slit the neighboring king's throat to inherit the throne—
“It's coming.”
“It's coming.”
There was a reaction. Gilberton stepped forward.
“She's inheriting the thro— Aaaaaah!”
Tom raised his shield and pulled Gwen behind him.
The ground split open, sending dirt flying. A dark brown carapace filled their vision.
“Kyarururuk!”
It was a giant crustacean with red eyes. Sand sprayed from behind its wings.
“Mole Crickets are weak to bright light!”
Tom yelled, shielding Gwen.
*‘Light, is it—’*
Just then, Gilberton swung his sword diagonally. The blue aura coating the blade sliced across the demon's chest. Blood sprayed violently, but its carapace was so thick that the demon didn't fall.
The demon swung its comically small forelegs at Gilberton, belying its massive size. Gilberton blocked it with his sword. *Kwoong!* With a heavy thud, Gilberton was pushed back.
Galahad extended his left hand and detonated his mana. Mana focused on light erupted in a brilliant flash.
As the intense light burst forth, the creature's red eyes blinked wide. Its weakness to light must have been real, for the demon's movements ceased abruptly.
At that moment, Damian, a sword clenched in his teeth, scrambled up the demon on all fours. He looked like an insect.
Reaching its head, Damian raised the rusted sword high.
*Kyarururuk—!* With a sharp screech, its pointed snout, like a bundle of daggers, trembled.
Damian plunged the sword in. Despite being a dull blade, it sliced through the carapace with ease. Looking closely, it seemed he had aimed for a minuscule gap between the plates. Incredible focus.
Just then, Gilberton's sword severed one of its forelegs. The severed leg flew through the air and landed in front of Galahad.
Hot blood spraying from the limb soaked his feet. A small puddle formed beneath him. Galahad plunged his hand deep into the puddle.
*‘The mana concentration in this demon isn't very high.’*
It was high compared to an ordinary mage, but far weaker than that of the Demon Race.
Against a demon with this level of concentration, he could have easily fought it without using its blood.
However, Galahad deliberately chose to use the demon's blood.
It was more efficient, and more fun.
In an instant, fire erupted from Galahad's hand.
*‘The demon's blood is cruder.’*
Its mana was less refined than that of the Demon Race. As a result, a small error occurred in his formula.
A bead of sweat trickled from his forehead, collected on the bridge of his nose, and dropped.
Even though his hand had nearly exploded, the corners of Galahad's mouth were curled high.
*‘This is fun.’*
The tension sharpened his mind. His head was spinning.
A large, crescent-shaped flame shot from Galahad's hand.
The flame targeted the wound Gilberton had carved.
The demon tried to dodge, but Gilberton blocked its path.
The flame filled the wound on the demon's chest, burning deep.
*Kyarururuk!* The demon was quickly cooked to a golden brown.
“And they lived happily ever after!”
As if on cue with Gwen's song, the demon collapsed forward. Flames flickered behind Gwen. It was a spectacular finale. Though she herself seemed unaware of it.
*Clap, clap, clap, clap!*
“Whoa! To take down a Mole Cricket so easily! That was incredible!”
Tom clapped enthusiastically. Gilberton casually flicked his sword and struck a pose. He seemed susceptible to praise. Gwen scratched the back of her head, looking bashful.
“Tom, do you have a spare waterskin?”
“Yes! What size would you like?”
“You have different sizes?”
“Yes, just in case.”
Tom offered him four waterskins. Galahad picked the largest one.
“Why are you collecting the demon's blood?”
Gilberton asked, his eyes narrowing. A faint sense of aversion could be felt. It seemed the act of collecting demon blood bothered him.
“There once was a boy who was beaten by a blacksmith.”
“Sir?”
“The boy, beaten by the blacksmith, waited until the man was away and stole his sword. Then he stabbed the blacksmith with it. *Shunk*—very deep.”
Gilberton's eyes narrowed further. *He doesn't get it.* Just then, Gwen shot her hand up.
“Gwen, go ahead.”
“Oh! The blacksmith is the Demon Race and the boy is you, Captain! And the sword is magic!”
“Correct. Gwen got it, but you didn't.”
Gilberton opened his mouth with a sour expression.
“It's not that I don't understand—”
“It's okay! I just got lucky!”
At Gwen's attempt to console him, Gilberton sighed.
“Uh, could you come over here? There's something strange!”
Tom, who had been examining the demon's corpse, called out. He pointed to the Mole Cricket Demon's abdomen.
“Isn't this similar to what you did to the carriage, Captain?”
There was something on the demon's abdomen that shouldn't have been there.
A magic circle.
A magic circle carved onto a demon.
Its implications were not light.
For it was one of the reasons mages came to be treated as the filth of the Demon Race.
***
“This is—”
Gilberton's face contorted. His grip on his sword hilt tightened.
“It's not his. Wasn't he officially declared dead?”
“We can't be sure of that.”
Gilberton let out a ragged breath. His breath plumed in the cold air.
Galahad couldn't answer with certainty.
The man's death was officially recorded in the Intelligence Bureau's files, but—
*‘Now I can't even be sure of that.’*
There had been a demon in the Intelligence Bureau's safe house. There was no telling where the wires had been crossed.
*‘No wonder information on the North was so uniquely lacking—’*
Galahad clicked his tongue.
Perhaps there was a demon in the Intelligence Bureau's headquarters as well. Or maybe even in the Imperial Palace—
*‘I didn't sense anything.’*
If it was to the point that even he hadn't noticed— Galahad's mouth went dry.
There had been a tendency to underestimate the Demon Race.
“Who is 'he'?”
Tom's question broke his train of thought.
“Long ago, when the Demon Race crossed the North and threatened the Empire, there were those who betrayed humanity and sided with them. They were the progenitors of mages.”
“You mean, from among the humans?”
“Yes, they were human. Among them was a mage who controlled demons, and it's said that the demons he controlled were marked with a magic circle like this one.”
“Then!”
Tom leaped away from the demon. Galahad smiled wryly at his dramatic reaction.
“Is there no possibility a demon did this?”
Gilberton asked in a strained voice.
“The Demon Race doesn't use magic circles or incantations. They can't, and they don't.”
“What do you mean…”
“Just as citizens of the Empire don't consciously think to speak the imperial language, the Demon Race has no need for magic circles or spells. Their very breath and gestures are the origin of magic.”
Galahad coughed lightly.
“But for humans to imitate the power of the Demon Race, they need formulas and incantations. A translation—yes, like a translation. So much time has passed since then that magic and the Demon Race have become entirely different things, but—”
Seeing their blank stares, Galahad clicked his tongue. They clearly didn't understand.
“So you're saying there's a human mage helping the Demon Race?”
“Exactly! You're a quick study, Tom.”
Galahad snapped his fingers and pointed at Tom, who laughed awkwardly. Gwen grumbled, "I almost had it!"
“So, is it his? This is a serious matter.”
“Don't rush me. I'm about to find out.”
Galahad rolled up his sleeves and crouched in front of the demon's corpse.
“This is—”
Galahad's face contorted as he examined the magic circle. It was too crude.
“Pathetic. They used the mana in the demon's blood, but they have no idea what role it actually plays. This is just a copy. And not even a copy of a proper magic circle, but—”
Tom moved the torch closer so he could see better.
“Ah, thank you, Tom. They mixed the blood of a high-ranking demon with human blood. Did they use soldiers for this trash? My condolences.”
“In the imperial language, please.”
“I have been speaking the imperial language. What I'm saying is, it's not his. To be precise, it's a copy of a copy of his magic circle—something like that.”
Gilberton scowled.
“Can you make it simpler?”
“Hmm, it seems our first mission is going to be bigger than expected. Which means a greater reward, so you should be happy. Everyone, clap.”
Gwen, Tom, and Damian applauded.
Gilberton did not.
*‘With a magic circle of this level, they must be watching from nearby.’*
Having finished his calculations, Galahad cracked his neck.
“Such a trash magic circle—. Whoever drew this is a magical cripple who can't even copy properly. I wonder how they even became a mage—”
Mumbling, Galahad's head whipped around.
From beyond the pitch-black darkness, he heard a tiny sound.
“There you are.”
Galahad grinned and waved.
Even a garbage mage would get pissed off if you insulted their magic.
“Wh-who are you calling a cripple! Go! Tear them apart!”
After the clumsy shout, the ground trembled. Galahad waved his hand, scattering his mana.
It was a method that took advantage of the fact that low-concentration mana had no effect on the Demon Race or demon beasts.
The mana swept through the space and returned, revealing empty pockets.
The demons would be in those spots.
Their number—
“Three of them. Sir Gilberton, Damian, can you handle it?”
“Yes, brother.”
“…Where are you going?”
“You're awfully clingy today. I'm a man with a woman to marry.”
Gilberton's face scrunched up completely. His expression was back to normal.
“I have to catch the blacksmith. Ah, in this case, it's more like the blacksmith's assistant's assistant.”
Just then, the ground split open and demons even larger than before burst out.
“Yes, understood. I will clear a path. You must catch him.”
Gilberton said, raising his sword.
“Don't worry. This is my area of expertise.”
****
*Pant! Pant! Pant!*
Bern ran for his life on trembling legs. His feet were heavy and he was out of breath, but he couldn't stop.
He couldn't stand hearing his magic insulted as trash, so he'd revealed himself.
What mage could endure having their magic insulted with such bizarre logic?
He had wavered for just a moment.
And in that instant, the man had pierced the darkness from that distance and looked right at him.
Seeing the man's smirk, Bern realized he had been tricked.
How far had he run—
Bern glanced around. Only the dark forest surrounded him.
*‘Right, I sent three Mole Crickets. There's no way he's okay.’*
Bern leaned his back against a tree and exhaled the breath he'd been holding. Then he threw up, the nausea overwhelming him. His heart felt like it was going to explode.
*Stupid bastard! Who's he calling trash! He doesn't know anything!*
“Why stop? I don't think this is the place. Ah, are you tired, perhaps? I'll wait. Rest easy.”
A monotonous voice drifted over. Bern looked up, his eyes widening as if they would tear.
The man was standing a short distance away. He had a cigarette in his mouth and was waving.
The Mole Crickets—
“That look says, 'How did you get past the demons?' You carved it into the magic circle, didn't you? 'Do not attack the mage.' A precaution in case they turned on you?”
“H-how did you…”
“It was all written in the magic circle.”
Not all magic circles were the same.
It wasn't something you could understand just by looking at it.
If anyone could understand it just by seeing it, who would bother using magic circles?
Moreover, the circle used on the Mole Crickets was one related to demon beasts.
Something that someone unfamiliar with demons couldn't possibly know—
“You… you…! You've studied demons!”
“The Demon Race, to be precise. I started recently.”
“Then we're on the same side! I've studied the Demon Race, too! We're friends! Friends!”
“Oh? Are you planning to stab the blacksmith, too?”
“Blacksmith? What does that—”
Just then, Bern's eyes met the man's, and his lips trembled slightly.
They were eyes like a demon's.
Something was missing—
This was not a man you could reason with.
“Empty, thirst, bone, child, scream—”
Bern hastily chanted an incantation. In a mage's battle, chanting first was crucial.
Bern gripped his staff with both hands and thrust it forward. Mana gathered rapidly.
“Good heavens—a staff! Are you serious? This is driving me mad.”
The man burst out in bizarre indignation. *What's wrong with a staff?* His concentration momentarily broken, Bern quickly refocused.
“Mana is the power of the soul and the weight of knowledge. Yet you rely on a physical object like a staff! And you call yourself a mage?”
The man continued to rage, furious about something.
Bern's lips curled into a smirk. He didn't know where this confidence came from, but to let him chant first in a mage's duel—
The fight was as good as over.
“Pain, lust!”
“Oh, for heaven's sake! Why would you add 'lust' there! That's why your focus breaks! After 'pain,' you should add something like 'burn' or 'headache' for easier association!”
“…Headache! Burn!”
“Now we're talking. No, your mana is leaking everywhere. Focus!”
For a moment, Bern wondered if the man was actually a good guy, but he shook his head.
“Burning Fangs—”
“Are you serious? After all that preparation, all you came up with is Burning Fangs? Ha—”
Bern cackled at the sighing man. He was clearly insane. Calling the 3rd-tier spell Burning Fangs pathetic—
The completed Burning Fangs shot toward the man. It was faster than an arrow.
Reaching the man, the fireball split open like a demon's maw.
The man flicked the ash from his cigarette and snapped his left fingers. There was a strange power in the gesture that drew the eye.
In an instant, a large spike of ice shot from the man's fingers.
*‘How can it be so fast—’*
Bern was horrified when he realized what the spell was.
Ice Spike—. Like Burning Fangs, it was a 3rd-tier spell.
*‘What—’*
Using a 3rd-tier spell with just a flick of the fingers—? It was a feat he'd never even heard of.
When Burning Fangs and Ice Spike collided head-on, the Burning Fangs simply collapsed.
Bern blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing.
“If I were you, I wouldn't have used Burning Fangs, but Thick Roots and Ice Arrow. The incantations are shorter, and they're easier to react with. But you used the biggest spell you know. It's a common mistake for mages inexperienced in combat.”
The man clicked his tongue and spoke in his monotonous voice.
“I understand. You can make mistakes. Aren't mistakes a human virtue? What's important is not to make the same mistake again. Now, let's start over.”
The man casually flicked his fingers. It was as if he were telling him to try again.
“Y-you bastard! You're looking down on me?!”
Bern's face twisted in fury. He couldn't stand being disrespected—.
“But to use Thick Roots now? You should have done that on your first move.”
An ice skewer pierced Bern's leg. "Focus!" the man yelled. Bern suppressed a scream and continued his incantation.
“Hah, and now you're throwing a Fire Arrow? At this distance? Are you serious?”
Another one pierced his other leg. "I told you to focus!" Bern screamed in terror.
Urged on by the man, Bern recited his incantation through tears.
“At least try to say the incantation faster! Faster! I'm starting to feel sorry for the soldiers who died by your hand!”
How could he possibly go any faster than this—.
Bern's knees slowly gave way.
The ice skewers in his thighs weren't fatal, and he still had mana left.
And yet, his knees buckled—because his will to resist had been broken.
The man was toying with him.
*Why—*
“That's the look of someone asking, 'I even drank demon blood, so why is there such a huge gap between us?'”
the man said, crouching in front of him. Bern struggled to nod.
“The answer is simple. I've exhausted my mana every single day since I was three. Without missing a day. Do you think drinking a little demon blood could close that gap? If you expected that, you have no conscience. Oh dear, you did expect it? You truly are a shameless human being.”
*Why would you do such a thing—*
The man said it simply, but it was no easy feat. Exhausting one's mana was similar to a knight training to the point of collapse every day… no, it was harder. Because magic consumed mental energy.
“Why? I'm the one who doesn't understand you. Isn't magic fun? Don't you get an itch to use it?”
*Madman.*
The man chuckled at Bern's curse.
“Thank you for the compliment. Now, I have a few questions for you. Where did you get that magic circle? Are there other mages with you? Or demons?”
Bern bit his lip. He couldn't tell him, even if it meant death.
“Oh, did you just shake your head? You're mistaken about something. You don't have a choice.”
The man's lips curled into a wide grin.
“Do you know what magic an Intelligence Bureau mage does best? The answer is—”
“Persuasion.”
Through the smoke, the man's upturned lips were visible.