Chapter 2
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Leather Notebook
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‘To think this one bag is all I have.’
Galahad shook the leather bag in his hand and clicked his tongue.
He’d prided himself on living quite diligently, but in the end, all he had to show for it was this one leather bag. He’d even returned his uniform, leaving him in the same shabby shirt and trousers he’d arrived in.
‘Looks like I’m the first one to make it out alive.’
There was a well-known story in the Intelligence Bureau. A legend that to leave, you had to give up your life. In reality, once you belonged to the Bureau, you could never transfer to another department.
It was because the Intelligence Bureau was pathologically obsessed with security. If it hadn’t been for political reasons, they would have tried to erase Galahad’s memories, even if it meant bashing his head in with a hammer.
‘They said they’d send someone to pick me up.’
Galahad put a cigarette to his lips.
Just then, a carriage approached with a clamor. The passersby startled at the snorting of the glossy-coated horse. A few people stopped to stare as if they were seeing something strange.
‘A horse-drawn carriage in this day and age—’
Galahad narrowed his eyes.
With the advancement of magitech, mana-powered vehicles equipped with magic circles and mana reservoirs had become the trend, replacing horses. They were about as expensive as a horse, or even cheaper, and their easy maintenance made them popular. In fact, horse-drawn carriages were gradually disappearing from the capital.
‘It must be the carriage sent by the Grand Duke.’
To think I have to travel that far in a carriage—. Galahad clicked his tongue and headed toward it. A man with sharp, slanted eyes was sitting in the driver’s seat.
The thick steel armor, the longsword at his hip, the dagger on his inner thigh, and the helmet set beside him—a typical knight.
“Are you Galahad Amberltan?”
“I am. Is this the carriage sent by His Grace, the Grand Duke?”
“Yes, you can call me Gilberton. I will show you in.”
The man roughly pulled the door open. The interior was even worse than the exterior. The seats, draped in scraps of cloth, looked more uncomfortable than a tavern stool, and there were even stains on the walls.
‘This isn’t going to be easy.’
Sending such a shabby carriage with only a single man meant they weren't exactly welcoming him.
“It's made from demon hide, so it's more comfortable than it looks.”
The man who’d introduced himself as Gilberton said, his voice laced with amusement.
Knowing that complaining wouldn't change anything, Galahad simply nodded and climbed into the carriage.
*Clang.* The carriage door slammed shut with a loud noise. The carriage lurched forward before Galahad could even sit down.
“Comfortable, my ass—. It feels like someone's kicking me in the rear.”
A chuckle came from outside the carriage as he grumbled under his breath.
Sharp ears. Galahad muttered to himself and rummaged through his inner pocket.
He pulled out a small leather notebook. On the outside, it looked like a simple, worn-out notebook, but when he channeled mana into it, it opened automatically.
Its pages were filled with various scripts, from crooked, scrawled letters to neat, proper handwriting.
The sentence written at the very top was—
[I’ve been reincarnated into a novel.]
It was written in crooked Korean.
It was a sentence Galahad had certainly written, but it had been so long that the memory was hazy.
At first, he thought he had simply been reborn with memories of a past life. After all, he was just learning to walk when he recalled them.
It was only after hearing familiar names and mentions of the Demon Race that he realized he’d been reincarnated into a novel.
Galahad had hastily dredged up his memories to summarize the plot. This leather notebook was the result.
By the time he realized he’d been reincarnated, a considerable amount of time had passed.
His memory of the novel wasn't perfect. It wasn’t a story he had paid much attention to in the first place, and who reads a novel while memorizing the plot?
Still, he remembered the major plot points. For example—
[The world is destroyed by the Demon King.]
The novel had a sad ending. No, calling it a sad ending wasn't enough. It was a fucking awful ending.
[Key Figures: The blond Sword Master, some Archmage, the Mother of Fairies, an axe-wielding barbarian, a half-demon...]
He had jotted down what he could vaguely recall. The ending was certain, but he couldn't be sure about the rest of the details.
Below it, an explanation was added in the Imperial language.
[The Archmage is most likely the master of the Twilight Magic Tower. Whereabouts unknown. The blond Sword Master is likely the Northern Grand Duke's eldest daughter. The Mother of Fairies should be in the Fairy Forest. The axe-wielding barbarian is unknown.]
This was information Galahad had gathered while working for the Intelligence Bureau.
Galahad's goal was a warm and comfortable retirement. To achieve that, he had to prevent the Demon King's ending, no matter what.
Originally, he had planned to prepare for the Demon King from within the Intelligence Bureau. The Bureau was a powerful organization, influential enough to be called an institution that moved the continent.
‘But now I’m the Northern Sword Master’s kept man...’
Galahad smiled bitterly. It was hard to see this as a good move, but it wasn't the worst-case scenario either.
The blond Sword Master was the hero with the most significant role, and the North was on the front lines against the Demon Race.
Don't they say you have to go into the tiger's den to catch a tiger?
Galahad continued to reread the well-worn notebook, retracing his memories.
***
The carriage came to a halt after the sun had set.
“Get out.”
Gilberton pointed behind him. They were right beside an empty road.
“Are we sleeping outside?”
Galahad frowned. He was the son of a Count.
There were towns or castles at one-day intervals, so he couldn't understand why they would choose to camp out.
“I was ordered to avoid contact with the Empire as much as possible.”
“Is that the Grand Duke’s will?”
“I follow Lady Adrianna.”
Adrianna was the name of the woman Galahad was to marry.
“Right, a man should listen to his wife.”
*Grind.* A harsh sound came from Gilberton's mouth.
‘He doesn’t like me.’
In a way, it was to be expected.
Galahad was a mage, the very thing they despised, and the third son of a count. There was no way they would be pleased about such a man marrying the Grand Duke’s eldest daughter.
Countless power struggles and conflicting interests must have been entangled beneath the surface. Judging by the result, the Grand Duke had lost.
“You’re not married yet.”
Gilberton smiled, baring his teeth. A killing intent that pricked at his back—.
‘This could be dangerous.’
Galahad put a cigarette to his lips and smiled bitterly.
Gilberton silently set up camp. His movements were practiced, as if he were used to sleeping outdoors. Galahad watched him quietly.
Firewood was gathered and a fire was lit in an instant. Next, he placed a pot over it and tossed in some meat. And stew on top of that—.
‘I don’t want to eat that.’
Galahad clicked his tongue softly. He already knew the hygiene standards of the people here were garbage, but to flip meat with the same hands that had just dug in the dirt and handled firewood—it was the worst.
“Eat up. It's a northern dish.”
Gilberton grabbed a piece of meat and held it out. It was a huge, uncut slab of meat, seared only on the surface. Red blood dripped from the uncooked interior. It wasn't just rare, it was super rare.
This is considered cooking? It was absurd, but unfortunately, this wasn't the time to be a picky eater.
“Thanks.”
Galahad tore into the meat with his teeth. Sour blood, thick with a gamey smell, filled his mouth. He chewed it thoroughly and swallowed.
Perhaps it wasn't just to mess with him, as Gilberton also began tearing at a piece of meat. He even drank the dripping blood like a beverage. Watching that barbaric meal only strengthened Galahad’s reluctance to go to the North.
The meal continued in silence. After finishing, Gilberton offered him a bottle of liquor.
“I don’t drink.”
Galahad gave a slight shake of his head. Alcohol slowed the mind and made the hands heavy, so it was taboo for mages.
“As expected of a mage.”
Gilberton emphasized the word ‘mage.’ It was not a pleasant intonation.
“That’s right, a very skilled one.”
Galahad met his gaze without flinching. Gilberton’s brow furrowed slightly.
“You’ll need to be careful in the North. The ignorant northerners can't really tell the difference between a mage and a demon.”
Such a petty threat. Galahad found it childish.
“Surely the Grand Duke can protect one son-in-law in his own territory.”
This time, Gilberton let out a smirk. The man had more patience than he looked.
“I hear hunting mages is in fashion in the Empire these days. A mage’s heart fetches a high price, they say—”
As if nothing had happened, Gilberton grinned. He was right. In fact, records of mages being hunted had been appearing quite frequently lately.
“Don’t you worry about that. I happen to be a rather valuable commodity. Isn't this the first exchange between His Majesty the Emperor and the Grand Duke in twenty years? Things were so tense there was even talk of rebellion. What do you think would happen if something were to happen to me, the very proof of that exchange?”
Now it was Galahad’s turn to grin. Unlike before, Gilberton wasn't smiling.
“I’m a pretty important person. See that you serve me well.”
Galahad didn't know the full story himself. He might just be a pawn whose strings had been cut, but there was no need to say that.
“If you’ve finished eating, we’ll be moving again.”
Gilberton said, getting to his feet.
“You plan to keep moving without sleeping?”
“Yes, since you are a person of importance.”
“Will you be alright?”
“I’m a knight. I can go a few days without sleep. Will our important guest be alright? The carriage will be quite shaky.”
Gilberton asked, his eyes narrowed.
‘He’s sulking.’
Galahad clicked his tongue and nodded.
Indeed, the carriage seats were hard and it shook violently. It was not a situation conducive to sleep.
It was clearly a petty scheme to make Galahad suffer.
However, Galahad was a mage. In this era, mages were more suited for support than combat.
Turning a shaky carriage into a plush, quiet bed was a rather simple task.
For the first time in a long while, Galahad slept, even snoring.
***
Tap, tap.
Galahad’s eyes opened at the sound of his alarm magic. He had slept so soundly that his body felt refreshed.
Galahad straightened himself up and opened the door.
Gilberton, looking more haggard than before, narrowed his eyes.
“Sleep well?”
“Like a log. Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”
“...I’m fine. On the battlefield, going days without sleep is a common occurrence.”
“I see. Well, don’t mind me. Keep up the good work.”
Gilberton’s face twisted even further. He was a fun one to tease.
“Let's stop by a castle or town on the way.”
“...A castle, you say?”
“I think I need to buy a coat.”
Galahad said, rubbing his arm, which was covered in goosebumps.
“Mages get cold too?”
Gilberton asked back, as if genuinely puzzled. Galahad frowned at that. What did he think mages were?
“I’m still human, of course I do.”
Of course, he could use magic to maintain his body temperature. However, magic that affected a mage’s own body was ten times more complicated than carving a bed or blocking out sound.
“Isn’t Garseten Castle on our route? I hear their coats are nice. Let’s stop there.”
“Garseten, you say?”
It was a strangely unsettling echo, but Gilberton was an unsettling fellow to begin with. Galahad nodded.
“Understood.”
One corner of Gilberton’s mouth curled up.
He really was a very unsettling fellow.
***
‘It’s cold.’
Galahad grumbled, running a hand through his hair. The central region was always warm, but here it was cold enough to give him goosebumps. He had to use mana just to maintain his body temperature.
He hadn’t even put a cigarette to his lips, yet he could see his breath. Just keeping his body warm was draining his mana.
The road wasn't paved, and his shoes were caked in mud. Was it mud? Galahad sniffed the air. A foul odor wafted up. It was mud. Galahad quickly stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The fragrant lemon scent drove away the other smells.
“It will only get colder the higher we go.”
Gilberton, with dark circles under his eyes, said sharply. He was now wearing a fur coat that looked like an animal hide he’d pulled from somewhere.
“Didn’t you guys have to endure the cold on the front lines with your bare bodies or something?”
At Galahad’s question, Gilberton’s eyes narrowed. On closer inspection, it was a smile.
“No, soldiers dress warmly too.”
A pity. Galahad grumbled under his breath.
Just then, a fat man came running toward them. He had so much flesh that it jiggled with every step. The man wore high-heeled shoes that were long out of fashion.
“My goodness! If you were coming, you should have come to the inner castle! Why did you stop in the outer ward!”
The fat man said, wiping the sweat from his brow. Galahad glanced at Gilberton. Gilberton avoided his gaze, as if it had nothing to do with him.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Aren’t you a guest of His Grace, the Grand Duke?”
Galahad looked at Gilberton. Gilberton shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, ‘Not me.’
‘So the Grand Duke’s side sent word of a visit.’
Gilberton had been against visiting the castle. The visit the fat man was talking about was probably not Galahad’s.
“Please, come in! The lord is waiting for you!”
“Is there a soft bed?”
At Galahad’s question, the fat man tilted his head before nodding.
“Yes, and a warm bath too!”
“And well-cooked meat?”
“Of course! Our chef is the best in the region!”
“Excellent.”
As Galahad nodded, the excited pig of a man led the way, his backside jiggling.
“Be careful. Quite a few people have disappeared around Garseten Castle. There was even a mage among them, I hear. It’s a very dangerous place for mages.”
Gilberton, who had appeared beside him, said in a voice laced with amusement.
“Why are you telling me this now? You should have said something sooner.”
“You didn’t ask, did you?”
“Fair enough.”
Gilberton let out a small laugh at Galahad’s quiet grumbling.
“Shall we go somewhere else then?”
“You, are you a good fighter?”
Gilberton’s eyebrows furrowed at the sudden question.
“I’m decent.”
“Then protect me well. I’m an important man, after all.”
Galahad shifted the cigarette in his mouth and started walking.
‘Is he reckless, or bold? Or does he already know?’
Gilberton muttered to himself and made a hand signal to someone unseen.
It was an especially dark night.