Chapter 25
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Just Gilberton
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‘The Egg of Pain.’
Galahad muttered, touching the area around his heart.
The Egg of Pain, a gift from Korton, was unlike anything he had ever encountered.
Judging by the complete absence of mana, it wasn't a magical artifact.
‘Is the concentration too high? Or is it sealed?’
The only clue was a faint sense of déjà vu he'd felt when making the oath.
It was similar to the pure mass of mana he had sensed when fighting the demon before.
The Egg of Pain had settled near his heart.
It seemed to whisper with every beat.
*Break your oath, and I will devour your heart.*
It felt as if a ghost had taken up residence in his head.
‘A normal person would have already gone mad.’
It was a piece of trash. If its target went insane, they couldn't uphold their oath, making the object self-defeating.
A wide grin spread across Galahad's lips.
‘Such a mysterious object…’
He recalled Palho's report that Dawn was distributing remnants of the Demon War. This seemed to be one of them.
He had pressed Korton, but the only answer he got was that it was a reward for opening a deal with the 5th Battalion.
Even if it belonged to a high-ranking demon, Adrianna could solve it just by touching the area around his heart.
After all, the nature of her power grew stronger the more concentrated the opponent's was.
Of course, he had no intention of doing that.
‘Why waste something so precious?’
Even if he were to destroy it, he'd do so only after figuring out its principles.
Though if he figured it out, there'd be no need to destroy it in the first place.
‘How does it work? I didn't set a deadline, so can't I just ignore it?’
The moment he thought that, a pain shot up from his heart.
For an instant, it felt as if someone had taken a bite out of his heart.
The agony was so intense that even Galahad, who was quite accustomed to pain, let out a groan.
‘…Is it reading my thoughts? Does it have a will of its own?’
He gently tapped the area over his heart and asked, but there was no reply.
The thing simply urged him on. *Fulfill your oath.*
‘Maybe I’ll kill him in about ten years.’
He casually posed the thought as an experiment, and the intense pain erupted again.
It was worse than before, as if telling him not to mess around. Galahad clutched his chest and collapsed.
‘It has a will. And that was mana. Highly concentrated mana.’
Galahad replayed what he had just felt.
It was fleeting, but he had definitely felt it.
‘An object with a will of its own. A treasure.’
He wanted to try it again, but the thing seemed angry.
Regretfully, he decided to save it for later.
“Please, be honest with me. What is this request?”
Gilberton asked seriously. His face was filled with anxiety. His intuition was quite sharp.
“You’re better off not knowing.”
Galahad hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
Telling him sounded amusing, but it would undoubtedly become a hassle.
Just then, Tom held out a bundle. His face was full of worry. He looked like he was about to cry.
“This is too much for me to manage.”
“Tom, a man shouldn't whine like that. You should be asking for more.”
“This is too much.”
It was a modest down payment from Korton. To think this little was 'too much.' Galahad clicked his tongue softly.
“If you won't take it, I'll have to entrust it to someone else. Hmm, who should I give it to? Gwen?”
“Ah… no! She’ll give it all away to charity.”
“My thoughts exactly. Gwen is too soft-hearted to carry money. Then how about Damian?”
“He’ll buy and eat a ton of delicious food.”
“A growing boy is a scary thing. Well then, how about just Sir Gilberton?”
“I’ll just take it.”
Tom nodded, his face resolute.
“A wise choice. You’ll do well. I’m a good judge of character.”
“Thank you! I’ll protect it with my life!”
“...What do you mean by ‘just Gilberton’?”
Gilberton belatedly raised the question. Tom peeked at the bundle, recounting what he had already counted.
“I should go check on Damian.”
Galahad casually stood up.
“No, what does ‘just Gilberton’ mean?”
Damian was behind the barracks.
Wielding a rusty sword, Damian jumped in place and rolled forward. Snow flew wildly around him. Then he shot up and swung the sword. The arc it traced was a mess.
“He’s been at it this whole time.”
Gilberton, who had followed him out, said as he watched Damian with a strange expression.
“That isn't swordsmanship training. It’s not physical conditioning, either. Isn't he just playing? He does that for a while, comes in to eat and sleep, and then goes right back to it. I don’t understand why someone with his level of talent isn't learning swordsmanship.”
Gilberton's voice was filled with dissatisfaction.
It seemed Gilberton wanted to teach Damian swordsmanship.
A knight wanting to teach his own style. Galahad was slightly surprised.
Normally, knights would only pass on their skills after years of servitude and even payment.
Compared to them, Gilberton was a good knight.
“I once had a colleague similar to Damian. We worked together on a job, and what does he do but drink himself silly and spend all night with women. Two at a time, no less.”
Galahad began to tell the story of the man he was reminded of when he first saw Damian.
‘Was the agent’s name Lady?’
Lady was a man who reeked of the beast, as if he'd just learned to walk on two legs.
“When I’m on a job, I manage everything I eat, let alone drink. To me, the man seemed insane. It was a rather important job, you see.”
Gilberton nodded with a reluctant expression.
“So I said something to him. I had quite a temper back then. Do you know what he said in reply?”
“What did he say?”
“He asked if I’d ever seen a wild beast train.”
Galahad chuckled at the old memory.
“Like you, I thought it was bullshit. So I went off, planning to work alone.”
Just then, Damian rolled forward twice in a row. At a glance, the movement looked ridiculous, but the arc his sword drew was precise.
“He really was a beast.”
The vivid, bloody memory made Galahad click his tongue and nod.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Anyway, it means there are many different methods. If you try to force him into a mold, you’ll just break him. A beast has a beast’s way. You just have to feed him well.”
Gilberton narrowed his eyes, still full of dissatisfaction.
It was only natural. Gilberton was an honest knight built on sweat. Damian was born a beast.
The gap between them was unbridgeable.
“If you’re so sure, why don’t you two have a spar? Damian!”
Damian, who had been rolling forward, leaped up. He approached, dragging his sword behind him.
His face and clothes were a mess, covered in snow. His cheeks were red as if frostbitten, and a long trail of snot ran from his nose. He looked like a neighborhood kid who'd been running around in the snow. A very muscular one.
“Very well.”
Gilberton adjusted his grip on his sword and nodded. He seemed to have been waiting for this.
“Damian, have a match with Sir Gilberton.”
“Do I kill him?”
“No, you can’t kill him. He may not look it, but he’s the deputy commander.”
“Aha, got it.”
Gilberton’s face crumpled completely.
“I’m from the 1st Battalion.”
“I know. Isn’t that why your salary is so high?”
“You’re not cutting it.”
“…Did I say anything?”
Gilberton drew his sword and stepped forward. From his expression, it was clear Gilberton was also curious about Damian. A knight through and through.
Gilberton faced Damian and took his stance. It was a textbook stance, with his sword held out at a slight angle.
In contrast, Damian simply let his sword hang loosely.
“If you can land even a single scratch, I’ll count it as your win.”
“Okay.”
Damian didn’t bother refusing.
Before the word ‘start’ could even be uttered, Damian shot forward. *Thud, thud.* His posture was so low it looked like he was crawling on all fours, a bizarre movement.
Though it was enough to startle anyone, Gilberton calmly stepped back with his left foot and slightly lowered his stance.
Damian swung his sword as if throwing it. It was less like swordsmanship and more like the swipe of a beast’s paw—unrestrained and rough.
Gilberton’s sword blocked it. At that moment, Damian’s sword twisted. It slithered along Gilberton’s blade as if riding it. It was less like a sword and more like a living snake.
“Hmph.”
Gilberton grunted and pushed against the guard. For an instant, Damian's balance faltered. Seizing the opportunity, Gilberton pushed his sword forward. Damian fell backward.
He fell so hard that the settled snow whipped up violently. A sword shot out from within the white blizzard. It was Damian.
Damian charged like a beast, swinging his sword wildly, but Gilberton’s defense was solid. There were no openings.
‘He’s enjoying this.’
Gilberton was matching Damian’s pace.
Instead of maintaining distance, Gilberton engaged him at close range, where Damian had the advantage.
Even so, the gap in their skills was overwhelming.
“Faster!”
Gilberton, on the contrary, narrowed the gap even more precariously, as if trying to draw more out of Damian.
Seeing Gilberton smiling as he parried Damian’s blows, Galahad clicked his tongue softly.
‘What’s so great about swinging a sword that he’s acting like that?’
The match ended when Damian collapsed with a *thud*.
His stamina depleted, Damian fell flat on his face. He simply dropped, like a machine that had run out of battery.
In contrast, Gilberton’s breathing was perfectly calm.
“I think I understand what you mean now.”
Gilberton said as he sheathed his sword.
Galahad pointed to Gilberton’s hand. On his ungloved hand, between his fingers and wrist, was a tiny red line.
It was such a fine cut that it wasn't even bleeding.
“Didn’t you say earlier that if he landed even a single scratch, you would lose?”
Gilberton’s face crumpled.
“That’s not from Damian’s sword. I scraped it on the ground.”
“How pathetic.”
“It’s true. If Damian’s sword had cut me, the mark wouldn’t be like this; it would be wider—”
“Yes, you are indeed Gilberton.”
“...What do you mean, ‘Gilberton’?”
“It means Gilberton.”
Gilberton went on at length about why the cut wasn't from Damian's sword.
It was no use, no matter how many times he was told it was understood.
“Time to eat!”
As soon as Tom mentioned food, Damian shot up. Only then did Gilberton go over to him.
“They said it’s time to eat!”
A breathless voice came from behind. He turned his head to see Gwen, covered in soot.
“Did you overdo the tanning a bit?”
“...Huh? Oh! I was practicing magic! I couldn’t control the distance!”
“I see. You’re doing well.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Ah, you all go ahead. I still have something to do.”
“Something to do? Can I help!”
“Oh, please don’t.”
“You have to come quickly! It won’t taste good if it gets cold!”
Grinning, Gwen ran to the barracks.
Galahad waved at her and turned around.
There was one more thing he had yet to obtain.
A deal with the wicked commander of the 5th Battalion, who was colluding with the sinister Black Magic Society.
‘The Black Magic Society. The mana stone quarry, the 5th Battalion, the Demon Race.’
Galahad reviewed the cards in his hand.
The man named Mark was extremely calculating.
If presented with the most rational option among his choices, he would take it.
And the way to present the most rational option was simple.
‘Just eliminate all the other options.’
Galahad put a cigarette in his mouth and started walking.
****
Mark, commander of the 5th Battalion, had a lot on his mind.
Recently, the frequency of demon attacks had been increasing.
It was not a good sign.
War was expensive. From the soldiers’ armor and swords to their food, the cost was no small sum.
‘If not for the mana stone quarry…’
*Knock, knock, knock.*
He looked up at the sound of the knock.
The door opened, and Galahad, commander of the Special Task Force, entered.
Korton was a scumbag, but he was as cunning as a rat. The fact that Galahad, who had left with Korton, had returned meant…
‘They made some kind of deal.’
Why had Galahad come back?
‘Blackmail?’
Dealing with mages was a censured act in the North.
However, if those mages were researching the Demon Race, the situation could be spun differently.
Researching the Demon Race was strictly forbidden by the Empire. To do so meant they were an anti-Empire organization.
Moreover, the income from the mana stone quarry via the Black Magic Society was substantial.
Mark was confident he could persuade the other commanders based on those two points. That was why he had accepted the Black Magic Society.
“Don’t you have any tea? I’ve done a lot of talking today, and my throat is a bit dry.”
Just then, Galahad, who had already taken a seat, spoke while glancing at Rumian.
At Mark’s nod, Rumian bit his lip and went outside.
“Did things go well?”
Mark got straight to the point.
“We’re alumni, so we had a long chat for old times’ sake. The name of the mages you’re in league with is the Black Magic Society.”
“I see.”
“You knew, didn’t you?”
“Of course not.”
Of course he knew. Mark wasn’t foolish enough to let people of unknown identity into the castle.
It was just that when he calculated the pros and cons, the pros had greatly outweighed the cons.
“Ah, did I mention that on my way here, I caught an intermediate demon on par with a high-ranking one, sixteen mole crickets, and two mages?”
Mark’s eyes narrowed at the sudden boast.
“Yes.”
“Actually, there were three mages.”
Just then, the door opened and Rumian came in. He placed a metal cup in front of Galahad. Steam rose from the cup.
Galahad drank the tea in a refined manner.
‘Three mages, not two.’
The intention behind bringing that up after mentioning the Black Magic Society was clear.
‘Was it the Black Magic Society’s doing?’
Mark’s mouth went dry.
The Black Magic Society colluding with the Demon Race was an unexpected variable.
This was…
‘The worst-case scenario.’
Mark scowled deeply.
To mitigate the damage, he had to capture and kill the Black Magic Society members in the castle immediately.
However, doing so would mean he could no longer operate the mana stone quarry.
Giving up the quarry when demon attacks were becoming more frequent was tantamount to a slow death.
It wasn't a choice between the worst and the second-worst, but between a fast worst and a slow worst.
‘What’s his purpose in telling me this?’
Galahad led the Special Task Force, but his forces were remarkably small. On top of that, he lacked a crucial foundation.
What Galahad would want from Mark was…
‘A base of operations or troops.’
The upper hand had shifted, but Galahad and Mark were in different weight classes.
Having the upper hand only mattered when the opponents were somewhat evenly matched.
‘If I insist it’s just bullshit from some Imperial dog…’
Mark tapped his fingers on the table.
Galahad was leisurely sipping his tea. His refined appearance was that of a typical nobleman. Neatly swept-back hair and a tidy uniform.
He was a man who truly didn't fit in with the North.
“What is it you want?”
Mark went straight to the point.
“I want to establish the Special Task Force headquarters in the 5th Battalion.”
It was the expected demand. Mark nodded.
“Yes, I will clear out the supply depot for you.”
“The supply depot is too small.”
A unit of only five people, and the supply depot building was too small? It didn't make sense, but Mark nodded.
“I will give you a company building.”
“A company building… It probably smells like Sir Gilberton’s feet.”
“If there’s something you want, just say it.”
In response to Mark’s question, Galahad pointed down.
Mark followed Galahad’s finger and looked down. It was the floor.
Mark narrowed his eyes for a moment before he understood.
“Are you asking for the battalion headquarters right now?”
“This place is the biggest. And it’s warm.”
Was this a joke? Mark seriously considered it.
No, who on earth would ask for a battalion headquarters? It had to be a joke.
Then Mark saw the look in Galahad’s eyes and realized.
It wasn't a joke. This crazy man genuinely wanted the battalion headquarters.
“Why does a five-man unit need a battalion headquarters?”
“The headquarters is the face of the unit, is it not? I like a big, clean face. Do you have a problem with that?”
A building was just a building.
It was unexpected, so he was flustered, but it didn't really matter.
An exchange: the Black Magic Society for the battalion headquarters. Assuming it was only until Mark could find a solution…
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Galahad nodded as if he knew Mark would accept.
“Of course, I’m not saying we’ll use the whole thing. We’ll be away more often than not, so that would be a waste. I despise waste. How many floors does this building have?”
“...Three floors.”
“Then you can use the first and second floors. We’ll take the third.”
Galahad spoke as if doing him a great favor, and Mark narrowed his eyes.
That meant he wanted him to maintain security. He was essentially entrusting him with the building’s management as well.
“Fine.”
“Ah, one more thing.”
How greedy.
Mark scowled.
“I hear there are factions among the commanders. Divided between Adrianna, the 2nd Battalion Commander, and the 3rd Battalion, I’m told.”
He wants to come under the 5th Battalion’s command.
‘Was demanding the building just a power play for this?’
Mark nodded.
“Yes, there are factions.”
“Does the 5th Battalion have one?”
“No, we do not.”
“Good.”
Galahad put a cigarette to his lips and snapped his fingers. The tip ignited.
The scent of lemon filled the air.
“If the mana stone quarry business is maintained, I can support your unit’s operational costs. In return, I would ask you to carry out a few missions. For instance, providing accurate information regarding the price of mana stones…”
“You misunderstand something. This isn't about the Special Task Force coming under the 5th Battalion.”
At the words that followed, Mark clicked his tongue.
‘He wants an alliance?’
It was excessive greed. Absurd pride.
From the start, the Special Task Force and the 5th Battalion were incomparable in size.
The Special Task Force had a mere five members. In contrast, the 5th Battalion had ten companies alone, with even more platoons under them.
The Special Task Force was smaller than a platoon.
Yet he wanted an equal relationship? It was absurd.
For the first time in a long while, Mark laughed out loud.
Soon, Mark’s expression turned cold.
“An alliance? How absurd. Do I look like a fool for playing along? Did you really think that just because we’re both commanders, we’re equals? Fine, go ahead and file your report. But that doesn't mean—”
“Ah, I seem to have misspoken.”
As Galahad shook his head, Mark calmed his agitation.
‘He misspoke.’
Yes, with such a difference in scale, how could he even discuss an alliance?
No matter how much nerve he had, he wouldn't make such a preposterous proposal.
“What I was talking about wasn't an alliance.”
Mark anticipated the words to come and formulated a response.
He prepared himself to counter whatever came out of Galahad’s mouth.
Just then, Galahad opened his mouth.
“I’m telling you to come work under me.”
Mark could not counter.