Chapter 51
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Hostage
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The orange lamp hanging from the carriage swayed, struggling to push back the heavy darkness that had fallen over the North.
The sound of horse hooves treading on the freshly fallen snow, the strained groaning of the wheels, and Gwen’s snoring blended together surprisingly well.
Galahad took a deep drag from his cigarette, then exhaled.
The scent of lemon filled the air.
“Why are we moving at night? It’s dangerous.”
Gilberton asked, pulling on the reins. It wasn’t a complaint, just a simple question.
“The night is dark and quiet. Perfect, isn’t it?”
“…Pardon?”
Galahad ignored Gilberton’s question and flicked the ash from his cigarette.
*A demon is targeting Damian.*
The next question was, *why?*
If a demon was after Damian, why had it left him alone?
It hadn’t taken him, nor had it killed him. It had left him completely unharmed.
Then, after Damian joined a new squad and some time had passed, it would attack again.
*Why?*
Galahad muttered quietly.
There had to be a motive. To understand the motive, he had to analyze the result.
The result was that Damian, despite his exceptional skill, was ostracized by the other soldiers.
He’d been reduced to catching snowflakes in his open mouth. If Galahad hadn’t brought him in, he would have either starved or been beaten to death.
*Was that what it wanted?*
“What will we do if a monster appears?”
Gilberton’s question broke his train of thought.
“We’d be lucky if one did.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I’m talking about Damian.”
“Ah, the kid.”
“Didn’t four of his squads get wiped out by a demon?”
“That’s right.”
“What if some demon was specifically targeting Damian?”
“Why would a demon target that kid?”
“Why are you asking me?”
Galahad clicked his tongue, and Gilberton’s eyes widened slightly before narrowing again.
“Didn’t you say you didn’t care? When you first brought him in.”
“I did.”
“Then why do you care now?”
Galahad squinted at the unusually sharp question from Gilberton.
He was right. Even if Damian had been the cause of four squads getting annihilated, it hadn’t really mattered. The investigation had turned up nothing.
What changed his mind was the gray aura.
“It’s because he’s become more precious now.”
“…Do you really say things like that?”
Galahad chuckled at Gilberton’s look of astonishment.
“Well, if a demon killed only Damian’s squad and sent him back…”
Gilberton trailed off for a moment. His already narrow eyes grew even thinner.
“That’s vicious.”
“…Vicious?”
“Yes. They sent him back just to make him suffer more, didn’t they?”
“Suffer, you say?”
“As you saw then, he couldn’t return to his unit and was just sitting there, right? That’s because every other squad refused to take him. Said he was bad luck. There was actual violence, too.”
“I see.”
“Damned bastards!”
Gilberton cursed crudely and gripped the reins tighter.
It was a raw opinion, but it certainly had merit.
*Was the goal to break Damian’s will?*
Indeed, when Galahad had offered him a spot in the Special Task Force, Damian had refused, saying everyone who got involved with him died.
If that was the case, the reason for the delayed attacks was…
*To give him time to get attached?*
Just when he thought he was getting a little closer to people, his squad would be wiped out. This had happened four times.
No matter how strong a person’s ego, they would inevitably start to think it was their fault. Especially a boy still in his formative years.
*Is that the source of the gray aura?*
Galahad tapped his cigarette.
If there was a being with such intentions…
*It must be getting quite restless by now.*
He could guarantee it. Damian had likely never met anyone as kind and warm as Gwen in his entire life.
Gwen doted on Damian, even giving him her own food. It was enough to make one wonder if he was her own child.
And then there was Tom, and the gruff Gilberton.
There had never been a better time than now to inflict a despair deep enough to break Damian.
“To do that to a kid… I won’t let those bastards get away with it.”
Just then, Gilberton gritted his teeth, his face filled with rage. He was such a simple man.
Galahad clicked his tongue and habitually spread his mana.
And then…
“Well, well. It seems your words have angered them.”
“Angered who?”
“The bastards you mentioned.”
Galahad stood up. The biting wind whipped fiercely through his hair. He pounded on the carriage with his fist.
*Bang! Bang!*
“Everyone, wake up! We have company!”
The carriage door opened, and Tom emerged.
“More monsters?!”
Tom’s eyes were still hazy with sleep, a trace of drool at the corner of his mouth. He was holding a crossbow.
“This time…”
Galahad narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers.
A bright light shot upwards like a firework. High in the air, the light burst with a soft pop.
The bright flash pushed back the deep darkness.
And what it revealed was…
“Demons. And quite well-dressed ones at that.”
They were pale creatures, dressed like nobles.
One would expect them to be startled by the light, but their faces remained impassive. As if they were devoid of emotion.
“Damn it!”
Gilberton yanked hard on the reins. The horses snorted and twisted their bodies, kicking up the snow beneath them.
The carriage lurched for a moment before coming to a precarious stop. It was an impressive display of skill.
“Knight… Gilberton!”
*Shing!* Gilberton drew his sword. A blue aura erupted from it without restraint, and the darkness retreated as if fleeing. Gilberton’s contorted face was illuminated by the blue light.
The demons who saw him frowned, like nobles encountering a brute.
Demons mimicking nobles…
“Now this is interesting.”
Galahad muttered, placing the cigarette back in his mouth.
“There are eight demons! Is this really the time to be saying it’s interesting?!”
“They’re demons mimicking nobles. Don’t you find that interesting?”
A look of exasperation spread across Gilberton’s face.
Galahad clicked his tongue softly in response.
How could one not find it interesting when demons were waiting so elegantly, dressed in suits?
“There are eight of them. Even if they’re low-level, they’re dangerous.”
“Sir Gilberton, you have a habit of stating the obvious as if it were some grand revelation.”
Galahad chided Gilberton while surveying the demons.
They weren’t from the Black Magic Society. The Society wouldn't have the luxury of messing with him right now.
The probability of coincidentally encountering such well-dressed demons outside the Miasmic Realm was low. They had clearly approached with intent.
They could have been targeting Galahad. He had been making a lot of noise since coming to the North.
However, they didn’t attack immediately.
If they were after Galahad, attacking the carriage directly would have been more efficient.
The reason they revealed themselves instead of launching a surprise attack was…
*It must be because of Damian.*
It seemed they cared for Damian a great deal.
*So I was right about the demon involvement.*
*Tap, tap.* Galahad flicked his cigarette and organized his thoughts.
Just then, the carriage door started to open. Galahad slammed it shut with force.
“Ow!”
A thud was followed by Gwen’s short scream.
“Oww! I hit my head!”
“I see. Is Damian alright?”
“Huh? Oh, he’s fast asleep.”
“Good. Don’t come out yet.”
Galahad pushed against the door again.
*Thump.* The door closed securely.
“What’s that one doing?”
At Gilberton’s question, he turned to see a demon stepping forward alone, twirling a sword.
A long, pointed blade and a clean uniform—the very picture of a knight from the capital.
“That’s the clumsy etiquette of a capital knight.”
“Do those capital bastards draw their swords so flamboyantly?”
“In the capital, that’s considered stylish.”
“What a useless sense of style.”
“For the privileged, useless and troublesome things are often considered high-class. Oh, Sir Gilberton, it seems that demon wishes to cross swords with you.”
Gilberton’s face crumpled as the demon pointed its sword at him.
“Go teach that demon a lesson for daring to impersonate a knight!”
How dare a demon imitate a knight. Fury surged within him.
At Galahad’s urging, Gilberton dismounted the carriage. The fresh snow soaked his boots.
The demon stood in the center, waiting for Gilberton like a true knight.
At the disgusting sight, Gilberton spat on the ground and readjusted his grip on his sword.
“Bel Antois of House Proxel.”
“Bullshit.”
Gilberton’s face contorted as the demon introduced itself while taking a stance.
“And this is Sir Gilberton of House Galahad!”
“Why am I from House Galahad?!”
Gilberton roared, tightening his grip on his sword.
Galahad watched the demon facing Gilberton, his eyes narrowing.
*He seems like a noble. Do demons have nobility?*
It was an interesting fact.
*Well, they have a king, so I suppose they’d have nobles too.*
Just then, the demon lowered its head, holding its sword at an angle.
Amusingly, it was mimicking the etiquette of a capital knight rather well.
In response, Gilberton simply swung his aura-infused sword.
*So uncivilized.*
Galahad noted with a hint of admiration.
The opposing demon’s face twisted slightly as it parried the blow.
Gilberton’s sword clashed with the demon’s.
He couldn’t be certain, but the opponent was a low-level demon.
Galahad had expected Gilberton to win in a single blow.
But…
For the first time in a while, Galahad’s prediction was wrong.
The demon blocked Gilberton’s aura with its sword.
A sword without an aura should have been shattered by one that had it, yet the demon’s held firm.
*That doesn’t look like a masterwork sword capable of withstanding an aura…*
Just then, he saw a shimmer around the demon’s sword.
*An Authority.*
Even confirming that, the question remained.
The opponent was a low-level demon. No matter the Authority, there was no way a low-level demon could block Gilberton’s aura so easily.
The contest continued. Galahad observed the dueling demon and the ones behind it.
When the swords clashed…
The eyebrows of a demon in the back twitched.
*Oh, I see.*
Galahad admired quietly and waved his hand.
The mana he cast out like a net swept between the demons and the one holding the sword.
A dense concentration of mana was flowing between them.
As if they were connected by an invisible thread.
*Are they funneling their power?*
If it was receiving power from the other demons, that would explain how this low-level demon could stand against Gilberton.
To feign a fair one-on-one duel while pulling strings from behind…
*They really are like nobles.*
A corner of Galahad’s mouth lifted into a smile.
Now it made sense why eight demons had appeared.
They had clearly done some research on the Special Task Force. This was likely their strategy for dealing with Gilberton.
They must have calculated that if they took out Gilberton, the rest—a mage and Tom—would be easy to handle.
*Still so arrogant.*
Galahad clicked his tongue softly.
Just then, Gilberton’s sword was knocked back. His face was a mask of frustration.
Gilberton couldn’t seem to understand how his own sword was being pushed back.
However, there was one thing they had overlooked.
A sword was not just about aura.
Like now…
Gilberton’s sword slid down his opponent’s blade as if gliding. For a moment, his opponent’s balance wavered.
It was a fleeting opening, but Gilberton did not miss it.
The demon’s head flew into the air. Gilberton let out a ragged breath and recovered his sword.
*Impressive swordsmanship.*
Galahad was genuinely impressed.
Gilberton was indeed a fine knight.
The demons’ gazes followed the rising head. Soon, it tumbled to the ground, staining the white snow red.
Gilberton readjusted his grip and remained wary of the other demons.
*Clap, clap!* The demons gave a light round of applause.
Their plan had been thwarted, yet they maintained such a relaxed demeanor.
Galahad habitually spread his mana.
The result that came back made Galahad’s face harden.
*So it wasn’t arrogance.*
Galahad clicked his tongue with a *tsk*.
****
“Sir Gilberton.”
Gilberton returned to Galahad’s side, his guard still up.
*It was definitely a low-level demon, so how did it have such power?*
Gilberton flexed his tingling hand.
The opponent was clearly a low-level demon, yet its sword had been heavy. If its swordsmanship had been a little sharper, Gilberton might have been pushed back.
As he returned to Galahad, Gilberton sensed something was off.
Normally, Galahad would have been teasing him, saying something like, ‘Sir Gilberton, you shouldn’t struggle against a mere low-level demon, should you?’ But he was quiet.
Gilberton glanced at Galahad and frowned.
The ever-composed Galahad’s expression was now completely stiff.
Seeing Galahad tense, the hair on Gilberton’s arms stood on end.
“What is it?”
Gilberton asked, tightening his grip on his sword.
Just then, a tall demon stepped forward from among the others. It had the appearance of a middle-aged man, complete with a mustache.
“It seems we’ve become more famous than I thought.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Tom, could you give me Damian?”
Galahad said, tapping on the carriage. Gilberton frowned at the incomprehensible command.
“What in the world is going on?”
“We’re surrounded.”
“There are only seven left.”
Just then, the trees to their side shook violently. From between them emerged figures in fine attire.
Their clothes and weapons were all different. Some were even scantily clad. They had one thing in common.
Forks and knives hung at their waists.
Are those all demons too? Gilberton bit his lip.
“They’re not demons. Tsk, so these bastards were here too.”
“…You know them?”
“They’re a disgusting bunch who call themselves ‘gourmets’.”
Gourmets. The unpleasant word made Gilberton frown.
The ones Galahad called gourmets each held a well-maintained weapon. Gilberton instinctively felt they would not be easy opponents.
They were completely surrounded, with no way out.
Though their numbers had increased, the silence remained.
The newcomers said nothing. They simply limbered up and adjusted their grips on their weapons.
Eight demons had been a difficult enough situation. But now with these people joining in…
Gilberton’s lips went dry.
“They’re all so quiet. Ah, one side plans to dispose of everyone but Damian, and the gourmets never did speak to their food. Hmm, I see.”
Muttering to himself, Galahad swept his bangs back. His usual composure had returned.
Seeing this, Gilberton felt a sense of relief, but at the same time, his anxiety grew.
“Well, I’ve come up with a good plan.”
Galahad suddenly climbed on top of the carriage.
All eyes from every direction fixed on him.
Galahad seemed to revel in their gazes, offering a casual greeting.
“I am Galahad, Captain of the Special Task Force. A pleasure to meet you. Oh, my, everyone’s so quiet.”
Even with no response, Galahad continued speaking nonchalantly.
“I must be quite famous, for demons who clumsily imitate nobles to team up with disgusting gourmets.”
Galahad’s taunts made Gilberton break out in a cold sweat.
Still no answer. The mustached demon stepped forward. Its presence felt sharper than the others. Sweat beaded on Gilberton’s palms.
Most people would lose their nerve with such a lack of reaction, but Galahad only raised his voice.
“Now, you who imitate nobles must have been scared of the Special Task Force. So scared you’d strike a deal with these disgusting gourmets. The deal was probably something like, you can eat everyone but Damian. Am I right? Oh, thank you. That gourmet over there just nodded.”
The man he pointed to frantically shook his head twice.
Just then, Galahad kicked the carriage.
Tom brought Damian out of the carriage. Galahad beckoned to him.
*…Why Damian?*
For now, Tom handed Damian over to Galahad.
“Thanks, Tom.”
Galahad grabbed Damian by the scruff of his neck and lifted him up. His rough handling was as if he were grabbing an object.
“Ah, could I borrow your sword as well? Thank you.”
At the polite request, Tom dazedly handed over his sword.
“Excellent.”
With Damian in one hand and a sword in the other, Galahad nodded in satisfaction.
Gilberton and Tom’s eyes went wide.
Just then, as if their warm-up was over, the ones called gourmets began to approach.
The mustached demon drew its sword. An even colder aura than before emanated from it, enough to make the hair on Gilberton’s arms stand on end.
Faced with a clear crisis, Gilberton swallowed hard and glanced at Galahad out of the corner of his eye.
If it was Galahad…
Just then, Galahad lifted Damian high into the air.
It was a wonder how such strength could come from his lean body.
Galahad waved Damian around in all directions as if showing him off.
Damian dangled precariously, held by the scruff of his neck.
At the unexpected action, the approaching enemies stopped in their tracks.
Galahad pressed the sword to Damian’s neck and…
“Now, if anyone moves, this poor boy gets a hole in his neck.”
A wide grin spread across his face.
And to top it off…
“Oh… no! Please, not my boy! I’ll do anything! Just let Damian live! No!! Ta… take me instead! Just leave my boy alone!”
A horrified Gwen began to wail, clinging to the carriage.
The demons’ faces filled with astonishment.