The Weight of Command
Having finished every last scrap of work Rimer had piled onto him, Raon left the training ground.
He was heading back to the Annex to gather his gear when Runaan caught his eye, standing there staring blankly at the sky.
"Hm?"
He came up beside her and followed her gaze. The sky was choked with dark clouds, the moon barely visible at all. He couldn't begin to guess why she was looking at it.
"Runaan. Aren't you going?"
"That looks like bead ice cream."
Runaan pointed at the blue moon caught between the clouds and smacked her lips. Training had been so relentless lately she hadn't even had ice cream — and now she was performing the small miracle of seeing the moon as a scoop of it.
"That's not— ah!"
Raon pulled out the box he'd been carrying under his arm. The dessert Chad had dropped off earlier.
"Want this instead, then? I heard it's a dessert called macarons."
"Macaron?"
A violet flame kindled in Runaan's vacant eyes. If he walked off without sharing, she looked fully prepared to chase him all the way to the Annex.
"Hold on."
Raon snorted a quiet laugh, peeled off the wrapping, and opened the lid. Inside were about twenty round meringue cookies, various creams sandwiched between them like filling.
"Pick whichever you want."
He'd sponged more than enough food off Runaan over the years. A box of pastries was nothing.
"Ohh!"
The first to react, however, was not Runaan. It was Wrath.
"A sweet, refreshing fragrance, drifting ever so gently. Raon Zieghart! This King shall take the green one at the far end! That is mint chocolate, without a doubt!"
Wrath had chosen the green macaron with mint chocolate cream. The fact that he'd used Raon's full name meant he was desperate.
I'm not a fan of mint chocolate, though.
"At a time like this, you ought to look after This King!"
Hmm.
Raon looked at Wrath's pleading eyes and clicked his tongue softly.
He's not wrong.
Even a tree that gives without holding back needs fertilizer now and then. It wasn't a hard thing to do. He decided to grant the wish.
"Hn?"
He clicked his tongue under his breath and picked the macaron Wrath had named. Runaan's shoulder gave a little twitch. She was staring blankly at the green macaron in his hand — she'd been about to choose it herself.
Now what? Looks like the ice cream girl wants the mint chocolate macaron.
"Khggh..."
She's your subordinate. You should take care of her. Give it to her? Should I?
"D-damn it!"
Wrath ground his teeth. His eyes swung back and forth like a pendulum, caught in the extreme dilemma between a subordinate and food.
I'll make this easier for you.
"W-wait—"
Raon flicked Wrath off his wrist and held the mint chocolate macaron out to Runaan.
"You eat it."
"No."
Runaan shook her head. Contrary to every expectation, there wasn't a trace of disappointment in her eyes. If anything, she looked pleased.
"Comrade."
"Huh?"
"You're a mint-choc comrade too, Raon. It's fine."
She gave a satisfied little nod and took the cookies-and-cream macaron sitting next to the mint chocolate.
"I'll take this one. Thanks."
Runaan dipped her head and headed for the carriage waiting in front of the training ground. She'd been standing there for a ride back to the main house, it seemed.
"Mm..."
Raon watched the carriage roll away and smacked his lips.
That was the only one I actually wanted.
It had been obviously cookies-and-cream colored — the only macaron that had looked even remotely appealing — and Runaan had walked off with it. Worse than losing the pastry, though, was the misunderstanding that he liked mint chocolate. That was what really grated.
"Puhahaha! So even you get a taste of that, huh! Serves you right! Serves you right!"
This thing looks like it crumbles pretty easily...
Raon put force into his fingers as if he meant to crush the macaron. A fine dust of sugar drifted to the ground.
"W-w-wait! Don't do that!"
Don't?
"Kh..."
Don't?
"Th-This King was... in the wrong..."
Wrath shook his head with a teary face. Right now, food mattered more to this creature than his pride as a Demon King.
This is the Monarch of Wrath?
No matter how he turned it over, the attribute had been assigned wrong. What suited Wrath was gluttony — or maybe bizarre taste.
Watch yourself from now on.
Raon gave Wrath a couple of pokes and popped the mint chocolate macaron into his mouth.
The first thing that hit him when he bit through the cookie was sweetness. Sweetness of a kind he had never experienced — sharp enough that his tongue stung.
What followed was the mint chocolate cream. The slightly cold filling swept through his mouth, laying a fresher sweetness than the cookie over a sharp, biting coolness, both at once.
"Haaa..."
Raon let out a long breath and shook his head.
What even is this flavor...
A viciously sweet cookie and mint chocolate cream. Food he never wanted to eat again. He almost resented Chad for handing him the box.
"Wrath. You think it tastes bad t— hm?"
He looked down to catch Wrath's reaction, and found the little tyrant with his mouth hanging wide open, drool running down his chin.
"T-to think a dessert like this existed in the world..."
Wrath clutched his own cheeks and let out a giddy moan.
"It's insane. The harmony of the sweet cookie and the mint chocolate cream forms a perfect symphony! This is gourmet dining! This is what a dessert should be!"
He grinned, as if to say the world was vast and delicious things were many.
"Next! Try the next one too!"
Eugh...
With Wrath trembling like that, saliva pooled in Raon's own mouth without his meaning to. This time he picked a chocolate macaron that anyone could have recognized at a glance.
"Khuk..."
Better than the mint chocolate in terms of the flavor itself — but the sweetness was even more intense. So sweet a bitterness rose on his tongue.
"Hwooooaaah!"
Wrath thrashed on his shoulder with an expression of pure rapture, writhing the way a cat rolls in catnip.
"More! More! Let's try more! Today we open a new chapter of gastronomy—"
Listening to Wrath's cries, Raon firmly closed the lid on the macarons.
"Yah!"
He couldn't eat another one.
He'd give them to Sylvia and the maids when he got back.
Raon handed the macarons off to the maids and went into his room.
Sylvia and the maids liked them to a surprising degree. He asked if they weren't too sweet; they told him that was the whole point. At this rate, he was starting to think the problem wasn't Wrath's tongue. It was his own.
"Kh-hh, all those precious things, every last one..."
Wrath welled up with blue tears, lamenting that he'd only gotten to eat two.
"I'll buy you bead ice cream later. Hold out until then."
"Truly?"
"We'll eat it after we get back from the mission, so please just be quiet."
"But of course! Is This King not a man of few words? Worry not! For reference, when This King was in the Demon Realm, his subordinates said he spoke too little and that he ought to express his opinions more—"
"Ugh..."
He'd mentioned ice cream to shut Wrath up. Now it was even louder.
Raon shook his head and started packing what he'd need for the mission.
He was stowing equipment and consumables into his pack when he felt a presence at the window. The aura was so familiar he opened it at once.
"Long time no see!"
Rimer, his eyes hidden behind black glasses, grinned and stepped in.
"Why are you wearing black glasses in the middle of the night?"
"Ah, these? It's fashion. Fashion."
Rimer waved a hand awkwardly, as if to ask whether Raon didn't even know what fashion was.
"You're leaving on a mission the day after tomorrow, right?"
"Yes. You'll be staying behind, Squad Leader?"
The mission papers Chad had given him listed Raon as the one in charge. That meant Rimer would be remaining here.
"I'd like to go with you, but moving around in this state wouldn't be much help."
"That's true."
Raon nodded. Rimer had chosen to accumulate pure wind aura, and he hadn't built up enough of it yet. Better to train inside the house than waste time on the road.
"Th-that way of putting it is a little sad, you know?"
"Those were your words, Squad Leader."
"Even so, you brat! When your master and your superior is feeling down, you're supposed to comfort him! You've got no tact. You'll never make it big."
"Huu..."
The second most annoying person after Wrath. A sigh escaped him.
"You just thought I was annoying, didn't you!"
The man was a ghost.
"Well. Enough jokes."
Rimer chuckled and rested his arms on the windowsill.
"From this mission on, you're the one in charge. There's nobody watching your back like before. Your judgment could wipe out the Light Wind Squad — or bring every last one of them home alive."
His eyes caught the light, clear and bright as moonlight.
"Responsibility can be lighter than you think. Or heavier."
"You mean it depends on how I take it?"
"That's right."
Rimer flicked his fingers.
"Be careful not to be crushed by that weight — and not to be toyed with by that lightness. Not that I need to tell you. You'll handle it."
"Were you always light enough to float away, Squad Leader?"
"Khh, that stings. Why are there so many people with sharp tongues these days."
He clutched his chest and pretended to be in agony, then lifted his chin.
"You're wearing the Hwiseok Necklace, right?"
"This, you mean?"
Raon drew out the Hwiseok Necklace he'd been wearing inside his collar. He'd kept it on ever since Roen had explained what it could do.
"Yeah. That."
"I'm sorry, but I can't give it to you. You'd just sell it and gamble anyway..."
"Yah! I don't rob my subordinates, no matter what!"
He shook his head wildly, insisting he'd never do such a thing.
"What do you people take me for!"
"A gambling addict, a con man, a lazybones, a thief?"
"Kh..."
Rimer clutched his chest again and staggered.
"Can't even argue with that."
He gave a short laugh and leaned his back against the window frame.
A grave voice, worry seeping through it. His wish to go with them had been genuine.
"I'll bring every one of them back safely."
"I'll be waiting."
Rimer waved lightly and left.
Raon watched his back and let out a low breath.
Responsibility, huh...
He'd thought he already carried plenty of it in Rimer's place. But the thought of being solely responsible for the Light Wind Squad made his chest feel heavy.
Because Rimer, while pretending to play and sleep, had always been watching over everyone from behind.
Raon bowed his head toward the direction Rimer had gone.
I'll be waiting for the day we fight together again.
Chad made his way to the Fifth Training Ground to match the Light Wind Squad's departure.
"...This time the Squad Leader won't be with us. We'll have to handle everything ourselves, so steel your hearts. Keep your composure, no matter what."
Raon's voice carried from inside the training ground. He was bracing everyone, it seemed, because this was a mission without their squad leader.
He even knows how to handle people.
On his first mission in full command, instead of getting drunk on the chance to earn merit, he was first trying to restrain his own members. As expected — a remarkable one.
"Move out."
At that low voice the training ground doors opened, and the Light Wind Squad filed out in a line.
Chad had been waiting off to the side of the doors. The moment Raon appeared, he stepped forward.
"Vice-leader."
"Pavilion Master?"
Raon's eyes went round, as if it had never occurred to him that Chad might come.
"What brings you here..."
"I have some information I gathered on Gransavil and the White Blood Cult. It seemed a waste to throw it away, so I brought it. I hope it's of use."
Chad offered a faint smile and held out the booklet he'd compiled.
"I pulled an all-nighter yesterday, so I was on my way home. Don't feel obligated."
"Ah — thank you."
Raon took the booklet with a bewildered look.
"Then I wish you fortune in battle."
Chad turned his back with a faint smile, as if he had nothing more to linger for.
Perfect!
The booklet really was material he'd put together yesterday — and he wasn't on his way home at all. He'd gotten up early and waited. But he'd dressed it all in plausible excuses so as not to put any weight on Raon.
The perfect method: leave only a good impression, and not a scrap of obligation.
Now then. Time to prepare the next move.
Singing his own praises for how beautifully he'd handled it, Chad returned to the Flying Swallow Pavilion.
Raon memorized every page of the booklet Chad had given him, then burned it. He narrowed his eyes at the ashes scattering into the air.
The information is too detailed.
It wasn't just a briefing on Gransavil. The White Blood Cult's recent movements were in there, and even their techniques — considerably high-grade intelligence.
Chad, Master of the Flying Swallow Pavilion...
The more he thought about it, the more suspicious it became.
The head of the family's intelligence network coming all the way to the training ground at dawn to hand over information like this was far too strange. The chiefs of such organizations were usually sedentary, heavy in the seat, and fond of their own authority.
Even if Chad was on the younger side, looking after them to this extent was not an ordinary thing.
The enemy might not be the White Blood Cult after all.
Unlike what the request claimed, the enemy might be martial artists or assassins prepared by the Heavy Martial Palace — or by Jinmu Hall. That thought settled in with growing weight.
A little dangerous.
Unlike the White Blood Cult, they would already know this side's strength. A bad situation could unfold.
Then there's a method.
A very simple one.
If they raised the Light Wind Squad's martial power on the road from here to Gransavil until it surpassed whatever intel the enemy held, the problem would solve itself.
And besides.
Raon looked at Marta, sitting apart from the others with her back against a tree.
She'd been like that ever since she'd heard the enemy was likely the White Blood Cult. She was pouring out killing intent and rage beyond even her increased martial power, and even Squad One couldn't get near her.
To snap her out of it too — all the more reason.
Raon looked over the Light Wind Squad, taking their first rest in half a day, and a chill smile touched his lips.
"Everyone up."
"Already?"
"We haven't even rested ten minutes."
The Light Wind Squad whined for a little more time.
"Then listen sitting down."
He nodded and met their eyes.
"I said it when we left, too — this mission may be the enemy luring us in. Meaning we may end up fighting someone who already knows us. So what should we do?"
"Um..."
"That's..."
No one had an answer. They tilted their heads.
"As you all know, it takes quite a lot of time for us to reach Gransavil. Should we just throw that time away?"
"Uh...?"
"D-don't tell me..."
The Light Wind Squad sensed something ominous and swallowed dryly.
"That's right. From now on, we begin training during travel."
"N-no!"
"You lunatic!"
"Let's not overdo it!"
The squad members wailed and pounded the ground.
"W-wait a minute! What if we burn through all our stamina training? We might have to fight the moment we arrive! Or we could get ambushed on the way!"
Burren threw a hand up and shouted.
"Don't worry. We're taking a shortcut so they can't ambush us, and I'll adjust the schedule so your condition will be peaked by the time we arrive at Gransavil."
He'd been to Gransavil many times in his previous life. He knew the shortcuts and the hiding places. There would be no chance of running into assassins along the way.
"Kh..."
"D-damn it..."
"How does that guy know everything?!"
Burren and the rest of the Light Wind Squad couldn't argue. They sprawled on the ground.
"I-it's fine!"
Crain smiled and tapped his wrists and ankles.
"We don't have the Black Rings. Without those we can endure as much as we—"
"Don't worry about that either. Dorian."
At Raon's gesture, Dorian came forward with a deathly expression. He bit down on his lip, reached into his Belly Pouch, and pulled out Black Rings in a clattering heap.
"I asked Dorian to prepare them, just in case something like this came up."
A faint smile. A small gesture.
"Everyone put them on and get ready to run."
"NOOOOOOO!"
The Light Wind Squad's screams rang through the quiet mountains.
Buildings so lavish they went beyond variety and into the realm of the bizarre packed a hexagonal territory to bursting, and the lake spread behind them caught the afternoon sun and poured out a radiance as if gold itself had been melted down.
Incomparably smaller than any kingdom or city they had visited, yet matching any of them in splendor — this little city was Gransavil.
Raon surveyed Gransavil beyond the low walls and nodded.
Hasn't changed a bit.
Pleasure had a way of hollowing a person out. It had been the optimal place for assassination, and he had carried out countless missions in this city.
But how I feel is different.
In his previous life he had come here to kill people. This time he had come to save them. The sentiment was new.
"Whoa..."
"This is Gransavil?"
"I-it really is as dazzling as they say."
The Light Wind Squad members stared at the lavish face of Gransavil and Molv Lake with their mouths hanging open.
"......"
Marta, still thinking of nothing but the White Blood Cult, glared at Gransavil with a presence even sharper than before.
"Let's go."
Raon jerked his chin and took the lead. The Light Wind Squad caught their breath and followed.
He showed the issued mercenary badge to the gatekeeper at the gates, who waved them through without even a proper look.
This hasn't changed either.
If Camelun struck a balance between the light and the dark, Gransavil leaned far closer to the shadows — so inspections were a formality as well.
Raon took the mercenary badge back and crossed the thin, low gates into Gransavil.
A low, savage hum rolled through the air.
The moment both feet touched Gransavil's soil, the Requiem Sword let out a violent tremor.
Would you look at that.
Raon gripped the howling Requiem Sword's hilt tight. He looked down over the glittering city, a chill smile touching his lips.
They're swarming down there like cockroaches.