Old Battlefield Tour (4)
"Hello there!"
Orendi called out cheerfully as he stepped into the tavern. This was the place Kazadar had mentioned that morning—the venue for tonight's Combat Department drinking party.
The house was running a promotion: drain an entire oak barrel of beer on the spot, and every drink was on the house. For an ordinary human, chugging a whole barrel would be a death sentence—assuming you could even fit that much in your stomach. Decent bait, all things considered.
The problem was what happened when anyone who wasn't human walked through the door.
"Welcome in! Wha—?!"
The owner's face went ashen the instant Brog the orc and Kazadar the dwarf appeared. Even by orc standards, Brog was enormous, and Kazadar… well, that went without saying. Dwarves were a race that fed liquor to their newborns just to keep their body temperature up.
"This sign right here says empty the barrel and the drinks are free! Bring it out, now!"
"That's for humans only!"
At Kazadar's bellow, the owner frantically jabbed a finger at the bottom of the signboard. There, in print so fine it was barely visible, were two words:
"This is a bloody scam!!"
"Bad humans!! You tricked us!!"
Kazadar yanked the war hammer from his belt, and Brog let out a full-throated war cry.
"C-call the city guard!!"
"Hold on a moment."
Just as the owner was about to faint dead away, Morton stepped forward.
"Bring the barrel."
"But I clearly said it's for humans only!"
"That's why I'm telling you to bring it. I'll drink it myself."
Morton fixed him with those yellow, raptor-like eyes, and the owner hesitated a beat before instructing a waiter to fetch the beer barrel.
"All right, all right. Everyone settle down and let's go inside."
We herded the still-seething Kazadar and Brog into the tavern and claimed a table.
"Honestly! You can't just let out a war cry in here!"
"That bastard tried to cheat us…"
"I don't care if it was a scam or not!"
Under Lina's scolding, Brog fell silent and could only scratch his head.
"Still, Professor Brog is a gentleman by comparison. An ordinary orc would already have snapped one of these pillars in half."
Pelemiya smiled as she adjusted her glasses, and Waiver nodded in agreement.
"That's right. Who has time for a war cry? You'd spend that time smashing one more thing."
The professors burst out laughing—everyone except Morton. He sat calmly, watching the waiter roll the barrel across the floor.
The promotional barrel was far smaller than a standard oak cask, the kind that could easily fit a person inside, but it was still nowhere near something a human could finish sitting at a table. When it was set before him, Morton popped the lid and picked up an empty beer mug.
"I'll take care of this. The rest of you just drink."
With that, he began ladling beer from the barrel into his mug at a pace that was neither rushed nor slow, and drinking it down.
"No bathroom breaks! And no snacks, either!"
"I'm aware. Don't interfere."
Morton replied mildly as the owner squawked at him, and kept pouring and drinking. I wondered how that owner would react if he knew Morton was a veteran of the Imperial Army Long-Range Patrol.
The Long-Range Patrol were legendary drinkers. Once they deployed, they spent weeks tearing through enemy territory, so opportunities to drink were few and far between. That was why, upon returning to garrison, they drank as much as they possibly could before the next operation—and the quantities were staggering. You never knew when you'd get another round. This one might be your last.
Morton was obviously going to succeed, so I ordered freely—round after round of drinks and every expensive dish on the menu.
"By the way, is the Principal not coming?"
Lina spoke up as the table filled with food and drink.
"When I mentioned it earlier, she said she'd keep it in mind."
"She'll come or she won't, as she pleases. If she's busy, she can't make it."
"But she is a Combat Department professor too. It'd be nice if she could drink with us."
"Yeah. I honestly feel a little sorry for the Principal."
Orendi chimed in from across the table.
"I went to the principal's office once, and there were so many documents waiting for her signature."
"Poor woman. She's so kind-hearted, she just gets pushed around from every direction."
Waiver nodded.
I'd only recently realized it, but the Combat Department professors were surprisingly well-disposed toward Kirlin—and that was after she had shrunk the Combat Department as far as it would go. They seemed to have at least some idea of the complicated situation she was in. The matter between the Nemara Clan of dark elves and the Emperor was already an open secret among those in the know. People of a professor's standing could easily infer the rest.
"Shouldn't you say a few words?"
Pelemiya filled my glass to the brim and smiled with her eyes.
"Right, right."
I raised my glass, offered a half-hearted toast to the effect of working hard to make our department even greater, and knocked it back. The moment I emptied it, Pelemiya filled it again.
"You always work so hard for the department."
"Thanks."
I downed that one too, and she refilled it at once.
"Drink plenty tonight."
"You too."
"By the way, what was that you said earlier?"
"What?"
"About the poison gas and the landmines at Ivronik Castle. I'd never heard of that."
"Now that you mention it."
Orendi, who had been snacking, jumped in.
"I was curious too. Could you explain?"
"Oh, that? Back during the war, the demons planted mines and spread poison gas in front of Ivronik Castle to hold it. I thought all that was still there."
"That was over a decade ago. It's been a tourist site for years now."
"Exactly. I was shocked when I heard."
"Were you there during the recapture of Ivronik?"
"Yeah. I was."
"Whaaat?! You really were?! How on earth did you survive that?!"
Lina cried out in shock.
"I don't know, I don't know. It was chaos, and it's a memory I never want to revisit. That place was truly hell."
"Now I understand why you mentioned poison gas and mines. If you went straight to Brunswell after the recapture and the war ended, of course you'd think it was still the same as before."
As she said this, Lina glanced at Pelemiya—a look that said, Right?
"So you were with the 12th Legion, Professor? It was the 12th that was deployed for the recapture of Isbruk Castle."
Pelemiya smiled gently with her eyes as she refilled my glass.
"Well. The 8th Legion? The 5th? No, was it the 12th? Hmm… it might have been the 1st…"
I wasn't lying. I'd been with the 8th as a regular soldier, and I'd bounced between several legions during my Special Task Force days.
"Judging by the change in assignment, you must have started as a soldier and risen to officer."
"Something like that."
"Then besides the recapture of Ivronik, what other battles were you in?"
"Too many. I don't remember them well."
That was also true. Aside from the major ones, the smaller battles all blurred together. I couldn't recount them even if I wanted to.
"So why did you settle in Brunswell, Professor? After living there for ten years, it couldn't have been your hometown."
"I just wanted to live at my own pace. It's a great place. The population's just right, and it's got what you need."
"I see… From legionnaire to officer, you took part in the recapture of Ivronik Castle, and after the war you lived in Brunswell until now…"
Pelemiya was absorbing every word I said, as if gathering the pieces of a puzzle.
"Here. Drink up."
And she filled the glass I had just emptied once more.
"Chief Professor. While we're on the subject, why don't you tell us about the recapture of Ivronik Castle?"
At Waiver's suggestion, the other professors' eyes lit up as they turned toward me.
"No."
I shut it down at once. Other places, maybe. But that one I truly did not want to speak of.
"Must have been a terrible memory. Knock it back and forget it all."
Pelemiya poured into my freshly emptied glass with a steady glug-glug.
About an hour later.
Before I knew it, Pelemiya had moved to the seat beside me and was still pressing drinks on me. The beer she had more or less force-fed me already numbered in the dozens of glasses.
"I'm full."
"It's free, though. Look at that."
Pelemiya pointed at Morton's already empty barrel. He had steadily ladled and drunk without rest, and in the end he had drained it to the bottom.
"That's impressive…"
"Come now, Professor. So drink as much as you like."
As she said this, Pelemiya watched me closely while I drank.
Hmm. Look at that… She's up to something again. Fine. Let's see if I can reel her in…
"I should stop. Everything's spinning…"
I deliberately pressed a hand to my forehead and swayed, and in that instant a gleam flashed through Pelemiya's eyes—brief, but unmistakable. A spike of invisible, awl-like energy stabbed sharply inward, and I deliberately did not block it.
Might as well make this crystal clear. So she won't waste her effort anymore.
I guided Pelemiya—who was burrowing into my inner world, calling up a specific past—in the direction I wanted.
Go ahead, Pelemiya. Dig through my memories all you like.
And then understand.
That sticking your head into a place you know nothing about is dangerous.
A few seconds after the psychological assault began.
"Urgh!"
Pelemiya knocked over the glasses on the table, sank into her chair, and clamped a hand over her mouth, gagging.
"Wh-wha'sh wrong, Profehhor…?"
Lina, thoroughly drunk, asked in a slurred, tangled voice.
"Didja drink tooooo much…?"
Pelemiya couldn't say a word. She trembled violently, staring up at me with eyes full of horror.
"You just saw, didn't you?"
"But that was… urp!!"
Unable to continue, Pelemiya knocked over her chair and bolted outside.
