The Watchman of the Herb Fields (5)
"Thank you. Truly, thank you."
Morning came after they had survived the night of blood unscathed.
Ivan, who had seemed incapable of expressing emotion, went so far as to embrace them in gratitude.
"If it weren't for the two of you, I would never have seen this morning's sun."
"Oh, come on. What did I even do? It was all him."
At Franc's modesty, Oscar shook his head.
"I let the assassin slip past me. If it weren't for you, I couldn't have guaranteed Ivan's life."
"Huh……?"
Never expecting to be praised, Franc's eyes went round as saucers.
Thump. Oscar gave the boy's chest a light punch with his fist.
"Good work. I'm glad I brought you along."
"Uh, uhh. Well…… yeah. Thanks."
Franc responded as if his brain had short-circuited, but he quickly pulled himself together and changed the subject.
"A-anyway. You know this isn't over yet, right?"
"Mmm."
At those words, Ivan's face darkened.
It was obvious that whoever had failed at the assassination would only send someone stronger next time.
And Dvor Powell, all but confirmed as the mastermind behind this affair, was more than capable of doing exactly that.
"Honestly, even I was shocked. I never imagined he would be so determined to kill me to the very end……"
"Tell me about it. There's no way he doesn't know that laying a hand on a Living National Treasure brings the Imperial Court down on you."
"It's probably because of us."
Oscar cut in.
"He saw Ivan associating with us, and his nerves got the better of him. That's what made him move."
Frankly speaking, Dvor's judgment had been fairly sharp. If he hadn't acted, the White Tower would have revived the herb industry with Ivan at its side.
"But his gamble failed. Now it's time for him to pay the price."
"That's right. Just report to the Imperial Court that he tried to murder a Living National Treasure, and they'll handle the rest themselves."
"The Court, you say……"
But Ivan's expression refused to brighten.
"I doubt they can move in time. An organization as vast as the Empire's Court must be thorough, and thorough means slow. If Dvor launches an all-out offensive during that gap……"
"Ah, you don't need to worry about that part. The Court will move faster than light."
Oscar smiled knowingly at Ivan, who could only blink in confusion.
There was exactly one reason he could be so certain: today was the day the Imperial Court would sign the contract for the Cadena Flu remedy.
"What? It failed?"
Dvor's face twisted into something ugly. He stalked slowly toward the secretary standing before his desk.
"Hey. Tell me the truth."
"Y-yes?"
"You want to see me ruined, don't you?"
"……"
The secretary, who had nearly answered yes on the spot, launched into a superhuman feat of facial acting.
"Of course not. Don't be absurd."
"If it's so absurd, why do you always botch my business like this? I was told those bastards were good!"
"Th-they were good, sir. Gunslinger Jack's gang, remember? The ones who could make even a crying child go silent——"
"Bullshit."
Crack!
Dvor kicked the secretary square in the shin, then seized him by the hair and growled into his face.
"Are those bastards actually skilled or not? Did you even verify it properly? Did we get scammed?"
"B-but Gunslinger Jack's notoriety in the North is very real——"
"Forget his fame! You were supposed to bring me results, results!"
Shoving aside the head he'd been gripping, Dvor clicked his tongue and lit a cigar.
"Hoo. First, erase every trace. Make it look like they had nothing whatsoever to do with us."
If word got out that he had tried to murder a Living National Treasure, not even a beheading would be enough to excuse him. Both of them knew that fact better than anyone, so the course of action from here was clear.
"We won't leave behind so much as a speck of dust."
The moment the secretary bowed his head and turned to leave the room—
A dozen or more men and women barged in.
"Wh-who the hell are you people!"
Answering the secretary's panicked shout, the man at their head spoke in a deep navy uniform.
"Chief Superintendent Walker of the Imperial Security Bureau, under the Ministry of the Interior."
"Th-the Imperial Security Bureau? And the Chief Superintendent himself……?"
Behind him, Dvor's pupils shook violently as he burned his cigar.
Everyone knew what the Ministry's Security Bureau was. The notorious agency that, when evidence was lacking, would summon the spirits of the dead themselves to gather it.
And a Chief Superintendent—short of the Minister himself—was the highest rank an individual could hold in the Bureau. The news that such a man had come looking for him made Dvor's hands tremble.
"So you're Dvor Powell."
Walker, having confirmed the photograph on his documents, walked toward Dvor as he spoke.
"Effective immediately, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, intimidation, unlawful real estate acquisition, and desecration of a Living National Treasure."
"……A-arrest?!"
Dvor jumped out of his skin.
"You've got the wrong man! I'm a legitimate businessman!"
"We'll be the judge of that, so keep your mouth shut. Restrain him."
"……"
As the officers approached with handcuffs, Dvor's eyes darted frantically in their sockets.
Damn it all. This is far beyond anything I can handle alone.
Only one person came to mind as someone he could lean on in this situation, and so he forced an air of calm as he spoke.
"If I must go, so be it—but surely you can spare me the time to smoke one last cigarette?"
The officers hesitated, and Chief Superintendent Walker gave his order with dry indifference.
"What are you all standing around for? Cuff him and drag him out."
"H-hey! Do you even know who I am? Do you know who stands behind me, that you dare——"
"Hm. I have no idea what bastard is behind you."
Walker snatched the cigar from Dvor's lips, took a drag of it himself, and murmured,
"The one behind me is His Imperial Majesty. If yours outranks the Emperor, by all means—go ahead and say so."
"……"
One wrong word here and he'd have the crime of lèse-majesté added to his list. In the end, Dvor hung his head deep and, docile as a chick, submitted to the cuffs and followed them out.
Watching him go, Walker approached the window and muttered through a thick cloud of smoke.
"……Not bad. Criminals really do always smoke the expensive stuff."
"Sir."
One of his men drew close and asked in a hushed voice.
"Who exactly is that man, that we moved within a single day? This is a first for us, if I may say so."
"……Orders came from above."
"From above, sir?"
"Yes. Our Emperor is very, very fond of the White Tower. Fond to the point of exhaustion, in fact."
"I'm… not sure I follow, sir."
"It's grown-ups' business, that's all."
Just that morning, in the course of signing the remedy contract with the White Tower, the Imperial Court had received a tip-off—regarding the atrocity committed by a certain businessman. Hence the situation before them now.
"Tch."
Walker clicked his tongue lightly, his expression sour, as if the whole affair disagreed with him.
……The White Tower. It's true they once accomplished heroic feats in the past, I'll grant them that.
But wasn't that a story twenty years stale? He was among those who believed the Imperial Court had already paid its dues in full.
No—to be perfectly honest, he believed the Court had compensated them for more than they had ever actually done.
Lift a bird with broken wings as high as you like, and all you change is the speed at which it falls.
He coldly judged that the White Tower of today possessed neither the ability nor the right to deserve such treatment.
And yet, some part of him was curious.
"……Doran. How old are you this year?"
"Twenty-three, sir."
"Then you were three years old, twenty years ago."
Walker himself wasn't so different. Barely twelve at the time, when humanity won its war against the demons and finally tasted true liberation.
His memories of that era had faded like perfume diluted in water, blurrier with each passing year.
Just what kind of being was the White Tower, back then?
Why could his betters never stop reminiscing about them, never let go of their expectations?
Pulling a document from his breast pocket, Walker spat out the cigar's ash with a soft too.
"……Oscar Crucian. Franc Sirius."
These two mages had brought down the Gunslinger Jack gang whose notoriety had been running rampant of late. Call them mercenaries if you liked—they were nothing but common criminals. But their skill, at least, was said to be guaranteed.
I don't know.
He truly didn't. Whether the two young whelps who had bagged that gang were truly the "new wind" the White Tower had been waiting so long for.
But this much was fact: they had blocked a Cadena Flu outbreak before it could become a devastating epidemic, exposed a corrupt businessman's atrocities, and captured the criminals who had been stirring up the peace.
Deep in thought, Walker folded the document with care, tucked it back into his breast pocket, and turned.
"Let's go. There's one more stop to make on the way back."
"Sir? Wasn't today's schedule finished with this?"
Doran's eyes went round as he hurried after him.
"Where are we headed, sir?"
"……West."
Walker answered curtly, as if the question annoyed him.
This, too, was a matter related to the White Tower—though it differed in one small respect: it was not an order from His Majesty, but a stop he had added on his own initiative.
"We are issuing work-suspension orders to the factories near the Volf River, for the illegal discharge of wastewater and contaminants."
And with that, the debt for their having captured the Gunslinger Jack gang would be settled in full.
Deputy Tower Master Hamel Grimwiz was reading the morning paper—delivered just after sunrise—alongside a field report.
Tap, tap.
Folding the paper closed, the Deputy Tower Master broke into a soft smile.
"Oscar never fails to exceed my expectations."
When the boy had suddenly announced he was going to inspect the herb fields, Hamel had taken it as nothing more than a desire for a bit of fresh air. That was why he'd packed the boy a generous allowance, meant in the spirit of enjoy yourself——
"And to think he would accomplish something this remarkable while he was there."
"Honestly, I didn't see it coming either. I just got lucky."
As Oscar shrugged off the praise, the Deputy Tower Master gave him a warm look.
"Most people let the fortune that finds them slip away, and spend their lives regretting it. Only the prepared ever seize the opportunity. I'd say the Tower itself owes you a reward. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"
"Hmm…… ah."
Just then, something seemed to occur to Oscar, and he spoke up.
"There is a piece of information I'd like. Would that be possible?"
"Nothing is beyond reach. What information do you want?"
"What I want is……"
From the moment he had opened his eyes in this body and gazed out over the cityscape, the first thing that had come to mind had been his subordinates from his past life. He had wanted to show them the view he was seeing now, to share that awe with them.
When he thought about what he could do for people who had meant so much to him, the answer came quickly.
Unlike me, an orphan, most of them had families. Some had settled down and started households early on.
In the immediate aftermath of his possession, there had been no time to look after them—but now, with money, power, and even time at his disposal, things were different.
Oscar's eyes gleamed as he continued.
"Information on the families and descendants of the mages who took part in the Night of Purge—the battle in which former Tower Master Oscar Sage faced the Great Emperor—specifically, where and what they are doing now."
That answer gave Deputy Tower Master Hamel Grimwiz pause.
"……It's such an unexpected request that it surprises me a little. Might I ask why you want that information?"
"How can those who have forgotten the past ever build a good future?"
It was a somewhat evasive reply, but the Deputy Tower Master grasped its essence precisely.
"Those who forget the past have no future, either…… Heh. I see."
"My apologies if that sounded insolent."
"Not at all. If anything, I'm ashamed of the present state of affairs—using the harshness of reality as an excuse while neglecting the families of the White Tower's honored veterans."
And to think even a boy of barely twenty understood the duty……
Murmuring to himself, Hamel let out a sigh tinged with shame before speaking again.
"I will have the relevant information properly investigated and brought to you. It will take some time, however. And should any of them need financial assistance, the White Tower will extend its help first, on its own initiative."
"Then I'm grateful."
After all, if the White Tower—an institution of considerable influence—moved to support them directly, the arrangement would look far cleaner.
"Very good. Then as for that matter, once the results are in, I'll let you——"
Rrrrrr!
At that moment, the telephone on the Deputy Tower Master's desk rang noisily.
After a brief glance of apology, Hamel picked up the receiver and began the conversation.
Silence.
Thanks to the Silence the Deputy Tower Master had casually cast, not a word of who he was speaking to, or what about, reached Oscar's ears.
But one thing was clear: the old man's complexion was darkening in real time.
"Hmm."
When Hamel finally set down the receiver, he looked rather tired.
"Is something the matter?"
"No, this is not something Oscar should concern himself with…… no, on second thought, it may concern him after all."
The Deputy Tower Master lifted his head and spoke.
"That call was from the head of the Sirius Merchant Guild."
"The Sirius Merchant Guild……?"
"Ah, you wouldn't remember that either, would you. The Sirius Merchant Guild is the largest guild in the Empire—a name known to every man, woman, and child."
The Sirius Merchant Guild, hm. For some reason, the name felt strangely familiar.
After mulling over why for a moment, Oscar asked,
"Could it…… have something to do with that rascal Franc?"
"It does. Franc is the youngest son of House Sirius, you see."
"Huh."
He was genuinely stunned.
That slouch of a boy, the young master of a family that powerful?
"Then the caller was someone from Franc's family…… What did they say?"
"House Sirius will be sending someone over before the end of the day."
"Sending someone?"
"Yes. They said the Tower has looked after him for some time, and that they'll be taking Franc back with them."
"……And the boy himself agreed to this?"
"I couldn't say. They claim they've already finished talking it over with him, but I don't know the details myself."
The Deputy Tower Master looked Oscar straight in the eye as he went on.
"Personally, I'm truly sorry to see it. I had placed great hopes on Franc, and watching him grow was a joy. He's given me quite a few headaches, mind you."
"……"
Oscar's expression turned sour.
He understood at once what this sly old serpent was getting at.
He can't step in himself as Deputy Tower Master, so he wants me to persuade Franc on his behalf.
Well, there was nothing in it for him to lose.
For the sake of rebuilding the White Tower, they needed every talented mage they could get—Franc included.
And above all, the boy has Pungbaek.
Nurtured properly, he carried the potential to make dozens of high-level mages green with envy.
Having settled his thoughts, Oscar nodded.
"I'll do my best to persuade him."
"Heh heh."
The Deputy Tower Master laughed with the satisfaction of a man whose itch had finally been scratched.
"I didn't say it with that in mind, but I do hope it turns out well."
"……Yes, sir."
With a lukewarm reply, Oscar left the room—and once the door had closed behind him, Hamel Grimwiz stared at it in silence.
"The Night of Purge, you say."
As far as he knew, that was the codename of the operation to hunt the Great Emperor twenty years ago. Ever since His Majesty designated that day a public holiday, it had always been called the Day of the White Night.
Even I haven't heard that name in twenty years.
And yet where in the world had a boy barely twenty years old picked up the name of that operation?
The Deputy Tower Master blinked, and tilted his head.