City of Dreamers (3)
Vince, the high-mountain city in the empire's northwest. It was often called a fortress blessed by nature itself, and the reason was simple: the entire city sat atop a towering peak, and its walls were just as high, making it extraordinarily defensible.
In truth, this is the place that held out for half a year with zero support when the demon army invaded.
It was a position no one could afford to dismiss. From the demons' perspective, there were only three routes into the empire's western reaches: across the western sea, over the vast Desert of Death, or through northern Vince, where the smooth land roads beyond lay open for the taking.
The population was only about five thousand back then, so the demon bastards must have thought it would be easy pickings.
But Vince, as if to spite them, endured for half a year and held the fortress until the imperial reinforcements finally arrived.
This is actually my first time seeing it in person.
During the war, he had only heard rumors of a stalwart stronghold in the northwest. He'd been holding the front lines at the very edge of the fighting, with no leisure to pay it a visit.
"Please accept my formal gratitude."
In the parlor of the Vince estate, Pieta Vince, having laid out an lavish spread of sweets and tea, bowed his head deeply.
"If it hadn't been for you, Oscar, the people of this territory, myself included, would surely have..."
His body trembled as the terrible memories of the Cadena Flu's rampage resurfaced.
"...we all would have died."
"Thankfully, nothing so dreadful came to pass."
Oscar, sipping his coffee, smiled wryly.
"After all, if it had, I wouldn't be enjoying this delicious coffee right now."
"Haha! Well, you're not wrong."
The Lord of Vince looked somehow relieved, like a man who had finally finished a long-postponed chore.
"I've been meaning to offer my thanks ever since we received the cure and the vaccine, but the aftermath kept me busy far longer than I expected. I apologize for inviting you so late."
"Please, think nothing of it. Though... 'aftermath,' you say?"
"Ah, that is..."
The lord, realizing he had perhaps misspoken, hesitated a moment before speaking.
"Well, it's hardly a secret that should stay from you, Oscar. They call you a genius of alchemy, so you know more about this than I do. The flu, after all, is a type of virus, is it not?"
"That's right."
"As soon as the Cadena Flu had run its course, we launched an epidemiological investigation."
An epidemiological investigation — the system of tracing the movements of the infected and identifying everyone who had come into contact with them.
"To find out exactly how the Cadena Flu first made its way into the city, I take it."
"Precisely. Once something happens once, we wanted to make sure it never happened again — and while we were at it, we wanted to tie up the matter completely. But..." The lord's voice lowered. "There is no initial carrier."
Hm?
Oscar blinked, not quite following.
"No carrier? What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what it sounds like. The first person to show symptoms of the Cadena Flu was an old woman who lived alone on the city's outskirts. But she has no family and no caretaker. Aside from her once-a-month trip to the market for provisions, she has no contact with anyone at all."
"Could she have caught it through contact with the crowds at the market?"
"Given the flu's incubation period, that possibility is out as well."
"..."
Oscar's eyes narrowed as he listened. Taken at face value, the man's account made it sound as though the Cadena Flu had simply dropped out of the sky.
So that leaves three possibilities.
One: the virus had spawned naturally inside the old woman's home. But that stretched credulity past its breaking point. If one insisted on putting a number to it — roughly zero percent.
Influenza-type viruses already exist in nature; they take humans or animals as hosts and spread between them. They absolutely do not just materialize out of thin air in an empty place.
Two: she had contracted the Cadena Flu long ago, and the symptoms had only manifested late. But that, too, was vanishingly unlikely — the flu had earned its Class B Hazard rating precisely because of its blistering transmission speed and rapid onset.
Which means... what's left must be the truth.
If that were the case, the matter took on a far graver weight. Oscar's expression turned serious as he spoke carefully.
"You're considering the involvement of a third party."
"...It would seem unavoidable. A flu doesn't fall from the sky. Someone must have spread it deliberately."
If that were true, then this had been nothing less than an act of terror — a monstrous act of biochemical warfare that had come within a hair's breadth of burying an entire city in death.
"Do you have any suspects?"
"Having none is the problem."
The Lord of Vince heaved a long sigh.
"As you know, our territory is wedged onto a mountaintop in the northwest. Famous as a natural fortress, yes — but put another way, we're isolated. The nearest major city, Shilin, is more than ten hours away by vehicle, is it not?"
"True."
"Because of that, our family rarely attends social gatherings. We hardly know any of the other nobles by face, and we have no relationships deep enough to call friendship or enmity with anyone."
"Hmm. What sort of person was the old woman, the first to fall ill?"
"We investigated her thoroughly as well. An utterly ordinary citizen. Born and raised here, with not even a criminal record to her name."
No hidden grudges against the ruling house, and nothing suspicious about the first victim either. If so, then the target of this indiscriminate biochemical terror could only be one thing.
The destruction of Vince itself.
And if that's the aim — who stands to gain the most from it?
The moment the question formed, only a single force brushed across his mind.
"...The demons?"
"I'm sorry? Haha!"
Pieta Vince burst out laughing, as if he'd heard a particularly amusing joke.
"That's a darker joke than you look capable of. What makes you think that?"
"I heard that Vince Territory played a tremendous part in the war against the demons long ago."
"Ah, yes — my father boastted about it until the day he died. But demons? They've vanished without a trace since the war ended."
"No harm in preparing for the worst."
Pieta Vince shook his head skeptically at that.
"I don't know. Ever since the Great Emperor — the demons' spiritual anchor and unifying figure — died, the prevailing theory is that they've torn themselves apart in an internal struggle over his throne. Whoever wins, they won't be the threat they once were. They've been perfectly quiet these past twenty years, after all."
"..."
An internal struggle, hmm.
It was certainly plausible, considering the demons' temperament and manner of doing things.
They're hardly the sort to bow beneath anyone who isn't the Great Emperor.
Was his instinct to think of them here simply the residue of a man too steeped in war? Admitting his mistake, Oscar nodded.
"I see. My apologies for bringing up something so baseless."
"Oh, think nothing of it. They do say mages have vivid imaginations — seeing you, I believe it. The mood has gotten a bit heavy, so let's move on to brighter topics, shall we? Ah! I heard about your spectacular performance in Baran. Might you regale me with the tale of your exploits there?"
"Nothing grand enough to call exploits, but if you'd like to hear it."
Some time passed in considerably lighter conversation before the Lord of Vince, wearing an awkward expression, finally came to the point.
"My goodness, look at the hour. I do hope I haven't kept you too long out of sheer delight at your company."
"Not at all. I found it both informative and pleasant."
"Haha, I'm glad to hear it. Please rest well and enjoy Vince's winter before you go. The butler will show you to your quarters."
The parlor door opened to reveal an elderly man of kindly countenance, and Oscar followed him to the detached guesthouse.
"Bill will be waiting by the vehicle at all hours except the small hours of the morning, so you may go out whenever you like. On Christmas Day itself, every shop but the inn will be closed, so if you need anything, do let me know."
"Understood."
"Also, the other mages of the White Magic Tower will be arriving shortly. This entire guesthouse has been reserved for the White Tower alone, so please make free use of it as though it were your own home."
He's handing over a two-story guesthouse in its entirety?
Oscar stepped inside, climbed to the second floor, and picked out the room that pleased him most.
This one will do nicely.
It sat at the very end of the corridor, its window overlooking the whole of the city. When he approached the glass, he could see people brimming with anticipation scattered through the snow-dusted streets below. With the special occasion of Christmas nearly upon them, families seemed to make up the largest share.
Nice atmosphere, this city.
He stood gazing at the heartwarming scene for a long while—
"Oh, this room is the best one—"
—and then the door suddenly swung open as someone barged in. Oscar turned slowly to identify the uninvited guest, and his eyes widened slightly.
"Veronica?"
"...What the hell. Why are you here?"
"The Lord of Vince invited me. Apparently he wanted to thank me for the Cadena Flu. What about you?"
"I'm here for Christmas delivery duty..."
She stared around the room — its layout, its view, everything precisely to her taste — with naked reluctance written across her face, then asked:
"Were you picking this room?"
"Why, do you like it?"
"..."
Her lips twitched several times, but she said nothing.
Still can't be honest with herself, I see.
In moments like these, the grown-up had to take the first step. Oscar shrugged.
"Take it, then."
"Seriously!?"
Her voice shot up before she caught herself, hurriedly composing her face, a touch embarrassed.
"You mean that?"
"Yeah. There are spare rooms to spare anyway."
The room had appealed to him at first, but looking around properly had changed his mind. Watching that warm, lamplit street through the window had made his own heart grow soft and cozy — which, put bluntly, meant his sense of vigilance was dulling and he'd be nodding off in no time.
"It's yours."
With those parting words, Oscar stepped out of the room, and Veronica stared at the closing door for a long, long moment.
...He gave up his own room? That Oscar?
This was the man she'd considered the undisputed number-one egoist in the White Tower — no, across all Four Great Magic Towers. Receiving his cheerful surrender of his own room as pure goodwill was... difficult.
Granted, judging by what I saw at the power plant, he does seem a bit less insufferable than he used to be...
But people didn't change overnight. Eyeing the door with full suspicion, she tilted her head and muttered under her breath:
"...Is he, like, into me or something?"
It was a night of soft, drifting snowflakes.
At an outpost somewhere along the Red Mountains, a soldier clutched his communication device and shouted urgently into it.
"This is B-102! I say again, this is B-10— khk!"
A sharp blade punched through the soldier's chest from behind and burst out the front. As the light drained from his eyes and he crumpled to the ground, a horned figure spoke.
"It is done, my Lord Baron."
"Humans remain as pathetically frail as ever."
A gray-mustached middle-aged man appeared with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying the outpost with distaste.
"To think we were ever defeated by such trash. The memory grows more absurd every time I dwell on it."
Clicking his tongue, he settled into the dead signal-soldier's seat, crossed his legs, and fixed his gaze on the mountains at the far edge of the horizon.
"Vince..."
The place that had been the single greatest obstacle when they had invaded human lands. As the middle-aged man stared at that fabled fortress, one corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Tonight, I shall grant you all the finest of dreams."