The Special Affairs Department (3)
The people he would select for the Special Affairs Department were, going forward, to become his hands and feet.
More than that, they would be comrades who would face all manner of dangerous work alongside him.
At worst, there may come a day when we stand against the demon worshippers of the Black Finger.
In other words, he had no choice but to prioritize skill above everything else when choosing them.
And on top of that, someone he knew well and could trust would be all the better.
If I had to name the ones who fit those conditions right now…
Three people came to mind.
Oscar summoned all of them at once.
Knock, knock.
He knew who it was from the very first knock—the first visitor had arrived.
"Happy New Year!"
Franç, meeting him for the first time since the year had turned, strode into the office on the 14th floor with a vigorous greeting.
"Right. A happy new year to you."
"A happy… what?"
"It basically means I hope the new year brings you lots of good fortune."
"Where are you picking up these old-man phrases now?"
"……"
Do kids these days not talk like that?
Franç, who seemed oddly fascinated by the office and kept glancing around, asked his question.
"You called me out of nowhere, so here I am—but what is this place, exactly?"
"The Special Affairs Department. The office of the SAD, for short."
"SAD? Since when did our tower have a department like that?"
"It was just established."
When Oscar gave him a brief rundown of the circumstances, Franç spun around, eyes wide.
"What? The Black Finger? You've crossed paths with those demon worshippers before?"
"I didn't know it either, but apparently so."
The Cadena Flu, the sabotage of the Mana Power Plant.
At the time, no one had known they were all the cult's doing.
"Apparently my rate of contact with those bastards is abnormally high. So the imperial court decided to bolt me into this position."
"……Shouldn't that mean they'd protect you more, usually?"
"Well, the imperial court isn't exactly the sentimental type."
Pursuing maximum efficiency was what the court did best, after all.
"You say that like you know all about it. Huh? What's this, then?"
Franç noticed the large box sitting on the table and frowned at it.
"Supplies sent over from the imperial court, apparently."
"Mind if I see what's inside?"
"Be my guest."
Oscar answered with complete indifference. Everyone assumed imperial aid shipments must be something grand, but they were surprisingly unremarkable—nothing more than equipment, rations, and a handful of magic scrolls, usually.
"Let's see… activity-appropriate clothing, travel passes, and assorted magic scrolls."
Exactly as he'd expected.
Seated in his chair, Oscar began examining the contents of the box alongside him.
"Hmm. The clothing is top-grade, at least."
The set included a cloak woven with temperature-regulation magic, reinforced upper and lower garments, and even boots.
All of it came enchanted with waterproofing and flame resistance as standard, which would minimize variables in the field.
"Really? I'm a little disappointed. The design is identical to the White Tower robes."
"Are you planning to go around bragging, 'Look at me, I'm on an important mission'? What matters is that it works."
There were fifteen sets of clothing in total.
Presumably they'd included spares in anticipation of the garments needing replacement mid-mission.
"These travel passes don't have anything stamped on them except the imperial seal?"
"Even better. Flash that seal and you'll be able to get into just about anywhere."
It made it abundantly clear that the imperial court was throwing its weight behind the Special Affairs Department.
Then again, from a certain angle, it made sense—this was, after all, a department with some connection to demons. Above all, they were borrowing the tower's manpower at the court's own request.
"Hmm. I doubt you dragged me all the way here just to show off your new office…"
Franç's eyes narrowed into sly slits, and then he abruptly declared:
"No. I'm not doing it."
"……I haven't said anything yet?"
"You're about to order me to do some 'special mission' or whatever."
Since when was this kid so sharp?
No—come to think of it, was he always this quick on the uptake?
Oscar nodded openly.
"Guilty. But this is actually a proposal for your benefit. It'll be a good opportunity."
"……A good opportunity, huh?"
"You're 4th level now, which means it's about time you decided on a career path."
Typically, mages belonging to a tower chose their path upon reaching 4th level.
Most wanted simply to research magic, while a small handful preferred to join the commercial departments—potion manufacturing or artifact crafting.
Those who fit neither category were automatically shuffled into the Request Resolution Department, whether they liked it or not.
And then there were the rare talented mages poached by the guard corps—but that would certainly never be Franç.
"Or what, are you planning to hole up and devote yourself to magical research?"
"Ahem…"
Franç's gaze darted away, evasive.
There was a common prejudice that mages who 'researched magic' were hermits who sealed themselves in a room for months on end, obsessing over a single spell—and that prejudice hadn't come from nowhere.
Where there's smoke, there's fire. That much was true.
"Someone as active as you would go stir-crazy cooped up in a room. And you've never shown the slightest interest in potions or the delivery business, either."
"I'll just join the Request Resolution Department, then."
"The SAD does the exact same work, one tier above it. We even get to pick and choose which requests and cases we take on."
Besides, joining the Request Resolution Department meant grinding through a genuinely miserable stretch early on.
Even Kilian, now hailed as the tower's Rising Star, had spent his first days chasing after neighbors' runaway dogs and cats.
"We skip all that tedious nonsense and go straight to cases of a quality rivaling—or exceeding—prestigious personal commissions. Naturally, the pay and treatment are far better, too."
"Hmm."
Franç's ears twitched, just slightly.
"And above all—what was your goal again? To become the face of the White Tower and bring glory to your family name, wasn't it? Then you absolutely have to join the SAD. This will be the place where the White Tower's finest elites gather."
"……The White Tower's finest elites?"
"Without question."
The moment he said it, Oscar turned his head toward the door.
"Come in."
"Sharp as a ghost."
In walked Kilian, voice deep and resonant as ever.
Oscar addressed Franç, whose eyes had gone round as saucers.
"Kilian Lockwood. By every measure, the most promising mage in the White Tower today. He's joining the SAD as well."
"……Is that true?"
In answer to Franç's question, Kilian settled into an empty chair.
"What is this SAD?"
"Nothing much. A department where you make friends and solve cases together. Here, sign this."
"Understood."
Kilian signed the paperwork without a moment's hesitation, and Franç nearly choked.
"Hey! What if there's some poison-clause buried in there? Who signs without even reading it?"
"Oscar is a warrior who has crossed the line between life and death beside me. And a true warrior does not deceive others."
"……You're both mages."
Franç's faint muttering dissolved, wasted on the air.
Just then, the last of the summoned members stepped into the room.
"There you are, Veronica."
"……"
Her gaze swept silently around the office before locking onto Kilian.
She clearly regarded him as her rival, so of course he would draw her eye first.
Kilian met her stare without flinching and put his pipe to his lips.
"Kilian."
"Do not worry. I will not fight her."
"No—I mean don't smoke indoors."
"……"
Kilian slumped at once and set the pipe back down.
Watching him, Veronica exhaled a thin sigh, as if dealing with an idiot.
"So? Why did you call me here?"
"A new Special Affairs Department was just established. It'll be handling the incidents in Shilin and the surrounding territories, and I'd like you to be part of it."
"And what do I stand to gain?"
Her voice, arms crossed as she fired the question back, was sharp as a blade.
If she didn't like the answer, she would never set foot in the SAD.
Veronica's goal, as far as I've observed her all this time, is…
Strength.
The strength to never be looked down upon by anyone—the kind that made dismissal impossible.
And naturally, a considerable hunger for recognition was woven into that.
"You'll grow stronger faster than you would in any other department in the White Tower."
"……"
He could almost feel the gears turning behind Veronica's eyes.
She was presumably weighing the plausibility of what he'd just said.
"And what's your benchmark for 'faster'?"
"Hmm."
A benchmark, was it.
As Oscar mulled it over, his gaze landed on Franç.
"Ah—actually, I have a perfect example right here."
Oscar smiled faintly and pointed his chin at Franç.
"At the very least, I guarantee you'll improve at a rate comparable to this one."
"Franç Sirius? But this guy…"
Deep distrust flickered in her eyes.
There were once two mages I regarded as the greatest threats in the entire White Tower.
Kilian Lockwood and Franç Sirius—those two.
Granted, in terms of fame and recognition, Oscar Crucian had been in a league of his own, but he'd already been diagnosed with Mana Deficiency Syndrome, so she'd never truly considered him a rival.
But this one…
Once the rumor spread that trauma had left him unable to use attribute magic, she'd stopped watching him altogether.
She barely had time to watch the road ahead of her—there'd been no spare attention for what lay behind.
"What? You think Franç is weaker than you?"
"He only just made 4th level."
"Magic isn't fair. Sometimes a talented prodigy grasps in a single morning what someone else spent years of their life to achieve."
Oscar looked between Kilian and Veronica and smiled, enigmatic.
"The way I see it, of the three of you here right now, the strongest one is Franç."
"……"
"……"
And within that silence, the one squirming in discomfort was—of all people—Franç himself.
"Hey—hey, what's wrong with you? Are you dissing me right now in the cleverest possible way? Because you're just making things awkward for me!"
"What's awkward about it? It's the truth."
Pungbaek, Steel Breath, and on top of that, the whip arts.
This was the magic perfected by the 7th Tower Master—a powerhouse of continental renown.
Of course, it's true those two are extraordinarily gifted for their age…
But absorbing the sheer firepower of Franç wielding that flawless combination would be another matter entirely.
It was precisely that calculation that had driven him to provoke her.
"Can you take responsibility for what you just said?"
"Of course."
He'd taken the bait.
Oscar answered with the ghost of a smile.
"We're all busy people—no need for long speeches. Let the two of them cross blades, and you'll see."
The White Tower's outdoor training grounds.
It was the very place where Franç had once been pitted against Lazley, the escort knight his older brother had brought along with him.
And today, the plan was to pit Franç against Veronica Frix.
"Hey, Oscar… are you sure about this?"
Franç looked so worn down that both his eyebrows had sagged into a droop.
"You know as well as I do. That technique has a limit of three swings."
"I know it well. I learned it from you, after all."
And yet the boy still clearly didn't understand.
"Today, you won't even need all three."
Oscar looked at Veronica—then, after a moment, at Kilian as well.
"Well, if that one can't control her curiosity, you might end up swinging it twice."
"……What on earth are you talking about?"
"Doesn't matter. You'll understand when you experience it yourself."
The boy hadn't even begun to grasp how extraordinary the weapon he'd acquired truly was.
Though, then again, if he had, he never would have said something so outrageous as I wouldn't have joined the SAD in the first place.
"Get up here."
Veronica, already fully prepared, stood on the training ground radiating a razor-edged killing intent.
"I'm off to my doom…"
His face a portrait of quiet despair, Franç trudged up onto the training ground.
Watching his pitiful retreat, Kilian drew close and asked:
"Oscar. Do you truly believe Franç Sirius can win?"
"Yes."
"……What in the world did you teach him, to be that confident?"
To that utterly guileless question, Oscar replied with a soft chuckle:
"Something you'll know and still fail to stop."