WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Ceaseless
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ The Northern Grand Duke’s Mad Son-in-Law ◈
Chapter 25: Just Gilbert
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‘The Egg of Pain.’
Galahad muttered as he touched the area around his heart.
The Egg of Pain Corton had given him was unlike anything he had encountered before.
He couldn't sense any mana from it, so it wasn't a magical device.
‘Is it because the concentration is too high? Or is it sealed?’
His only clue was the slight sense of déjà vu he had felt while making the oath.
It resembled the pure mass of mana he had felt when fighting the Demonkin before.
The Egg of Pain had settled around his heart.
Whenever his heart beat, it seemed to whisper to him.
That it would devour his heart if he broke his oath...
It felt as though a ghost had crawled into his head.
‘An ordinary person would have gone mad already.’
It was a piece of trash. If its target went mad, they would be unable to keep the oath, which would only hinder its own purpose.
Galahad's lips curled into a broad smile.
‘What a mysterious item...’
He recalled Eight's report that Dawn was distributing remnants of the Jema War. This seemed to be one of those remnants as well.
He had probed Corton, but all he got was that it was payment for arranging the deal with the Fifth Battalion.
Even if it belonged to a high-ranking Demonkin, Adrianna could solve it by touching the area around his heart.
The denser her opponent's mana concentration, the stronger Adrianna's trait became.
Of course, he had no intention of doing that.
‘Why waste something this precious...’
Even if he decided to get rid of it, he would first uncover how it worked.
Once he figured that out, there might be no reason to get rid of it at all...
‘How does it work? I didn't set a deadline, so can't I just ignore the oath?’
The moment he thought that, pain surged from his heart.
For an instant, it felt as though someone had bitten into his heart.
Even Galahad, who was fairly accustomed to pain, let out a groan from the agony.
‘...Can it read my thoughts? Does it have a will of its own?’
He lightly tapped the area around his heart and asked, but there was no response.
It only urged him to keep his oath...
‘Should I kill her in about ten years?’
He tested it with that thought, and another wave of agony tore through him.
It hurt worse than before, as if it were telling him not to get cocky... Galahad clutched his heart and dropped into a crouch.
‘It has a will. And it was mana. Extremely concentrated mana...’
Galahad went over what he had just felt.
It had only lasted an instant, but he had felt it clearly.
‘An item with a will. What a treasure.’
He wanted to try it once more, but it seemed angry.
Regretfully, he decided to test it again another time.
“Tell me honestly. What kind of commission is it?”
Gilbert asked seriously. His face was full of unease. His instincts were fairly sharp.
“You're better off not knowing.”
After considering it for a moment, Galahad shook his head.
It might have been amusing to tell him, but informing him would obviously become a hassle later.
Just then, Tom held out a bundle. His face was clouded with worry, as though he might burst into tears.
“This is too much for me to manage.”
“Tom, what kind of man whines like that? You should be asking for more.”
“This is too much.”
It was a reasonable advance payment from Corton. To think this much was too much... Galahad clicked his tongue softly.
“If you won't take it, I'll have to give it to someone else. Hmm, who should I give it to? Gwen?”
“Ah... No! She'll give it all away.”
“I think so too. Gwen is too soft-hearted to carry money around. Then Damian?”
“He'll buy himself a mountain of delicious food.”
“Boys in their growing years are frightening. Then, just Sir Gilbert?”
“I'll keep it.”
Tom nodded with a determined expression.
“Good choice. You'll do well. I'm a good judge of people.”
“Thank you! I'll protect it with my life!”
“...What does ‘just Gilbert’ mean?”
Gilbert belatedly raised the question. Tom discreetly checked the bundle, recounting money he had already counted.
“I should go see Damian.”
Galahad casually stood.
“No, what does ‘just Gilbert’ mean?”
Damian was behind the barracks.
Holding a rusty sword, Damian jumped in place and rolled forward. Snow sprayed wildly around him. Then he sprang up and swung his sword. The path drawn by his blade was a mess.
“He's been doing that the whole time.”
Gilbert, who had followed him outside, watched Damian with an odd expression.
“That isn't sword training. It isn't physical training either. Isn't he just playing around? He does that for a while, comes inside to eat and sleep, then goes right back to it. With that much talent, I can't understand why he refuses to learn swordsmanship.”
Gilbert's voice was full of dissatisfaction.
He seemed to want to teach Damian swordsmanship.
A knight wanting to pass down his swordsmanship... Galahad was mildly surprised.
Normally, knights only taught swordsmanship after someone spent years as an errand boy and even paid them.
Compared to that, Gilbert was a good knight.
“I once had a colleague much like Damian. We worked together once, and he drank himself senseless and spent the whole night with women. Two at a time, no less.”
Galahad began telling the story of the man Damian had reminded him of when they first met.
‘Was that agent's name Lady...?’
Lady was a man who reeked of beast, as if he had only just learned to walk on two legs.
“When I work, I don't drink at all, and I even control what I eat. To me, that man looked insane. It was a fairly important job.”
Gilbert nodded with an uncomfortable expression.
“So I said something to him. I had quite the temper back then. Do you know what he said in response?”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me if I'd ever seen a predator train.”
Galahad chuckled at the old memory.
“Like you, I thought it was bullshit. So I went in intending to work alone, but...”
At that moment, Damian rolled forward twice in succession. It looked comical at a glance, but the path his sword drew was precise.
“He really was a predator.”
Remembering that vivid, bloody scene, Galahad nodded and clicked his tongue.
“What does that mean?”
“Anyway, there are all sorts of methods. If you force him into a mold, he'll only break. Predators have their own way. Just feed him well.”
Gilbert frowned. Dissatisfaction still filled his face.
It was unavoidable. Gilbert was an honest knight, built through sweat. Damian had been born a predator...
The distance between them could not be closed.
“If you insist, would you two like to spar once? Damian!”
Damian, who had been rolling forward, leaped up. Dragging his sword along the ground, he approached.
Snow covered his face and clothes, leaving him a mess. His cheeks were red from the cold, and snot trailed from his nose. He looked like a neighborhood child who had been running around in the snow. A child with a great deal of muscle...
“Gladly.”
Gilbert adjusted his grip on his sword and nodded. He seemed to have been waiting for this.
“Damian, have a match with Sir Gilbert.”
“Kill him?”
“No, you mustn't kill him. He may not look it, but he is the deputy commander.”
“Ah, okay.”
Gilbert's face twisted.
“I'm from the First Battalion.”
“I know. That's why your salary is so high, isn't it?”
“I won't accept a pay cut.”
“...Who said anything about that?”
Gilbert drew his sword and stepped forward. Judging by his expression, he was curious about Damian as well. He was a knight through and through.
Gilbert faced Damian and took his stance. It was a standard posture, his sword extended with a slight twist.
Damian, on the other hand, simply let his sword hang at his side.
“If you leave even one wound, I'll count it as your victory.”
“Okay.”
Damian did not bother refusing.
Before anyone could even call the start, Damian charged forward. Tap, tap. He ran so low that he moved in a strange way, almost as though he were crawling on all fours.
Anyone would have been caught off guard, but Gilbert calmly stepped back with his left foot and lowered his stance slightly.
Damian swung his sword as though throwing it. It was less swordsmanship and more like the swipe of a predator's forepaw. Unrestrained and brutal.
Gilbert's sword stopped it. Then Damian's blade twisted. It slid along Gilbert's sword as though riding it. It looked less like a sword and more like a living snake.
“Hm.”
Gilbert grunted and pushed Damian's guard aside. Damian's balance faltered for an instant. Taking that chance, Gilbert drove his sword forward. Damian fell backward.
He hit the ground so hard that the piled snow scattered wildly. Through that white flurry, a sword shot forward.
It was Damian.
Damian lunged like a predator and swung wildly, but Gilbert's sword was solid. There was no opening.
‘He's enjoying this.’
Gilbert was matching Damian's level.
Rather than maintain his distance, Gilbert exchanged blows with Damian at close range, where Damian had the advantage.
Even so, the difference between them was overwhelming.
“Faster!”
Gilbert gradually narrowed the gap until it became increasingly dangerous. It was as though he wanted to draw more out of Damian.
Galahad clicked his tongue as he watched Gilbert smile while parrying Damian's attacks.
‘What's so enjoyable about swinging a sword...’
The match ended when Damian suddenly collapsed.
His stamina spent, Damian fell flat on his face like a machine with a dead battery.
In contrast, Gilbert's breathing had not even changed.
“I think I understand what you mean,” Gilbert said as he put away his sword.
Galahad pointed at Gilbert's hand. A tiny red line ran between his bare hand and wrist.
It was such a faint wound that it had not even drawn blood.
“Didn't you say earlier that if he left even one wound, you would lose?”
Gilbert's face twisted.
“Damian's sword didn't do this. I scratched it on the ground.”
“How pathetic.”
“It's true. If Damian's sword had cut me, the mark would be wider than this...”
“Yes, you're just Gilbert after all.”
“...What does Gilbert mean?”
“It means Gilbert.”
Gilbert went on at length about why the wound could not have come from Damian's sword.
It did no good no matter how many times Galahad said he understood.
“Food's ready!”
The moment Tom mentioned food, Damian sprang to his feet. Only then did Gilbert head over to Damian.
“They said food is ready!”
A breathless voice came from behind them. When Galahad turned, Gwen stood there, blackened all over.
“Didn't you tan a little too aggressively?”
“...Pardon? Ah! I was practicing magic! I couldn't control the distance!”
“I see. You're doing well.”
“Aren't you coming to eat?”
“Ah, go ahead and eat first. I still have something to do.”
“Something to do? Should I help?”
“Oh, please don't.”
“You have to come quickly! It won't taste good when it gets cold!”
Gwen grinned and ran toward the barracks.
Galahad waved at her, then turned away.
There was still one more thing he needed to obtain.
It was time to make a deal with the wicked commander of the Fifth Battalion, who had conspired with the sinister Dark Magic Society.
‘The Dark Magic Society, the Magic Stone Mine, the Fifth Battalion, the Demonkin...’
Galahad reviewed the cards in his hand.
Mark was an extremely calculating man.
If presented with the most reasonable choice, he would accept it.
The way to present the most reasonable choice was simple.
‘Erase all the other choices.’
Galahad put a cigarette between his lips and started walking.
* * *
Mark, commander of the Fifth Battalion, had a lot on his mind.
Recently, Demonkin attacks had been coming at shorter and shorter intervals.
It was not a good sign.
War cost a great deal of money. The soldiers' armor, their swords, even their food. The expenses were no small matter.
‘If not for the Magic Stone Mine...’
Knock, knock, knock...
Mark raised his head at the sound.
The door opened, and Galahad, commander of the Special Operations Unit, entered.
Corton was trash, but he was as sly as a rat. The fact that Galahad had returned after going out with a man like Corton meant...
‘They made some kind of deal.’
Why had Galahad come back?
‘Blackmail?’
Making deals with mages was condemned in the North.
Still, if those mages were studying Demonkin, it could change the situation.
The most strictly forbidden thing in the Empire was Demonkin research. Studying Demonkin meant they were an anti-Empire organization.
On top of that, the income from the Magic Stone Mine through the Dark Magic Society was considerable.
Mark was confident he could persuade the other commanders on those two grounds. That was why he had accepted the Dark Magic Society.
“Don't you have any tea? I've done a lot of talking today, so my throat is a little dry.”
Galahad had already taken a seat and spoke while glancing at Lumian.
When Mark nodded, Lumian bit her lip and left.
“Did things go well?”
Mark immediately got to the point.
“We were alumni, so we talked at length for the first time in ages. The name of the mages you've joined hands with is the Dark Magic Society.”
“I see.”
“You knew?”
“How could I?”
Of course, he knew. Mark was not foolish enough to let people of unknown identity into the castle.
It was simply that when he weighed the gains and losses, the gains were enough to outweigh the losses.
“Ah, did I mention that on my way here, I killed a mid-ranking Demonkin comparable to a high-ranking Demonkin, sixteen Mole Monsters, and two mages?”
Mark's eyes narrowed at the sudden boast.
“Yes.”
“There were actually three mages.”
The door opened, and Lumian entered. Lumian placed an iron cup in front of Galahad. Steam rose from it.
Galahad drank the tea with old-fashioned elegance.
‘Not two mages, but three...’
His intention in mentioning that after bringing up the Dark Magic Society was obvious.
‘Was that the Dark Magic Society's doing?’
Mark's mouth went dry.
The possibility that the Dark Magic Society had colluded with the Demonkin had never occurred to him.
This was...
‘The worst.’
Mark deeply furrowed his brow.
To reduce the damage, he needed to seize and kill every member of the Dark Magic Society in the castle at once.
But then he could no longer operate the Magic Stone Mine.
Giving up the Magic Stone Mine while Demonkin attacks were increasing meant choosing a slow death.
This was not a choice between the worst and the lesser evil. It was a choice between a quick worst outcome and a slow worst outcome.
‘Why tell me this?’
Galahad led the Special Operations Unit, but he had far too few troops. More importantly, he had no real foundation.
What Galahad might want from Mark was...
‘A foundation or troops.’
The other side now held the leverage, but Galahad and Mark were in entirely different weight classes.
Leverage only meant something when their weight classes were at least somewhat comparable.
‘If I insist it's nonsense from some Imperial bastard...’
Mark tapped the table.
Galahad was leisurely drinking tea. His old-fashioned manner was that of a typical nobleman. His hair was neatly swept back, and his clothes impeccably arranged...
He was a man who did not suit the North at all.
“What do you want?”
Mark went straight to the point.
“I want to place the Special Operations Unit headquarters at the Fifth Battalion.”
It was the request he had expected. Mark nodded.
“Yes, I'll clear out the supply depot for you.”
“The supply depot is too small.”
It was a unit of only five people, yet the supply depot building was too small... Mark did not understand, but he nodded.
“I'll give you a company building.”
“A company building... It seems like it would smell of Sir Gilbert's feet.”
“If there's something you want, say it.”
At Mark's question, Galahad pointed downward.
Mark lowered his head, following Galahad's finger. It pointed at the floor.
After frowning for a moment, Mark realized.
“Are you asking for the battalion headquarters?”
“This is the largest place. And it's warm.”
Was this a joke? Mark considered it seriously.
No, what kind of man asked for the battalion headquarters? It had to be a joke.
Then Mark saw Galahad's eyes and understood.
It was not a joke. This madman genuinely wanted the battalion headquarters.
“Why would a unit of five people need a battalion headquarters?”
“Isn't a headquarters the face of a unit? I like my face big and clean. Do you dislike that?”
A building was just a building.
It had only caught Mark off guard because he had not expected it. It did not truly matter.
Trading the Dark Magic Society for the battalion headquarters. Assuming it was only until Mark found a solution...
“Fine.”
“Good.”
Galahad nodded as though he had known Mark would agree.
“Of course, we don't intend to use all of it. We'll be away more often than not, so wouldn't that be wasteful? I hate waste. How many floors does this building have?”
“...Three.”
“Then you can use the first and second floors. We'll use the third.”
Mark frowned at Galahad, who spoke as though he were doing him a favor.
He meant for Mark to continue providing security. He was also leaving him in charge of maintaining the building...
“Fine.”
“Ah, there is one more thing.”
Greedy bastard.
Mark frowned.
“I heard there are factions among the commanders. They say they are divided among Adrianna, the commander of the Second Battalion, and the Third Battalion.”
He must be saying he wants to join the Fifth Battalion.
‘Was asking for the building just a show of force for that?’
Mark nodded.
“Yes, there are factions.”
“Does the Fifth Battalion have one?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Galahad put a cigarette between his lips and snapped his fingers. The cigarette lit up.
The scent of lemon filled the room.
“If the Magic Stone Mine business continues, we can support your unit's operating costs. In return, I would like you to carry out a few missions. For example, obtaining accurate information about Magic Stone prices...”
“You misunderstand something. I am not saying the Special Operations Unit will come under the Fifth Battalion.”
At those words, Mark clicked his tongue softly.
‘He wants an alliance.’
It was excessive ambition. Nothing more than absurd pride.
The Special Operations Unit and the Fifth Battalion could not even be compared in size.
The Special Operations Unit had only five people. The Fifth Battalion, on the other hand, had ten companies alone. It had even more platoons below them.
The Special Operations Unit was smaller than a platoon.
Yet he wanted an equal relationship. It was ridiculous.
Mark laughed out loud for the first time in a while.
Then his face turned cold.
“An alliance... How ridiculous. Are you looking down on me because I've accommodated you? Do you really think we're the same just because we're both commanders? Fine, submit your report if you want. But that doesn't mean...”
“Ah, I phrased it in a misleading way.”
Galahad shook his head, and Mark calmed down.
‘He misspoke.’
Yes, the difference in scale was enormous. There was no way he would discuss an alliance.
No matter how bold he was, he would not make such an absurd proposal.
“What I meant was not an alliance...”
Mark anticipated the words that would follow and considered how to respond.
So he could handle whatever came out of Galahad's mouth...
Then Galahad opened his mouth.
“I mean you should come under me.”
Mark could not respond.
Footnotes:
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