The Northern Grand Duke's Mad Son-in-Law - Chapter 51

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Ceaseless

◈ The Northern Grand Duke’s Mad Son-in-Law ◈

Chapter 51: Hostage

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The orange lamp hanging from the carriage swayed as it struggled to push back the heavy darkness of the northern night.

The sound of hooves crunching through thickly piled snow, wheels grinding forward, and Gwen’s snoring blended together surprisingly well.

Galahad exhaled a deep breath of cigarette smoke.

The scent of lemon filled the air.

“Why are we traveling at night? It’s dangerous.”

Gilbert asked as he pulled the reins. It was a simple question, not a complaint.

“Isn’t the night pleasantly secluded?”

“...What?”

Ignoring Gilbert’s question, Galahad flicked ash from his cigarette.

‘There’s a Demonkin targeting Damian.’

The next question was why.

If a Demonkin was targeting Damian, why had it left him alone?

It had neither taken nor killed him, deliberately leaving him unharmed.

Then, after Damian joined a new squad and some time had passed, it attacked again.

‘Why?’

Galahad muttered quietly.

There had to be an intention. To understand it, he needed to examine the outcome.

Despite Damian’s outstanding skill, the soldiers had rejected him.

He had been reduced to sitting with his mouth open, catching and eating snow. If Galahad had not taken him in, he would have starved to death or been beaten to death.

‘Was that what it wanted?’

“What if a Monster shows up?”

Gilbert’s question broke his train of thought.

“It’d be fortunate if one did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Damian.”

“Yes, the little one.”

“Didn’t four squads disappear to the Demonkin?”

“That happened, didn’t it?”

“What if a Demonkin was targeting Damian?”

“Why would a Demonkin target that little one?”

“Why are you asking me?”

At the sound of Galahad clicking his tongue, Gilbert’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed.

“Didn’t you say it didn’t matter when you first brought Damian in?”

“I did.”

“Then why do you care now?”

Galahad frowned at the sharp question, which did not suit Gilbert at all.

He was right. Even if Damian had ruined four squads, it did not particularly matter. The investigation had turned up nothing.

What changed his mind was Damian’s ashen aura.

“I care because he’s more precious now.”

“...You say things like that?”

Galahad chuckled at Gilbert’s shocked expression.

“Well, if a Demonkin killed only Damian’s squad and sent him back...”

Gilbert trailed off. His already narrow eyes became even thinner.

“That’s vicious.”

“...Vicious?”

“Yes. Didn’t it send him back so he would suffer even more? You saw it then. He couldn’t join another unit and just sat there because every other squad rejected him. They said he was ominous. There was violence too.”

“I see.”

“Those bastards!”

Gilbert cursed roughly and gripped the reins hard.

It was a crude opinion, but it made sense.

‘Was it trying to break Damian’s will?’

When Galahad invited Damian into the Special Operations Unit, Damian had refused. He said everyone connected to him would die.

Then the reason the attacks had been spaced out was...

‘To give Damian time to grow attached?’

Four times, just when Damian thought he had grown a little close to his squadmates, the entire squad was wiped out.

No matter how strong someone’s ego was, they could not help blaming themselves. Especially if they were a boy still growing up.

‘Was that the cause of Damian’s ashen aura?’

Galahad tapped ash from his cigarette.

If there was someone with such intentions...

‘They must be getting impatient by now.’

He could be certain. There had probably never been anyone in Damian’s life as kind and warm as Gwen.

Gwen cared for Damian so devotedly that she even gave him her own food. It was enough to make Galahad wonder if Damian was Gwen’s child.

Then there were Tom and even blunt Gilbert.

There could be no better time than now to give Damian enough despair to break him.

“How dare they target the little one... I won’t let those bastards get away with it.”

At that moment, Gilbert ground his teeth. His face was full of rage. He truly was a simple man.

Clicking his tongue, Galahad spread mana out of habit.

Soon after...

“Well, it seems they took offense at what you said.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those bastards.”

Galahad rose from his seat. The biting wind whipped his hair violently. He struck the carriage with his fist.

Bang! Bang!

“Everyone, wake up! We have guests!”

The carriage door opened, and Tom stepped out.

“Another Monster?”

Tom’s eyes were still dull with sleep. There was even drool at the corner of his mouth. He held a crossbow in his hand.

“This time...”

Narrowing his eyes, Galahad snapped his fingers.

A bright flame shot upward like a firework. Once it rose high enough, it burst in the air with a soft pop.

The bright light drove back the deep darkness.

What it revealed was...

“Demonkin. Dressed very nicely, too.”

Pale figures dressed like nobles stood before them.

The sudden light should have startled them, but their faces remained indifferent, as if they had no emotions.

“Damn it!”

Gilbert pulled the reins hard. The horses snorted and twisted their bodies. Snow sprayed wildly beneath them.

The swaying carriage came to a perilous stop. It was an impressive display of skill.

“Knight Gilbert!”

Clang! Gilbert drew his sword. Blue aura poured from it without restraint, and the darkness retreated as if fleeing. His twisted face was lit by the blue glow.

The Demonkin frowned when they saw him. They looked like nobles forced to face an uncultured man.

Demonkin pretending to be nobles...

“How interesting.”

Galahad muttered with his cigarette between his lips.

“There are eight Demonkin! Is this the time to call it interesting?”

“They’re Demonkin pretending to be nobles. Aren’t you interested?”

Displeasure filled Gilbert’s face.

Galahad clicked his tongue.

How could he not be interested when Demonkin dressed in formal clothes were waiting with such old-fashioned manners?

“There are eight of them. Even lower-ranking Demonkin are dangerous.”

“Sir Gilbert, you have a habit of saying obvious things as if they’re something remarkable.”

As Galahad pointed that out, he looked over the Demonkin.

They were not from the Dark Magic Society. The Dark Magic Society would not have the leisure to target Galahad now.

The odds of encountering well-dressed Demonkin like this outside the Demon Realm were low. They had clearly approached with a purpose.

They might be targeting Galahad. He had caused plenty of trouble since coming north.

Still, they did not attack immediately.

If they were targeting Galahad, attacking the carriage would have been more efficient.

The reason they had revealed themselves instead of ambushing them was...

‘Damian.’

The Demonkin seemed to care quite a lot about Damian.

‘So I was right that Demonkin were involved.’

Galahad tapped ash from his cigarette as he organized his thoughts.

Then the carriage door began to open. Galahad shoved it shut.

“Ah!”

Something struck the door, followed by Gwen’s short cry.

“Ah! I hit my head!”

“I see. Is Damian all right?”

“What? Ah, Damian’s sleeping soundly.”

“I see. Don’t come out yet.”

Galahad pushed against the door again.

Thud. The door shut tightly.

“What is that one doing?”

At Gilbert’s question, Galahad turned and saw a Demonkin stepping forward alone while spinning a sword.

A long, pointed sword and a neat uniform. It looked like a typical knight from the capital.

“Those are the manners of a capital knight who learned them poorly.”

“Do those capital bastards draw their swords that noisily?”

“That’s considered stylish in the capital.”

“What a useless kind of style.”

“Things that are useless and inconvenient are considered refined by people who have everything. Oh, Sir Gilbert, it seems that Demonkin wants to cross swords with you.”

Gilbert scowled at the sword pointed toward him.

“Teach that Demonkin a lesson for daring to imitate a knight!”

A Demonkin daring to imitate a knight...

Anger surged.

At Galahad’s urging, Gilbert climbed down from the carriage. The piled snow soaked through his military boots.

The Demonkin stood in the center, waiting for Gilbert like a real knight. Sickened by the sight, Gilbert spat into the snow and adjusted his grip on his sword.

“Bell Antuada of House Proxel.”

“Bullshit.”

Gilbert scowled deeply as Bell Antuada introduced himself and took a stance.

“And this is Sir Gilbert of House Galahad!”

“Why am I part of House Galahad?”

Gilbert shouted, then tightened his grip on his sword.

Galahad narrowed his eyes as he watched Gilbert and the sword-wielding Demonkin.

‘He really is like a noble. Do Demonkin have nobles too?’

It was an interesting discovery.

‘Well, there is a Demon King, so of course they must have nobles.’

Then Bell Antuada raised his sword diagonally and lowered his head.

Ridiculously enough, he was doing a fairly good imitation of a capital knight’s manners.

Gilbert immediately swung his sword, overflowing with aura.

‘As uncultured as ever.’

Galahad admired him quietly.

Bell Antuada frowned and caught Gilbert’s blade.

Their swords collided.

He could not be completely certain, but the opponent was a lower-ranking Demonkin.

Galahad expected Gilbert to win in one blow.

But...

For the first time in a while, Galahad’s expectation was wrong.

Bell Antuada caught Gilbert’s aura with his sword.

A sword without aura should have been cut apart when it met aura, but Bell Antuada endured it.

‘That doesn’t look like a fine sword capable of withstanding aura...’

Then Galahad saw a ripple around Bell Antuada’s blade.

‘Authority.’

Even after seeing it, the question remained.

The opponent was a lower-ranking Demonkin. Even with an authority, there was no way a lower-ranking Demonkin should have been able to withstand Gilbert’s aura so easily.

Their contest continued. Galahad observed Bell Antuada and the Demonkin behind him.

Whenever the swords collided...

One of the Demonkin in the back frowned.

‘Oh, I see.’

Galahad waved his hand with quiet admiration.

Mana spread wide like a net, sweeping between the Demonkin and Bell Antuada.

Dense mana flowed between them.

As if they were connected by invisible threads.

‘Are they pooling their power?’

If Bell Antuada was receiving the other Demonkin’s strength, that explained how a lower-ranking Demonkin could face Gilbert.

They made it look like an honorable one-on-one duel while using tricks behind the scenes.

‘They really are like nobles.’

Galahad smiled.

Only then did he understand why eight Demonkin had appeared.

They seemed to have investigated the Special Operations Unit to some extent. This was likely their strategy for dealing with Gilbert.

Once they eliminated Gilbert, the rest would only be a mage and Tom. That was probably their calculation.

‘Still arrogant.’

Galahad clicked his tongue.

Then Gilbert’s sword was knocked backward. His face twisted in frustration.

He seemed unable to understand why his own sword was being pushed back.

But they had missed one thing.

A sword was not only about aura.

Just like now.

Gilbert’s sword slid along the opponent’s blade. Bell Antuada’s balance wavered for an instant.

It was a tiny opening, but Gilbert did not miss it.

Bell Antuada’s head flew into the air. Gilbert let out a rough breath and pulled back his sword.

‘Remarkable swordsmanship.’

Galahad admired him sincerely.

Gilbert truly was an excellent knight.

The Demonkin’s gazes followed their companion’s airborne head. A moment later, it rolled across the ground. White snow turned red.

Gilbert adjusted his grip on his sword and watched the Demonkin warily.

Clap, clap!

The Demonkin gave a light round of applause.

Their plan had failed, yet they remained so relaxed.

Galahad spread mana out of habit.

His face stiffened at what came back.

‘They weren’t arrogant.’

Galahad clicked his tongue.

* * *

“Sir Gilbert.”

Without lowering his guard, Gilbert returned to Galahad.

‘He was clearly a lower-ranking Demonkin. How did he have such strength...?’

Gilbert clenched and unclenched his tingling hand.

The opponent had definitely been a lower-ranking Demonkin. Yet his sword had been heavy. If his swordsmanship had been a little sharper, Gilbert might have been overwhelmed.

When he returned to Galahad, Gilbert suddenly sensed something strange.

Normally, Galahad would have mocked him, saying, “Sir Gilbert, are you struggling against a mere lower-ranking Demonkin?” Yet he was silent.

Gilbert turned toward Galahad and frowned.

Galahad was always relaxed, but his expression was now completely stiff.

Galahad was tense.

Gilbert’s hairs stood on end.

“What is it?”

Gilbert asked, tightening his grip on his sword.

Then a tall Demonkin stepped forward from the group. It was a Demonkin in the form of a middle-aged man with a mustache.

“It seems we’ve become more famous than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tom, bring me Damian.”

Galahad spoke while tapping the carriage. Gilbert frowned at the incomprehensible order.

“What is going on?”

“We’re surrounded.”

“There are only seven left...”

At that moment, a tree beside them shook violently. Well-dressed people emerged from between the trees.

Their clothes and weapons varied. Some wore clothing that exposed their flesh.

They had one thing in common.

Forks and knives hung at their waists.

Were they Demonkin too? Gilbert bit his lip hard.

“They aren’t Demonkin. Tch, these bastards were here too.”

“...Do you know them?”

“They call themselves Gourmets. A truly disgusting lot.”

Gourmets.

Gilbert frowned at the unpleasant name.

Each of the people Galahad called Gourmets held a well-maintained weapon. Gilbert instinctively knew they would not be easy opponents.

It was a perfect encirclement. Every direction was blocked.

There were more enemies now, but the silence remained.

They did not say a word. They simply loosened up and adjusted their weapons.

Eight Demonkin alone had been difficult enough. Now these people had joined them.

Gilbert’s lips went dry.

“They’re all quiet. Ah, one side intends to kill everyone except Damian, and the Gourmets do not speak to meat in the first place. Hmm. I see.”

Galahad muttered to himself and brushed his bangs back. His usual composure returned.

Seeing that, Gilbert felt relieved and even more uneasy at the same time.

“Well, I’ve thought of a good plan.”

Galahad suddenly climbed onto the carriage.

Everyone’s eyes turned toward him.

As if enjoying their gazes, Galahad greeted them calmly.

“I’m Galahad, captain of the Special Operations Unit. Pleased to meet you... You’re all awfully quiet.”

Though no one replied, Galahad continued without concern.

“It seems I’ve become fairly famous. Famous enough that Demonkin who poorly imitate nobles and disgusting Gourmets would join forces.”

Gilbert broke out in a cold sweat at Galahad’s provocation.

There was still no reply. The mustached Demonkin stepped forward. Its presence was sharper than the others, and sweat gathered in Gilbert’s palm.

Anyone would have been intimidated by such a lack of reaction, but Galahad only raised his voice.

“So, you Demonkin pretending to be nobles must be afraid of the Special Operations Unit. Afraid enough to ask such disgusting Gourmets for a deal. The deal was probably that they could eat everyone except Damian. Am I right? Oh, thank you. One of the Gourmets nodded.”

The man Galahad pointed at hurriedly shook his head twice.

Then Galahad kicked the carriage.

Tom brought Damian out of the carriage. Galahad gestured to Tom.

‘...Why Damian?’

Tom held Damian out to Galahad anyway.

“Thank you, Tom.”

Galahad grabbed Damian by the collar and lifted him roughly, as if handling an object.

“Ah, may I borrow your sword too? Thank you.”

At the polite request, Tom blankly handed over his sword.

“Good.”

Holding Damian in one hand and a sword in the other, Galahad nodded in satisfaction.

Gilbert and Tom’s eyes widened.