115

“Will that make you my enemy?”

I moved my fingers with the words and manipulated my throat to make it look as if I were speaking.

Since I had always communicated by writing, suddenly speaking fluently would have looked unnatural, so I deliberately used broken speech—that was a conscious choice, not because Elven pronunciation was hard or because I feared messing up when I finally spoke.

“He… spoke?”

The dignitary’s raised hand halted midair in shock. The members on Number Six’s side were likewise slack-jawed.

“An individual’s rampage. It doesn’t apply to this situation.”

I drew a clear line between that old hag and the current matter. As I said, the “control magic” hadn’t come through the will of the elven people as a race, so it could be read as “I don’t intend to be hostile”—but if a troop led by a clan power broker chose to attack, there was no room for interpretation.

By issuing a warning, I created a situation where, if he resorted to force, he would have to take responsibility for any subsequent damage caused by me.

That wouldn’t matter if he acted from unshakable conviction—but I had heard something that told me how he made decisions.

(This man was called Kashial Zesat. That Zesat—an ambitious clan that had recently risen in elven politics. I’d heard more than once about their intrigues, so it stuck with me.)

Would such a man really possess the conviction to eliminate a threat like me?

Answer: no.

Power-seekers tended to prize their own skins.

I meant to exploit that hesitation and put strength into my legs to break out of this disadvantageous encirclement—whether to run or fight, being surrounded was bad.

I had already mapped most of their positions; even accounting for magical concealment, I judged it unlikely there were traps.

I pulled one corner of my mouth up for a grin—there was a wet click as I tried—and just as I was about to spring back, Number Six stepped up beside me and spoke.

“We are in a contract with Argos.”

She smiled. I thought she’d stepped out just to say that, but there was weight behind it.

Her smile read, instinctively, as the smile of someone certain of victory, so I watched to see how the situation would shift.

Kashial’s face twisted with shock and confusion; clearly, her words carried something that could stop him.

“What Forshna seeks are the resources and materials harvested from the Old Empire. In exchange, we have promised to provide food.”

“Are you insane!?”

Bartering with a monster was madness.

But his reaction hinted there was another meaning—likely the true reason he was this rattled.

“Here and now, we recognize ‘Argos’ as a demi-human.”

Her declaration was quiet—and his fist trembled as if that was the one thing he most didn’t want to hear.

“Ridiculous… there’s no way—”

“There is.”

Cutting Kashial off, Number Six said it crisply—nothing like the flustered woman from the river when dealing with children—and pressed the argument to shut down rebuttal.

“‘Demi-human’ refers to a race capable of understanding speech and mutual communication, and that can engage in some form of economic exchange. Argos meets both conditions.”

“…We won’t accept that.”

“This isn’t about acceptance. It’s a matter of definition.”

To be honest, I was already losing the thread.

What difference did it make if I was treated as a monster or as a demi-human?

I learned the answer immediately—and, at the same time, I was forced to recognize how high Number Six stood within the Forshna clan.

“Furthermore, he has established his dwelling in the Fullretos Great Forest—this forest is his habitat.”

“You—!”

Kashial’s enraged shout said he’d grasped her aim.

“Argos is a neighbor. We claimed territory where someone already lived. Therefore, that declaration is void.”

“So that was your goal from the start!?”

At his step forward, it became clear that all of her prior moves with me had led to this.

(Huh? Then what happens to the Committee? And what exactly is going on here?)

The premise shifted.

But that was only his perspective; I still didn’t know the actual state of play.

“Fool! Humans will advance into the forest. If we don’t secure it first, why can’t you see that the next tragedy will repeat?”

“I don’t deny that humans will try to bring the forest under their sway. But will they succeed? Argos here, and the ‘Forest’s Nightmare’ that pushed us to crisis—both were born of this forest.”

“Ah, that does track,” I thought—since the Chimera Project and the Enhanced Soldier Project were born in former Imperial lands, naturally their results would appear in what had become the forest.

But that was my perspective as someone who knew the truth. To others, this forest would simply be a land that birthed new, dangerous monsters.

(So… Zesat wants to preemptively claim the forest for the elves to prevent a future war with humans. Forshna wants to torpedo that plan because trying it means fighting new monsters like me.)

The more I thought, the more both sides’ logic made sense.

“You are making one fatal mistake. Why did you assume there was only one ‘Nightmare’? Why didn’t you consider that something else might follow?”

One side stepped in; the other stepped back. I could call a winner.

“Why didn’t you consider the possibility that a threat greater than the ‘Nightmare’ has already been born in the Great Forest?”

With that single line, my doubts were resolved.

(Oh. That’s it.)

I finally understood her aim.

The Natural Harmony Committee wasn’t the point.

Having seen a monster called “Nightmare” and an out-of-spec being like me, she feared for elven survival.

So she chose to recruit me—since we could communicate—to prepare for the threats they would face.

That might not be the whole of it, but it was certainly part of her intent.

“What do you know! Do you claim that war is a lesser threat than mere monsters!?”

Her concern didn’t reach him.

Even if his head grasped it, his heart wouldn’t allow it.

(War is truly a curse…)

Which created a problem.

Conviction or no, he definitely carried hatred.

Even if its original target was gone, he would choose any means to prevent a repeat.

That was reason enough to pull a trigger.

I’d seen it at the time: people who lost loved ones in war, then enlisted for that very reason—they all had eyes like his.

(Since those who lived it are still alive, you can’t judge this by human lifespans.)

There was nothing I could say to that.

Resigned to “go with the flow,” I felt Number Six’s hand touch me.

“What is the worst case you imagine? The great war repeating? Why won’t you consider the possibility that we’ll be annihilated by threats born in this forest before we reach that future? Before the threat called ‘Nightmare,’ we had no options. At that point, we should have withdrawn from the Great Forest.”

“So you’re telling us to look the other way? You, who know nothing of that war, dare to pontificate?”

“It’s a different problem. Fortunately, someone we can talk to has appeared. We cannot afford to miss this opportunity.”

To say, in front of the monster you plan to use, that you intend to use him—bold didn’t begin to cover it.

(Declare the intent to use me to my face to minimize the trust penalty… my whole assessment of Number Six has flipped.)

Reviewing everything so far, a new worry surfaced.

(…Surely Number Six didn’t sit down at the table assuming from the start that I’d accept being “used,” right?)

The sticking point was their assessment of me—or rather, my intelligence.

There was a prime example: my abnormal speed at learning language.

Being under compulsion had supercharged my studies—and I’d worked hard not to let that be seen.

From the outside, I probably looked like a monster that had suddenly mastered Elven.

(Come to think of it, when I ordered “academic books,” they skipped the primers entirely.)

If that was their evaluation of me, I’d like it revised.

The continuing duel of words started to look like something else entirely.

Shut out of the conversation, I counted myself lucky—and prayed the crossfire of this war of tongues wouldn’t turn my way.