Chapter 50

The next mission might take place in a cold-weather region where orcs aren’t supposed to be… maybe.

I couldn’t hide my surprise at that information, but I quickly reconsidered, figuring there was no such thing as an impossible mission, and decided to save the prying for later. Rai, being a mechanic, probably didn’t know the specifics of the mission anyway. Pulling myself together, I immediately steered the conversation back to the Motive Carriage.

“Does making it cold-weather-ready really require such a massive overhaul?”

“Yeah, because it’s clear that a makeshift modification won’t cut it this time. You know how our beloved cars hate the cold, right?”

“Yeah… now that you mention it, that’s true. We went through hell during that heavy snow last year.”

Rai and I both recalled that time and felt a reflex shiver run down our shoulders.

That was back during my first winter mission after joining the knight order.

At the time, we were assigned to an orc subjugation mission in a relatively northern area. Even though it was “north,” it was a place where snow rarely fell, so orcs did live there. However, despite it being winter, our opponent was a rogue orc that had failed to hibernate—a so-called “Den-less.” As a result of spending the winter constantly gnawing on everything in its search for food, its body had grown to a staggering four meters in size, leaving even Nonoka-san breathless.

A four-meter-class orc is roughly the same size as a large-species Troll. A few orcs of that size, known as “Lords,” have been confirmed on the Continent, but because the Kingdom has better nutrition and a warmer climate than the Continent, it must have grown to that size in a very short period.

Now, putting the orc aside, there is an important fact to verify here.

Our order lives and sleeps in the Motive Carriages, but these vehicles possess the terrible quality of being blisteringly hot in the summer and deathly cold in the winter. Leaving summer aside, winter is somewhat manageable due to exhaust heat as long as the magic engine is running, but it’s still far from ideal.

Furthermore, setting aside the magic core, keeping the engine running requires fuel, and the longer it runs, the more the expenses pile up. Consequently, Vice Commander Rony, feeling the budget reaching its limit, made the unavoidable decision to turn off the engine for just one night to get through it.

As luck would have been it, a “once-in-a-century” cold snap hit the Kingdom that very night.

‘Vice Commander!! The blizzard outside is insane!! The snow is a meter deep, and the windows, hatches, and exits are all frozen shut—we can’t get out!! We need heaters to melt the doors and a snow-shoveling crew!! The cars won’t move at this rate!!’

‘Vice Commander!! The dining hall is overflowing with members on the verge of freezing to death, so Chef Tamae is requesting permission for off-menu cooking!! Also, the stockpiles of garlic, ginger, and chili peppers are nearly gone!!’

‘Vice Commander!! The engine is frozen solid and won’t restart!! We need four heaters moved to the engine room for maintenance!! Otherwise, the tools will freeze too, and the Motive Carriage will officially die!!’

If we hadn’t stopped the engine, we could have weathered the cold snap. But because we stopped it, the engine froze; without the engine running, the car wouldn’t warm up; and without the car warming up, the shivering members were useless.

Yes, Vice Commander Rony had “done goofed.”

‘It’s a nightmare… a nightmaaaaare!!!’

…In the end, the Den-less orc also froze to death, so the mission was a success, but we almost ran out of food, the engine repairs took forever, the members were packed like sardines in the dining hall to stay warm, and the other vehicles without dining halls suffered even worse hell. It was truly a disastrous experience.

By the way, only Nonoka-san was delighted—runny nose and all—to have obtained the nearly unblemished corpse of a Den-less orc, though she promptly caught a cold and ended up in Dr. Pheles’s care.

But I digress.

Anyway, the excessive damage suffered back then was apparently a miscalculation even for Commander Luger. Vice Commander Rony, the one who made the call, was only ordered to three days of house arrest. To be honest, Rony was actually a bit happy since he got to stay home for three certain days, so the Commander might have intended it as a kindness from the start.

…That old man shows a flash of sincerity whenever he’s in the wrong. Is it just me, or does it feel like he uses those “sweets” to seize control of people’s hearts? Then again, I’m one of the ones who got hooked.

“I see even the bearded old man has moved on winter precautions… the tires have changed too. They’ve gotten remarkably rugged.”

“Those are tires designed not to slip on frozen ground. They were actually my idea! I thought they might not be necessary on the roads here, but in the ‘Empire,’ frozen roads are a dime a dozen!”

“Slipping, huh… True, even if this car mostly blasts through pathless wilds, it’s better to be prepared.”

According to Rai, the “Empire”—a nation on the Continent and his home country—developed magic engines and simultaneously laid down roads of a quality and quantity incomparable to the Kingdom’s. I’d love to see them sometime and maybe try riding a “motorcycle,” which Rai used to love.

“By the way, the heating has been improved too! We’re trying various things, like a revolutionary system that warms from the floor by running pipes directly under the rooms, and an ‘Ecology Mode’ that generates heat with low fuel! If this works out, we can export this tech abroad!”

“This car just keeps getting higher performance… I’m a bit worried since it’s a prototype, but don’t you think stuff like this is kind of exciting?”

“I couldn’t agree more. As expected of Varna-san, you’re quite the boy!”

“Of course I am. Don’t make me say something so obvious!”

Rai’s grin was contagious, and I found myself grinning back. Since time immemorial, “power-ups” in any story have always been synonymous with romance. Rai understands those tropes well.

“…Well, sorry for interrupting. Good luck with the work!”

“No worries!! The tech crew is fired up too, saying ‘Above all else, make sure Veera-chan’s greenhouse tank never loses its functions!!’”

“O-oh. I get the sentiment, but please take care of the humans too…”

I forgot to mention, but since returning to the Capital, the popularity of Veera—aka Myun-myun—has known no bounds. While a gag order has been issued to keep information from leaking outside, it’s impossible to fool the Research Institute, so the word is out there.

Furthermore, photos of Myun-myun’s defenseless sleeping form, taken with a “camera” developed by the Tool Creation Squad, are apparently circulating. People are falling head over heels for her regardless of gender.

“She is a healing presence… I want to repay her for saving me when my soul nearly died during the collaboration with the Tool Creation Squad… Hehe, hehehe.”

“Hey, are you okay!? I can guess what happened, but you’ve got the same eyes as that ‘Spiritual Senior’ who’s always talking to walls!?”

I wondered if Rai, who wore a hollow smile with strangely deep shadows, was actually maintaining his sanity.

By the way, Myun-myun herself is currently visiting Professor Famiya at the Research Institute with Caliban, so very few people have seen her in person, but it’s terrifying that she can charm people even through a photograph.

The next morning—realizing that my leave would likely continue for a few more days, I sat cross-legged on my bed, determined to find something to do today.

I thought about hanging out with my junior, Calme, but I didn’t know where my juniors spent their days off. If I’d known in advance I’d have leave, I could have made plans, but an abrupt holiday like this is actually inconvenient.

I thought about visiting Nonoka-san, but she went to the Research Institute saying she wanted to hurry up and dissect the orc from Kliffia, and she hasn’t come back. If I go there, I’ll probably be forced to assist in orc dissection all day, so it’s better to stay away.

The Academy is in session, so I can’t go there without being a nuisance.

I considered restarting the tennis I used to play a while back, but then I remembered being banned from the tennis courts because my serves and smashes would go wild and catch bystanders in the crossfire. I never got any better at it, so maybe I should just give up on tennis.

So, I decided to head to the blacksmith for the first time in a while.

“I’ve put it through quite a lot of abuse… I hope there aren’t any weird warps in it.”

My destination is the workshop of Old Man Genon, the finest blacksmith in the Royal Capital. He runs the forge with several apprentices, and it is a prestigious establishment where every knight’s first government-issued sword is guaranteed to be finished by Genon himself.

There’s nothing musty or dusty about it; in fact, as a purveyor to the knight orders, the exterior is quite grand. I wouldn’t be surprised if stone from Kliffia was used in its construction.

I entered as a customer, drawing startled looks from some nobles who happened to be there. After politely declining a clerk’s offer of a sword priced high enough to buy a mansion, I finally reached Genon’s personal workspace.

I rang the bell—ding-ling—and a blacksmith straight out of a picture book appeared. He was short of stature but thick-limbed, with a face framed by a white beard and an expression so sharp it would have made a child burst into tears.

Old Man Genon still looked aged, yet he lacked any hint of frailty. He looked at my face and let out a disgruntled snort. He was always like that, so I doubted he was actually in a bad mood.

“Hmph. The brat. What does a high-and-mighty knight want with me now?”

“I was a bit concerned about the state of my blade. I thought I’d have you look at it and give it a sharpen while you’re at it.”

“Let’s see it…”

I was used to his brusqueness, so I handed over my beloved sword. Genon inspected it, then looked at me and let out a massive sigh. Even if I was used to it, the man was incredibly rude. Perhaps it was permitted because of his age, but if a fresh-faced rookie had done that, they’d have been crucified. The perks of being a senior, I supposed.

“What was that sigh for…?”

“You… just what kind of way were you usin’ this thing to make it end up like this?”

“Eh? What kind of way? Just the usual—cutting, parrying, reckless stuff… wait, is it about to snap!?”

If so, I was in big trouble. This sword and I had survived death together for two years.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have been surprising if it were at its limit. After lopping off that many orc heads—bone and all—metal fatigue might have built up without me noticing. Above all, I hadn’t shown my sword to a smith since long before the Imperial Match. Was the lifespan of the blade, invisible to an amateur’s eye, drawing to a close?

“Old man! My partner… can my partner be saved!? It’s not too late, is it…!!”

“Idiot. It’s the opposite. There’s so little warp or nicking I’m startin’ to doubt you even used it. You’re tellin’ me you went through the Imperial Match and cut orc necks with this? It was in way worse shape when I saw it last year. You got tired of fencin’ and decided to become a sharpener instead?”

“…Huh?”

When I pressed for details, Genon grumbled that my sword was so annoyingly polished and well-kept that there wasn’t a single issue with using it. I guessed my sword handling had improved a bit. I was glad my meticulous maintenance had paid off, but I really wished he’d stop with the misleading phrasing.

“Mighty fine care you’ve taken. Not a speck of cloudiness on it.”

“Well, when I brought it in after last year’s Imperial Match, you chewed me out with terrifying intensity. Told me my sword and body weren’t unified, that I was a show-off brat with nothing but raw strength, a half-baked failure… After being trashed like that, of course I was going to handle it better.”

“You sure remember the small stuff. I already forgot all that ancient history.”

Genon pointedly picked his nose with his pinky, but I remembered every single word. Aside from my former instructor—who was currently missing—this man was the only person to have insulted me that thoroughly since I had entered society. It wasn’t that I hated him for it, but I remembered it because I wanted to make him take it back one day.

Unable to withstand my flat stare, Genon shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t know why, but I felt like I’d won.

“Good grief, you’re a strange swordsman… Amateurs ruin their blades and throw ‘em away, blamin’ the steel. Mid-tier sorts mourn a broken sword and swear not to break the next one. And high-ranking knights… well, their blades just can’t keep up with their battle. Usually, that’s how people part with their first sword. Honestly, you were in that ‘high-ranking’ category until last year—”

Genon peered down the edge of my blade with one eye, speaking in a low grumble.

“You’re treatin’ the sword like a guest while drawin’ out every last bit of potential it’s got. Ordinarily, that’s like takin’ a hit with your bare flesh just to save your shield. I’m baffled how you made it work.”

“Doesn’t that just mean your swords are that excellent, Genon-san?”

“I don’t cut corners, that’s for sure. But I turn out twenty swords with the same look and function every year… I can raise the quality, but I can’t pour my soul into ‘em. They’re high-quality as merchandise, but for a craftsman? They’re lower-middle at best.”

Genon sounded self-deprecating as he sheathed the sword.

I’d heard he was originally an old-school craftsman with no interest in running a large workshop. He would look at the person, look at their sword, and forge a custom blade perfectly suited to them. But he had a wife and child, and to feed them, he had been forced to take on work he didn’t truly want… or so I’d been told.

To Genon, that must have felt like giving up on being a true craftsman. When he called his own work “lower-middle,” he wasn’t really talking about the sword—he was talking about himself—

No, stop. It wasn’t a problem I had any right to butt into.

Noticing my gaze, Genon masked the dark atmosphere with a playful tone.

“The way you use a sword is a blacksmith’s nightmare in a way. Raging hard enough to become a legend and yet not breakin’ a thing… At this rate, you’d perform well no matter what blade I gave ya, so there’s no point in makin’ a custom one.”

“Oh, stop it. You know you secretly want to make a custom sword just for me, don’t you? …Though, I’ll pass on those ridiculously huge two-meter swords.”

“Fool! A custom blade is ten years… no, a hundred years too early for a snot-nosed brat like you!!”

With that, the heavy air vanished, and I left Genon’s workshop.

I’d joked about a custom sword, but the truth was, I had no intention of letting go of this plain, unadorned blade.

It wasn’t that I was chasing some tactical advantage; I simply wanted to cherish my “first weapon.” That was really all it was. From the moment the edge gleamed when I received it from the King, this lower-middle mass-produced sword became a divine relic to me.

‘The ‘first’ is special, huh…’

I wondered if Rosalind, who admired me, felt that same level of intensity. If so, yesterday’s half-hearted compromise wouldn’t do her any favors. If she was serious about stepping into the Royal Foreign Hazardous Species Countermeasures Knights, perhaps I, as the person she looked up to, should give her a more serious trial.

Lost in thought, I killed some time in town and headed back to the training grounds just as the Academy’s session was ending. I heard two familiar voices. Just as I turned the corner, thinking I knew they’d be here, an ear-splitting roar vibrated through my eardrums.

“—!! Rosalind-san, you stubborn mule! You spoiled, elitist princess! You big-headed, hard-skulled, cold-hearted robot!!”

“Wha—! You… the nerve! You’re nothing but a brainless, impatient savage from an unmapped jungle who forgets things after three steps!!”

“Ha!! What of it, you wicked girl!! You’re just a cowardly, silver-spoon princess who’s all talk, acting like a prim little kitty and lying to yourself until things get hard, and then you cry to your parents!! As if someone like you could ever be a knight! I’m sure Senior doesn’t want someone like you in the order anyway!!”

“I won’t take that from you!! You started training only to throw it away halfway through, and when I tried to teach you, you were asleep within minutes!! Your talk of complaints, excuses, and escape plans is certainly impressive for a spoiled brat, isn’t it?! You’re the one who is a loathsome misfit for the knights!!”

“What did you say?! Mggghhh…”

“What indeed!! Nggghhh…”

There, the two who had seemed to be getting along so well yesterday were now red-faced with rage, hurling insults at each other in a truly unsightly display. The sight was so unexpected I considered retreating to headquarters and escaping reality for a few minutes, but seeing Amal and Rosalind—who hadn’t even noticed me—about to start a physical brawl, I hurriedly rushed over to them.

They seemed to have formed a bit of a bond yesterday. How on earth had it come to this?