My reasoning was that if Claire warned me about an emergency, I could casually head over to Evaloti without raising any suspicions. But I had returned from Evaloti...just the day before. I wanted to leave at least four days between visits. If I rushed down there immediately, I might be able to save some of the people Charlotte wouldn’t be able to.
But the situation would look far too convenient. The emergency wasn’t dire enough to be worth sacrificing my camouflage just yet. That was what the rational part of me said.
And I understood that. The conciseness and matter-of-factness of the report didn’t change the fact that human lives were critically injured. They had survived war, found a stable life in the autonomous zone, and had worked hard to protect it. They were valuable, and worthy of respect. A burning passion in my heart demanded I go save them immediately.
I knew. I understood. I really wanted to leave right away, but...
“Just when the City Guard has so many on the verge of death, the oh-so generous governor swoops in to save the day by healing them. Your fame would spread far and wide. What a wonderful tale it would be...for the people of the autonomous zone,” Ante said flatly. “But it would also be terribly unnatural. Merely giving the people of Evaloti healing without some expenditure has already caused pushback. To stir things up even more...”
Yeah, she was right. By claiming that they were my property, it was my responsibility to maintain them as best I could at my own expense. That had led people around the kingdom to believe I viewed the autonomous zone as my personal possession, and I was still struggling to deal with the backlash from that. If I ran back to the autonomous zone to save them this time, how much more pressure would I be subjecting myself to? Of course, I was happy to shoulder a burden or two. But potentially exposing Enma’s high-speed communication? Or possibly giving others reason to believe I was too invested in the people of Evaloti? Did I really need to make myself vulnerable to those risks right now?
If the autonomous zone itself were in danger, I could easily justify it, but...!
Overcome by grief, I folded up the letter. To maintain my four-day gap between visits, I wouldn’t be able to go back until the day after tomorrow. That was the best I could do.
In the end, Charlotte was able to attend to those who came back critically injured. But despite her zealous efforts, she lacked the power to save them all. A number of the more severely wounded succumbed to their injuries the next day. In total, seven men lost their lives. All because of the unlucky coincidence of encountering a warbear.
Yes, it was just bad luck. That was what I, and everyone else involved, thought at the time.
And we believed that...for now.
†††
At Bistro Three, Tafman had been drinking since sundown. The food was as tasty as ever, the ale still surprisingly good despite being so cheap, and all the usual suspects were there laughing and drinking...but Tafman alone wore a dark expression. His mind was somewhere else entirely. Maybe the others thought he was just exceptionally tired. Either way, it wasn’t like him. Perhaps partly out of consideration for him, the others had found it difficult to strike up a conversation with Tafman. With his right hand tightly gripping the mug, his eyes were locked on his left hand. There wasn’t a scratch on it. It was like it was brand-new.
“I see you’re here early today,” a young woman in a heavy cloak said as she stepped into the pub.
“Oh, hey,” Tafman looked up, giving the woman—Claire—an awkward smile. “I got off a bit earlier than usual. With me just getting back to work and all.”
“I heard about the run-in with the fiend. Sounds like things were rough out there for you,” Claire said while wearing a sympathetic expression. It had been the talk of the town over the past few days. The City Guard had fought a fiend, and suffered heavy losses. Claire had gone to the pub every day, but this was the first time she had run into Tafman since the incident.
“Yeah. Just glad I made it back in one piece,” Tafman laughed, swirling the drink in his mug. Though he laughed it off like nothing, Tafman was clearly putting up a front. Above all, it was entirely unlike him.
As an agent of the demonic kingdom, Claire was naturally privy to everything. She knew Vice Captain Tafman had been beaten and bruised all over, and had all but lost his left arm to necrosis. Despite the pain, he’d stuck it out and made sure all of his men got treatment before he did.
“Any good drinks in today?” Claire asked a passing waiter.
“Well, we’ve got some Warlito Bimi.”
“Give me a mug of that for this guy here.”
“Huh? What’s this about...?” Tafman frowned.
“You can’t fool me. I know you’re feeling out of it.” Claire shrugged. “You’re always going on about how you aren’t fit to be vice captain. So you probably feel responsible for what happened...” Claire’s eyes wandered a bit as she carefully chose her words. “But...you did your best, right? What more could anyone ask for? So have a drink and cheer up a bit.”
Man, I’m pathetic, Tafman bit his lip. Such a young girl was consoling him.
She was right. As vice captain, he felt responsible. But there was more to it than that. He was a soldier that had defended Deftelos from the front lines. He endured the demons’ insults as they called humans weak without batting an eye. He knew that if he worked together with his comrades, they could defeat any foe. That was what he had believed.
But his battle against the warbear had taught him that his confidence was built on the foundation laid by heroes and priests. Without miracles, spells, and holy magic, humans were frail and fragile. They had been crushed. It reminded him of the audience with Zilbagias. When the prince had called humans weak, taunting them to try and scrounge up some semblance of individual strength, Tafman had naturally burned with anger. But now, he couldn’t deny a single word.
When they unexpectedly encountered the warbear, Tafman himself gave the order to stand and fight. Dober, a member of the formal Royal Hunters Battalion, had agreed with his decision. When faced with a warbear, maybe a dog beastfolk like Dober could have escaped. But humans like Tafman had had no chance.
Even so, Tafman couldn’t help but blame himself. Had his decision been colored by his past experience fighting with magical support? If he had really taken into account their true strength without those magics and miracles, could he have found a better way to deal with that situation?
I really am a bad fit for vice captain...
It wasn’t his leadership skills or tactical knowledge that worried him. His failing was in emotionally coming to terms with the fact that his subordinates had died following orders he had given. Combined with how miserable he had been feeling, as someone who was renowned for being bold and shameless, he felt like he had been thoroughly defeated. He couldn’t even enjoy his beloved alcohol.