“Mm,” the king grunted affirmatively. “The stampede was first observed sixty-five years ago. Put another way, before that time, the devil flies were never observed moving in any way that suggested leadership. To begin with, devil flies were not a monster type known to gather in swarms. For that reason, conjecture has it that where the beasts gather in the greatest numbers, some sort of Lord of the Flies also resides. Because the destroyed regions are all on the Southern Continent, this individual is sometimes called the ‘Southern Demon King.’”
Like an imitation of the original Demon King, I thought. The Demon King, I had heard, first appeared on the Northern Continent seventy years ago. The resultant strife and conflict continued even today.
“If you’ll allow me to be forthright, I must say that the Southern Demon King is far and away a greater threat to our nation than the original Demon King. It is unlikely we will ever exterminate all of the devil flies, but I wonder if at least the Lord of Flies might not be defeated,” the king said.
It seemed conceivable, though the enemy was protected by more than ten thousand flies and nobody knew what they looked like. The king, perhaps unable to envision success against a foe so difficult to find, seemed utterly overwhelmed with emotion at the thought.
It was not just for him that I spoke.
“If anything happens, I will fight.”
I was no hero. Until recently, I had been nothing more than an insignificant salaryman.
Verrick, my Sword Saint predecessor, had dedicated his twilight years to battling the Demon King. Unlike him, I had no great ambitions of contributing to the achievement of world peace.
Still, I had the power to fight. I had my beams. Above all, I loved this world. In order to protect the joyful life I led here with my newfound friends, I would do whatever proved necessary to sweep away any given flame that should cast a spark upon us.
At my declaration, the king seemed overjoyed. He said gratefully, “That’s the Kaito I know. That’s why I chose you as Sword Saint. If you would now take your vow, I am sure the ancestors will be as pleased as I!”
A weather-beaten lighthouse stood on the edge of the sea, keeping its watch atop a sheer cliff. The structure, abandoned by time and decrepit with age, adjoined a hut that must once have housed its keeper. A man, advanced in age, sat inside the abandoned lodging and ate without a word.
His tailcoat and head of neatly swept-back ashen-gray-and-white hair gave one the immediate impression of an elderly gentleman. To the old man’s side stood a hybrid girl dressed in a maid’s uniform.
I can hardly breathe... she thought to herself.
The man had ordered the girl, Tigaro, to wait upon him and keep him company while he ate but, to her frustration, merely continued to eat in silence. Quiet hung heavy in the air. She stood before him and watched, keeping her face expressionless and feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
Still, she had no intention of starting a conversation. When she had landed the server job, her employer had emphasized one very strict order: never bother the master while he eats. She would, of course, respond appropriately if addressed, but in the two years she had worked as the old man’s servant, she had yet to hear his voice. Perhaps, she thought, he was unable to speak.
Having finally cleared his plate, the old man set his fork and knife aside. This was Tigaro’s cue: she gathered the discarded tableware onto a tray and offered a polite bow before stepping out of the hut.
Outside, brilliant rays of sunlight cascaded down upon the coastline. A salty ocean breeze blew across the clifftop and tousled Tigaro’s orange hair. She narrowed her eyes, squinting at the bright sky, and released a deep sigh.
It was still midday. Her duties as server included breakfast, lunch, and dinner and thus occupied her thrice each day. She would return to serve another meal to the old man when the setting sun began to redden the sky.
I worked damn hard on that meal. I wish he would eat it like he actually enjoyed it. If it’s always going to be that awful in there, I may as well not bother.
She didn’t know the details, but she had heard that her employer—the mayor of the town—and the old man whom she had been tasked with attending to were old acquaintances. As thanks for some long-ago favor, the man was allowed to live in the ruined lighthouse and given three meals a day.
If they’re such good friends, why don’t they eat together? And why do I have to go to the trouble of bringing the food all the way out to his residence?
There were many things she’d found strange since taking the job, but she dared not complain. Delivering three meals a day to the old man was easy work and it paid well. There was no reason to jeopardize that. Because the job was live-in, it also relieved Tigaro of the burden of paying rent. On top of that, she herself was provided with food—although only leftovers—and the salary was two gold coins a month. The working conditions and compensation were extraordinary by hybrid standards.
Her employer found all kinds of small things to nitpick, and it wouldn’t be accurate to say his personality was pleasant in the slightest, but that was all par for the course when dealing with humans. There were stresses, but the pay was good and it was less objectionable than just about anything else she could be doing for a living.
As long as she could continue to provide for her cat, the simple, quiet life was just fine. She even earned enough to send a bit to her parents here and there.
I’ve saved up a little. I should probably send them some more.
Tigaro’s employer kept ten or so maids on the payroll, all of them hybrids, and divided the work between them. Serving the old man’s food was Tigaro’s role.
Once, she had asked the boss for a few days of holiday so that she could go back home and visit her family. He’d angrily shouted down the suggestion, saying that hybrids weren’t allowed to ask for time off. She had wanted to talk back and stand up for herself, and she’d nearly done so without thinking before she stopped herself in time to relent and ask if she might be allowed to send money back to her relatives instead. Her employer had told her to leave the money in the care of the maid who handled miscellaneous chores—that she would handle shipping it off.
I’ll ask him if I can send some money again, she thought to herself while making her way back to the mansion, tray cradled in her arms. The palatial estate came into view after she had walked about five minutes from the lighthouse. It was built atop a bluff from which the entire seaside town could be surveyed. Its splendidly elegant exterior did, fittingly, suggest that it was the home of a mayor or magistrate.
“Good work today, Tigaro!” said Chestnut, greeting Tigaro with a smile as she watered a flowerbed. The two maids shared a dorm.
“And the same to you, Chestnut. The flowers look to be coming along nicely.”
“Aren’t they? It’ll be a shame to see them eaten.”
“Sure will. Is that what they’re for, then? Eating flowers... I just don’t understand the way rich people think,” Tigaro said, letting the last bit slip out.