Ch.498Episode 18 – Men’s Club

As Camilla’s wailing echoed around me, I lay sprawled on the flying carpet, lost in reminiscence.

“Ah, this is nice…”

The sunshine was warm, the breeze pleasantly cool. There couldn’t be a better weather for reminiscing about the past.

Let’s turn back time a bit. Specifically to the cause of the Grand Duchess tossing Camilla into the middle of the desert.

Whenever bizarre and suspicious incidents occur among our group, regardless of who caused the trouble, pointing to someone’s “habitual speech” as the culprit is usually correct.

Today’s story, too, begins with a mouth that earned punishment.

Episode 18 – Men’s Club

The moment the Grand Duchess opened her mouth, Camilla was so startled she jumped up.

“It’s unfair, Professor!”

She must have thought this was going too far, even to her own ears. She tried to prove her innocence to avoid the punishment handed down by the Archmage.

Innocence is proven through tears, and sincere tears are legally admissible evidence.

Unfortunately, her opponent was a 100-year-old magician, so this time she needed to persuade with eloquence and logic.

So if you ask whether she’d lose… Camilla’s answer is always “I’ll win.”

Because she’s a Cambridge student. Logic and eloquence were her strong suits, having gone toe-to-toe with professors, SIS interviewers, and analysts.

“Unfair? Then why did you burn someone with magic?”

“That’s not true!”

Camilla spread her palms, first exclaiming with a stern expression, “That’s not true!”

“I only burned the warehouse. The poacher got burned trying to retrieve ivory himself!”

That was a fact.

Officially, our group’s mission was “blocking illegal weapons trafficking,” but the actual operation was “just arresting smugglers.”

Some might say, “You only needed to arrest the arms dealers, why go after smugglers too?” But smugglers aren’t idiots who only deal in weapons. They’ll sell organs and trade people as slaves if it makes money. In fact, slave trading is ongoing in third-world countries across the 21st century globe.

So among the criminals Camilla arrested was a professional poacher.

For reference, these guys cut ivory from live elephants. The reason is quite infuriating—something about maintaining freshness?

They’d have a shaman sever the elephant’s spine to prevent it from thrashing, then cut off the tusks with a chainsaw. They’d leave the elephant in the savanna, regardless of whether it lived or died. It was a perfect example of the depths of human greed and hedonism.

“Those guys were so terrible…”

Camilla presented this as her justification. In other words, they “deserved what they got.”

Of course, Camilla had only intended to burn the warehouse. If the poacher hadn’t caused a commotion yelling “No! My ivory!” and jumped into the fire, he wouldn’t have suffered third-degree burns all over his body.

So saying they deserved it was indeed appropriate, but…

Nevertheless, the Grand Duchess had to sternly reprimand her disciple.

“‘Before using magic, check twice, three times to ensure there’s no harm to bystanders. What we wield is not a weapon but magic.’ I clearly warned you. It seems the child listened with deaf ears.”

“…”

“Very well. I’ll let this pass. As you said, the poacher brought the fire upon himself. Who could stop a criminal from walking into an inferno of his own accord? Especially when driven by greed.”

She was saying she knew it wasn’t Camilla’s fault and would let it go. Camilla smiled brightly at this small victory.

The questioning moved on, and the Grand Duchess’s offensive continued.

The Archmage raised an eyebrow as she unfolded a newspaper, as if to say, look at this outrageous article.

“But where did you learn to recite incantations I never taught you? I heard you chanted something while catching bank robbers.”

It was a spell I’d never heard in my life.

Receiving the Grand Duchess’s question, Camilla began to sweat profusely.

“Um… well… I didn’t formally learn it…”

Her voice grew increasingly small, as if looking for a mouse hole to hide in. Even the Archmage with her sharp senses had to concentrate to understand her.

After hemming and hawing, Camilla finally offered an excuse that wasn’t really an excuse.

“I couldn’t even use it properly. It didn’t activate correctly…”

“It seems you’ve picked up some crude techniques used by wandering magicians.”

Fortunately, the Grand Duchess didn’t seem intent on scolding her.

She emphasized that “new spells should only be used in the field after sufficient practice,” and Camilla promised to do so from now on.

With one question finished, the next question was again about her “criminal activities.” The Grand Duchess sighed deeply as she unfolded the newspaper.

“I understand breaking the law. Sometimes one crosses legal boundaries when pursuing criminals.”

“…”

“From now on, never break the law again.”

“Yes, Professor.”

She answers well. I clicked my tongue inwardly as I sprawled on the sofa eating snacks.

Camilla had to endure the Grand Duchess’s scolding for a while. The Grand Duchess emphasized and re-emphasized the basics a magician should maintain.

From my perspective, having eaten military rice for about 20 years, what the Grand Duchess was doing resembled ideological education.

And that’s exactly what it was. The Grand Duchess was conducting ideological education on Camilla.

“Being sloppy in the beginning and end of using magic, having an unsmooth process in between, these are grave mistakes for a magician. Since ancient times, magicians have been known for their composure and judgment…”

My goodness. How can she make such simple, just, and reasonable arguments? It was making me drowsy, just like a principal’s lecture.

What is it with old people? Do they have some disease where thorns grow in their mouths if they don’t give advice and counsel for even a moment?

Our drunk executive was like that, the brigade commander was like that, and the school principal was the same. Making people stand in the blazing sun, what nonsense.

Now even the Grand Duchess was repeating the same behavior, making this an unsolved mystery of humanity and a task modern science should urgently address.

It was then that the Grand Duchess playfully spat out a reproach.

“And if you’re going to do it, do it properly. How fragrant did it smell that you were boiling excrement for days on end?”

“…!”

At that moment, Camilla was too indignant to form a proper response.

If only the fuel truck hadn’t overturned crossing the mountain. If only the residents hadn’t stolen fuel from the overturned truck. Then her boiling excrement would have remained a “non-existent memory.”

“Ugh…!”

“Why, why are you crying, child? Stop. Won’t you cease your tears at once?”

“I, I feel so wronged…!”

As Camilla began to pour out her grievances with overwhelming emotion, the Grand Duchess, who had been listening quietly, found herself nodding.

After hearing her out, it didn’t seem like the disciple was at fault, did it? If one had to blame someone, it would be the residents who stole fuel from the tanker…

Even those who might bristle, “How dare you blame poor refugees for taking a bit of fuel?!” would rush to find a Chinese Type 56 or a cheap Pakistani-made rifle lying on the street if they had to boil excrement for three hours under the scorching African summer sun, being bitten all over by mosquitoes (carrying malaria/dengue fever/yellow fever and other diseases in a Russian roulette of infections—not an option but a passive).

And with a face bitten all over by mosquitoes, sobbing loudly, it seemed inappropriate to continue scolding.

It was for this reason that the Grand Duchess, looking at Camilla with warmth and pity, began to question me instead.

“Was there no way for you to procure fuel?”

“What? Me? Why?”

“…?”

In fact, Camilla had suggested something similar. Let’s go out and buy fuel, she said.

But the nearest gas station was 60km away (specifically, beyond the mountain range—think about where the tanker was coming from when it crashed).

There was the option of flying there, but Camilla had ruled that out as impossible. How could one fly naked through a place like the mountains of Afghanistan?

After I explained these circumstances, the Grand Duchess frowned subtly.

Then she suddenly began to scold Camilla harshly.

How could a child complain without even trying—

I didn’t teach you that way—

Before teaching magic, I should have taught discipline—and so on.

“…uh, what?”

“…huh?”

Faced with this barrage of reproaches, Camilla just stared blankly at the Grand Duchess. I too could only blink and stare.

For reference, the mountain that blocked the way between the gas station and the refugee camp.

The “Afghan mountain terrain” that Camilla had compared it to was a place where even U.S. military “helicopters” sometimes couldn’t fly.

Why couldn’t helicopters fly there? To spin the rotors, you need to burn fuel, but that mountain terrain was so absurdly high that there was insufficient lift and oxygen. That’s literally why.

Once, I had to fly over the mountain range to quickly get to the Anjuman side, and when the air layer thinned, the Chinook wobbled like an 80-year-old grandfather. Wow… I thought we were all going to crash to our deaths with the CIA guys that day.

The aircraft quickly stabilized after crossing the mountain range, but we, terrified of crashing, held onto each other’s hands tightly, not even knowing whose hands we were holding (would have been visible if they were white, but unfortunately they were Black, so I couldn’t see).

The door gunner and U.S. military crew members looked at us like “What’s wrong with these idiots?”

We even rolled around on the ground and crawled on all fours as a group.

The looks from the U.S. military, senior CIA intelligence officers, NIS team, and our seniors as they watched this tri-colored hybrid dragoon group (white-black-yellow) crawling on all fours out of the helicopter… how warm and gentle they were.

Of course, the Grand Duchess doesn’t know any of this.

1. Afghanistan doesn’t exist in this area.

2. The place we brought her to is a hotel in the center of the capital, Umsalga.

3. Because she came straight here without even glancing at the mountain terrain behind the refugee camp.

In the Grand Duchess’s eyes, Camilla was just a “troublemaker who doesn’t want to do hard work but causes plenty of accidents.”

“…”

Camilla’s eyes sparkled as she signaled for help, but I lightly turned my gaze away, ignoring her.

Therefore.

“I’ve decided to fix your rotten mental state first. Practice magic training and mental discipline together.”

“Gyaaaah-!”

And thus, a human reformation furnace was born in the middle of the scorching, dizzying red desert.

*

As everyone knows, Alexandra Petrova is a person from an old era. Having passed 100 years long ago, this is hardly surprising.

By Earth’s 2020 standard, 100 years ago would be exactly 1920. That was right after World War I ended, when a mustached art school reject was continuing his political aspirations.

Thus, by syllogistic reasoning, the Grand Duchess could be considered a figure similar to Hitler.

I know. This sounds like nonsense to me too. But anyone who saw this scene would exclaim, “Ah! The Führer shot not from his head but from his remaining testicle!”

“Save me! Save me, Professor!”

“No. Just a little more effort.”

The Hitler of the Kiyen Empire (not really), Alexandra Petrova, lying on the flying carpet, ignored her disciple’s desperate pleas for salvation.

Down below, Camilla was running around everywhere with a trail of sand clouds behind her.

The Archmage, looking down at the ground like an immortal on a cloud, tossed some “advice” to her disciple. Advice that didn’t sound like advice at all.

“If you don’t deal with it quickly, you’ll be the one in trouble. Use your magic now.”

At her mentor’s heavenly guidance, the disciple began to sob loudly.

“How am I supposed to use it when you’ve restricted my magic!”

For reference, Camilla’s magical power was currently restricted by the Grand Duchess. I don’t know what trick she pulled, but after some swishing and swooshing, Camilla’s firepower, which used to shoot pillars of flame, had been reduced to a campfire.

In other words, the Grand Duchess had essentially pushed Camilla into a horde of monsters with nothing but a torch. The “sand cloud” visible there was the dust created by the monsters moving around, so the term “horde” was not an exaggeration at all.

As I was watching this chase scene, the Grand Duchess suddenly called me, saying she had something to ask.

“What would you do if you ran out of ammunition during wartime?”

Ammunition’s gone. What else can you do?

“I’d either get resupplied, capture enemy weapons, or fix bayonets. I’d find a way to keep fighting.”

“Did you hear that?”

The Grand Duchess addressed her disciple on the ground.

“Even soldiers without magic find ways to fight when faced with enemies. Yet you run away at the first sign of trouble just because your physical condition isn’t normal.”

Camilla, being chased by monsters, shrieked back.

“How am I supposed to fight against so many monsters!”

“You impudent child. Did I cut off your limbs? Or make it impossible for you to use magic?”

“You reduced my magic to mouse droppings!”

“That is still magic. Use what you have to fight.”

She was telling her to do as instructed. Just do it.

In the end, Camilla had to fight the monsters while crying.

“Huaaang…!”

The sight of Camilla catching monsters with mouse-dropping-sized magic was truly fresh and novel. Perhaps because I was used to seeing her blasting and shooting everything.

“Oh my. Woohoo… Om mamma…”

I was engrossed in watching her fight for a while.

That’s when it happened.

-Rustle.

The Grand Duchess placed several newspapers on the carpet. They were newspapers reporting various incidents involving our group.

After staring at them for a moment, I met her gaze, and the mysterious silver-haired Archmage began like this:

“Not just that child, but everyone has caused problems, big and small. And quite varied ones at that.”

“…”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

She was asking me to confess specifically what our companions had been doing. It was essentially a request to inform on them.

I smiled brightly.

“Ah, about that…”

*

Justified violence descends upon our companions!

Starting with Francesca.

“Ranieri’s child.”

“…Grandmother?”

The Archmage and a comrade’s great-grandchild met after a long time. Francesca tried to show respect first, but the Grand Duchess waved it off.

“No need. What formality is there between you and me?”

“I understand. But what brings you here?”

“I’ve heard interesting news lately. You’ve developed a new potion, they say.”

“It’s a weapon to eliminate monsters that have been identified as a chronic problem in Mauritania. Based on alchemy.”

Having opened the topic with alchemical weapons, the Grand Duchess naturally continued the conversation on the subject of “new magical weapons.”

“You’ve also created magical tools?”

“Yes. If you’re curious about the principles and usage, I could take you to my makeshift workshop…”

“You tested it on people, I hear.”

At this point, Francesca sensed something was amiss, but the Grand Duchess’s kind smile dispelled her anxiety.

“Ah, the inspection has already…”

“I heard. You received it from the Magic Tower and Ivory Tower. I’ve read it all.”

“Then…?”

“It seems you need results that can only be obtained in the field. I have a good opportunity and wanted to ask for your consent.”

The Grand Duchess casually made a “proposal,” and naturally, Francesca accepted it readily. There was no way an Archmage would make a harmful proposal to a magician, especially a descendant of a comrade. If she called it a good opportunity, it must surely be worth it.

…or so Francesca thought. That’s exactly how magicians think.

“How did it go?”

“She accepted as you expected. Starting with the potion talk seems to have been effective.”

“She is an alchemist at heart, after all.”

And so, a new face joined the human reformation furnace.

“What on earth is this?!”

“I don’t know either! Throw some vials, Francesca!”

“I don’t have any! Grandmother took them all!”

“Then use your golem!”

“She took that too!”

“Oh, really! She’s so thorough! Don’t magicians ever get forgetful?!”

While Camilla and Francesca struggled in the scorching human reformation furnace (which was also crawling with monsters), the seasoned hunter sought her next target.

The next batter was Lucia.

“You’ve come, Your Highness.”

“You knew I was coming.”

“I heard the news.”

Lucia welcomed the Grand Duchess as if she had been waiting. The Grand Duchess, seeming to have some idea, showed no particular reaction.

“It seems the eyes of the Inquisition are everywhere. Well. Since there’s no reason for either of us to mince words, I’ll get to the point.”

“Please speak.”

“You must know well that I’ve taken Camilla as my disciple. My disciple and Ranieri’s child are training together, and I’m concerned about injuries.”

“Injuries?”

“I hope you could help.”

The Grand Duchess asked if Lucia could lend a hand in case of unforeseen situations, as Camilla and Francesca were training.

After a moment’s consideration, Lucia agreed, saying she would gladly help with such a matter.

-‘Yes. I will.’

And.

I removed the headset I was wearing and set it down next to the listening device.

“How did it go?”

“Yes, it was resolved well, Sister Rebecca.”

Sister Rebecca of the Inquisition nodded as if relieved. She instructed the inquisitor waiting in the room to report to the Vatican.

Of course, the Grand Duchess couldn’t harm Lucia arbitrarily. The same goes for making proposals that could harm her.

But if there’s approval from the Vatican, that’s a different story.

“Is the Vatican quite angry?”

“Rather than being angry at Saint Lucia… ‘concerned’ would be the appropriate expression. The behavior Saint Lucia showed in recent arrest operations was a bit…”

“Violent?”

“…Let’s say it didn’t suit the virtues of a religious person.”

The Vatican was horrified by Lucia’s recent actions.

Smashing heretics with a mace? That could happen. They weren’t just heretics but devil-worshipping bastards. Even if she had crushed their heads with a hammer, the Vatican would have been like, “Ooh, our Lucia smashed heads with a hammer~? Good job! Good job!”

However, beating up normal people, even if they were criminals, with a mace was a different story.

The horrific accident where a spine was folded in half (fortunately, they survived) wasn’t reported, but the subsequent accidents were all broadcast live. The moment the mace sent a person flying out the window, and the wingless falcon crashed after breaking through the glass.

Of course, Lucia was skilled at selectively punishing only criminals, but this wasn’t some FPS game with kill cams.

How would viewers know if the person falling was a black market merchant or a warehouse manager?

According to Mr. “B,” who is well-informed about Laterano news, Raphael (the Pope) foamed at the mouth after watching the broadcast, and the college of cardinals and bishops all slapped their foreheads in unison. He himself said cold sweat ran down his back.

“It was honestly shocking.”

“That day, all the cathedral priests came to work and were in chaos trying to wake up those who had fainted.”

Anyway, the Vatican needed to correct Lucia’s behavior.

They had gathered their last hope like a Spirit Bomb and rolled the saint gacha (purgatory if you fail, heaven if you succeed). They thought they’d drawn something good and were relieved, but it turned out to be Lucky Veronica.

Sensing disaster, Raphael, despite his title as former head of the Inquisition, decided to place his hopes in the Archmage’s discipline.

Right now, she probably looks like a messenger sent by God to Raphael.

Anyway, the third person joined the human reformation furnace for that reason.

“Now there’s only one left.”

The fourth batter was Achande.

He was a “real new face” somewhat unfamiliar to the Grand Duchess.

“A person I’ve never seen before. What kind of individual is he?”

“Hmm. I’m not sure how to describe this. A semi-nude performance artist? A tattooed pig? Or a home invader with a warm heart?”

“I don’t care about that. His impression is quite unsavory. And tattoos, no less…”

Maybe it’s because she’s from the old days. The Grand Duchess definitely seemed uncomfortable with Achande, whose entire body was covered in tattoos.

Well, who would be positive about tattoos anyway?

I pointed to the file containing Achande’s personal information and supplemented my explanation.

“They’re not for style. They’re tattoos similar to magical tools with a kind of power. ‘War cries’ that ancient Al-Yabd soldiers inscribed on their bodies when fighting against the Vatican expeditionary forces. I suspect they’re something like that.”

“Oh ho.”

“However, much of the data has been lost on the Al-Yabd side, and Achande doesn’t know exactly where the tattoos on his body originated from.”

Information about the tattoos is shrouded in mystery.

“The investigation is still ongoing.”

“I see. Then, how should we bring this person?”

To be honest, there was no need to bring Achande. Unlike the three others, he was relatively quiet.

“He’s kinder than he looks. The problem is that he looks like a serial killer. Apart from that, he’s fine.”

Except that he eats more than Camilla and depletes the food supply, has difficulty communicating, strays off during combat, and brings in abandoned animals to raise.

He was really fine. Truly.

“He brings in animals, you say?”

“Yes. Maybe because he’s from a nomadic background, occasionally abandoned animals.”

He did bring them in once or twice. Just a countable number of times.

“He has a gentle heart. What kind of animals does he mainly bring?”

“Whatever’s abandoned on the roadside. Chickens, goats, sheep…”

“…Those usually would have owners.”

“It’s a civil war region.”

Death is equal to all. Whether warlords or civilians. Animal owners are no exception.

The Grand Duchess nodded as if she understood.

“Then he would bring dogs and cats too.”

“Of course. Dogs and cats too…”

Wait a minute.

Cats?

Suddenly, I snapped to attention.

“Let’s take him right away!”

“Wh-what?”

“This bastard needs to be locked up immediately!”

No cat daddies allowed. That must be prevented!

I had to catch him. Driven by a burning sense of mission, I led the operation to arrest (not really) the cat daddy (who had never brought any). Catching him was very simple and easy.

“Hey! Tattoo pig!”

“You called?”

“We’ve gathered a bunch of strong monsters in one place, interested?”

He jumped up from where he was pulling weeds near the refugee camp.

And chose to enter voluntarily.

“I, fight-!”

Thus, in half a day.

The human reformation furnace, where blood boils and minds grow dizzy, achieved the remarkable target of 100% recruitment rate!

It’s a great achievement. I couldn’t believe I accomplished this in just half a day.

Down below in the desert, the fantastic ensemble (screams) of troublemakers and monsters rang out.

Up in the sky, the sun shone clear light without a single cloud.

It was truly a beautiful scene.

“…”

It was while I was gently closing my eyes, concentrating on the screams (one of them was screaming with joy) of the four people.

The Grand Duchess, who had been watching beside me, spoke up.

“So is everyone gathered now?”

“Yes. That’s right?”

Camilla, Lucia, Francesca, Achande. And me. Our group consisted of these five, so these were all the people gathered.

The Grand Duchess nodded readily.

And then, as if it were nothing, really as if it were nothing at all, as if she were just mentioning the lunch menu, she started to blurt out:

“All that’s left is for you to go in.”

“What?”

“Go on now.”

What.

Before I could even say “wait a moment—” the Grand Duchess moved first. Gently, a delicate hand pushed my back, and a soft breeze wrapped around my body, slowing my descent.

I fell from the flying carpet, and the Grand Duchess spoke to me as if it were only natural:

“Your companions are down there, what use is there for you to be up here alone?”

Shut up, you Hitler bastard. I want to stay here.

“Of course you should share their hardships. Yes, indeed.”

Hardships my ass. Why are you talking like it’s obvious? It’s not like you’d die if your niece died!

I wanted to pour out a barrage of curses, but unfortunately, the magic only prevented me from falling to my death; it didn’t allow for conversation. The empty echo ultimately didn’t even remain as a reverberation, just circling inside my throat.

I fell, flailing my limbs.

Towards the distant human reformation furnace.