Chapter 24
*
“Hah, shit.”
What followed was overwhelming.
To Boss Taochen, it was closer to a massacre than a battle.
Casings rare to see in this cesspit spilled everywhere, and the engine howl of the sawblade swords rang out like the sound of bones being split apart.
— “Why are the guys with guns coming here!”
— “You bastards! Do you even know who’s backing us!”
Now and then, there were people who got cocky because they had powerful backers.
But Boss Taochen calmly answered by blasting that clown’s head off with a hand cannon.
“If you’re waiting for the merchant caravan that’s covering your backs, they aren’t coming. You crossed the line too far.”
“What…?”
“Looks like you have no idea. Figures.”
Boss Taochen sighed and swung his hand axe.
That's five.
Boss Taochen’s skill hadn’t rusted.
It was simply that a single hand axe couldn’t keep up with the killing speed of guns.
But the most impressive of them all was the performance of the man called the “chief.”
‘What the hell is that.’
Boss Taochen’s gaze went to the weapon the chief was holding.
It was too blocked at the muzzle to be called a firearm, and instead it had a black-painted crystal orb attached to the end.
But it wasn’t a magic staff either, because it was connected by strap-like lines to the mana reactor mounted on his back.
‘The grip is exactly like a gun, but it looks like a magic staff... what am I even supposed to call that?’
Just by looking at its shape, he had no clue what it was.
He had heard all magitech equipment was like this, though.
As soon as he entered the theater, the chief checked the gauges hanging all over his back and began scribbling messy formulas in a notebook.
Only after ten minutes of carefully calculating variables under his subordinates’ cover did he finally join the battle.
“Stand back. [Kristarubr, provas tibdona.]”
With a brief chant, the staff belched flame.
Dozens of the oncoming clowns were engulfed in fire, and even the White Faces that resisted for a moment turned to ash in an instant.
In the middle of the sea of flames.
Boss Taochen stared at the chief in shock.
“Mister, you’re a mage?”
“A half-wit like me can’t be called a mage. I can’t use magic without the aid of a measuring artifact.”
“That’s basically the same thing.”
Whether you were the kind who whipped up magic on the spot, or the kind who used an artifact’s assistance to cast it.
To Boss Taochen, both were battlefield monsters cut from the same cloth.
And as a bonus, he was certain that the moment he became hostile to this chief, he’d be roasted to a crisp.
Advancing like that, the chief pressed forward all the way to the clowns’ boss.
“Ohohoh! Look at these rude guests who don’t even know manners! You all—hiiieeek—!! Hot! Hot, hot, hot!”
The king of fools—Narenkönig—had been introducing himself, his belly jiggling beneath a frayed silk vest.
But before he could even finish speaking, the special task force chief blasted him with fire.
“H-haaagh! Stop iiiit!”
Still, as someone who was at the very threshold of First Rank, he endured the flames and transformed his royal scepter into a mace before charging.
But Boss Taochen wasn’t about to just stand by and let that happen.
“Die nicely, you disgusting bastard.”
Thunk!
Boss Taochen’s hand axe sank into the back of his head.
The clown king pitched forward and scraped his face along the floor.
“Aagh! Kyaaah!”
Narenkönig rolled around frantically to put out the fire clinging to his body.
The chief quietly watched the fat clown for a moment, then snapped his fingers and extinguished the flames.
“Huh? Mister? You ran out of mana?”
Without answering, the chief watched the king of clowns, now blackened like charcoal.
By the time the smoke had begun to die down from Narenkönig’s body.
The chief approached the giant lump of charcoal.
“Hek... hek...”
“Narenkönig.”
“W-what is it?”
“Do you know the difference between a madman, a human, and a beast?”
The chief knelt before Narenkönig, who was barely hanging on by a breath.
“W-who...?”
“Those were your words to me. If a madman, a human, and a beast are different, then prove it yourself.”
As he spoke, the chief’s hand reached for his gas mask.
With a hiss, the pressure in the gas mask covering his face was released.
The bare face revealed through the white steam was hideously warped.
His cheeks were a mass of scars, with burn marks and stitches tangled together, and the corners of his mouth had been torn all the way to his ears and sewn back up.
“N-no way...!”
At that moment, the other members approached from behind the chief.
One removed his gas mask. He had no nose.
Another removed his glove. He only had three fingers.
Another loosened his neck guard. There were only scars where his vocal cords should have been.
The chief lined those members up like a folding screen and pulled out the axe embedded in the back of the clown king’s head.
“I... no, we still haven’t come up with an answer to your question.”
The chief took a hefty magitech grenade from his coat.
“But I did learn one thing for certain.”
The chief forcibly pried Narenkönig’s mouth open.
There was a popping sound as the jaw joint dislocated, but he paid it no mind and shoved the grenade into his mouth.
“A rope, gold coins, and a dagger. With just those three, you could become a beast for one person whenever you wanted.”
The chief recalled the dwarf director who wore a crow mask.
It had been a snowy day then, just like today.
— “You’re choosing the dagger? Hmm... I understand. If revenge is what you want.”
“You really... keep your promises.”
“Mmmph...!! Mmmph!!”
The chief took out the dagger he had received that day and plunged it into Narenkönig’s heel.
“Mmph...!”
“That settles the score.”
The other subordinates also drove daggers into the tendons of the people they had brought in.
The word Vergeltung (Retribution) was engraved on their daggers.
Once each had finished their task, they returned to the members who had not removed their gear.
— “Good work.”
— “Is our turn still not here?”
— “You can just wait. Where did you say you were from?”
— “Rotmund.”
Boss Taochen somehow got the impression that the faces of the members who had removed their masks looked brighter.
Meanwhile, the chief twitched the corners of his twisted mouth a few times,
“Go on, then. This time you prove it. Let’s see just how hard it is for madmen to hold back laughter.”
He coldly snapped at the fallen clown, then turned away.
The Ironclad members, and Boss Taochen standing there dazed, followed behind him.
Clomp, clomp.
And when they walked out to the theater entrance, the fishing line hanging from the tip of the chief’s finger pulled taut.
On the stage, they heard Narenkönig’s desperate groan as he noticed the line.
“Uuuuuu...!!”
Without looking back, the chief pulled the fishing line.
Along with the sound of the line unspooling, a clear metallic chime rang out from inside the theater.
Ting.
***
It was the third day since the blizzard began.
This year too, I was once again trapped in the mansion, killing time.
‘Ah, I want to have a snowball fight.’
Unfortunately, I had no friends to have a snowball fight with, and there was no romance to be found in snow that had soaked up filthy smog.
If you get hit by the wrong snowball, it won’t just give you a cold—it’ll wreck your body.
You could end up with isekai Minamata disease from a snowball fight.
No, seriously.
More than anything, the character I happened to be playing was a quiet, gloomy type...
If anything, I’m the role that gets pelted by snowballs from tomboys like Eri.
I’m not the one doing the throwing.
To be even more exact, I shouldn’t be going outside at all.
I’m the kind of character who just drinks tea in my room and occasionally gives a glance at reports brought by the butler.
“Young master. It has been resolved.”
Just like right now.
...Wait. Resolved what?
“Since they were cleaners personally selected by you, young master, they did a very thorough job.”
“Cleaners... you say?”
I thought I knew what the head butler was talking about.
It must mean they made an example of the clowns who had messed with me.
Well, considering their equipment, that was only natural.
I hadn’t expected them to fail the mission in the first place.
When I nodded, the head butler continued his report.
“We informed the Security Bureau in advance as well, so you won’t be troubled by any post-operation procedures.”
That report made me pause for a moment.
Ah, right. I’d forgotten.
It was fine to summon my private troops through the head butler, but I hadn’t thought about the aftermath.
Because at the time, my head was burning hot.
Fortunately, it seemed the head butler had taken care of this part on his own.
So I continued the conversation naturally, as if I had trusted the head butler from the very beginning.
“As expected of you, Head Butler. But may I ask how you handled it?”
“Yes. We decided to donate it in the Security Bureau’s name as a special scholarship for Hero Academy.”
The head butler’s work was impeccable.
Normally, even nobles aren’t allowed to kill people inside the walls at will.
After all, this was still a society where the law existed at least in name.
‘Even in the medieval age, where savagery and romance coexisted, nobles supposedly couldn’t just go around killing people however they pleased.’
But every rule has its exceptions.
This empire had a somewhat peculiar “custom.”
“Instead, the Security Bureau has agreed to turn a blind eye to a certain amount of ‘opportunity to restore honor.’”
Nobles receive their titles because they have the power to protect people from the monsters outside the walls.
But if a noble who received that title gets beaten up somewhere and left crying, the empire that granted it loses all face.
So this macho empire presents nobles who’ve been bitten by their inferiors with two choices.
Either live on as a dishonorable super coward who calls on state power to get revenge while staying beaten down,
or prove the macho spirit hidden within the noble’s heart.
This ritualized latter option is called the “opportunity to restore honor.”
“You’ve worked hard. How much did the donation come to?”
“It wasn’t a huge amount. Since this was an H-sector matter, the Security Bureau wasn’t very interested either. A five-year scholarship was enough.”
And to carry out this custom, you need to show enough sincerity to make the Security Bureau look the other way for just a moment.
In my case this time, I showed that sincerity with a donation in place of bail.
“You handled it well.”
“You flatter me.”
Thanks to that, I no longer had to worry about the aftermath.
Now what I needed to think about was how to reward the subordinates who had successfully completed the mission.
I caressed the handle of my teacup and thought about the reward I should give them.
‘I should give them a reward so they won’t feel slighted...’
The higher you climbed, the less you could afford to sour relations with your subordinates.
And that was especially true when those subordinates carried swords.
How many third-rate supporting characters had I seen in countless works and histories fall miserably after mistreating their subordinates or being stingy with them?
The mistaken-identity genre was no exception.
No, if anything, they were what made me believable, so I needed to take even better care of them.
‘The company gives bonuses too...’
But money wouldn’t do.
They were probably already getting a generous bonus from the company, so I doubted they’d feel much if I added a gratuity on top of that.
I needed to offer a reward in a slightly different direction.
‘Hmm...’
After some thought, I came up with a reward I could give them personally.
“Head Butler.”
“Yes, young master.”
“Could you look into a dessert shop in Civitas Square that would be good for children?”
“...Pardon me, but may this old body humbly ask what the young master has in mind?”
“The mission is over, so there should probably be new children brought in, right?”
These Ironclad fellows.
They had a strange habit from long ago.
They always seemed to pick up orphans or slaves from the mission site.
People who were locked up somewhere or being abused.
Whenever I sent them on missions, they would rescue such people and give them a new life.
And this probably wasn’t something only I knew.
“You don’t have to pretend, Head Butler. You knew, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, young master.”
The head butler lowered his head in a hurry.
Strictly speaking, the private troops’ behavior was insane.
Leaving the operational area, wasting unnecessary resources, and even bringing in unidentified personnel.
By the logic of a company that prized security and efficiency above all, it was the kind of thing that could get your head chopped off on the spot without a word of protest.
What employer would tolerate private troops paid with the employer’s money fooling around during work hours and bringing in unvetted outsiders?
No matter how kind an employer I was, this was clearly overstepping.
And the head butler, who knew this and still hadn’t reported it to me, could never be free of that accusation either.
“We weren’t trying to deceive you.”
“I know. That’s why I haven’t said anything.”
Yet even knowing this, I was tacitly permitting the head butler and the troops’ unilateral decisions.
The people I saved would save others, and the ones who were saved would naturally be instilled with loyalty toward me.
That was because it was a classic cliché for building power in mistaken-identity stories or territory-management stories.
Besides, if they’re doing good deeds, there’s no reason to needle them for it.
But that quiet good deed had now come to an end.
“You don’t need to hide it from me anymore. Isn’t it strange in the first place? If you’re doing something good, why should you have to look over your shoulder while doing it?”
“Young master...”
“So for this mission, I’ll replace the reward with snacks for the children. That should be fine, right?”
“An excellent choice, young master.”
In other words, sending snacks now meant I was openly giving permission.
And more than that, it also meant I’d pitch in some money from now on.
“...I wonder how much an orphanage costs.”
“Pardon?”
“No. I was just talking to myself.”
I didn’t forget to drop a hint that if they did even better, I’d build an orphanage too.
In this world, an orphanage wasn’t something you could just build because you had a little money.
Since space was already limited inside the walls, real estate prices were going crazy.
When people were already struggling just to survive themselves, this wasn’t the kind of world where anyone had charity to spare for building a home for rootless orphans.
Hinting that I’d build an orphanage in a place like that was not something I could say lightly.
‘Even I’m only going this far because I really mean it.’
The head butler knew that well too, which was why the eyes widened.
“Young master...? Are you serious?”
“I believe I asked you to forget about that.”
“My apologies. This old body has been getting forgetful with age lately.”
The head butler bowed in a hurry.
Seeing that thorough, perfect butler flustered for a moment made the surprise worth preparing.
“Then please handle it as I said.”
“As you command, young master.”
The head butler turned his back to me.
Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he turned back toward me.
“Young master. By the way, do you perhaps have anything else to say?”
“Hmm...”
I thought about it for a moment.
Normally, someone who takes an order and leaves cleanly wouldn't act like that.
‘What was he expecting?’
I recalled the grammar of mistaken-identity stories for the first time in a while.
The protagonist makes an impulsive decision over a trivial matter, a loyal subordinate carries it out flawlessly, and everything ends smoothly,
then what did the protagonist do next...?
Ah.
‘I forgot to say thank you.’
Lately I hardly ever have occasion to say thank you to anyone except my family, honestly.
It was a word I hadn’t been good at saying in my past life either, so it never quite sat right on my tongue.
I straightened my posture, consciously trying to look like a dignified protagonist.
“I’d forgotten because things were hectic. Please tell them I’m grateful as well.”
I set down my teacup and said it with the most polite smile I could manage.
“Thank you again this time.”
“….”
The corners of the head butler’s mouth rose ever so slightly.
As expected, that was the correct answer.
In mistaken-identity stories, a single word usually worked better than a pile of gold coins.
I met the head butler’s eyes and smiled.
The head butler smiled in return.
“...You’re too kind.”
But something felt off.
The head butler was clearly wearing a gentle smile, but his expression somehow didn’t feel bright.
Maybe it was because we’d known each other for so long.
That smile felt like pretense rather than his usual sincerity.
How should I put it—like someone who received a gift and realized the wrapping was nice but the inside was empty.
Before I could even think about why the head butler was reacting like that, he spoke.
“Then I shall take my leave.”
The head butler bowed a little deeper than usual, then quietly closed the door.
I stared at the closed door for a long while.
‘Something feels off.’
But no matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn’t come up with a reason why the head butler would react like that.
In the end, after much thought, I decided it was just my imagination and picked up my cooling teacup again.