NDSIL 02

Chapter 2

The Leather Notebook

‘To think a single bag is all I have.’

Galahad clicked his tongue softly as he shook the leather bag in his hand.

He had prided himself on having lived quite diligently, yet in the end all he had salvaged was this one leather bag. He had returned his uniform, so he stood in the shabby shirt and trousers he had arrived in.

‘So I’m the first to make it out alive.’

There was a famous story in the intelligence bureau. A legend that to leave the intelligence bureau, one had to offer up one’s life. In truth, once you belonged to the intelligence bureau, you could not be transferred to another department.

The intelligence bureau was pathologically obsessed with security. If it hadn’t been for political reasons, Galahad too would have tried to erase his memories, even if it meant being struck on the head with a hammer.

‘He said he’d come to pick me up.’

Galahad put a cigarette in his mouth.

At that moment, a carriage clattered noisily toward him. The glossy horse’s snort made passersby startle. Some people gawked as if seeing something novel.

‘A carriage, in this day and age—’

Galahad narrowed his eyes.

As magitech advanced, mana-powered vehicles fitted with magic circles and mana storage units instead of horses had become popular. They cost about the same as a horse or less, and were easy to maintain, so they were widely favored. In fact, carriages were gradually disappearing from the capital.

‘A carriage sent by the Archduke.’

To have to travel that far distance by carriage—Galahad clicked his tongue and headed for the carriage. Inside sat a man with sharply slitted eyes.

Thick iron armor, a long sword at his waist, a dagger on his inner thigh, and a helmet set beside him—he was a typical knight.

“Are you Sir Galahad Amberrtan?”

“That I am. Is this the carriage sent by His Grace the Archduke?”

“Yes, you may call me Gilbert. I will escort you.”

The man opened the door roughly. The interior was in worse shape than the exterior. The chair wrapped in scraps of cloth looked more uncomfortable than a tavern stool, and there were even stains on the walls.

‘This won’t be easy.’

The fact that they had sent such a shabby carriage and only one man meant that side did not welcome Galahad either.

“It’s made of demon-race leather, so it should be softer than it looks.”

The man who had introduced himself as Gilbert spoke in a voice tinged with laughter.

Knowing that complaining would change nothing, Galahad nodded and climbed into the carriage.

Bang—the carriage door closed noisily. The carriage lurched before Galahad had even sat down.

“Softer, my foot—it’s like someone’s kicking my backside.”

When he grumbled softly, laughter came from outside the carriage.

Sharp ears, this one. Galahad muttered quietly and rummaged through his inner pocket.

He took out a small leather notebook from the inner pocket. On the outside it looked like an ordinary shabby notebook, but when he channeled mana into it, it opened on its own.

Starting with crooked handwriting, it was filled in various styles, up to neat penmanship.

The sentence written at the very top was—

[I have transmigrated into a novel.]

It was written in crooked Hangul.

It was certainly a sentence Galahad had written, but it was so long ago that the memory was faint.

At first, he had thought he had simply been reincarnated with the memories of his past life. When he recalled the memories of his past life, Galahad had been just starting to toddle.

It was only after hearing the demon race and familiar names that he realized he had transmigrated into a novel.

Galahad hurriedly retraced his memories and organized the contents of the novel. That was this leather notebook.

By the time he realized it was a transmigration, considerable time had already passed.

His memories of the novel were not intact. It wasn’t a novel he had read all that carefully to begin with, and who reads a novel while memorizing its contents?

Still, he remembered the major plot points. For example—

[The world is destroyed by the Demon King.]

The novel was a sad ending. No, calling it a sad ending was insufficient. It was a fucking ending.

[Important figures: the blond Sword Master, some Archmage, the Mother of Fairies, the barbarian who uses an axe, the half-demon……]

It was written down roughly as he remembered. The ending was certain, but he could not be sure of the rest.

Below that, explanations were attached in the Imperial language.

[The Archmage is most likely the master of the Twilight Magic Tower. Location unknown. The blond Sword Master is most likely the Northern Archduke’s eldest daughter, the Mother of Fairies will be in the Fairy Forest, the barbarian who uses an axe is unknown.]

These were the pieces of information Galahad had obtained while working at the intelligence bureau.

Galahad’s goal was a warm and comfortable old age. For that, he had to prevent the Demon King ending no matter what.

Originally, he had planned to prepare for the Demon King from within the intelligence bureau. The intelligence bureau was a power organ so great it was called the institution that moved the continent.

‘But now, as the kept husband of the Northern Sword Master…’

Galahad smiled bitterly. It was hard to see it as a good move, but it wasn’t the worst move either.

The blond Sword Master was also the hero with the greatest importance, and it was a region on the front line against the demon race.

After all, they say that to catch a tiger, you must go into the tiger’s den.

Galahad continued rereading the well-worn notebook, retracing his memories.

—

The carriage stopped only after the sun had set.

“Please get out.”

Gilbert gestured behind him. It was right beside an empty road.

“Are we camping out?”

Galahad narrowed his eyes. Galahad was the son of a count’s house.

With villages or castles at a day’s interval, he could not understand why they would insist on camping out.

“I was told to avoid contact with the Empire as much as possible.”

“Is that His Grace the Archduke’s will?”

“I follow Lady Adrianne.”

Adrianne was the name of the woman Galahad was to marry.

“I see. A man should listen well to his wife.”

Creak—a murderous sound came from the corner of Gilbert’s mouth.

‘He doesn’t like me.’

In a way, it was only natural.

Galahad was a mage—the thing they hated most—and the third son of a count. There was no way they would be pleased about such a man marrying the Archduke’s eldest daughter.

Beneath it all, countless power struggles and interests must have been tangled together. Judging by the result, it was the Archduke’s defeat.

“You are not yet married.”

Gilbert smiled, showing his molars. A killing intent that pricked at his back—

‘This is dangerous.’

Galahad put a cigarette in his mouth and smiled bitterly.

Gilbert silently set up the camp. His hands moved with a practiced ease, as if camping out was familiar to him. Galahad watched quietly.

The firewood gathered and in an instant caught fire. Then a pot was placed over it, and meat was tossed in. Then even a stew—

‘I don’t want to eat this.’

Galahad clicked his tongue softly. He already knew these people’s sense of hygiene was trash, but even so, flipping meat with hands that had dug in the dirt and handled firewood—it was the worst.

“Please eat. It’s a northern dish.”

Gilbert grabbed a piece of meat and held it out. It was a large chunk of meat, uncut, and only the surface was cooked. Red blood dripped from it, uncooked. It wasn’t even rare—it was super rare.

This, food? He was dumbfounded, but unfortunately it was not a situation where he could be picky.

“Thank you.”

Galahad tore into the meat with his teeth. Sour blood full of fishiness filled his mouth. He chewed thoroughly and swallowed.

Whether it had been cooked that way purely to mess with him, Gilbert also tore into the meat. He even drank the flowing blood like a beverage. Watching that barbaric meal made his reluctance to go north all the greater.

The meal continued in silence. When he had finished, Gilbert handed him a bottle of liquor.

“I don’t drink.”

Galahad lightly shook his head. Alcohol slowed the mind and weighed down the hands, so it was taboo for a mage.

“As expected, you’re a mage.”

Gilbert emphasized the word ‘mage.’ It was not a favorable pronunciation.

“Yes, a very outstanding mage.”

Galahad answered, meeting his eyes without avoiding them. Gilbert’s brow furrowed slightly.

“You should be careful in the North. The uncouth northerners can’t tell mages from the demon race.”

Threats of this level. Galahad felt it was childish.

“Surely the Archduke can protect one son-in-law in his own territory.”

This time Gilbert smiled faintly. He was a man with deeper patience than expected.

“They say hunting mages has become fashionable in the Empire these days. That a mage’s heart sells for a very high price—”

Gilbert grinned as if he had never said otherwise. It was true. In fact, records of mages being hunted had been piling up considerably lately.

“Don’t worry about that. I am, despite appearances, quite a precious commodity. Isn’t this the first exchange between His Imperial Majesty and the Archduke in twenty years? Things were so turbulent that talk of rebellion could be heard—if something were to happen to me, the very proof of that exchange?”

This time Galahad grinned. Unlike before, Gilbert was not smiling.

“I am quite an important person. Treat me well.”

Even Galahad did not know the inner details. It might simply be that he was a man with his strings cut, but there was no need to say so.

“If you’ve eaten, let us move again.”

Gilbert said, rising from his seat.

“You plan to keep moving without sleeping?”

“Yes, because you are an important person.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I am a knight, so I can go several days without sleeping. Will you be all right, important person? The carriage will shake a great deal.”

Gilbert asked, narrowing his eyes.

‘He’s sulking.’

Galahad clicked his tongue softly and nodded.

In truth, the carriage seat was hard and shook violently. It was not a situation where one could sleep.

It was clearly a petty scheme to make Galahad suffer however possible.

However, Galahad was a mage. The mages of this era were more auxiliary in nature than combat-oriented.

Turning a shaking carriage into a very soft and quiet bed was a fairly easy task.

Galahad slept soundly, even snoring, for the first time in a while.

—

Knock, knock.

Galahad opened his eyes at the alarm spell. He had slept so soundly that his body felt refreshed.

Galahad tidied himself and opened the door.

Gilbert, thinner than before, narrowed his eyes.

“You seem to have slept well?”

“I slept very well. Are you all right? Your complexion doesn’t look good.”

“…I’m fine. On the battlefield, it’s common not to sleep for days.”

“I see. I’m fine, so keep up the good work.”

Gilbert’s face twisted further. He was a man worth teasing.

“Let’s stop by a castle or village on the way.”

“…A castle?”

“I think I need to buy a coat.”

Galahad said, rubbing his goosebumped arms.

“Do mages feel the cold too?”

Gilbert asked back as if genuinely curious. At that, Galahad narrowed his eyes. What did he think mages were—

“I’m a person, so of course I feel it.”

Of course, he could maintain his body temperature with magic. However, magic that affected a mage’s own body was twice as tricky as shaving down a bed or blocking sound.

“Isn’t there Garseten Castle on the route? I hear the coats there are good. Let’s stop by.”

“Garseten, you say?”

It was a strangely uneasy question, but Gilbert was originally an uneasy man. Galahad nodded.

“Understood.”

One corner of Gilbert’s mouth curled up.

He really was a thoroughly uneasy man.

—

‘It’s cold.’

Galahad grumbled as he swept back his hair. The center was warm every day, but here it was cold enough to raise goosebumps. It was cold enough that he had to use mana to maintain his temperature.

He hadn’t even put a cigarette in his mouth, yet his breath misted. Just keeping his body warm drained his mana steadily.

Because there were no paving stones, mud caked heavily under his shoes. Was it mud? Galahad sniffed. A unpleasant smell wafted up. It was mud. Galahad hurriedly put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. The fragrant lemon scent drove out the other smell.

“It will get colder as we go up.”

Gilbert, with sunken eyes, said sharply. Gilbert was wearing what looked like animal-hide fur clothing, pulled from somewhere.

“Didn’t you have something like enduring the cold with your bare body on the front line?”

At Galahad’s question, Gilbert narrowed his eyes. Looking closely, it was a smile.

“Yes, soldiers dress warmly too.”

What a pity. Galahad grumbled softly.

At that moment, a fat man came running. He had so much flesh that it jiggled with every step. The man was wearing high-heeled shoes long out of fashion.

“Oh my! If you’ve come, why did you stop at the outer castle instead of coming to the inner castle!”

The fat man said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Galahad glanced at Gilbert. Gilbert avoided his gaze as if it were none of his business.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Are you not a guest of His Grace the Archduke?”

Galahad looked at Gilbert. Gilbert shrugged and answered, ‘Not me.’

‘So the Archduke’s side had given word of a visit.’

Gilbert had actually opposed visiting the castle. The visit that man spoke of was probably not Galahad’s visit.

“Please come in! The lord is waiting!”

“Is there a soft bed?”

At Galahad’s question, the fat man tilted his head and nodded.

“Yes, and a warm bath too!”

“Well-cooked meat as well?”

“Of course! Our cook is the best in these parts!”

“Good.”

When Galahad nodded, the delighted pig of a man wobbled his backside and led the way.

“Be careful. There are quite a few people who have disappeared around Garseten Castle. Among them, they say, are mages. It is a very dangerous place for mages.”

Gilbert, who had attached himself to his side before he knew it, spoke in a voice tinged with laughter.

“Why are you telling me this now? You should have said it long ago.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Fair enough.”

As Galahad grumbled softly, Gilbert laughed quietly.

“Then would you like to go somewhere else even now?”

“You, are you good at fighting?”

At the sudden question, Gilbert’s brow furrowed.

“I’m fairly good.”

“Then guard me well. I am an important body.”

Galahad chewed the cigarette in his mouth and moved his feet.

‘Is this recklessness, or boldness? Or does he know something.’

Gilbert, muttering softly, gestured somewhere.

It was an unusually dark night.