"Flame? A shaman!"
"Everyone scatter!"
The Special Duty men scattered from the hot blaze.
Fortunately there were no casualties.
Not because the flame was weak, but because it ignored every other trooper and was directed at Delam alone.
FWOOOSH!
Crimson flame extending outward in a fan!
Dozens of meters beyond, the shaman had curled his fingers into a ring and was blowing breath into it.
And the breath, passing through fingers densely inscribed with runes of flame, was being drawn out long as fire.
"Uwaaah!"
"We finally killed— haugh!"
The nearby barbarians, in the middle of cheering, sucked in empty breath.
Their blanched faces looked exactly as if they'd seen a ghost.
And well they might.
Because from the center of the hot flame still being sprayed out, Delam was walking steadily forward.
And Delam was perfectly fine, at that.
Never mind burns — there wasn't a single smudge of soot on him.
Not so much as one thread of his outer robe had burned.
"Hoooop!"
FWOOOOOOSH!
Seeing it, the shaman added more breath.
A face gone as crimson as the flames, as though at his limit.
The fire grew fiercer and swallowed Delam once more.
"It's cold out, so thanks."
But Delam's reaction was a sight.
He merely shrugged and drew a spear from his back.
A short spear of a meter or so.
Setting his stance and casting it forward took an instant.
SHWEEEEK—!
FWOOSH!
The throwing spear tore through the flame and ran on.
A temperature that by rights would burn the shaft and melt even the blade.
But instead the spear bored a round hole through the flame and covered the gap to the shaman in a moment.
The road of the wind.
So long as the [wind] protected him, flame — which has no physical force and must be carried on air — was of no use whatsoever.
Not against Delam's body, and not against the spear he threw.
THUNK.
"Kheugh!"
The spear, flying like a beam of light, terminated in the shaman's throat.
Unable to blow breath, the flame cut off abruptly.
"The shaman is silenced! Ride the momentum and kill them all!"
"Yes, sir!"
The Special Duty men charged again as one.
And with that the battle was over.
The remaining barbarians threw down their weapons and fled.
Their comrades had been swept away by Delam, and the barbarian warrior and shaman they'd trusted had been slain, quite literally, in a single blow each.
Valor be damned, it would have been stranger to hold.
"Delam! The ones running — shall we chase?"
"Have you lost your mind, sir? Go burn the food."
"I'll do that!"
I knew that wasn't on either!
The veteran grinned brightly at Delam's rebuke.
Delam was still the newest intake in the Special Duty Corps.
But as that veteran had just shown, nobody put on airs about seniority.
This was a Delam who carved up knight-class barbarian warriors and shamans, and you were going to strut about being his senior?
If you died doing that, it was natural causes.
"Ohh~ it burns nicely."
Delam smiled contentedly at the flames before him.
Food the warriors of Sambala had been waiting for with eyes on stalks.
Wheat and corn and potatoes raised with a full year's care began to blaze in no time under a few strikes of flint and a good soaking of oil.
Then Delam abruptly started in surprise and ran in among the fires.
And presently what he brought out by the armful from a burning cart.
Delam held it out with a soot-smeared face.
"Seniors, these look nicely roasted — let's eat some potatoes before we go."
"......"
The Special Duty men's faces went slack with horror.
It was an urgent situation where the enemy's reinforcements could come at any moment......
And here we're going to sit and peel potatoes?
"Sh-shall we?"
"I was getting a bit peckish myself......"
But the men took potatoes, one after another.
With awkward smiles.
***
[Fior's Little Demon]
[The Special Duty Corps' Quasi-Knight]
[The Seven-Weapon Man]
All of them bynames that stood for Delam.
This could be called a considerably exceptional thing.
It was rare even for a knight to have a title, and here a mere soldier had not one but three of them.
But it wasn't incomprehensible either.
Conversely, looking at the particulars, it was natural enough.
Three months had passed since Delam became a Special Duty man.
Counted in days, a bare ninety or so.
Whereas the missions he had joined in that time were beyond counting.
There had been five large-scale missions committing over a hundred men, and ordinary missions such as sweeps and reconnaissance at about eight and sixteen times respectively.
A vastly greater number than any other trooper.
And the truly remarkable part of it was the success rate.
There's no need to say much.
100 percent!
Once he was committed to a mission, he made it succeed whatever happened.
At first nobody realized.
The mission success rate was shooting up, but surely that couldn't be because of the newest man?
Naturally it was a thing beyond imagining.
But that didn't last long either.
[Operation 11/6, to cut the enemy's supply line]
[Operation Hammer, to break a fortress under construction]
Both were large-scale operations.
And both were operations whose failure was assured by unforeseen variables.
And the one who stepped forward then was precisely the newest man, Delam.
-What are you all doing? Follow me.
-You insane sprog of a bastard! Did you not hear the order to withdraw? There are two shamans on that jury-rigged wooden watchtower!
-Yes, sir. I'll wreck them.
And what he took up was a bow.
He drew the string to the end and released without even aiming.
One shot in succession, two shots, three shots......
At first they struck a hemispherical barrier and bounced off.
But before archery skill insane enough to hit precisely the same spot three times running, even a barrier was of no use.
Presently the barrier shattered.
The fourth arrow ran through the shaman's forehead.
-There~ that's done. It's as good as won now. That one remaining shaman looks a bit shoddy, so let's just take it on the body and press on.
-......
-What are you doing, you gutless bastards! Shields to the front! Anyone with a bow keep shooting so he can't use his sorcery!
-Y-yes, sir!
After that it went straight through.
Delam and the Special Duty men, who charged out with astonishing momentum, butchered every barbarian who had been building the fortress.
And after that everyone came to understand.
The reason their mission success rate had suddenly risen.
That it was because Delam, who had been quietly watching his angles from the back—
Had slowly stretched and stepped forward.
***
And so, in a tent of the Kingdom of Fior's army.
The Special Duty Corps commander was listing Delam's exploits.
"...More astonishing than that is the survival rate. Not only himself but a majority of the men committed alongside him have come back alive."
"Is that so remarkable a thing?"
"It is. In truth, even if I went myself picking only the elite, such a return would be difficult under the same conditions."
"But he is still fourteen. Promote a child who has not even had his coming-of-age ceremony to squad leader and the backlash will be severe."
His skill, his record and his background were all certain.
But a negative current ran through the tent.
That was precisely because of Delam's age.
The year had turned on the battlefield and he had gained a year, but still fourteen — the age of the commanders' grandsons.
But the Special Duty Corps commander shook his head.
"Which is why he must be promoted all the more."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It is because the men trust Delam's word over their squad leaders' and their seniors'."
"You mean one trooper is muddying the water. In that case it seems we ought to be discussing whether to refer him to military law, not promote him."
"There will be no such thing. Because the very seniors and squad leaders who ought to object follow Delam unconditionally......"
The Special Duty Corps commander said it with an embarrassed air.
Put another way it meant the unit's discipline had entirely collapsed, which was not a thing for a commander responsible for managing it to be saying.
Sure enough, the sound of tongues clicking came from here and there.
But more people were astonished than that.
Another unit might be one thing, but this was the Special Duty Corps, no less.
Being made by drafting and taking volunteers from the most accomplished of each unit, it was a body with tremendously strong skill and pride.
Enough to object even to a knight over an unjust order.
And they were crawling before a boy of fourteen?
"Come to think of it......"
The murmuring conference hall went quiet in an instant.
Because the one who had spoken was the white-haired Commander.
A veteran of a hundred battles, entrusted with authority by the King and himself possessing the skill of a senior knight.
"So that boy must be the soldier who once earned merit disposing of a barbarian warrior alone. Adjutant, is that right?"
"It is. He caught an exhausted barbarian warrior by luck, but the kill was certain, so 4th-grade merit was awarded."
Just then the Special Duty Corps commander shook his head and said,
"That is a drop in the ocean."
"What does that mean?"
"After that, Delam received a mana formula from Sir Rubian. I heard it was not an entry formula but an advanced formula."
"Oho, the daughter of that high-eyed House Vistache?"
"From that point the barbarian warriors Delam has killed number seven, and the shamans three. I meant to submit him for merit, but he insisted it be credited to all the Special Duty men......"
"Wh-what was that?"
Even the Commander could not help being astonished.
Not only that — everyone present let their mouths fall open.
What sort of class was a barbarian warrior?
The skill differed somewhat, but they were nearly the kingdom's knight grade.
And he had killed seven such knights, no less?
"Hard to believe......"
"But Commander, on my honor it is fact. I even witnessed several of them myself."
The Special Duty Corps commander was a man who had ranged the battlefield alongside the Commander.
Of collateral birth, granted, but unmistakably a knight who had mastered mana.
So he would know well how preposterous what he was saying could sound.
And that he said it even so?
"I shall see and judge for myself. Tell him to come to my sparring ground a week from now. Sir Rubian as well."
"Understood."
"But even if his skill is unverified, the exploits already established are qualification enough for promotion. His standing among the men is not low either, so what reason is there to hesitate further."
"But his age—"
"I first enlisted at fifteen! A year's difference is not important. Trooper Delam is promoted to Special Duty Corps vice-commander."
The Special Duty Corps commander, listening, asked in astonishment.
"Vice-commander, not squad leader, sir?"
"It is merit produced because the corps commander and vice-commander raised and employed the man well. In that case it is fitting that the two of you are due for promotion as well. Let us have each of you go up one step."
"Thank you, sir!"
The Special Duty Corps commander saluted, deeply moved.
From start to finish, exactly as Delam had predicted.
He'd tried it thinking he was being taken for a fool, and he really was promoted!
'Thank you, Delam!'
***
"Delam, Delam!"
Someone came running urgently into the tent.
That Special Duty man said, excited,
"Hey! Do you know what I just heard?"
"......"
"You're an officer now! You've become our unit's vice-commander! Ah, then I can't speak casually anymore, can I... Vice-Commander Delam, sir......?"
"......"
At the news the other men nearby were astonished as well.
They'd expected squad leader, and here it was vice-commander!
The newest man had suddenly become their superior.
But no trooper objected.
If anything the mood was one of [that'll happen].
With Delam's overwhelming merit, and not one trooper who did not owe him a life debt, it was only natural.
But the strange thing was Delam's reaction.
Without a word he was only scanning a survey report.
Handed to him by the Special Duty Corps commander, it was intelligence summarizing barbarian movements that the reconnaissance detail had recently brought back.
"Ah."
It was a good while before Delam opened his mouth.
Delam tapped the report with a finger and said,
"We're screwed, this."