Danmachi : Strongest Supporter

"A grunt?"

A bright, clear young voice carried out from inside the barracks, plainly brimming with indignation.

"I don't have time to start at the bottom! Bring me a few opponents and let me show you what I can do—at the very least, make me a squad leader to start!"

Shing!

Noah, who happened to be walking up to the entrance just then, was a little startled to see the kid at the counter actually draw his sword.

That, paired with his little speech, prompted a single thought: 'Now there's a textbook hot-blooded fool.'

And it wasn't only Noah.

Everyone nearby had already slapped the same label on the boy.

Sure enough, what the kid got wasn't an opponent to prove himself against, but a roar from the clerk.

"Get lost!"

The clerk shot a glance at a soldier standing off to the side, and the man stepped forward at once—a towering figure who stood a good two or three heads taller than the youth.

He planted one hand against the kid's chest and, with a single shove, sent him sailing right out the door.

"Who's got time to watch you show off, idiot?! You got any idea how many people are trying to enlist here? Wasting my time—get the hell out of my sight!"

"Huh?"

The boy yelped. "W-wait, I haven't even finished my enlistment form yet!"

"Form, my ass! There's no coin left to pay volunteers like you anymore, and you'd never win the draw anyway. Quit wasting your breath."

"How can that be?! Aaaaaahhh?!"

The size gap between him and the soldier was no small thing—the kid stood barely over a meter sixty and weighed scarcely a hundred pounds.

A push like that nearly sent him flying off his feet.

Thud.

The boy felt himself crash into someone, and at the same moment his body came to a halt.

"Ah—sorry!" he blurted, whipping his head around to apologize to whoever was behind him.

But his eyes, level as they were, landed only on the man's chest.

The body Noah projected into this world had reached an age of nearly twenty-one, and as it developed it had grown to a hundred and eighty-three centimeters.

In the Empire, where people's nutrition was neither scientific nor sufficient, the average height was nothing to celebrate.

With so little distance between them, the youth had no choice but to crane his neck and look up at the man before him.

"You all right, kid?" Noah eased him back a little, sparing his neck the worst of the strain.

With some space between them now, the boy got a proper look at the man and froze for a beat.

Then he hastily scratched his head and bowed.

"Ah, I'm sorry—I didn't notice anyone behind me. Thank you for catching me..." For some reason he couldn't name, standing before this man left him oddly tense.

It was at that moment that something dawned on him.

That's right.

He hadn't even registered how this man had ended up behind him in the first place.

That was deeply, badly wrong—because he could sense even a Danger Beast's ambush coming, so how on earth...?

Then another realization struck.

This man hadn't been waiting in line.

A moment ago, it hadn't been him standing at the boy's back at all.

'...Could this man be an officer?'

His mind raced. Commanding presence, unfathomable strength, no need to queue—

'That's it. He's definitely someone important!'

If he could just seize this chance and win the favor of someone this powerful— Who could have guessed that even a first-class private had to be plucked out by lottery?

Now that he'd been thrown out, he wouldn't even get to be a common foot soldier, let alone a squad leader!

'No—it can't end like this! I still have a village to save!!!'

'I have to grab this chance right now!'

The whole chain of thought ran its course in a single instant.

Just as Noah moved to step around him, the boy suddenly drew himself up and launched into a booming self-introduction.

"U-um... hello! My name's Tatsumi! I came to the Capital from the countryside—I want to join the army, make a name for myself, rise up in the world! I'm pretty confident in my swordsmanship, so please, let me enlist—I'm begging you!"

His voice was loud.

For a moment, everyone—those waiting in line and those inside the barracks alike—turned to stare.

It left Noah thoroughly off-balance, the unexpected center of an audience for no reason he could fathom.

He looked at the tense, earnest boy before him and sighed.

"Hello, Tatsumi. But, you know, all that's something you should be saying to the people inside, not to me. Still—you've got spirit. You have my moral support, at least. Good luck out there."

He gave the kid a pat on the shoulder, then stepped right past him and into the barracks.

And Tatsumi was left standing alone, bearing the weight of dozens—maybe hundreds—of stares, his head sinking lower and lower, his legs starting to... it was excruciating.

'So humiliating!'

He'd read way too much into all of it.

'If there were a crack in the ground right now, I'd genuinely crawl into it and hide.'

The stares pressing in from every side felt so sharp... as though every single one of them was saying the same thing.

'This guy's a total idiot.'

...

Once they reached the private lounge tucked away at the back of the barracks—Leims's own personal retreat—Noah set the gift he'd brought off to one side.

Leims, in the middle of enjoying a cup of tea, smiled and remarked, "It's a rare day indeed when you come looking for me here."

Noah gave the letter in his hand a little wave. "I've just got some business to take care of."

"Oh?"

Leims took the letter, broke it open, and read through its contents carefully.

Inside were six drafted documents.

Naturally, Leims wouldn't recognize any of the people described in them—though in truth, the six were precisely the six members who remained of the Elite Corps.

Of their pasts, not a single word was mentioned. Instead, each document laid out a fabricated set of details: their age going forward, their name, their place of origin, and so on.

Take Nanashu, for instance.

Originally he'd been a child sold into the Empire from abroad; after the Empire purchased him, he'd been thrown into the brutal selection program and clawed his way to the top, which was how he'd become the person he was now.

But in these new papers, he was set down as sixteen years old, his birthplace changed to a village to the southwest of the Capital, his family lost when he was eight, after which a wealthy merchant had taken him in—a merchant who had himself passed away five years ago.

It wasn't terribly detailed, but the information was just enough to forge his identity and history convincingly.

The average person would never know that the barracks actually handled this sort of business for "special" individuals.

Once Leims had finished reading, Noah stepped forward. "About these documents—I'd like to make a few changes."

"Changes?" Leims looked at him in surprise.

Because this was an order—a writ of command for forging the identities of assassination unit personnel.

And being a writ of command meant its instructions were absolute.

To alter the contents was to tamper with classified material, which under ordinary circumstances was an unpardonable crime of the highest order.

But neither man present was the sort you could judge by "ordinary circumstances."

Sure enough, after only a moment's deliberation, Leims simply asked, "What did you have in mind?"

Noah gathered up all six profiles, sank back onto the sofa, and got to work—pen in hand, thinking and editing as he went.

Had anyone watched him in profile just then, they'd have noticed that he kept one of his eyes closed.

First, Nanashu and Poney.

He'd arrange for them to open a café, with Nanashu running the place.

As for Poney... the reason he was placing her alongside Nanashu was simple: Nanashu was the only one who could keep her in check.

And besides, when it came to mere support work, Poney could manage well enough.

He'd send Gin into a restaurant to carry out "undercover" work.

Tsukushi he'd set up helping at a flower shop.

That left Guy and Cornelia.

For Guy... Noah hesitated a beat, then slotted him into the Capital Guard.

And Cornelia's final destination came to be the convent.

By surveying the whole of the Capital, Noah had selected a "post" tailored to each member of the Elite Corps.

Gozuki, the man who had bound them all, was dead now—and to them, that was an opportunity.

A chance to see for themselves, with their own eyes, what the truth really was.

He understood perfectly well what Bill was after: he wanted Noah to step into Gozuki's place and go on controlling the Elite Corps.

But, regrettably for him, Noah had no intention of doing that.

He'd shake them loose from his hands under the pretext of assignments first—and after that, whatever came next would be theirs to decide.

...

A week passed.

A new café opened its doors.

Creaaak—

Nanashu pushed the shop door open and stepped out to ready things.

He carried out potted flowers, one after another, arranging them along the windowsill outside the storefront, then misted them with a spray bottle to top off their water.

Inside, Poney had wiped down every last table until not a speck of dust remained.

She let out a breath and looked over the tidy, spotless space, and a wave of contentment washed over her.

With a sidelong glance, she stole a peek at Nanashu, who had returned to the counter and begun prepping ingredients—and in that moment, Poney felt she was living through the happiest stretch of time she'd ever known.

The truth was, Nanashu felt the same.

A few days back, when he'd first received the assignment, he'd been utterly bewildered.

Because their father was dead... killed by Akame—killed by one of their own former comrades!

Wasn't what they ought to be doing avenging him? And to avenge him meant finding Akame and killing her.

Every time his thoughts arrived there, Nanashu felt himself wrenched in two.

Their father had mattered to them.

But so did Akame.

To lose someone precious and then, in revenge, kill another person equally precious—surely there was something wrong with that, somewhere.

It was in that confused, directionless state that they'd each received their assignments.

They'd been told these tasks were extremely important and had to be carried out in earnest.

There wasn't even time left to go on grieving before they were ordered to begin their new missions at once.

It was strange, though.

They called it an assignment, but the contents of this one had no "target" whatsoever.

Not only was there no one to assassinate—there weren't even any defined milestones to mark progress.

Take this "run a café" task.

To this day Nanashu still hadn't worked out what the thing was even for.

So he'd had no choice but to pour his energy into the one part he could actually interpret: the running of it.