Hyakuren no Haou to Seiyaku no Valkyria - Volume 20 - Chapter 2

ACT 2

The Flame Clan Second Ran’s full name was Mori Naritoshi. However, Nobunaga, who had known Ran since he was a baby, continued to call him Ran despite him taking on the name of Naritoshi when he had come of age.

Given that it was how Nobunaga himself called him, references to him had always used some variation of the name, with even official documents referring to him as Ran or Ran-Houshi. Houshi simply meant “boy” and it was a common part of a samurai’s childhood name during the Warring States Period. It meant, essentially, that despite coming of age, Ran had continued to be regarded as a “boy” by his liege lord Nobunaga.

There were plenty who referred to him as Ran or Ran-Houshi, not out of respect for Nobunaga’s choice, but due to their jealousy at how much Nobunaga favored him. An example of this favoritism that many looked to was Nobunaga’s granting of five hundred koku to Ran when he had come of age. A koku was a Feudal-era measurement that equated to the amount of rice required to feed a single person for an entire year. This measurement was also used informally to determine the prosperity of a lord’s domain.

Ordinarily, it would have been understandable if Ran had resented being called by his childhood name, and even blamed Nobunaga for being treated as a mere boy despite being a man. Despite ample justification to do so, Ran never paid any heed to the passive-aggressive insults directed at him, and indeed, he didn’t feel a trace of resentment over it. Nobunaga wanted to call him Ran. To Ran, that was the only reason that mattered. It didn’t matter to him what others thought of him or said of him.

There was a telling anecdote from Ran’s time as Nobunaga’s squire that epitomized his belief that Nobunaga was the only thing that mattered. When Ran was carrying a tall pile of oranges on a tray, Nobunaga had teased him that with his strength he would trip and fall. Ran, in fact, did trip and drop the oranges, giving Nobunaga a satisfied chuckle, but Ran had, according to the story, tripped on purpose.

Another retainer had once criticized him, stating, “How dare you trip in front of the Great Lord!” Ran, however, replied calmly without batting an eye. “The Great Lord said I was going to trip, so that was how it had to be. If I hadn’t, it would have meant the Great Lord had been mistaken.”

It was an anecdote that showed that if Nobunaga said an object was white, then Ran would take even a black object and bleach it white, an indication of just how loyal Ran was to Nobunaga. Ran had only served as Nobunaga’s squire for five or so years, but there were countless episodes of this kind during that period, such as the story of the fingernails and the door. To Ran, Nobunaga was an absolute being, the sole, god-like center of his universe.

“Right then, there are no enemies about. Bring in the hedgehogs! Hurry! Sentries, keep guard. Arquebusiers, be ready to fire at a moment’s notice. If you see anyone suspicious, fire without hesitation! All other soldiers, maintain defensive formation even if the enemy appears!” Ran rapidly issued orders at the Flame Clan Army’s position at Glaðsheimr’s southern gate.

The cannonade earlier in the day had destroyed a great deal of the houses along Glaðsheimr’s southern side, but this was an enormous city. Even cannons couldn’t reach the buildings beyond Glaðsheimr’s walls from outside the city itself. In order to continue their demolition of the city, they needed to set up a position within the city limits, and this was the sort of task that Ran did exceedingly well.

“Little more than rubble remains. Hurry and carry it out! Do whatever you must to finish this today. Teams that do well will be rewarded. Give it your all!” Ran looked around and shouted encouragement at the soldiers around him.

He took a page from Hideyoshi’s book and made certain to divide the soldiers into ten teams, making them compete against each other. There was a part of Ran that didn’t want to use Hideyoshi’s methods. The reason being that, according to Suoh Yuuto, Hideyoshi was a traitor who had pushed aside Nobunaga’s children and conquered the country. However, results mattered more than his own sensibilities in this situation.

Piles of rubble were perfect for hiding small groups of soldiers. Ran was well aware of how dangerous suicide bombers could be after the recent battle at Gjallarbrú. He couldn’t afford to leave any terrain for the enemy to exploit. And more than anything—

“Don’t provide the enemy with an opening. We may have the advantage now, but they may very well tear out our throats if we let our guard down in the slightest,” Ran murmured with a tense expression, glaring at the wheelbarrows used by the soldiers.

They were loot that the Steel Clan Army had abandoned as they retreated from Gjallarbrú Fortress. Questioning a prisoner of war had revealed they were a new innovation by the þjóðann. The wheelbarrows may have seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but for Ran, their sheer utility and the various mechanisms that went into their creation inspired not awe, but a shiver of dread.

“They clearly have superior technology to us. The only reason we have the advantage is our overwhelming numbers and the Great Lord’s leadership abilities. However...” Ran thought to himself as he bit down on his lower lip in frustration.

He sincerely believed that his master, Nobunaga, was a man sent from the heavens to bring the chaos of the Warring States Period to an end. He had no doubt that because Nobunaga had almost completed the task in the Land of the Rising Sun, the gods had then sent Nobunaga to do the same here in Yggdrasil. There was no other explanation for the strange twists of fate that had brought him to this fantastical place.

Not a single person alive could oppose Nobunaga, the man who had been chosen by the heavens above, of that there was no doubt—or so that would have been the case, had they not met Suoh Yuuto.

“His advanced technology is one thing, but even more surprising is his rapid growth. It’s completely beyond reason...”

Suoh Yuuto’s leadership at the First Battle of Glaðsheimr had been impressive. He had staged a surprise attack and pushed back when the Flame Clan had been enjoying an overwhelming advantage. Even accounting for the fact that he had been utilizing numerous Einherjar and equipment from the future, the coordination between the Steel Clan’s forces and Suoh Yuuto’s ability to read the flow of battle was far beyond the norm for any general Ran knew of. This coming from a boy still in his teens.

Still, considering the heights Yuuto had attained, Ran had believed there was little room for growth in the boy. That was until he saw what happened to Vassarfall within the walls of Glaðsheimr.

“He’s grown reasonably more skilled than during the first battle a mere handful of months prior. He seems to be much faster in his decision-making too.”

While a common adage in his homeland noted that boys grew so quickly that if you looked away from them for three days, they’d be unrecognizable, there were still limits. Given that Suoh Yuuto had already been an extraordinarily skilled general at the First Battle of Glaðsheimr, it shouldn’t have been possible for him to show such explosive growth. Something must have clicked for him, but it was absurd nonetheless.

“As much as Suoh Yuuto has grown, the Great Lord is still a tier or two above him. At least, for the moment.”

Nobunaga was at the very peak of his abilities, while their opponent was still growing. It was a law of nature that all things, once at their peak, would steadily and inexorably decline. Even Nobunaga wasn’t exempt from that rule. While he still seemed driven and full of energy, there was something Ran felt was off about him in recent months. If pressed, he wasn’t able to articulate it clearly, but there was something that made him anxious about Nobunaga.

What settled the matter was the fact that Nobunaga had entrusted Homura’s future to Ran once he was gone. Nobunaga was over sixty years of age—an age where he could die at any moment. There was nothing strange about taking precautions, particularly given Nobunaga’s penchant for making intense and thorough preparations in any endeavor. Still, there was something that felt strange to him. He hadn’t been the type to say those sorts of things in the past, had he?

“We need to settle this here and now,” Ran said with steely determination.

While Nobunaga himself had left Homura to his care, Ran’s one and only liege lord was Nobunaga. Making Nobunaga the conqueror of the known world was the heartfelt desire of not just Ran, but his entire family.

“Spear play is the realm of the soldier. An officer must be well-educated.” Ran’s mother had started to say those words like a mantra from the winter of his sixth year.

It was that year that Ran’s birth family, the Mori family, suffered a string of misfortunes. First, in June of that year, Ran’s oldest brother, Yoshitaka, had been slain in battle against the Asai-Asakura Alliance. Then, in September of that same year, the head of the family and Ran’s father, Yoshinari, had fought against the same Asai-Asakura Alliance with a rear guard of chosen men, stopping both armies in their tracks for several days when they attempted to catch Nobunaga from behind. In the end, Yoshinari had died valiantly, a glorious death in service of his master.

That had been the trigger that caused his mother to be so focused on learning and proper etiquette. Ran had few memories of his father, as he had continually been at Nobunaga’s side and fighting across the lands, but given that his parents had six boys and three girls, it had been easy for the young Ran to imagine that it had been a loving marriage. His mother had lost her beloved husband and a beloved son in the space of several months. It was understandable that his mother wanted to avoid losing any more of her children to war.

“The Mori family has come this far with spear play. It’s not because of learning or etiquette.”

That pressure from his mother had evidently been too much for Nagayoshi, the second oldest of the siblings and the one who had inherited the family mantle. He was as accomplished a warrior as his father, but his mother wouldn’t accept the value of that skill. Frustration against his mother culminated in a state of simmering rebellion in the young warrior, which led him to slay a retainer of Nobunaga over a minor disagreement and to engage in verbal spats with his peers. He had committed countless violations of military discipline, and it would have been perfectly natural had he been executed for those crimes.

However, Nobunaga had instead laughed and dismissed all of Nagayoshi’s failings, ultimately rewarding Nagayoshi with a province of two hundred thousand koku after the Kyushu Campaign. The province’s wealth was far beyond that of those belonging to other commanders and was comparable to the closest of Nobunaga’s retainers. It was true that Nagayoshi had accomplished great feats as a warrior, but even during the Kyushu Campaign, he had committed two major violations of military discipline and been reprimanded for them. Considering that fact, the reward was extraordinary. While Nobunaga liked Nagayoshi himself, Ran was certain that the reward was meant as an accolade to his late father, Yoshinari.

Yoshinari had been one of the longest-serving retainers to Nobunaga, greatly trusted by the Lord himself, and he was the first of Nobunaga’s retainers who was not related to the Oda Clan to receive a castle, even over the heads of retainers such as Shibata Katsuie and Sakuma Nobumori, who had served the Oda Clan since the time of Nobunaga’s father, Nobuhide. It showed just how much Nobunaga had trusted and valued Yoshinari.

Nobunaga had been deeply affected by Yoshinari’s death, and it had been whispered among his retainers that his burning of Enryaku-ji had been meant as revenge for their role in indirectly causing Yoshinari’s death. That was just how valuable Yoshinari had been to Nobunaga.

When Ran and his younger brothers had become Nobunaga’s squires, and one of his younger brothers had caused a problem, he would forgive them on account of the fact that they were still young. To Ran, Nobunaga had once said, “I have three things I’m proud of. The white falcon I was given by Oshu, the blue horse, and my squire Ran.” Even in Yggdrasil, he had been given the great role of Second, even when there were others such as Shiba and Old Man Salk who were just as qualified.

Society in general and even his retainers feared Nobunaga. That much was an undeniable fact. But to Ran, at least, Nobunaga was the gentle benefactor who had warmly cared for the Mori family. He felt he owed Nobunaga so much that he couldn’t repay him even in seven lifetimes. Enough that if Nobunaga said the world was flat and the sun rose in the west, he would swear it himself.

“Father and my brothers. Please look after us,” Ran looked up at the sky and murmured as he thought about his family members.

Despite his mother’s best efforts, by the time of the Honno-ji Incident, her eldest son, her fourth son, her fifth son, and Ran himself had died in battle. His two younger brothers had been killed by the Akechi Army’s forces in front of his very eyes. Ran himself had somehow managed to survive, but surely his mother believed he was dead. He felt extremely apologetic about that fact. If it were at all possible, he would have liked to tell her that he was still alive. But that, too, was a dream that would never come true, which was why Ran was prepared to shoulder the burden of the wish his entire family had bled and died to bring about.

“I am lacking in strength and ability, but I swear I will use my life to make Our Great Lord the conqueror of all under the heavens.”

The man once known as a prodigy continued to issue orders as he prepared for the coming battle.

Yuuto let out a disappointed sigh at the scout’s report. “So, they’ve taken out all the stops when it comes to protecting those things, huh?”

The enemy had put up horse guards—simple fences intended to prevent the enemy’s approach—around the cannons and positioned arquebusiers who kept a vigilant watch for any attempts to destroy them. A cavalry charge at such a position would be costly and fruitless. Yuuto found it very irritating to have Nobunaga’s forces setting themselves up in his own backyard, and he had fully intended to attack if given an opportunity, but it seemed that it wouldn’t be so simple.

“Well, we’re preparing our next moves too, so I suppose his movements don’t matter too much...” Yuuto continued as he moved his shogi piece on the board with a satisfying click. Yuuto had always had something of an obsessive personality, and he was competitive when it came to subjects he had put effort into mastering. The appearance of a worthy rival in Hveðrungr had sucked him into the world of shogi.

“Father! Surely we shouldn’t simply sit here twiddling our thumbs! The enemy is steadily building up their presence in front of our very eyes! This is no time for games!” Fagrahvél, the Sword Clan patriarch, raised her voice in protest. Given her serious, even priggish personality, the sight of Yuuto and Hveðrungr engaging in board games in the middle of the siege was evidently testing her patience.

“So she says. Do you concede?” Hveðrungr asked.

“No way. This is one match I’m going to win at any cost,” Yuuto replied.

“Heh. You say that, but I appear to have the advantage.”

“It’s not over yet. Not by a long shot.”

Yuuto responded to Hveðrungr’s confident taunt with a chuckle of his own. The exchange, however, was enough to push even the ever-loyal Fagrahvél past her breaking point.

“Father!” she yelled out in frustration.

“I know, I know. I can hear you just fine. You don’t need to yell.” Yuuto let out a dry chuckle as he held his hand up to stop her, given that she seemed about ready to flip the table—board and all—in a fit of anger. He wanted to avoid that at all costs.

“In that case...!” Fagrahvél angrily interjected.

“Now, now, Lady Fagrahvél, please calm down.” Felicia anxiously tried to defuse the situation, but her efforts only served to fuel Fagrahvél’s anger further.

“How do you expect me to remain calm as I witness this?! I’m sure Lady Rífa is weeping as she watches from Valhalla!”

“No, if anything, I feel like she’d probably lean over with interest and say something like, ‘You better teach me how to play this game too.’” Yuuto could vividly imagine Rífa’s voice saying that very thing, and he chuckled fondly.

“Y-You make a good point...” Fagrahvél, as Sigrdrífa’s milk-sister, knew her late sibling well enough to know Yuuto was probably right. After all, Yuuto’s late wife had been a bubbly, curious woman.

“Still! Lady Rífa cared deeply for her people. Even if all of the residents of the city have been evacuated, there are still over thirty thousand soldiers left in the city! Please take the situation more seriously!” she continued.

“No, I’m being deadly serious right now. I’m hoping to assign the task of dealing with those cannons to Hveðrungr,” Yuuto replied.

“Oh? Yes, he would be ideal,” Fagrahvél responded in agreement.

“Right? When I broached the subject, however, he said he’d done enough work with the rear guard and told me he planned to just watch quietly from the back.”

“Uncle! The entire clan is at risk! This is hardly the time to be sitting idly by!” Fagrahvél rebuked.

“Great, now she’s angry at me too. Could you not drag me into your mess?”

Hveðrungr made no effort to maintain a respectful facade as he glared in Yuuto’s direction, prompting Yuuto to shrug and laugh.

“Well, you brought this upon yourself really. You said you’d hear me out if I beat you at shogi,” Yuuto stated.

“This farce was your idea!” Hveðrungr replied in frustration.

“Now you’ve made it worse...” Yuuto grumbled in exasperation.

“This man’s presence will make all the difference in the world if we’re going to take out those cannons. So I am, in fact, just doing my job as supreme commander right now!” Yuuto said proudly without the slightest touch of irony or guilt, but Fagrahvél couldn’t contain a long and tired sigh.

“Father, who are you?” she asked.

“What do you mean? I’m Suoh Yuuto.”

“Precisely. You are the þjóðann reigning over the Holy Ásgarðr Empire and the reginarch of the Steel Clan. Surely you could just order him to do it...”

“Well, now that you mention it, that’s true,” Yuuto said with a forced smile, making clear the situation wasn’t as simple as Fagrahvél suggested.

At this point in his life, Hveðrungr was no longer interested in titles, glory, or wealth. If Yuuto attempted to force Hveðrungr to do his bidding, there was a strong possibility Hveðrungr might simply up and disappear. Given the situation, losing a tactician of his caliber would be an incalculable loss. On top of that, aside from Hveðrungr’s value to him as patriarch, he wanted to keep his old friend nearby, both for his own sake and Felicia’s. There was too much history that needed to remain a secret, too many complications in their relationship that Yuuto couldn’t broach to get Fagrahvél to understand.

“Fagrahvél, your only real fault is that you take everything too seriously,” Yuuto said instead, changing the subject.

“I suppose you’re right. Bára and Thír often tell me as much, but surely this is a time to take things seriously?” she asked.

“Right, which is why I’m doing exactly that.”

“It surely doesn’t seem that way!” Fagrahvél’s frustration flared up as Yuuto poured more fuel onto the fire. Despite her objections, he simply shrugged and continued nonchalantly.

“You’re right. Almost too right. However, there are times when the right argument isn’t realistic and not taking things all that seriously can work out for the best.”

Fagrahvél furrowed her brow skeptically—it appeared Yuuto’s words didn’t quite strike a chord with her.

“You know, it’s kind of surprising she was able to function as the patriarch of a great clan with such an uncompromising and straightforward personality,” he thought to himself.

Yuuto couldn’t help but consider that angle as well. Though she herself had ruled fairly and earnestly, it had been Bára and Thír, her top lieutenants, who had helped take care of the less savory aspects of governing and made up for her idealism. Just like Skáviðr had done for him.

“If all it took to get people to act was to have the winning argument, life would be a lot simpler, that’s for sure. Thing is, there are times when you need to be a little more devious to get the results you require.”

“I see...” Fagrahvél didn’t appear convinced—she was still set in her ways, regardless of how other people may have felt about that. It reminded Yuuto of how he had been before he became a patriarch.

“It’s important for people to have a sense of humor at times. People are emotional creatures. You’ll miss a lot of things if you’re just focused on being serious and thinking through every event so pragmatically. Take it from someone who’s had to deal with it—cutting yourself a little slack can be important.” Yuuto felt a bit ridiculous saying so, given that he was the youngest here, but given that he sat at the top of the hierarchy, it was his job to offer advice to his subordinates, particularly because Fagrahvél’s abilities were part of the key to winning this battle.

“Well, um...” Fagrahvél demurred, as it seemed Yuuto’s remark struck close to home. Evidently, this was also something others had warned her about in the past. “...Do I really seem that uncompromising?”

“Yeah, you’re just like I used to be. You’ve always got this grim look on your face.”

The moment Yuuto furrowed his brow into a tense expression, Bára burst out laughing.

“M-Myyy apologiiiies. Your impressssion is far tooooo accurate!”

Even as she voiced her apology, Bára continued to laugh, pounding the floor as she struggled to breathe. It seemed it had struck her as particularly funny. Of course, the fact that Bára was able to roll over laughing in front of Fagrahvél, her liege lord, and the þjóðann, showed she was wired differently from the average person. Perhaps that was necessary to be such a skilled tactician though.

“See? I have it on good authority we’re alike,” Yuuto noted with a grin on his face.

“...So it appears, Your Majesty.” Fagrahvél pursed her lips and nodded.

“I mean, given the situation we’re in, I understand how it’s hard not to brood,” Yuuto said with an empathetic nod. Over the last year, he’d been dealing with the overwhelming and despairing reality hanging over him that Yggdrasil was going to sink into the sea. “Remember this, though. It’s in the times when you’ve driven yourself into a corner that you make mistakes.”

“...That’s all too true.” It was Hveðrungr, rather than Fagrahvél who murmured their agreement with Yuuto’s statement.

When Hveðrungr had still been Loptr, he had felt cornered as Yuuto began to rise through the ranks of the Wolf Clan at breakneck speed. In the end, he lost all perspective and made a deadly mistake. His remark was a form of self-deprecating commentary about his own past.

“For that reason, it’s when you can’t afford to lose that you should cut yourself the most mental slack. That’s the key to winning. Like so.”

Hveðrungr couldn’t contain his note of surprise at Yuuto’s next move. That one piece had completely changed the course of the game, and short of Yuuto making some truly epic blunder, there was little chance of Hveðrungr fighting his way back into a checkmate.

“Fine. You’ve won this time.” Hveðrungr clicked his tongue sourly and conceded his defeat.

“Phew.”

Yuuto let out a sigh of relief as he just barely managed to eke out a win. The match had been close, if he hadn’t thought of that last move on the fly, it was very likely things would have ended differently. Either way, a win was a win.

“So, there we go. Good luck out there.” Curling his lips into a grin, Yuuto stood up from the game board, his victory removing any need for him to remain in the room.

When Liu Bang and Xiang Yu had vied for supremacy in ancient China, it was said that Xiang Yu had won ninety-nine battles, but Liu Bang had won the one battle when it truly counted. It was a lesson in how losing streaks mattered little so long as one won the pivotal battle. The losing battles provided an opportunity to learn the opponent’s habits and patterns, letting one draw the opponent into growing overconfident.

“Damn it all, that’s why I hate playing you.” Hveðrungr’s sour remarks were a balm to Yuuto’s heart.

“Gods damn him, he always manages to find just the right way to really get me worked up.” Hveðrungr’s anger hadn’t settled by the time he had returned to his room, and he irritably kicked at the walls.

He had recently started harboring the secret goal of beating Yuuto when he was putting his full effort behind something. Because of that, he had maneuvered Yuuto into a situation where he couldn’t afford to lose, but the result had turned out to be another disappointment for him.

“I thought I could beat him...” Hveðrungr muttered.

He had anticipated that Yuuto had a hidden tactic up his sleeve, but even knowing that, he was confident he could overcome that challenge. No, he needed to overcome and surpass Yuuto under those circumstances to truly win a victory against him. Indeed, early in the game, Yuuto had played hands that he had previously kept hidden from Hveðrungr, but Hveðrungr had still been able to adapt to them. He had pushed his advantage into the late game, only to have Yuuto once again turn the tables at the very end. There was something exceptional about Yuuto and his ability to pull a rabbit out of his hat when it mattered most. It was almost as though he was gifted with divine inspiration. Of course, that was what made facing off against him such a worthwhile challenge.

“I’ll win next time.” Hveðrungr gripped his hand into a fist, his spirit filled with determination. In order to accomplish that goal, however, he needed to deal with the situation before him. After all, it’d be hard to focus on shogi without doing something about the Flame Clan Army besieging the city.

“This would usually be an excellent night for a sneak attack.”

The night was pitch black as Hveðrungr gazed outside. Tonight, it appeared, was a new moon, meaning it was the darkest night of the month. Ordinarily, that darkness meant it was harder for the enemy to detect the approach of attacking forces. The presence of individuals such as Homura and Vassarfall who could locate incoming enemies without any visual cues meant that getting close enough to the Flame Clan’s artillery without being detected was essentially impossible. However, the darkness did mean that past a certain distance, there was still room for using the shadows to his advantage.

“Sigh... Damn him for throwing this into my lap,” Hveðrungr muttered with a sigh. His wounds from his recent excursion with the rear guard hadn’t finished healing, yet he was already preparing to head out again.

“Hm?”

Hveðrungr narrowed his eyes as he heard approaching footsteps. He was an outsider within the clan. The fact that he had become a valued adviser to Yuuto in such a short period was sure to have made him some enemies. There was no harm in being cautious. That caution didn’t last long, however, and Hveðrungr let out his breath. The footsteps he heard were familiar.

“Felicia, you can come in.” He called over to the door when he’d judged she was in front of it.

“Impressive as always, older brother.” With that remark, Felicia entered the room. She looked a bit uncomfortable; fidgeting slightly as she entered the room.

“What, come to see me off?” Hveðrungr asked with an impish grin.

“Wh-Why would I want to...!” Felicia pouted and forcefully objected as Hveðrungr teased her about her presence.

Ever since Hveðrungr had joined the Steel Clan, Felicia had regarded him with a certain hostility and emotional distance. While there were times she’d unconsciously slip back into her role as his younger blood sister, the moment she realized she had done so, she would renew her prickly attitude.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense...” Hveðrungr thought to himself.

He had tried to kill her beloved Yuuto and had killed the sworn father she had admired. No doubt she had been the recipient of hostile gazes simply because she was related to him. If anything, it would have been strange if she didn’t resent him.

“I see... Did Yuuto have some kind of message for me?”

“No, there’s nothing of that sort...” Felicia replied.

“Then why are you here?”

“Huh?! Well, uh...”

For whatever reason, Felicia seemed caught off guard by the question and began fidgeting more visibly, causing Hveðrungr to knit his brow in shock under his mask. His sister was flexible enough to be able to respond quickly and appropriately to most situations. Seeing her at a loss as the result of such a simple question was entirely unexpected.

“Oh, right, your wound! I came to check on your wound!” Felicia said as she pointed straight at Hveðrungr’s left shoulder. Hveðrungr was obviously not a man so naive he’d fall for such an obviously improvised answer. It seemed his sister was aware of his skeptical gaze.

“I-I don’t care about you at all, older brother, b-but the fate of the Steel Clan rests on this operation. There’s no room for error. It might not be your dominant arm, but you’re going to be drawing a bow, yes? Pain might cause your aim to go awry. That might very well be fatal. Bandaging techniques can greatly affect the amount of pain you feel, so, since it’s so important, I’ve come to make sure your bandages are properly wrapped. Don’t misunderstand my intentions. This isn’t for your sake, older brother, but rather for Big Brother and the Steel Clan. I’m only here because I have no choice!” Felicia rambled, her words flowing out in a quick torrent. The eloquence of her excuses, if anything, made it clear that she was lying.

“I see. Thank you, then.” Hveðrungr somehow restrained the urge swelling within to tease her and instead held out his shoulder for her. The wound did, in fact, still ache, and given he was going back out onto the battlefield, any reduction in pain was welcome. Losing that opportunity by angering Felicia with a cutting remark would have been unwise.

“...Very well.” Felicia let out a sigh of relief at Hveðrungr’s lack of questioning and began to unwrap the bandage around his left shoulder. She then removed the mugwort leaves that had been placed on the wound. Mugwort, when chewed or crumpled, helped with clotting and prevented infection, making it a commonly used medicinal herb in Yggdrasil.

“Well, it seems the wound hasn’t fully closed yet. Movement could cause it to reopen,” Felicia said as she checked the wound.

Nobunaga’s gunshot had gouged out a piece of his outer shoulder about the size of the tip of a pinky finger. It wasn’t a huge impediment to the movement of his arm, but it wasn’t the sort of wound that healed in a mere five days.

“Let me sterilize it first.” Following that, Felicia produced a small bottle from the pouch on her hip. There was a clear liquid within.

“...That again?” Hveðrungr said sourly, prompting a smirk from his sister.

“Heh, that’s right, you screamed when this was applied to you.”

“That was just the first time. Anyone would scream that way if they were suddenly exposed to that sort of pain without warning.” Hveðrungr practically pouted as he retorted.

Felicia, upon seeing his wound when he returned from the rearguard action, had started treating him by splashing burning water on his wound. It was hard for Hveðrungr to put the agony from that moment into words. It had far exceeded the pain he had expected when she had said she was going to clean out his wound, and even Hveðrungr couldn’t avoid howling as she went on with her business.

“Thinking back to that is still quite satisfying, if I’m honest,” Felicia said with an expression of amusement.

She was kidding, obviously—somewhat, at least. A part of her had clearly enjoyed that experience. Given the amount of responsibility Hveðrungr bore for the stress in her life, it was understandable.

“...It seems I chose the wrong healer,” Hveðrungr said with some concern.

“Oh not at all. I don’t allow my personal feelings to affect the treatment of my patients. Don’t insult me like that,” Felicia replied.

“If you say so.”

“Oh shush. Yes, this does hurt, but this medicine has dramatically reduced the number of wounded who die as a result of their injuries. It’s a valuable potion that’s really too good for you, older brother.” Felicia puffed out her cheeks in a pout as she uncorked the bottle, pouring some of the contents from the bottle onto a piece of linen she had retrieved from her pouch, before dabbing it against Hveðrungr’s wound.

“Tch!”

A searing pain burned in his shoulder, but Hveðrungr contained his grunt of pain.

“It’s not so bad once you’re used to it.”

He forced himself to smile, as though to show he was unaffected. He was her older brother, so he certainly couldn’t let her see him wince.

“...Hm?”

When he caught the scent of the burning water, Hveðrungr furrowed his brow in thought. The pain had been too great the first time for him to notice, but it was a scent that he found strangely familiar. It wasn’t quite the same—this liquid didn’t have any of the additional scents that were usually mixed with this specific aroma. It was purer; unadulterated. However, there was no mistaking that scent... This was—

“This is some sort of wine, isn’t it?” Hveðrungr asked.

“Heh, you’ve finally noticed.”

“Yeah, it’s a failure on my part that I hadn’t noticed till now.” Hveðrungr shrugged his shoulders. “Still, I’ve never smelled anything this strong.”

“I’m told that the people of Big Brother’s homeland called this distilled spirit,” Felicia said as she put the cork back into the bottle.

From the earliest antiquity to the modern era, the vast majority of soldiers that succumbed to the horrors of war weren’t killed by enemy soldiers, but rather by disease. Even mild wounds that wouldn’t otherwise be lethal, would, when infected, result in death from gangrene or diseases such as tetanus, which, prior to the invention of its vaccine, had a mortality rate of well over fifty percent. Alcohol was an effective method of sterilizing wounds to prevent infection, and when Yuuto had become patriarch of the Wolf Clan, he had started distilling high-proof spirits and distributing them to his logistics units.

Alcohol sterilization of wounds as a concept had been known even in the ancient world, and that was true of Yggdrasil as well. However, the strongest alcoholic concoctions in Yggdrasil were wines that were at best ten to fifteen percent alcohol by volume and weren’t particularly effective at sterilization. Prior to Yuuto’s term as Wolf Clan patriarch, many of the clan’s soldiers had died as a result of infected wounds. Distillation allowed the creation of much more potent forms of alcohol. The proliferation of distilled alcohol had dramatically reduced the number of wounded Wolf Clan and later Steel Clan soldiers who died from infection.

Of course, Hveðrungr was interested in something else entirely.

“Can you drink it?” he asked. Hveðrungr was extremely fond of alcohol, it was the one thing that could burn away the black thoughts that swirled deep within him. He had been completely enthralled by wine when he was at his worst, but even now, he still enjoyed it as a balm to the lingering darkness that rattled around his head. Surely the purity of the clear liquid meant it was much more potent as a balm as well.

“It can be drunk, yes. That said, it doesn’t have much flavor. It’s very strong, and it’ll get you intoxicated rather quickly,” Felicia replied.

The medicinal alcohol was distilled from a blend of barley, wheat, and rye. It went through several cycles of distillation before being filtered through activated charcoal made of white birchwood. Because it was being produced for medical use, it wasn’t cut with much water. In modern terms, it was essentially a high-proof vodka.

“I don’t believe that I’ve seen this making the rounds at the markets. Why not sell it? There’s surely demand for it. It would enrich the lives of the people and the coffers of the clan at the same time, would it not?” Hveðrungr asked, as his mind quickly went through the possibilities offered by the product in the bottle.

In truth, there were quite a few men who drank not to enjoy the flavor but simply to get drunk. Hveðrungr himself always sought the euphoria of the alcohol more than the flavor of the wine. Such men would have been an eager consumer base for distilled spirits.

“We weren’t able to make enough for that. The grains necessary for its production are mostly used to feed the people, and we’ve fought far too many wars to build up a surplus. In war, it’s not only useful for treating wounds, but also for cooking the rations for soldiers. There simply wasn’t enough to provide it to the civilians as well,” Felicia answered.

“I see, that makes sense.” Hveðrungr nodded in understanding. Yuuto had spent the last four years engaged in one war after the other.

“Big Brother initially wanted to sell it as a drink. Both Lord Jörgen and Lord Skáviðr gave favorable reviews after trying it.”

“Oh?!”

Hveðrungr leaned forward after he heard Felicia’s words. Both Jörgen and Skáviðr were of high rank and had consumed all sorts of expensive wines in their lives. The fact that they had approved of distilled spirits made Hveðrungr all the more curious.

“Then I would definitely like to try it,” Hveðrungr stated excitedly.

“Wha?! No, you can’t. This is for medical—Oh.”

Hveðrungr took advantage of a momentary opening to grab the bottle from Felicia’s hand.

“Wait, older brother!” she yelled.

“Heh, don’t be such a killjoy. It’s gotten cold, so this’ll help me stay warm tonight.”

As he said that, Hveðrungr popped open the bottle and poured the contents into his mouth.

“Gaack! Hack! Wheeze!”

The strength of the spirit had far exceeded his expectations, and he coughed violently as the alcohol burned a path down his throat. What in the name of the gods was this?! The way it stung his wound had told him it was strong, but this was far beyond anything he had imagined. It was as though he had poured molten lava down his throat!

“That’s why I tried to stop you...” Felicia said with an exasperated shake of her head.

Alcohol used for wound sterilization was eighty percent alcohol by volume, in contrast to the four to ten percent of the commoner’s ales or the fifteen percent of the wines enjoyed by the wealthy upper class. No matter how accomplished a drinker Hveðrungr might be, it was far too strong to handle without any warning.

“Guh... Th-This isn’t something you can drink!” Hveðrungr replied through a fit of coughing strong enough to have potentially killed him. The heat had subsided a bit in his throat, and Hveðrungr murmured the complaint between labored breaths.

“You’re supposed to cut it with water or fruit juices to drink it,” Felicia stated.

“Only women and children would consider ruining a drink in such a way.” Hveðrungr spat out the words as though to say cutting alcohol with anything was far too unmanly a thing for someone like him to do. That was an understandable attitude in Yggdrasil, where brewed alcoholic beverages were the norm.

“Heh heh... I feel a big weight lifting from my heart when I see you rolling around in pain like that...” Hveðrungr’s little sister said with a bright, innocent smile. It was a terrible thing to say given that he had suffered the shoulder wound for her sake, but, well, he hadn’t exactly told her as much, and given the things he had done to this point, her attitude was also understandable.

“You always look so cool and calm when you deal with anything...and then you... Oh, your face when you were... It’s priceless... Ha ha ha!” No longer able to contain her amusement, Felicia broke out into hearty laughter, wiping tears from her eyes. It seemed the sight had been quite amusing for her. “Heh heh. My, I feel like a scar that was stuck in my chest just broke off and vanished.”

“...So glad to hear that.” Hveðrungr snorted in displeasure. He was familiar with the concept of schadenfreude and was quite fond of indulging in it himself, but it was another thing to be on the receiving end.

“Well, in return for, well, this, I’ll call it even for everything. Call it forgiveness... The past is all water under the bridge now,” Felicia said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. There was a hint of levity in her voice, but Hveðrungr couldn’t dismiss it as a mere jest.

“Wait, everything?” Hveðrungr asked.

“Yes. Everything from three years ago to now.” Felicia smiled brightly, as though a cloud over her heart had lifted.

“Are you sure?” he asked once again, seemingly unable to understand what was going on. In Hveðrungr’s eyes, his sins were too heavy to simply wash away. He felt that from the bottom of his heart. He had never thought he’d be forgiven by Felicia, nor had he any intention of asking for her forgiveness.

“Part of me wants to say no. But, yes, I’m sure. Indeed, all the things you’ve done shouldn’t be so easily forgiven, older brother. Frankly, I can’t totally forgive you and don’t really want to either. Just thinking about it squeezes at my heart, and I feel a wave of anger well up inside of me as I recall those memories,” Felicia said bitterly as she gripped her hands into fists.

Hveðrungr wisely refrained from pointing out she had just mentioned forgiveness, having learned from years of fights with women that they were more than capable of dragging up slights from years in the past to fuel their fury. He knew from those experiences that arguing just made things worse.

“But, even then, I just can’t bring myself to hate you, older brother. No matter what happens—no matter what you do—you’re still my one and only brother by blood.” Felicia shook her head as though in tired resignation.

Hveðrungr, too, understood her sentiment all too well. When Felicia had chosen Yuuto over him, he had sworn that he was no longer her brother and she was no sister of his. Even so, his heart wouldn’t let him stand by that oath. The love of family, even for someone as cold and calculating as Hveðrungr, was so deeply rooted in him that he couldn’t hold it back. Felicia likely felt much the same. She had probably tried to shut out any love she had felt for him.

“S-So, when you lose... When you get trounced and you need treatment, I’ll call it even if you’ll keep showing that pricelessly dopey face of yours when I treat you. You better be grateful for that!” Felicia pushily insisted to him. Perhaps she had been looking for an opportunity to unclench the fist she had made.

“I see. I’m oh so glad to hear that,” Hveðrungr replied.

“What? Isn’t it enough?” Felicia narrowed her eyes at Hveðrungr as he sarcastically noted his gratitude. Hveðrungr chuckled and shrugged in response.

“It’s just habit. I have no complaints. I really am grateful,” he responded happily.

“Uh-huh...” Felicia’s tone made it clear she was skeptical of his sincerity. That was all Hveðrungr’s fault, given his general sarcasm and cynicism.

“Fine, fine. Then I’ll show you my appreciation by doing a bit of fighting, hm?” Hveðrungr said with a dry laugh. While his expression was unreadable under the mask, his smile was gentle and warm, rather than the sardonic smirk he usually wore just as surely as his mask.