Interlude:
A Man Whose Heart Blazes Fiercely
“Ugh, I’m bored…”
A short while after the mission escorting the false merchants was completed, and the life-or-death battle against the elder dragons was over, Pauline decided that she ought to drop in at home for the first time in a while, so the Crimson Vow opted to take an extended break.
The vacations the party usually took only lasted a week or thereabouts—not long enough for Pauline or Mavis to travel the long distances back to their homes. And so, the Crimson Vow had decided to make it three weeks this time.
Pauline and Mavis had gone back to their homes. Reina had gone to pay a visit to the graves of her father and her old allies.
But Mile, who was in no position to be traveling back to her own home, had nothing but time on her hands…
“Let’s see. What do I want to do on my own that would take a while? Faerie hunting… Already did that. Doting on a cute girl… Covered that with Mariette. Oh, I know, I could sneak into the academy to check on Mariette again!”
She was practically—no, literally—a stalker. A stalker fulfilling her own desires and making her wishes come true…
“Look, that was a movie by Tarkovsky! It’s the ‘Room,’ the ‘Zone!’ It’s not a movie for perverts, it’s classic sci-fi!!” Mile screamed suddenly and a bit nonsensically.
Apparently, this had sparked some kind of mental association for her.
“Three weeks is a long time, though… Most of what I can do in the capital I can usually take care of in one week’s time, even while we’re working. I guess it’s time for me to make a solo journey!”
Typically, in a world such as this, a young girl’s solo journeys would be fraught with danger. Forget bandits—one could think of nothing good coming of a young girl simply encountering a few local thugs, or even other travelers, when walking down the highway all alone. She would also pass through rural villages, populated by citizens who were down on their luck, hungry and impoverished…and among those would be villages of wicked folk, who prey on traveling merchants and consort with criminals.
In other words, it was so dangerous that it was nothing less than sheer madness for a young girl to undertake such a venture.
Of course, this had nothing to do with Mile. Indeed, not one single thing.
“Okay, I’m off!”
And thus, Mile resolved to set out on a solo journey. All the while singing a strange enka song she had written herself in this land’s tongue…
***
“Hrm, hrm. This is going well…”
Thus far, she had encountered bandits and a few other suspicious groups, but each time she did, she ran away—at what she called “full speed.” One moment, her shape seemed to blur, and then suddenly, with a burst of air, she was already dashing so far away that there was no point in going after her.
Of course, if she captured the bandits, she could have made some money, but dragging them all the way into town would take a while, and besides, it was boring. She was better off just not dealing with them. Capturing bandits during normal business hours was enough, without cutting into her own vacation time. If she stopped to deal with every single lawbreaker, her time off would dwindle away in a flash. She may have had three weeks to kill, but a week in this world was only six days, leaving her no more than eighteen at most.
That said, for Mile on her own, getting from place to place took far fewer days than usual. If she used her cavorite magic, which allowed her to fall horizontally, she could get anywhere in a flash, but this was not especially elegant and would not allow her to enjoy the journey. And so, she typically only walked at twice her usual pace…which was plenty speedy.
She was headed southwest from the capital. In that direction lay the junction point of three kingdoms: the Crimson Vow’s home base of Tils, the Kingdom of Brandel, where Mile’s—or rather, Adele’s—ancestral home was located, and the Albarn Empire. It was a hotly contested zone for the allied forces of Brandel and Tils and their enemies, the Albarnians. Especially as both Tils and Brandel always had forces stationed there, watching, ready and waiting to swoop in and counterattack the Albarn forces should they ever launch an offensive into one kingdom or the other.
Of course, this was only true in the case of a full-scale invasion. Naturally, the respective crowns would have no interest in intervening over something as small as an incursion into some border fief, a spat or “border negotiation” that should really be settled by the forces of the nobles in question. There was a perfectly rational fear that, were armies to get involved in something so small, the invaded fiefs might use this official backing as an excuse to launch their own invasion into the Empire, which would result in the explosion of a true nationwide conflict. No, in such minor cases, the territories were on their own.
The only time there would be an emergency dispatch of troops without the express request of the administration of a friendly kingdom would be in the event that the Empire attempted an earnest invasion aimed for the capital; there were various treaties with very precise situational clauses that saw to that.
All three of the countries had founded towns of reasonable size near the point where their three territories met. Though of course, these were not cities built for mercantile purposes, seeing as there were no major highways running through the area, so they were not particularly large…
In any event, Mile decided to see for herself what the atmosphere was like in a town near such a precarious location. By now, you see, all three of these lands—Tils, where she currently resided; Brandel, from whence she hailed; and Albarn, which housed the elder dragon village and the base guarded by the Scavengers and the like—had become places where she felt as though she had friends, and she would never wish to see them annihilate one another.
“Here we are.”
Having traveled at a pace that was slightly quicker than was sensible, Mile had arrived at her destination. The first order of business was to pop in at the guildhall, though this was merely for the sake of quickly gleaning any intel and browsing the local information board; she had no intention of taking on any solo requests.
“Hmm, nothing especially unusual on the info board… Oh, wait. Hang on…”
There have been reports that the Albarn Empire has set eyes on an invasion of the Kingdom of Brandel. All those accepting jobs crossing national borders should exercise caution. Additionally, there is a high probability of individual actions being taken in fiefs abutting the border, which will be assumed to be small-scale skirmishes, rather than direct action on the part of the Imperial government.
“Yeah, I guess it’s a bit too soon for the Empire to be starting any official invasions… Still, this is a pretty accurate bit of information and analysis. I wonder who brought them this,” Mile muttered, shifting to look at the job board. “Hmm, right about now I’ll bet there’s… Oh, sure enough!”
Emergency Recruitment: Seeking mercenaries. Six half-gold per day. House of Baron Arreighman.
Typically, one should put in a request at the Mercenaries’ Guild to recruit mercenaries. Plus, the number of recruits desired and the length of the job were not indicated. For such a vague job request to have made it as far as the Hunters’ Guild meant…
“A red mark job, huh?” Mile muttered. The hunters around her grimaced.
“More or less, yeah. Other lords, trying to avoid direct conflicts, use the Baron’s lands like a buffer zone, his fief taking all the damages from these skirmishes while all the other lords have to do is send out a few men when the national forces step in to push out the Empire. Yet the Baron’s house can’t really complain, since they tend to rely on those other territories for allyship. It’s an inescapable position, really…
“Ain’t nowhere rougher than that place. Every time it happens, the fields end up destroyed, the young girls snatched away. It’d be one thing to go up against bandits, but you’d definitely be fighting soldiers—and for just six half-gold a day? Plus, on this side we’ve just got some weak little baron going up against a bloodthirsty count. Are you kiddin’ me?!”
“Anyhow, any mercs are definitely gonna be right up there on the front lines like sacrificial lambs. That’s why no one from the Mercs’ Guild took it. Naturally, we ain’t about to either!” belted another one of the men.
Of course, none of the hunters here assumed that a girl who looked to be around twelve would take on a job like this on her own, so their commentary was likely intended just as casual, worldly advice for the rookie hunter. They had not seen her around before, but she was clearly not of the age to be making any training journeys, and given that she was all alone, she had probably just now registered as a hunter, equipped with some used gear her parents had bought her. This is what they must have thought.
In fact, a party of young men, all in their mid to late teens, were staring at Mile, their eyes glinting. They probably intended to rush over to invite her to join their party the moment she finished her registration. The gear she had on her was not bad for a newbie, which meant that her family was not hurting for money and had happily gone along with their daughter’s desire to become a hunter…and objectively speaking, she was cute, to boot.
So, when Mile marched up to the reception desk and announced to the clerk, “Excuse me, I’d like to accept that mercenary recruitment request from Brandel!”
“Whaaaaaat?!?!”
…the cry of shock that rang throughout the guildhall was only to be expected.
“N-now, listen, I know there’s no rank requirement written here, but thinking about this reasonably, this is honestly a job for a C-rank or higher…”
“Oh, well, I am a C-rank!”
“Whaaat?!” rang out another collective cry.
Granted, in countries without establishments like the Hunters’ Prep School, there was no way that a hunter who had registered at the just-barely-qualified age of ten as an F-rank could climb the three ranks to a C-rank in just two or three years. Sure, it was possible to skip ranks at registration, but judging by the looks of Mile, who was outfitted as a sword wielder, there was no way that she could possibly have skipped to a D- or C-rank.
Were she a mage, it would not be impossible to imagine that she might just be absurdly talented, but again, she was dressed as a swordswoman, and judging by her physique, her musculature, her gait, her stance, her wariness, her presence, and even her expression, one thing was abundantly clear: she was a shrimp!
At the very most, she might be an E-rank, but she certainly could not have the skill of a C-rank hunter. Everyone assembled was very confident in that.
Seeing the clerk staring at her with a silent, dubious gaze, Mile had no choice but to rustle around for the pendant-shaped item that hung from a chain around her neck. Pulling it out from within her clothing, she handed it to the woman.
“Here, look—”
“Huh? Ah, I see… Wait, what? ! ”
The woman’s eyes went wide with shock. It was, of course, Mile’s registration badge, which by its material and design on the front indicated her rank. The inscription on the reverse showed the branch she had registered with along with her registration number, her name, and her primary job.
“You’re a…C-rank mage…?”
“She’s not a swordfighter?!?!”
Thus, Mile successfully took the job. The clerk and local hunters tried desperately to stop her, but to deny a full-fledged C-rank hunter a job required an official order from a guild master, given with just reasoning. Without such reasoning, the guild staffer in question would be punished. And so, the moment Mile professed, “Brandel is my homeland…” there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.
Off she went, across the nearby border, toward a small barony that would take most hunters a day to reach on foot but that she would reach in half a day—with time to spare.
***
Kelvin von Bellium.
The fifth son of a baron residing in the Kingdom of Brandel, one who would never be considered affluent or even prosperous. A child born out of wedlock.
Not even the child of some formal mistress of his father but the result of an affair with a lady’s maid, a love child, so to speak.
In this country, the mistresses of nobles and royals were recognized as lawful wives, and their livelihood and children were all taken care of by their husbands. However, lovers did not share the same status. They remained in the shadows and were owed no protections. It was a precarious existence, one where they could be cast aside the moment the master of the house soured on them.
That said, both the Baron and Baroness Bellium were kindhearted, as nobles went. Both the lady’s maid and her child were welcomed as family members, and Kelvin received a proper upbringing. They really were good-natured people, particularly the Baroness.
But upon enrolling at Eckland Academy, Kelvin had encountered a mortal rival—though it was a rivalry that burned only in Kelvin’s eyes. This foe saw him as little more than an irritating little gnat, much less a true enemy.
Suffering one insult after another, Kelvin continued to bear this one-sided grudge against his nemesis, until one day this rival, who could finally bear Kelvin’s behavior no longer, imparted unto him a passionate and sorely needed education about how a noble ought to be and how a man ought to behave himself. On that day, Kelvin’s eyes were opened.
After his graduation from Eckland, Kelvin had decided to enlist neither with the national forces, where a graduate of Eckland, the lesser school, could never get ahead, nor with the Imperial Guard, which had eyes only for graduates of Ardleigh Academy, but with the private forces of a noble household.
The basic units and non-commissioned officers within a lord’s forces were comprised of a mixture of voluntary and forcibly drafted recruits from within the fief, but naturally, the higher-ranking officers were appointed from noble households. Therefore, it was the standard course of action to employ the lesser sons of low-ranking nobles in the hopes of training them up into proper future officers—though of course, top command of the troops was still left to the lord’s most trusted vassals.
No matter how wet behind the ears a young noble might be, to place a person of rank beneath a commoner would be improper, so even if a noble were still young and green, such a person would be recognized as an officer from the get-go. Still, as long as they remained a child, they would be an officer in training, or rather, a cadet. (Whether or not they could earn the confidence of the enlisted men, particularly those who had worked their way up the ranks to become officers, was another matter entirely, but the rank of a young noble was, at least, guaranteed.)
It was in this way that Kelvin had found himself employment as an officer cadet in the forces of a barony abutting the country’s border with the Albarn Empire.
As far as the Baron was concerned, Kelvin was little more than disposable personnel, hired on to take command in more dangerous situations, but Kelvin had his sights set on the future, using this time to equip himself with on-the-job knowledge and skills. He obviously had no intention of retiring at the lofty heights of a low-ranking officer in the army of a small-time baron.
Naturally, the high commander of these forces was the Baron himself. Then came his younger brother, and then two of the younger sons of a family related to the Baron; the scant few official officer roles were all filled by members of the noble line. It was Kelvin who had been hired on to fill the role of the outsider who would serve as their underling, taking care of all of the odd tasks and more bothersome, dangerous jobs. Thus, no matter how hard he worked and how much glory he achieved, he had no real prospects in this place.
An established noble would never assume such a role, so they were likely thrilled to find someone in as lowly a position as Kelvin—the love child of an impoverished noble—to bestow the job upon. And then, one day…
“An invasion by the Empire?”
“Yes! I’m going to His Majesty to request reinforcements from the national army. I’m appointing you officer for this operation, so protect these lands until we return with more troops. Retreat will not be permitted! If anyone runs, they will be charged with desertion in the face of the enemy—nay, with abetting the enemy—and face the executioner’s axe!” These were the commands of the Baron—who seemed to be making plans to run away with his family, his retainers, and every last one of his underlings while leaving Kelvin, who had been hired on only a few months ago, in charge of defending his estate.
It was specifically for times like these that Kelvin had been hired for this job, so running away simply was not an option. In essence, the Baron’s thread was that if he should run, certain half-truths and rumors would begin to spread, dragging Kelvin’s family’s name through the mud. The fact that he had even received this surprise promotion was probably due to the fact that it would sound worse to say that the Baron had pushed off all his responsibilities on a greenhorn cadet than it would to say he had, “left the battlefield to an officer while he went to seek reinforcements.”
Kelvin could not possibly bring himself to cause trouble for the Bellium family, who had so generously taken him in despite his illegitimate birth. Likewise, he had no choice but to try and defend the Baron’s capital, alongside those normal men of the fief who had drawn the short end of the stick in being stuck there.
Indeed, neither he, nor his extended family, nor any of the citizens of this fief, could defy the Baron’s orders. There was no escape.
The Baron had received report of this invasion attempt courtesy of the count who ruled over the adjoining lands on the opposite side of the national border. He had known since the relatively early stages of the effort, since in this era, it was nearly impossible to fully conceal the movements of troops, and any hiring of mercenaries or preparations to gather and transport supplies would be a clear giveaway to anyone who was looking out for them. Furthermore, as the lord of a border territory, the Baron had long since gotten word out to hunters stationed within the Empire, and the old men who frequented the imperial capital’s watering holes, that he would pay for information relevant to the security of his fief. And so, they had found out with time to spare—enough time, in fact, to post formal mercenary requests at the Mercenary and Hunters’ Guilds in the neighboring towns, pointless though it may have been.
Naturally, this recruitment effort had also included border towns in the territories of their allied neighbors to the east.
It was no surprise that no one was tripping over themselves to take part in a battle between a baron and a count, much less a count who was attacking fully prepared. Judging by the recruitment notices, things were dire enough on the Baron’s side that some might even try to make their cases to join the enemy.
And so the nobles and high officers fled, leaving the Baron’s forces with only Kelvin, the NCOs, and the rank and file to stand against the enemy in defense of the capital (or so-called capital, seeing at it was really little more than a hamlet).
The refusal of the Baron’s forces to go and meet their enemy at the border at least meant that the supply burden was placed even ever so slightly more on the side of the Albarnians. Luring them all the way into the fief would mean the loss of their fields, true, but there was no point in attempting to preserve the fields if their troops were overtaken and the land itself lost.
“We really have both gotten the short end of the stick, haven’t we, Commander? Sir.”
“Commander? I’m not really that important…” Kelvin grimaced at these words from a senior NCO.
“I mean, all the guys who rank above you are gone, and you’re the only officer left. So, right now that makes you the real commander! Sir!”
“I suppose that’s true…”
Kelvin thought about it and realized that the man had a point. He was the only high-ranking individual still on the scene, which made him, ostensibly, the commander.
And his birthday being early in the year, Kelvin was already fourteen years old. Given that his build was most similar to a Western European on Earth and that he had been trained since his youngest days, he already had a quite honed physique. From the looks of him, he could stand up in battle to even an adult…though there was still nearly a year before he became an actual legal adult at fifteen.
And yet, here a senior NCO had recognized this boy, young enough to be his own grandson, as a full-fledged officer. Over the past few month, he—unlike those other wretched officers—had fought hard for the respect of his subordinates, and it seems perhaps, that these efforts had paid off.
And then…
At last, the imperial troops arrived at the capital.
Technically, they were not Albarn’s royal forces, but the army of the count in the neighboring fief. However, as far as the people of Brandel were concerned, they were invaders from the Empire.
“All right, let’s do this!”
This was but a simple barony. Capital or no, it was only a little town, devoid of any castles or fortified battlements. Therefore, they could not withstand a siege, and making a stand around the perimeter of the town would only see the townspeople themselves swept up in the fray and injured.
So, they would have to exit the capital and face the enemy head-on. Annihilation was inevitable, but at least if the local forces, made up of men from all over the barony, made a real stand, they could not be decried as a town of cowards or scorned for treasonously going belly up for the Empire. Should the royal forces make it in time to rescue them after their inevitable defeat at the hands of the enemy, at least they could say they had put up a fight.
Plus, there was no better way that Kelvin could repay the family who had taken him in, despite the circumstances of his birth, than to earn himself a reputation as a valiant commander of the Baron’s forces, regardless of his young age.
Holding that thought in his heart, Kelvin turned to the soldiers:
“Anyone who wishes to be discharged may leave now. You can change out of your uniforms and slip into the crowds with the civilians. You can live a happy life as one of the common folk…”
And it was thus, with his forces suddenly half-diminished, Kelvin led the army out of the capital to set up camp…
The difference in numbers was both cruel and insurmountable.
The imperial soldiers, not interested in risking any pointless deaths in a battle where victory was assured, were not particularly proactive in their fighting style. However, even with the Albarnians focused on preserving their own lives, the difference in their numbers of troops was so large that from the get-go—in accordance with Lanchester’s linear law—the Baron’s forces were swiftly whittled down.
Despite being a commander, Kelvin himself stood valiantly on the front lines, but already he was reaching his limits. Despite his many years of training in the way of the sword, and the relative lack of effort on the part of his enemies, he was still exhausted in the face of these odds. And while he had avoided any serious injury, he was covered in slashes and dripping with blood, his grip on his sword slowly weakening, his legs trembling, his vision going blurry, and then…
Crack!
His mass-produced blade, far from anything that could be called excellent quality, broke—breaking Kelvin’s heart along with it.
Kelvin froze up as his sword snapped, and seizing the opportunity, an enemy soldier swung down and struck Kelvin in the side. Though his armor prevented any fatal injury, it was still akin to being struck with an iron rod, and the damage was not negligible. Already having been at his limits—or in fact, well beyond them—Kelvin collapsed on the spot.
However, at that very moment, it was not anguish or regret that enveloped him but the sweet, alluring scent of surrender. It’s over now, a voice whispered. You can rest.
So this is it for me, huh? he thought. Still, I did as I must. My duties are complete. I won’t be a disgrace to the Bellium family… Even if I die here, I won’t… I won’t…
Yet there was a thorn that pierced him somewhere deep within his heart.
Ah, I never did apologize to her… If only I could see her one more time and tell her…
In the corner of his vision, he saw the hazy form of a soldier raising a sword and swinging it down upon him.
“Oh…well…”
Shing!
“Waaah!”
He waited, but the blow never came. And then, he saw someone standing over him, blocking out the light of the sun.
“Who’s there?”
With his bleary, blurry vision, he could only make out a petite silhouette. Still, there was no mistaking that this person had come to his rescue.
“A hunter, who accepted a mercenary job.”
Never had they thought that anyone would be foolish enough to accept a job to fight in this losing battle. The Baron had only proliferated the postings for mercenary aid so that he could convince His Majesty that he had done all that he could in defense of his lands, but neither the type of work nor the pay would be sufficient to entice any hunter. It was the sketchy sort of job that hunters referred to as a “red mark.” It was telling that they had not even successfully recruited any of the more villainous mercenaries who would take a job in the early stages of an operation and head for the hills the moment things turned dangerous, saying they had other duties to attend to.
Indeed, never in Kelvin’s wildest imaginings would he have thought that anyone would accept this job. And while it would be one thing to draft some mercenary who was just hard-up or bloodthirsty enough answer the postings, his savior’s voice sounded inexplicably as though it belonged to a young girl…
The voice brought to mind a girl from somewhere deep within his memories, but surely, Kelvin thought, this was just an illusion conjured up by a mind on the brink of death.
He squinted up at the blurred visage. “How many of you idiots came riding in here?”
Naturally, in this context, “idiot” was the highest praise Kelvin could possibly give.
“Just me.”
“Huh?”
“It’s just me. Do you really think there could be that many idiots?!”
Kelvin froze momentarily at this ridiculous reply and then chuckled.
“Ha ha, that’s true.”
This is where he would die. There was no way to alter that fate. Yet now, he found himself hoping that this stupid (somehow familiar?) girl, at least, would live on.
As he thought this, he moved to give the order to retreat. But just then, a phrase passed through the girl’s lips.
“Tell me now, does your heart blaze fiercely? Does your soul shine with a brilliant light?”
“Huh?”
Kelvin was dumbfounded at these words. They were the words that girl had once said to him, words that he could never forget…
And there was only one reply he could give:
“My heart still blazes, and my soul still shines. Ever since a certain girl once struck the match of my heart and soul…”
“Who are you?”
“My-my name is…”
“Hmm. Is your name really such a cheap thing that you could speak it while writhing around on the ground?”
Kelvin grit his teeth.
“My name is… My name is…”
Shaking, he rose to his feet, using his broken sword to prop himself up.
“I am Kelvin von Bellium, the fifth son of Baron Bellium… No!” He shook his head and let the words fly from his lips. “My name is Kelvin! Kelvin, the Inferno!! ! ” he cried, standing up proudly and raising his blade to the heavens.
The enemy soldiers stopped what they were doing and looked at him, no doubt wondering what was going on.
“I am going to bestow upon you three things. The first is this—some muscle recovery medicine,” said Mile, drawing a small jar out from her inventory.
Unlike the micros, which simply consisted of a liquid packed with nanomachines, this was chock full of nutrients. Additionally, the nanomachines within had been instructed ahead of time to focus on alleviating fatigue and strengthening musculature.
“Your fatigue will fly away with Hirop— er, no, anyway, here’s a drug to take your fatigue away!”
“This isn’t the time for that…”
Yet Kelvin’s comment went completely ignored.
“Next, I’ll give you this. I’ll need you to give it back after, though. It’s my favorite sword!” Mile said, drawing her sword from its sheath and handing it to Kelvin. The sheath itself she kept, to emphasize her insistence that she would most certainly be getting this sword back.
With a solemn look upon his face, Kelvin accepted the blade.
Normally, entrusting one’s most prized blade to another was not something that a swordsman or swordswoman would do except under the most extraordinary circumstances. Mile, however, thought nothing of such a thing… She was not a swordswoman, after all, but a magic knight.
“And my final gift to you, of course…is my strength!” she announced and then suddenly activated a spell. “Area Heal!!!”
This was high-level recovery magic, which it was said that only a handful of people in the kingdom were able to use. It was certainly not the sort of magic one would expect from a little girl.
Then, particles of light rained down upon all of the allied soldiers across the battlefield.
Within the chaos of battle, if one were to render an enemy powerless, there was no need to go out of the way to land a killing blow. It would be easy enough to be struck from behind while doing such a thing, and in fact, if victory for one’s side was not already assured, then at least leaving the enemy with heavy living casualties would mean greatly increasing the burden upon them, between exhausting their provisions and medicine, and expending the personnel needed to care for the injured. Indeed, the wounded were far more taxing a burden than the dead.
Plus, if one were to take one’s enemies captive later, one could expect a hefty ransom in return for any nobles or high-ranking officers who might be among the group.
Of course, it would be difficult to expect as much from the current opponents…
At any rate, among those sprawled across the ground, there were already plenty of dead, but also plenty of men still drawing breath. And now, droplets of beautiful light rained down upon each of these allied soldiers.
“Uh…”
“Wh-what…?”
“My wounds, they’re hea…ling…?”
The soldiers were stunned, but then stood back up, weapons in hand.
“The Goddess has…granted us a miracle…”
Then, the men looked down upon the bodies of their comrades who had not stood, and instead remained, lying upon the earth. No matter how merciful the Goddess, even her own favor could not revive the dead. So many of their allies had already been welcomed into Her waiting arms.
The soldiers’ eyes blazed with righteous anger. For those who remained upright, there was only one thing left to do…
They would fulfill their duties and those of their fallen comrades as well.
Kelvin looked out upon the soldiers as they rose one by one and then took one long, hard glance at those who would not rise again, before swigging down the recovery medicine that Mile had given him. He gazed upon her face, which he could now see clearly. And then…
“Kelvin the Inferno, taking the field!”
Kelvin plunged bravely into the enemy lines, with Mile in hot pursuit. The other allied soldiers followed after them.
They were witnessing the birth of a hero.
This time, Mile unleashed an area spell upon their enemies.
“Will the fireworks explode from below? From beside? Continuous fire ! ”
Kaboom! Kaboom! Kabooom!
It was an explosive spell that sparked like firecrackers from an altitude of zero—in other words, directly from the ground. These explosions, which effectively did little more than set off a great number of sparks, were not particularly deadly. However, they did produce quite the effect.
“The enemy mages are launching an all-out attack! There has to be at least a platoon’s worth of them!” came a cry from the enemy ranks.
Indeed, it was impossible to think that a display of such a scope could all be coming from a single mage. It was only reasonable to assume that a large group of mages had suddenly arrived on the battlefield. Furthermore, a unit of mages, who would not be skilled at melee combat, would never operate independently. Surely they were seeing the arrival of both a mage unit and the powerful soldiers who would be accompanying them. And the arrival of both a sizable mage force and an elite solider unit could mean nothing less than that the special forces of the royal army had arrived.
Without their own mages—without even the power of the Imperial army—there was no way that any normal troops, let alone those belonging to a less-than-wealthy count of a rural territory, could hope to stand a chance in a head-on battle against a proper army with many mages.
So, as the cry rang out, the Albarnians began to scramble in panic, both their formations and their ranks crumbling as the battlefield descended into chaos. As a result, a path opened up directly to the enemy leaders.
“Charge!” Kelvin shouted, and dozens of battle cries rang out in reply.
Kelvin and his men plunged right into the gap in the enemy ranks.
At the same time, all those more cowardly men who had declined to join in on the operation—who had been watching from amongst the buildings of the capital—burst out at once, surging forth as though inspired. Among them were even those who had already shed their armor for civilian clothes, rushing onward with only sword in hand. Seeing this, the townsfolk, who now assumed that even other civilians were taking up arms to join in the fight, grabbed whatever knives and tools and farming implements were nearby and rallied alongside them.
In times of peace, a fief’s standing army, who produced no money or resources—only consuming both—would comprise no more than a scant one to two percent of the fief’s population. Even in times of crisis, this would rise to no more than five to ten percent—and that ten percent, even if maintained for the briefest of periods, was more than enough to be an immense impediment to the kingdom’s growth once the war was over.
From a statistical standpoint, it was no huge burden to set aside some men for an invasion, even without abandoning the defense of one’s own lands or resorting to any drastic drafts. It would be one thing if the entire Empire was mobilizing, but the number of men required for a poor count on the outskirts of the nation to expand his own lands amounted to very little.
Now, they were suddenly faced with an insane magical barrage, a hero had appeared among the enemy forces, and there was an insurgence of enemies numbering several times their own troops.
There is no equal to the speed one can muster when faced with the possibility of death. Though they were hardened soldiers, when swarmed by dozens of civilians armed with bamboo spears and logs and hoes and hammers and even cooking knives, they were no match.
They ran.
It was an obvious choice for the rank and file, whose own lives would be little affected by the win or loss of this battle. Would they rather lose a battle and go back home to live with their families? Or be tortured to death by the peasants of a foreign land?
The decision required no thought whatsoever.
And thus, the battle was decided.
***
“And so you see, after a fierce battle, our troops were decimated. We fought to the last and then gathered all the forces who remained and rushed here to request the help of the royal army in reclaiming our lands!”
An unexpected emergency report was being given during an audience at the palace. The one giving this report was the lord of the barony that abutted the borderline with the Albarn Empire, Baron Arreighman. Behind him stood his younger brother, commander of his forces, and two members of other families from the Baron’s line.
Their presence, the Baron thought, was surely enough to show that he and his vassals had truly given their all in defense of the barony.
The listening king wore an expression that was hard to read. He appeared neither shocked, nor angered, nor impressed, nor particularly worried.
This wholly unexpected reaction from the king gave Baron Arreighman pause.
“Y-your Majesty, I…”
Finally unable to bear the silence, the Baron began to speak again, until the king, expressionless, asked, “So you’re telling me that your troops were annihilated and the barony lost?”
“Y-yes, Your Majesty! I was hoping that perhaps I could seek immediate assistance from the royal forces in reclaiming those lands, or if that cannot be done, perhaps some other lands, as a reward for staking our lives on the defense of the kingdom…”
The request was a shameless one, though in truth, there was a precedent for exactly this kind of remediation. It was not at all unusual to see a person of merit promoted in peerage, or at least relocated to a better piece of land, if they were not quite competent enough for a full promotion. Among those numbers were lords who had fought to the last against invaders and finally lost their lands, who might be granted some empty territory that had been presently in the control of the crown or some other governor… However, this happened quite rarely and was limited to those who had fought exceptionally bravely and demonstrated a superior prowess in battle.
Of course, there were also more than a few lords who would refuse to be moved elsewhere, not wanting to leave the lands and people that their families had protected for generations. (That said, declining a relocation to a lesser territory intended as punishment was out of the question.)
“Aha! So, I suppose that means that both the Arreighman Barony and all its soldiers are already lost…” the king repeated, echoing the Baron’s words back to him. The Baron, assuming that His Majesty was merely petrified in shock, breathed a sigh of relief—until the king continued, “In that case, the fief that exists within my kingdom is no longer the land of the Baron, nor are the men who have defended it his men. Yes, I understand. The Arreighman Barony has been lost from these lands, destroyed. By those terms, I release you from your duties as lord of those lands.
“Instead, I shall be instating the young noble who spearheaded his own forces to drive back the invaders and preserve those lands for my kingdom. He who shall serve as the new ruler of those lands is… The name was Kelvin, was it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty! Kelvin von Bellium, fifth son of Baron Bellium,” confirmed the prime minister, who stood in wait beside the king.
“Wha…?! Th-that can’t…”
The Baron tried frantically to backtrack, his eyes going wide in shock, but on further consideration, he realized he had nothing to say. He himself had professed that his men had “fought to the last, and the fief had been destroyed,” so claiming that the victorious forces had been his own, or that he had been the one to drive back the enemy, would mean that he had tried to deceive the king with a false report.
And furthermore, it would mean admitting he had fled the battlefield without waiting to see the conclusion of the battle…
While this was not treason, it was most certainly desertion. It was a clear breach of his obligations as a noble. Besides, making a false report to the king about something as crucial as a military operation was as grave as offenses came. If he admitted to such a thing, not only would his family be ruined, but all those involved would most surely face the executioner’s axe. To purposely refute the king’s word, when the man was clearly playing with him—misinterpreting the Baron’s report to his benefit—would be an act of literal suicide.
“Uh… I, uh…”
The Baron could do nothing but mumble wordlessly, his mouth flapping like a dying fish, as the king coolly intoned, “You fool. A messenger already arrived and gave us word that you foisted control of your forces off on Kelvin, a rookie officer. I know everything: that you forcibly promoted an officer trainee—a child —and pushed the burden of facing an invading army onto his shoulders, fleeing before the battle even began in your carriages loaded up with valuables. It was perhaps the weight of your riches that so delayed your arrival here!
“Worse, you ran with not only your private property but also funds for the governance of your lands. Of course, you should be made to return those—indeed, we will be confiscating both those funds and your private property in order to fund the restoration of those lands devastated during the attack.”
The king glared at Baron Arreighman and then proclaimed, “Both the Arreighman family and the rest of their line are hereby stripped of their peerage. The main family, up to the third degree of kinship, shall be exiled. I have no need for any nobles who would flee and abandon their vassals here in my kingdom. You can go wherever you like—to the Empire for that matter! I truly ought to see you beheaded for this, so you may take my mercy as a sign of my gratitude for your ancestors who have served the Crown well in protecting such a small, remote border fief. I will hear no complaints, nor should you expect any further kindness, and if you are still dissatisfied, I shall instead bestow the punishment that truly fits the crime… So, is there anything you’d like to say?”
Prospects were slim for a noble stripped of his title and driven from the country, penniless. However, compared to the alternative—beheading—this punishment was so light that one might say the Goddess had smiled upon Baron Arreighman. Thus, he merely prostrated himself in silence.
Then, after the Baron’s party had departed…
“Still, to think that name would come up at a time like this—”
“Indeed, I never thought we would hear the name A. A. here now. I suppose the Goddess truly has shown us her favor, as the motherland of the girl who is her vessel…” said the prime minister. The king gave a solemn nod.
“Yes, the report said that Adele von Ascham—code name ‘A. A.’—came to their rescue, but perhaps it was in fact the work of the Goddess taking over A. A.’s consciousness. Though, I wonder, why is it not the image of a goddess that’s come into my mind’s eye but rather that of a devil?”
“Fear not, Your Majesty. I have imagined the same thing…”
Though he was unsure exactly why or how, nonetheless the king felt somewhat relieved.
“Mm-hmm yes of course! I’m still thinking clearly! Still, to think she’s been right here in these lands… Well, no, it was near the border, so it’s possible she’s been elsewhere and was only visiting her homeland. Still, either way…”
“Yes, the Goddess’s vessel on earth, the blessed young A. A., has once more come home!”
“Bwaha…”
“Heh heh heh…”
“Wa ha ha ha ha ha!”
Mile had been so focused on putting on a show for Kelvin that she had forgotten to refrain from speaking about herself… A fatal mistake. Still, there was no need for Kelvin to go inquiring at the Guild about who she was when he already knew her name and what she looked like, which she was referred to as “A. A.”—Adele von Ascham—and the name Mile never came to light.
Not that the Guild would have responded to any requests to give up a hunter’s personal information, even if that request came from the royal family…
In any event, thanks to further misunderstandings by the king and company, Mile was able to escape an instant death. Indeed, it was akin to the relief of only getting off with life-threatening injuries—though it is truly unclear what should be a relief about that!
***
Kelvin’s father, the Baron Bellium, read over the missive he had received from a palace messenger, his face expressionless.
“I understand. Please allow me a moment…”
It was common practice to furnish some sort of small reward to a messenger who had delivered this sort of message. Naturally, the messenger expected this very thing.
It was a bit gauche to give pure coin as a gift like this, but typically one might expect something that could easily be turned into gold, such as a painting or other work of art, a pure silver tea set, or something whose value could not easily be judged on the spot. In other words, it was up to the gifter to decide exactly what the token might consist of.
However, given the Baron’s stoic expression, the messenger began to worry that he might not be receiving much of anything at all, thinking that the man was displeased to hear news like this about a child who was born not to his primary wife but to a lover.
As the messenger returned home, the Baron went alone to his chambers…and opened up his favorite bottle of wine. Not long after, jubilant laughter echoing from the Baron’s room caused a number of suspicious looks to be shared by the various members of the Bellium family.
Later, the messenger would be stunned to find that the piece of artwork he received as his reward would be worth nearly five times as much as what was expected for this type of occasion…
Meanwhile, Kelvin, who had been busy dealing with the aftermath of the battle, found himself speechless when he received a notice from the palace.
Kelvin von Bellium, I bestow upon you the title of Baron. Official details will—
“But how …?”
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