Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 10 - Chapter 3.1

Chapter 3: Creeping Shadow

House Heimdall ruled over a broad swath of land in the west of the northern territories. They had faithfully served House Scharm for many years, through good and ill, and had been rewarded for their loyalty by becoming one of the three most powerful houses in the north. Yet that was not the only reason for their fame. The rest of Soleil knew them as the keepers of Friedhof, the great wall that divided the empire from the untamed lands of the Sanctuarium beyond.

The house’s seat of power was located in Malaren, only a stone’s throw from the wall. It was a medium-sized settlement, perhaps the sixth largest in the north, and had been built to dispatch reinforcements at a moment’s notice. With the threat of the Wild Races so close, it was far from an economic hub, but its residents maintained good cheer. The frigid climate lent itself to drinking, and Malaren boasted so many taverns with such a wide collection of liquor that it had earned itself the nickname “Flagon’s Last Stop.” It had its rougher sides, with daytime drinkers in the streets and a few rowdy drunks, but it broadly maintained a semblance of order.

Hermes von Heimdall was known far and wide not only as a high general but also as a great lover of liquor. He preferred to stay in his chambers inside Friedhof rather than at his mansion in the city. That was where he was at present, accompanied by a man who would have very much preferred to be anywhere else: Muninn, lieutenant to King Surtr of Baum.

Muninn sat rigidly on the floor, his mouth hanging open. He didn’t know what to say. The sheer volume of bottles lying there left him in shock.

Hermes peered at him. The old man was stripped to the waist, revealing bulging muscles. “Cat got your tongue, son?”

“It ain’t like that, it’s just... Old ma— I mean, High General von Heimdall, sir...”

Muninn had expected death after being exposed as a spy, but Hermes had made no move to apprehend him. The old man had simply escorted him back to his chambers and set to drinking. Muninn could only watch aghast as bottle after bottle had emptied before his eyes.

“Get some drink in you, son. You must be freezing.” Hermes thrust a goblet into his hand and filled it to the brim.

“Um...if you don’t mind me asking,” Muninn began, “what’s going to happen to me?”

“What’s going to happen? You’ll drink up and then you’ll go on home, that’s what.” Hermes took another hearty swig. “Bah. S’pose you’d best have a gander at the wall first.”

Muninn took a gulp of his own goblet, cocking his head. “That’s it? I just get to look around and go?”

“Be my guest, son. You seem like a good sort.”

Muninn pinched the skin between his eyebrows, only more perplexed.

Hermes grinned at his confusion. “You’ll understand once you see for yourself. Come on, lad. Grab yourself a bottle and we can drink on the way.”

He stood up and made for the door, bottle in hand. Muninn hurriedly followed.

“Five hundred years ago now this wall went up,” Hermes grunted.

Muninn knew that well enough. It was impossible to open an imperial history book without learning something about the subject. The wall had been erected after the twenty-second emperor had driven the Wild Races from the northern territories.

“Some say it’s made out of spirits. That it only looks like ice from a distance, and if you look real close, you’ll see it’s more like a great hunk of spirit stone.”

Muninn reached out to touch the wall for himself. It was certainly cold, but not more so than ice—although now that he thought about it, freezing crystal would feel much the same...

“Watch this, son.” Hermes drew his sword and swung it against the wall. With a loud clang, the blade fell to the ground, having snapped off at the hilt. “Fearsome strong stuff. You could swing full strength without leaving a mark. Might manage a scratch with a spirit weapon, but you’d just as easily break an arm.”

“Huh...”

Muninn was so taken aback that he couldn’t muster a proper reply. Hermes tossed the broken hilt away and set off down the corridor.

“So how’d they build this place, then?” Muninn’s interest had been piqued. If even a spirit weapon could only scratch the wall, what kind of craftsmanship had the humans of the past used to carve out habitable living quarters?

Hermes grunted. “Beats me. Ask someone who was around five hundred years ago. Some of the books say the dwarves up on the northern continent had a hand in its construction, but there’s nothing about their techniques.”

“Sounds like the stonecutters from back then could teach the ones we have now a thing or two.”

Muninn grinned. He had intended that jokingly, but Hermes only nodded. There was no amusement in the man’s eyes.

“Aye, you could say that. There’s a lot of knowledge been lost since those days. Tell me, have you heard of the imperial assassination three hundred years ago?”

“I’ve heard of it. I’m no historian, but I remember Orcus was behind it.”

Thanks to Hiro’s instruction, Muninn knew the broad strokes of the history of Soleil. Three hundred years ago, the empire had been stricken by the worst famine it had ever faced. The nobles had resorted to disreputable means to survive, levying heavy taxes on the commonfolk and finding excuses to attack their neighbors. Matters had only grown worse when the emperor was assassinated. Such an event had never happened before or since, and it had propelled the name of Orcus to the height of infamy.

“The Age of Strife, that time was called,” Hermes said. “All the bloodshed cost us a lot of knowledge and a lot of fine craftsmen.”

The pair climbed up a set of stairs. At the top was a sturdy iron door.

“So when you say they had it better back then, aye, they probably did. Had a much closer relationship with the spirit back then too.”

Hermes grasped the handle and shunted the door open. A biting wind blew in, carrying with it a flurry of snow. The cold set Muninn’s teeth chattering, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Go on, son. Take a look.” Hermes gestured through the door.

Muninn was practically frozen stiff. Despite all his furs, it felt like he had been thrown outside as naked as the day he was born. Still, Hermes did not look like he would take no for an answer. He walked up to the doorway.

“Leave the goblet, son,” Hermes said. “The silver will stick in the cold—take your whole damned palm off.”

Muninn hurriedly laid the cup down. Hermes joined him, tossing his now-empty bottle to the ground. Muninn hadn’t even seen him finish it.

“Oh,” Hermes said, “before we head out, let me give you a piece of advice.”

The man’s eyes had grown flinty. Muninn swallowed hard.

“Don’t let your guard down, son. Not for a second.”

What should have been words of concern sounded oddly intimidating. Muninn was so taken aback that by the time he thought to ask what he was supposed to be so wary of, Hermes was already heading through the door. He followed suit, stepping out into the biting wind...where the sight before him drove all thoughts of the cold from his head.

“Bugger me...” he whispered.

“Everyone’s jaw drops first time.” Hermes clapped a reassuring hand on Muninn’s shoulder, prompting him with a thrust of the chin to look again.

“Are they training?” Muninn asked.

All along the wall, soldiers were launching arrows from the battlements into the lands of the Sanctuarium. Their battle cries rode heavy on the wind, and their arrows flew straight and true into the dark in defiance of the gale. Bonfires burned to stave off the cold, helping the soldiers bring numbing fingers back to bowstrings as they fired for all they were worth. It looked for all the world like a real battle. The soldiers seemed to be fighting for their lives.

As Muninn stood dumbly, the hand squeezed his shoulder, prompting him to look back at Hermes. The man’s face was grim.

“No, son. We’re at war.”

“We’re what?”

No sooner had the question slipped from Muninn’s lips than Hermes’s enormous paw rushed toward his face. He let out a yelp as the hand stopped a hair’s breadth from his nose.

“I told you not to let your guard down, son.”

An arrow shaft protruded from Hermes’s closed fingers. He squeezed his fist, snapping it in half, before grabbing Muninn by the head and ushering him into the cover of the battlements.

“Figured it’d be faster to show you than tell you.”

Hermes’s hand forced Muninn to a gap in the crenellations where he could look down at the ground. His eyes went wide. The night was dark, and the ever-present blizzard impeded most of the meager moonlight, but he could just about make out movement below.

“What in the world...?”

“Archons. Or yaldabaoth. One of the two.”

“I thought they were stories...”

“They’re as real as you or me, son. What did you think we were out here defending the empire from?”

“Aye, fair’s fair,” Muninn said sheepishly. “I just... I never thought I’d get to see ’em for myself, that’s all.”

Certainly, he had never pictured them so close. He had always imagined them dwelling quietly in the depths of the Sanctuarium, not within spitting distance of Friedhof.

“Spend a while here and you’ll see ’em plenty. Give it a few decades, you’ll be better acquainted with them than with monsters.”

At last, reality sank in. The soldiers were not conducting some kind of realistic training exercise; they were fighting a genuine battle against archons and yaldabaoth massing beneath the wall.

“We ain’t fighting humans here, son. Give ’em half a chance and they’ll swarm over this wall like ants. I’ve had to bare steel against ’em myself more than once.”

Hermes stopped and began to wipe the snow from the ground at their feet. The hard, spirit-forged surface was stained a gory red. It was all too clear why. It was a bloodstain, and not just one. Blood had been spilled here time and time again, drying on the ground and growing black.

“Lots of men figured they were safe all the way up here. Lots of men died. Keep your wits about you or you won’t have time to regret it.”

“So that’s why...”

The soldiers had been fighting for their lives. There had been real fear on their faces as they loosed their arrows, and no wonder. Every shadow moving in the half-light was a creature capable of climbing the wall. If the enemy reached the top, the battlements would run red with blood. They were desperate to drive them back before it reached that point.

“We’re lucky they’re so few. That’s the only reason we’ve held the line for this long. But sometimes they bring monsters to try and smash their way through. They’ve minds as sharp as any man’s—can even speak human tongues, if you can believe it. Hardy bastards and no mistake.”

That was why a high general was required to man Friedhof. Given the catastrophe that would follow if the wall was breached and the fact that few common soldiers could cross blades with their foe, the empire had no choice but to commit one of their greatest warriors.

“The capital sends us spirit weapons from time to time, but there’s precious few to go around, and without a worthy wielder, they can end up lost. Damned rare, they are. We can’t hand ’em out to all the men.” Hermes grasped Muninn’s shoulder once more. “If you want to do me a favor, son, go back and tell your master we could use a few more.”

Muninn grew flustered. “Me? I don’t know what help I can—”

Hermes’s grip only tightened. “I know what you are, son. You’re an agent of Baum.”

“I’m not—” Muninn tried to deny it, but he stopped when he saw the look in Hermes’s eyes. They bore the fearful glint of a man with his back to the wall. He was all but pleading. A high general of the empire, one of the mightiest warriors in the land, was begging for help. Rather than seeming pitiful, it spoke to the magnitude of the threat he faced.

Muninn had never been one for thinking, but he racked his brains for all he was worth. In the end, he decided to give up the pretense. “How’d you figure me out?”

The decision came after a careful consideration of the risks. If he lied and was imprisoned, he would not be able to return to Baum with the information he had gathered. After coming so far, he did not want to fail now. More to the point, however, Hermes’s sincerity had struck a chord with him. The high general had known he was spying for another nation, but instead of taking him captive, he had shared liquor with him before personally escorting him around one of the most secretive places in the empire. The man likely had his own goals, of course, but his hospitality seemed to have been genuine enough. Besides, Muninn told himself, his job was simply to return alive. The hard decisions would be for Hiro to make once he got back to Baum. He smiled wryly. It was at times like these that he wondered if he was really cut out for reconnaissance work.

Relief washed over Hermes’s face, and he lifted his hand from Muninn’s shoulder. At that, Muninn knew he had made the right choice.

“I’ve got a good nose, son,” the old soldier said. “See enough folks pass through here, you start to get an eye for shady customers.”

No doubt that was why he had permitted Muninn to see what was really happening at Friedhof rather than taking him prisoner. Anyone could imagine how grueling it must be to fight an endless war in this boreal cold, but imagination didn’t hold a candle to experiencing the reality in person.

“If it were me up here,” Muninn said, “I’d have turned tail and run by now.”

“Many do. Every day, feels like. Mostly the outsiders, though. Folks without family in this part of the north.”

If the Wild Races spilled over Friedhof, the casualties would be immense, all the more so if they reached civilization. For those with family nearby, manning the wall was the only way to ensure the safety of their homes and the people they held dear. If not for that, many of them would surely have long since fled as well.

“Unfortunately for everyone,” Hermes continued, “the archons and the yaldabaoth have been getting uppity recently. Shifts are getting shorter, and the men are dead on their feet. I’ve written to other houses for help replenishing the ranks, but our new recruits keep turning into deserters.” He stroked his snow-crusted beard and sighed. The white puff scattered on the wind. “If we had more spirit weapons, the men might stay around a little longer. Not that I’d hand those out to recruits, of course. I’d be a bit more discerning than that.”

“So you want me to tell it how it is, then? Warts and all?”

“It’s the warts I need help with, son.” Hermes gave a firm nod. “I’m not looking to keep any secrets. Anything your master wants to know, I’ll tell him as best I can.”

As far as Muninn could see, the man’s offer was sincere. The north seemed to be in a more precarious state than Hiro had appreciated.

“’Course, the biggest problem is that House Scharm’s falling apart at the seams. Folks who used to give us soldiers are starting to renege on their commitments. We’re close to breaking point, son. It’s only love for the empire and the north that’s keeping us going.”

Hermes’s position seemed to be that a few more spirit weapons would grant the remaining garrison some relief, but Muninn had his doubts. Fighting an endless battle in such inhospitable climes was grueling enough, no matter how many spirit weapons they had on hand.

The general seemed to read his mind and cracked a rueful grin. “Sometimes a little motivation’s all it takes to turn a man into a warrior. I’ve spent long enough up here to know it never hurts.”

It seemed there was no choice but to tell the unvarnished truth. What Hiro would make of that remained to be seen, but whatever he decided, Muninn would follow.

“All right. You have my word. I’ll tell the chief everything that’s going on up here.”

“Appreciate that, son. Now we just have to hope that House Scharm and Second Prince Selene can get back on their feet.”

Hermes’s troubles seemed never-ending. Even if he managed to secure more spirit weapons, they would be useless without anybody to wield them—and the only person capable of resolving Friedhof’s lack of manpower was the wounded Second Prince Selene.

＊＊＊＊＊

House Scharm ruled from Riesenriller in the center of the northern territories. It had until recently been led by one Byzan Graeci von Scharm, who had also served as the chancellor to the empire. Publicly, it was believed he had been slain three years prior when a group of intruders broke into Venezyne. Privately, the facts were less certain. Second Prince Selene had come to suspect he had already been replaced by an impostor by the time of his alleged death. Regardless of the truth, however, his passing was now public, and it had dealt a heavy blow to House Scharm’s authority.

Had Selene been in good health, he might have been able to rally his faction, but he too had been wounded in the attack on the palace. Ever since that day, he had been recovering in private. With the rise of Sixth Princess Celia Estrella, the dominance of House Kelheit and their eastern nobles, and Lebering’s new prosperity added to the mix, the northern nobles felt beset on all sides. The world seemed to be moving faster than they could keep up with. Should they switch allegiances or try to ride out the storm? Both of the leaders they would have looked to for directions were now absent.

The nobles’ unease was further exacerbated by House Brommel. They were moving fast and hard, trying to tip the balance of power in their favor while House Scharm lay immobilized. The remaining members of House Scharm had no intention of lying down while their faction fragmented and were trying to address the issue in Selene’s absence, but they were hard-pressed to turn the tide. Before they knew it, most of their allies had sided with the enemy. It was only recently that House Brommel’s plans seemed to have slowed.

“There are ominous movements in Lebering, Your Highness,” the woman said, head bowed. “They appear to be mustering for war. If we show the slightest weakness, they will surely strike.”

She was one of Second Prince Selene’s two renowned Twinfang Generals, Phroditus von Heimdall. The young man kneeling beside her was her elder brother and the other Twinfang General, Herma von Heimdall. The pair had gathered in the throne room of Riesenriller to report to Selene.

Herma pulled a chagrined expression. “The same is true of House Brommel, Your Highness. They have been drawing troops from across the land. Whether they are working with Lebering, I cannot say, but they are surely plotting something.”

“Indeed.” Selene nodded. “Fortunately, I doubt Lebering is with them. We won’t have to worry about that, at the very least.”

Once word had spread that Lebering was massing its forces, House Brommel had slowed its pace. The traitorous nobles, too, had suddenly become very quiet. It had been a fortuitous turn of events for House Scharm. The stay of execution had allowed Selene time to recover from his injuries.

“I’m sure Lebering is plotting something of its own, but we still owe them a debt. And now that I am healed, I mean to put House Brommel in its place.” Selene sat back in his throne, raising a hand to the large eyepatch that covered the right side of his face. “My body feels like lead, I regret to say, but it seems I am not too late.”

“How fares your eye, Your Highness?” Herma asked.

Selene gave a nonchalant shrug. “It’s been a novel experience, certainly.”