Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 5 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Fires of War

The sixteenth day of the twelfth month of Imperial Year 1023

The rain had been falling since the tenth and showed no sign of letting up. Dawn broke on a sky dyed gray, roiling and dark from horizon to horizon as though trying to eradicate all light from the world. The imperial capital of Cladius was not outside its reach, and even the city’s stately stone lost its age-old luster once drenched by the downpour. Beneath the towering ramparts, the central boulevard was devoid of its usual hustle and bustle. The rain and the winter chill left the commonfolk little choice but to stay in their homes.

Though the townspeople might shiver and the temperature might plummet, however, one thing continued unaffected: the life of the nobility. The western quarter of the palace, where the nobles’ mansions lay, steamed with fervor. A large host of nobles stood in the freezing wind. They were arrayed around the entrance of one of the great houses—House Kelheit. It was not difficult to guess why they were there. Today, the Black Prince and the sixth princess would return south to Berg Fortress.

All eyes were on the entranceway, where the royals had just emerged. A cheer went up, loud enough to drive away the rain. For a short while the world was filled with unreserved joy.

The crimson-haired girl by Hiro’s side—reverently called the Valditte, the Princess of Flame—looked around in surprise at the reception. A smile spread across her face as understanding dawned. “Thank you all!” she cried, waving so hard that it was audible as she stepped into her carriage. The white wolf Cerberus, a rare breed from the eastern isles, slunk in around her feet.

Hiro silently raised his right hand and followed Liz. Behind him came Rosa, her voluptuous body once again squeezed into a military uniform. At Rosa’s sides were Aura and Scáthach. All three women received their own applause as they entered the carriage. The party departed to rousing cheers.

“This carriage is supposed to be large,” Rosa remarked as the wheels ground into motion, “but I suppose five is enough to make anything feel cramped.” She loosened her collar to breathe a little easier. “Well, then. For the time being, my nobles will devote their efforts to eroding House Krone’s feet.”

A week had passed since the banquet. In that time, House Krone had been eerily quiet. Hiro had expected them to lash out wildly, but apparently that had been a mistake. They were Rosa’s responsibility now, in any case. Her vassals would remain in the capital and manipulate public opinion to erode their support among the central nobles.

“Meanwhile,” Rosa continued, “you four will return to the south and wait for word. Whether House Krone makes a move or not, you need to shore up your forces.”

Facing the Grand Duchy and the Faerzen Resistance in succession had significantly depleted the Crow Legion’s strength. Fatalities had been few, but the number of wounded was higher. Effective losses stood at around eight hundred men. Garda would soon be busy training more new recruits.

Rosa’s eye took on a dangerous glint. “Speaking of which, we ought to do something about the southern nobles, don’t you think?”

The southern nobles were led by House Muzuk. They had ostensibly come to the capital, but none had appeared at either the imperial audience or the subsequent banquet. Only now was Hiro beginning to realize why.

House Muzuk wanted information. To know who’s a loose cannon and who they can easily control.

In short, they had leveraged the audience to tighten their grip on their own supporters. With so many nobles gathered in the capital, some of the southern nobles would be tempted to attend the banquet for social reasons, while anybody selling intelligence to other factions would want to meet with their contacts. House Muzuk had used the occasion to identify who was trustworthy and who was treacherous. Their efforts must have been successful, because two days prior, they and all of their nobles had returned to their territories.

If we’re going back south, we should take the opportunity to meet with the head of the house in person.

After that, they could decide whether to let him live, or to kill him and replace him with somebody more useful.

Hiro set an elbow on the windowsill and gazed outside with his cheek resting on his hand. Large raindrops battered the glass, furious at being repelled. The downpour was loud enough to drown out even the trundling of the carriage wheels. The weather would slow down travel—visibility would be limited for both coachman and horses, and both would tire faster physically and mentally than they would in fair weather. If the horses were dragging their feet, a patch of mud would block the road as surely as a stone wall, and that really would delay their return.

“Sorry, Rosa,” Hiro said. “You’re going to be the last of us to get home.”

She was accompanying them because she intended to return to the eastern territories via the south. Hiro had insisted on her traveling with them as far as possible for her safety, although that didn’t make him feel any less guilty about the imposition.

Rosa shook her head and smiled. “Think nothing of it. I’m rather looking forward to journeying with you all.”

As the leader of a great house, she was constantly busy. A lot of problems were sure to be stagnating in her absence. Once she returned to House Kelheit’s stronghold at Baldickgarten—the Eagle’s Roost—nestled in the Twin Pass of Bersia in the Grausam Mountains, she would be working day and night.

“Whether I return sooner or later,” she continued, “it makes no difference. Either way, I will be run off my feet the moment I step in the door. So, with apologies to the men I left in charge, I will at least enjoy my time with my sister to its fullest.”

“Rosa’s subordinates are very capable,” Liz added, “so she can afford to be a little bit late.”

“Some of them do seem to bear me a grudge, so I can’t let my guard down.” Rosa paused, then continued cheerfully. “Still, they all share my desire to see the east prosper. On that score I have no complaints.”

“It must be so nice working with people like that.” Liz’s eyes sparkled as she gazed at her sister with renewed respect.

“In benevolence is the capacity for true greatness, they say,” Scáthach murmured, to herself as much as anybody else.

“It’s not hard to be a king,” Aura said. “Anyone can do it if they’re strong enough, or with the right connections. Children get crowns if they’re born to the right parents. It’s nothing impressive. But once the coronation is over, they have to prove their worth. Care for their people, honor their soldiers, love their country, and the people will adore them. Fall short and the history books will call them a fool. Maybe even the reason for their nation’s downfall.”

“Those are some big words for someone so small! Who’s a good girl?!” Liz patted Aura on the head, impressed.

Aura’s comment didn’t strike Hiro as particularly verbose—and she was older than Liz, anyway—so he expected her to be annoyed by all the fussing, but wonders never ceased: she puffed out her chest proudly, and her stoic expression took on a slightly pleased glow.

“It’s all thanks to this. You should read it too.”

The Black Chronicle materialized out of nowhere in her hand. All of a sudden, her excited glow and talkative mood made sense. Scáthach, who had already been on the receiving end of her enthusiasm, squeaked and looked away.

“Wait, I didn’t—” Liz’s hands froze mid-pat. She caught sight of the book and paled, but it was too late to run.

“Any citizen of the empire and anyone with royal blood has a duty to read it at least once. But they should read it a hundred times. I’m sure that won’t be a problem, of course. It’s so addictive that you’ll want to read it over and over. But just in case, let me tell you: it’s only after the two hundredth reading that you truly start to understand.”

Nobody dared to ask what Aura meant by that. They didn’t want to put themselves in the line of fire.

Liz looked tearfully around the carriage. Her crimson eyes pleaded for help, but nobody was willing.

Aura cocked her head. “Don’t worry. You can start right away. And I want a full report.”

“No way...”

“Those must be tears of joy. I’m glad.”

“Wait, no...”

Liz shook her head furiously, but in the narrow confines of the carriage, there was no escape. A lengthy essay was in her future. There was no telling how many times she would have to rewrite it until Aura was satisfied, but Scáthach, who had been through the same ordeal, seemed intent on fading out of existence and becoming part of the wall. Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes.

Rosa chuckled. “Liz did not used to be so expressive, you know. Before they sent her off to Berg Fortress, her smiles seemed etched in stone. She has changed a great deal since she met you.” She half closed her eyes contentedly and leaned into Hiro’s shoulder, no doubt pleased to see her little sister enjoying herself.

“You almost sound like a grandmother,” Hiro murmured idly. A split second later, he realized that he had misspoken.

“A grandmother? I don’t even have children of my own yet. As you know perfectly well.” Rosa’s lips pursed, and she wrapped an arm around Hiro’s neck. “You really do want to be smothered to death, I see. I’m certain many men would kill for the opportunity.”

Her two prospective murder weapons quivered with indignation.

“I-I’m very sorry.”

Hiro stammered out an apology, but it didn’t do anything to assuage Rosa’s anger. He grasped for a change of topic.

“Oh, that’s right. I meant to give you this.” He produced an envelope from his pocket as though he had only just remembered its existence.

“What’s this? A letter?”

“Could you send a messenger to give this to the archpriestess on your way back?”

“All right.” Rosa took the envelope and leaned forward. “I have secured cooperation among the central nobles. Three thousand men await your orders.”

She grasped his hand as she spoke, and the crinkle of paper passed into his palm. He looked down to see a single sheet lined with the names of Rosa’s collaborators. It seemed she had been engaging in her own acts of subterfuge.

“If you need help, seek them out.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“Think nothing of it.” Her eyes twinkled impishly. “Any woman would do the same for her future husband.”

It won’t take long for word to reach House Krone that we’ve left the capital.

When would the central nobles move into action? Hiro expected that it would be sooner rather than later. If they were going to rebel against the emperor, they would want to do it now while they retained their forces and their power.

That would be a bad move. Stupid, even.

But with their backs to the wall, that was all they had. The emperor had orchestrated events to make certain of it.

There truly are no limits to human greed. The more power someone gains, the less satisfied they become with their position.

Still, he couldn’t help but question the emperor’s course of action. Was the conquest of Soleil such a vital goal that it justified making enemies on all sides? Hiro didn’t think so. Artheus, certainly, would have called the man a fool. They had dreamed of many things one thousand years ago, but unifying the continent wasn’t one of them. They had never even wanted the empire to grow as large as it had.

Seeking a distraction from his thoughts, he looked out of the window. The rain still showed no sign of letting up. The sky cracked with thunder as it showered the land with tears.

＊＊＊＊＊

As every soul in Soleil knew well, the Grantzian Empire was vast in scope, and the emperor’s gaze now struggled to reach its borders. Fearing the empire collapsing from the outside in, the forty-third emperor—the fifth before Greiheit—had partitioned its lands into five: the north, south, east, west, and central territories. Commonly known simply as the five territories, they were nominally ruled by the emperor but administered in practice by the five powerful noble families known as the great houses.

Of the five, House Krone was a particularly long-standing fixture, with a lineage dating back to the early days of the empire’s founding. Their stable history and noble blood had seen them granted oversight of the central territories, including the imperial capital of Cladius.

House Krone’s lands were located thirty sel—or ninety kilometers—from the capital, in the fertile lands fed by the River Trident. The house had grown wealthy on the region’s agriculture, and the presence of several foreign trade routes secured their status as the greatest power in the central territories. Their stronghold in the city of Greif—the Gryphon’s Claws—was a testament to their prosperity. Vying with the imperial capital for splendor, its grand iron gates opened into a bustling market town, with busy stalls and smiling townsfolk as far as the eye could see. Continue through and one would again be met with high walls—a fortress within the town, complete with watchtowers. Inside that castle, in Brius von Krone’s private chambers, sat Prince Stovell.

“Well, Grandfather. It appears that the emperor has outplayed us.” Stovell’s smile widened with amusement.

“That doddering old fool has forgotten all we’ve done for him,” Brius spat at the floor, fury steaming from every pore. “So he thinks he can cut us away, does he? Bah! The history of the empire is the history of House Krone. The two are one. Who does that blithering oaf believe has propped up his rule all these years?!”

Stovell met the man’s tirade with a cool stare. “Perhaps a little calm might be in order, Grandfather.”

“Calm, Stovell? Do you believe this is a time for calm?” Brius advanced, his face reddening. “Resigning your claim to the throne? What were you thinking? You may well have doomed our house!”

“Perhaps I have.” Stovell was unperturbed. It almost seemed like he was scoffing at his grandfather’s outrage.

“You were a common cause for the central nobles to unite behind. It was foolish to throw that away.”

Stovell was the child of Brius’s daughter and the emperor, making Brius his grandfather. However, his mother—the empress consort—had died tragically on his twentieth birthday, leaving House Krone’s ties to the emperor cut with suspicious convenience.

“You are not as young as you once were, Grandfather. Calm yourself or you will rupture an artery.”

“You have rather a talent for getting under people’s skin, don’t you?” Brius sighed in disbelief. His eye swiveled to fix Stovell with a clouded stare. “So, what are we to do with these men you asked me to muster? Your notion of sending the emperor a message was all well and good, but it seems to have borne no fruit.”

“If His Majesty did not confront us on the matter, then it is of no concern.”

“No concern but to our pride, perhaps. As if the emperor stealing our lands and raiding our coffers for Faerzen wasn’t enough, we also have to secure provisions for forty thousand wayward soldiers.”

“You gathered forty thousand?” Stovell’s eyes narrowed sharply. “I am impressed.”

“It’s less than I had hoped for. Some meddling fool took it upon themselves to break into the homes of our less loyal supporters. More than a few grew too skittish to join the cause.” Brius set a hand to his temple as though suppressing a headache.

“That is no cause for concern, Grandfather. Forty thousand men is more than enough to take the capital and drag the emperor from his throne. As I see it, your dream lies at last within your grasp.”

Brius shot Stovell a suspicious look. “That would mean the end of House Krone. I would achieve nothing but our own destruction. What are you plotting?”

“‘The end of House Krone,’ you say...” Stovell’s voice abruptly dropped in pitch. “Has that not already come?”

Brius’s eyebrows twisted dubiously. “What did you say?”

“You know the truth of three hundred years ago, do you not, Grandfather? About the first and last assassination of an emperor?”

Brius gulped in fear as his grandson’s eyes took on an eerie intensity.

“The old must be pruned. If new seeds are to flourish, last season’s rotten fruit must be crushed to pulp—just as a putrefied world was once reborn.” Stovell’s lips twisted into an unsettling smile. To this, he seemed to say, the empire is no exception.

“I give you rein to speak and you give me this drivel? How could our house stand if the empire were to fall?!”

In a fit of anger, Brius’s hand lashed out toward Stovell, but the latter was faster. He caught his grandfather’s aged arm in a crushing grip. The crunch of breaking bone echoed through the room.

“Agh!” Brius fell to his knees, overcome by pain. “You would lay your hand on me?!”

He glared up at Stovell with a mixture of rage and agony, but to no avail. Stovell slowly rose from his chair.

“Do you mean to chide me, Grandfather? It was you who struck first, was it not?”

“Do you think you will get away with this?! There will be consequences!”

“What have I to fear from a doddering old man with no power?”

Lightning crackled from Stovell’s body, mirroring his flaring temper. A howling storm exploded into the room. It scored furrows into the walls, split the floorboards, scorched the ceiling, and flooded the chamber with light.

“What now, Grandfather? Or perhaps I should better call you ‘cur’?”

Stovell’s face contorted in delight as he raised a hand. His eyes glinted with glee, like a farmer gazing at a fattened calf at last grown enough for the slaughter.

“You have served your purpose. But worry not. Your dream will not die with you. The vengeance I shall exact on the emperor will bring peace to your soul.”

“Stop this madness, Stovell! You would kill your own grandfather?!”

“Never once have I thought of you as my blood.” Stovell’s voice dripped with more contempt than any normal man could muster. “You are a canker infesting this world, nothing more.”

He gazed down with eyes devoid of emotion. Brius stared back, aghast, as though some past sin was playing back behind his eyes.

With a sudden crack, lightning speared the man’s body. He had no time to scream. The bolt ran him through like a lance and snuffed out his life in an instant. The stench of charred flesh filled the room, a nauseating stink that clung to the skin and lingered in the nostrils.

“A canker indeed. Even in death, you find ways to disgust me.” With a dismissive snort, Stovell sank back into his chair.

At that moment, there came a knock on the door.

“My lord?” asked a voice from outside. The portal swung open without waiting for an answer. “Your business is concluded, I see.”

In stepped the man who could rightfully be called Stovell’s right hand. The burly old soldier carried his rugged frame with a gravitas that no ordinary man could dream of attaining—fitting for a general whose name was known across the empire. With a sword in his hand, he could split a river; with a spear in his hand, he could shatter a castle wall. In his youth, the nations whose borders he prowled had dubbed him the Demon. Former High General Trye Hlín von Loeing looked down at the corpse on the ground without an ounce of pity.

“For a man of such great ambition, he could muster so little courage when it was called for.”

“Still, he left us much. For that, if nothing else, we must be grateful.” Stovell took a sip from the bottle of wine on the desk and grinned. “Von Loeing, it appears that my beloved grandfather has been assassinated. The emperor’s work, no doubt.”

Von Loeing cast the prince a dubious look, but it only took him a moment to understand. “Then it seems that vengeance is called for.” The pleased tone of his voice drifted down to settle on the corpse of Brius von Krone.

“Dispatch a messenger to the forty thousand men this senile old fool scrabbled together,” Stovell said.

“With what message, Your Highness?”

“Tell them only that the emperor has slain one of the empire’s most stalwart contributors in cold blood. That ought to rile them up enough to set them on the path for the capital.”

A path which led to the collapse of the empire. A chuckle rose in Stovell’s throat to imagine the capital’s thousand years of prosperity going up in flames. He dashed his wine glass against the floor.

“The time has come. The road here has not been an easy one, but now, at last, we need no longer play the jesters.”

“Yet His Majesty the Emperor suspects our plans,” von Loeing mused. “He has summoned the realm’s nobles to the capital in full force.”

“A vain attempt. After a week of silence, they will have let their vigilance lapse. Many will already be on the road home.”

For all Stovell’s insistence that they had the upper hand, von Loeing still looked unconvinced. “The same could be said of us. We have mustered forty thousand, but I cannot imagine more than half will stay to follow a neutered house.”

“That will be no concern. Why do you think I am appealing to their sense of justice? Brius von Krone may have been a selfish old snake, but many owed him debts, and many more will find themselves caught in the current of events. Thirty thousand will stay, by my reckoning. And I want you to lead them.”

As the words left Stovell’s mouth, a third voice spoke.

“Then I shall gladly serve as vice-commander.”

The two men spun around in alarm. Neither had sensed a third presence in the room. Von Loeing’s eyes narrowed as he planted his legs wide in a battle stance. Stovell rose from his chair as though propelled, his body crackling with electricity. Their eyes converged on the sudden intruder.

“I do apologize if I have surprised you. It is only I, your humble servant.” The hooded figure of the álf who called themselves Nameless lifted a hand, their voice an amused lilt.

“How long have you been here?”

Stovell’s mouth twisted with guarded annoyance. Von Loeing glared at the figure, his hand hovering on the hilt of his sword.

“Oh, please. I did not come to be subject to such banal questions.” Nameless raised both hands like a merchant gesturing to their wares. “I cannot imagine that prickly Lord Stovell here has amassed many collaborators. You have one old soldier and nobody else. Well, fear not—I can offer my services. If you will have me, of course.” A nonchalant shrug underlined the point.

A vein throbbed in von Loeing’s temple. “You would mock me?”

“Not at all! I spoke the truth, nothing more.”

As animosity swirled between them, the air cracked with lightning. Both swiveled to face Stovell.

The prince snorted in exasperation as he thudded back down into his chair. “Von Loeing, this is no time for petty spats.”

“Apologies, Your Highness.”

Stovell spared von Loeing only a glance before turning a sharp gaze on Nameless. “Know that your plans are nothing before mine, schemer. But give me any cause to suspect you, and I will plant your head on a spike and leave it for the crows.”

“I must take care, then, my lord. I would not want to meet such a fearsome fate.” Nameless’s voice was mirthful in spite of its mock fear.

Von Loeing glared at the strange intruder for a moment, but relented and turned to Stovell. “What now, Your Highness?”

“What else?” Stovell’s eyes shone with a fearsome delight as he patted his own neck. “The reprise of chaos. I will take the old lion’s head.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The twenty-third day of the twelfth month of Imperial Year 1023

Verrat, in the north of the southern territories

At last, the rain lifted. The sky was unmarred blue, clear from horizon to horizon as though the earlier clouds had been nothing but a bad dream. A gentle breeze blew over the land, carrying a chill and setting newly budding greenery dancing.

Twenty-five sel from Berg Fortress, Hiro and his allies had parted ways with Rosa and set up by the roadside. A command tent stood in the center of the camp, with Hiro’s, Scáthach’s, and Aura’s tents arrayed around it. A short distance away, Liz and Scáthach were sparring.

“Yaaagh!”

Liz swung her wooden sword in a downward chop. Scáthach caught the blow with her own weapon. Their two training blades smacked into one another with an ominous crack, but neither noticed. They had no attention to spare for anything but one another.

“Fine! How about this?!” Liz threw a distracting punch, then dropped low. She braced one hand on the ground and launched a kick at her opponent’s ankle.

A grunt of surprise left Scáthach’s lips as her leg buckled. Reacting quickly, she planted her sword in the ground and launched herself into a flying kick.

Liz cried out, plunging forward without hesitation, and met the kick with her own fist. Her inhuman strength sent Scáthach flying back. The woman didn’t resist the blow, however, instead converting its momentum into a backflip and landing gracefully on the ground. As Liz overcommitted and stumbled, Scáthach launched herself back into close range.

“I have you now!” Scáthach cried, swinging her wooden sword.

Liz leaned into the momentum of her fall, twisted, and sprang away. Scáthach saw the move coming and launched a punch at the right of Liz’s head, but Liz batted it away with little effort.

“I can no longer contest you in strength, I see!”

Then skill would have to make up the difference. Scáthach’s strikes became sweeping slashes. Liz ducked evenly out of the way of the blows, looking for an opening in which to plant her fist. With the Lævateinn’s Might behind her, a single punch could knock an opponent unconscious. That was one of the reasons her Spiritblade was so fearsome—she did not need it in her hand to land a killing blow.

Hiro sat in silence, watching the two blossoms dance. With the ground turned to mud by the rain, he was reclining in a chair.

“Who do you think will win, Aura?”

By his side, Aura looked up from the Black Chronicle on her knees and turned her unfeeling gray eyes toward the fight. “I’m not sure.”

He should probably have counted himself lucky that she had answered at all. Her focus had been on the Black Chronicle, not on Liz and Scáthach. Even now, the book was pulling her gaze back down. The intensity of their battle didn’t seem to interest her whatsoever. It wasn’t a surprise that she wasn’t sure.

“You need to be aware of their strengths and weaknesses, you know. Someday, you might have to decide where to assign them.”

Just like certain occupations suited some people more than others, knowing who to place where on the battlefield was key to success. A force that played to its commanders’ strengths could prevail over a much larger one. A force that didn’t would know only defeat, no matter its size.

“Perhaps.” Aura gave a little nod, but she kept staring at Hiro in silence. She was probing for something, trying to feel out his heart.

“Um...is something wrong?”

Her intensity took Hiro a little aback. She cocked her head, as though searching for the right words.

“Where do you belong?”

That was enough for him to guess what she was thinking. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. As he searched for words, Aura reached out and laid a hand on his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern.

“Where’s your heart?”

He struggled for an answer. The depth of her compassion was humbling—moving, even. It would be wrong to play dumb in the face of that. He opened his mouth to speak—and a panicked voice rang out from his right-hand side.

“Urgent news! I bring urgent news! Where is Lord Hiro?!”

Hiro spun toward the noise. A harried-looking man ran into view, desperately scanning his surroundings.

“Lord Hiro! I must find Lord Hiro!”

Liz and Scáthach stopped their exchange, also distracted.

“That’s a House Kelheit messenger,” Hiro murmured. He raised a hand and waved, signaling his position.

The messenger saw the gesture and made a beeline for him. “Please forgive this breach of protocol, Your Highness! I fear this is a most pressing matter!” He produced an envelope and handed it over. “The head of House Krone has been assassinated!”

“Assassinated?” Hiro half rose to his feet in surprise. Next to him, Aura’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Rumors are spreading that the emperor was the culprit! Even now, the central nobles are marching on the capital to take revenge!” The messenger’s voice trembled. “Von Loeing has called on the houses of the region to join his cause, and his forces swell in number as he approaches the city! We believe they may grow to as many as thirty thousand!”

Hiro nodded. “I see.” He signaled to one of his guards to bring the messenger water. Just as the man made to leave, he added, “Actually, could you fetch Garda while you’re at it?”

“At once, Your Highness!” The man bowed and sprinted away.

Hiro turned his attention back to the messenger and commanded him to rest. Finally, he examined the letter. It was from one of Rosa’s collaborators among the central nobles. He read it through, measuring its contents against the messenger’s report.

“Hiro!”

He looked up at the sound of Liz’s voice. She was standing where she had been sparring, a stone-faced Scáthach beside her. Judging by their expressions, they had already heard the exchange, although it wouldn’t hurt to check that they were on the same page.

“I’m guessing you heard that?”

“I did. The head of House Krone, assassinated... Who would have thought?”

Liz gave a helpless shrug and sighed. It was hard to fault her. All signs had pointed to House Krone being the one to make the first move, yet all of a sudden their leader was dead and fingers were being pointed at the emperor. Why would he take such a step? An effective means of suppression it might be, but it was far too heavy-handed. Nobody would benefit from this but foreign nations looking for their chance.

“Don’t lose sight of the truth,” Aura murmured.

Scáthach nodded sagely. “Lady Aura speaks wisely. Seeing with a blinkered view leads only to regrets.”

Sowing confusion to obscure the truth was a time-honored tactic. The thoughts of others were ultimately a mystery; their true intentions were invisible by nature, shrouded in darkness. Hence, human beings were easily misled by words. They had a way of focusing only on what they wanted to believe.

What if that’s the goal here? If there really is some plot at work...

Then the situation was critical. They needed to return to the capital at once.

“Liz, we need to go back.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

If they allowed themselves to fall any farther behind their enemies, the situation would quickly become unsalvageable. One could only place so much trust in the words of others. They had to face reality with their own eyes, hear the truth with their own ears—and that meant they needed to act. Now.

“Liz, you should—”

Hiro opened his mouth to issue advice, but Liz didn’t need it. She was already barking orders to the nearby soldiers.

“Prepare to march! Abandon the camp! Leave your provisions to lie! And be quick about it!”

“An army can’t march on an empty stomach.” Aura took up position by Liz’s side. A pen and paper had appeared in her hands as if by magic.

“Not every army, but we can. We’d need our own provisions if we were in foreign territory, but we aren’t. We’re in the empire. We can request food from the local nobles, or buy from nearby towns if they won’t share.”

“Full marks.” Aura nodded, pleased. Evidently that had been a test.

“Oh, and one more thing. Do you think we could contact the local nobles to clean up after us?”

If they left the camp intact, it could turn into a bandit hideout. Besides, leaving unclaimed provisions behind would soon attract monsters—and that was if impoverished townsfolk didn’t kill one another over it first.

“I’ll take care of that. You take charge of the men.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Aura! Oh, and we should change out of our heavy armor. If we’re traveling fast, we can’t let the mud slow us down.”

“We’ll bury it. That way nobody can steal it.”

“Good idea. Can I leave that to you as well?”

“Of course.”

Hiro’s eyes closed fondly as he watched the exchange. A sense of familiarity welled up from within him, as though he were watching a scene from bygone days.

“You called for me, One-Eyed Dragon?”

A gruff voice drew his attention. Garda stood nearby, clad from head to toe in black armor.

“What has you so slack-jawed?” the zlosta asked. “Is this truly the time to be getting distracted?”

“Lord Hiro is simply surprised by Lady Liz’s growth.” Scáthach turned her eyes to the girl in question, grinning broadly. “She has become quite impressive of late.”

Garda nodded in agreement. “I could say the same. I struggle for the right word, but she seems...newly focused, perhaps.”

She had always had talent—Lævateinn would never have chosen her otherwise. The problem had been that she had lost sight of the way to go. That lack of clarity had stifled her natural ability. All along, however, she had only ever needed the opportunity to break her shell, which the fighting in Faerzen had provided. She really did never cease to amaze—all the more reason to cultivate her talents to their fullest.

She could do it, Artheus. She could inherit your will.

Once a fledgling learned to spread its wings, what could stand in its way? It could soar forever and ever, to the farthest skies.

Hiro cast one more glance at Liz and then turned to Garda. “The enemy has thirty thousand men. We have eight hundred.”

The zlosta snorted. “Hopeless odds if ever I saw them. We go to our graves.”

“At least we have eight hundred cavalry. That gives us some flexibility. Still, it’s not exactly enough to turn the tables.”

“But that look on your face tells me you have a plan.”

“You’re right. The odds are hopeless as they stand. But we can even them a little.”

It seemed Hiro would be calling on Rosa’s three thousand sooner than planned. Aside from that, he could appeal for assistance to whatever nobles would listen.

“And we’ll need to send out messengers.”

“To whom?” Garda asked.

“To the central nobles. A lot of them will be standing back, waiting to see which way the wind is blowing.”

Many were no doubt planning to sit back and watch until the victor became apparent, but he wouldn’t let them get away with that kind of spinelessness this time. He would force them to choose a side.

“Besides, there’s something I need them to prepare for me. Numbers won’t get us out of this one; we’ll need some kind of clever scheme. I’ll draw up the letters later. Could you get the messengers ready to leave as soon as I’m done?”

“Of course. I’ll see it done.”

“Thank you.”

As Garda left, Hiro turned his gaze to the ground. The rain might have lifted, but the mud remained to impede their progress. Still, they were small in number, and light cavalry on top of that. They could make it back to the capital quickly enough. Assuming the rebel army was working under the same conditions, and considering the time their forces would take to assemble, they shouldn’t have reached the city’s walls—yet. Besides, the emperor had the Knights of the Golden Lion under his command, and while the First Legion was scattered across the central territories, at least some of it had to remain in the vicinity. The capital would not fall so easily.

I really don’t see how the rebels win this one.

If word of the crisis had reached Hiro and his allies, it would also have reached every other noble, triggering a rush back to their home territories. Even if the rebel army struck fast and hard enough to take the capital—and even that would be a matter of luck—it would soon be wiped out by an incoming wave of noble reinforcements.

Unless there’s some hidden dimension to this. Something they’re hell-bent on doing even if it means their deaths...

Hiro cupped his chin in his hand and pondered. There didn’t seem to be any advantage at all to them wiping themselves out. Did they have some guaranteed way of taking the capital? Or perhaps some means of repelling any reinforcements? No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t see an answer. In any case, it would be dangerous to make assumptions with so little information to work with. For now, the best he could do was file the question in a corner of his mind and move on.

He collected his thoughts and looked around. Soldiers were hurrying to and fro. None of them seemed disgruntled at being commanded to march at short notice. The drumming of horseshoes wove its way through the press—officers returning to their units or rounding up their subordinates. Morale still seemed high. A healthy tension hung over the departure proceedings. The Crow Legion was in good enough condition to fight.

“Liz!” Hiro called. “I need to talk to you!”

Liz had been discussing something with Aura, but she bounded over with a spring in her step. “What is it? Something you need?” If she’d had a tail, it would have been wagging up a storm.

Hiro pulled a strained smile. “If we’ve gotten word of what’s happened, the other nobles will too.”

“Right. Maybe the fighting will be over by the time we get there.”

“It won’t be that easy, sadly. We’ll be the first to engage the rebel army.”

Their Crow Legion escort numbered eight hundred. The other nobles’ forces would be at least twice that. That alone would produce a disparity in travel time. Second Prince Selene in particular was leading an army of twenty thousand soldiers. Unlike Hiro’s men, they couldn’t afford to drop their provisions and march. Reversing their course would take time.

“Why don’t we meet up with Rosa?” Liz suggested. “She could be here in two days.”

Hiro shook his head. It wasn’t a bad plan in principle—Rosa’s assistance would give them an army ten thousand strong, easily enough to even the odds—but time was too precious. Waiting around wasn’t an option.

“We can send her a message, but we shouldn’t join forces. Combining our armies could take days, and we’ll travel a whole lot slower. What we’ll gain in strength, we’ll lose in time, and we might end up arriving late to the capital.”

Striking the first blow would bolster Liz’s authority if they did happen to join up with other nobles later. More to the point, it was important to impress upon the people that she had been first to the scene.

“But how can we fight with eight hundred men?”

“Rosa’s made inroads with the central nobles. A few of them are willing to fight for us. That only accounts for three thousand men at the moment, but three thousand is better than nothing.”

“Still...” Liz’s gaze dropped to Excalibur at Hiro’s hip before flicking quickly back up to his face. Her brow knitted with concern. “Thirty thousand is a lot, even with two Spiritblades on our side. And if House Krone is backing the rebels, they’ll have plenty of spirit weapons.”

Spirits flocked to the banks of pure water sources, where, on rare occasion, they left behind crystals imbued with their essence. These crystals, which shone with a luster to rival any gemstone, had become known among the people as spirit stones. Between three and seven per year were produced on imperial lands. Through a special smithing process, they could be forged into spirit weapons—blades that harbored a small amount of the spirit’s power and bolstered the wielder’s strength. Accordingly, spirit stones were highly prized, to the point that a single one could fund a life of leisure, while spirit weapons were wielded only by the royal family and their most trusted vassals.

“Probably so. But they’ll have ten at most. A threat, certainly, but nothing you and Scáthach couldn’t take care of.”

If a spirit weapon showed itself on the battlefield, one of them could find its wielder and cut off their head—as simple as that. In the first place, such valuable arms wouldn’t be handed out to rank-and-file infantry. They would be given to commanders, and judging by the central nobles’ instincts for self-preservation, those commanders would stay well away from the front lines.

“See? There’s nothing to worry about.” Hiro laid a hand on Liz’s shoulder and stared deep into her eyes. “Show them how you fight, Liz. You don’t have to win the first battle, only the last. And by that time, you’ll have plenty of nobles behind you.”

He had several plans in place to ensure that. It was time to put everything that he had learned to use.

“We’ll turn the tables. The favor of the heavens, the fealty of the earth, the devotion of men—they’re all with you now.”

Liz gazed back uncertainly. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll trust you on that.” She looked away and gave a little nod.

“Good. Then let’s go.”

“All right.” Liz fell in beside him, glancing occasionally at his face as she went.

Aura watched them leave with stony eyes.

“I have your mount, Lady Aura.” Scáthach approached with two horses in tow.

Aura didn’t respond. “He was smiling.”

“Who?” A question mark popped up over Scáthach’s head.

At that moment, Hiro bellowed loud enough to drown out the crunch of boots. “Mount up! The Crow Legion rides for the capital!”

“As impressive as ever, is he not? His voice truly has a way of commanding attention.” Scáthach swung herself up onto her horse. “You had best mount up as well, Lady Aura, or you will be left behind.”

“Mm...”

“Now, what was bothering you so? You are not usually so distracted.”

“Hiro was smiling.”

“What?”

“No, forget it. I was probably just seeing things.”

But she couldn’t shake the memory—the whole time Hiro had been speaking to Liz, he’d had a wide smile on his face.

＊＊＊＊＊

As Hiro and his allies set out back toward the capital, another army was making camp near the northern border. They numbered twenty thousand. Above the central tent, a stately flag fluttered gracefully on the freezing wind: a silver wolf on a white field.

Plumes of white smoke rose here and there across the camp, signaling the onset of dinner. Some soldiers conversed with bottles in their hands; others cheered on drinking contests; yet more sang and danced, stripped to the waist in defiance of the biting cold. There was no gloom to be seen. The bright mood brought warmth to the chill of the snowfields.

The presence of such an unruly force might usually invite unease, but the nearby villages, towns, and border forts showed no sign of concern. The army was commanded by a man they knew and trusted: Lupus Scharm Selene von Grantz, the second prince of the empire and fourth in line to the throne. Some of the commonfolk called him the King of the North. Others called him Twinfangs.

Selene stifled a yawn as he looked around. Four burly soldiers had him surrounded. The vicious weapons in their hands glinted dully in the sunlight, honed points glittering with rainbow halos. A single blow from any one would be fatal.

One of the men chuckled. “Well, boss, looks like today’s the day we put a scar on that pretty face.”

“Aye, you said it. Time to settle old scores.”

“You’ve been so busy recently, boss. We’ve been missing you terribly.”

“Are you certain about this, Your Highness? Is four not too many?” The last voice, more concerned than the rest, belonged to a new recruit.

Selene’s lips pulled into just the hint of a smile. “Come at me like you mean it. I could do with a little entertainment.”

“He’s a fair one, the boss,” another of the soldiers said. “His looks are wasted on a man, if you ask me.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m glad of it.”

“Aye, right enough. With a face like that, what does it matter what’s below?”

Selene was often praised as a great beauty, and to look at him, it was not difficult to see why. His sky-blue hair hung soft as silk, his limbs were slender, his skin was pale, and his face seemed carved from porcelain. His androgynous features drew the attention of men and women alike.

One particular feature, however, stood out above the rest. His left eye was blue, and his right was gold—the mismatched coloration known as the Baldick. Common to figures of myth, it was said to denote somebody of heroic caliber. True to form, Selene’s regal bearing could have belonged to a king stepped straight out of the old legends.

“That’s enough chitchat. Shall we begin?”

Selene grasped the twin swords at his hips. A puff of white breath escaped his mouth as his lips widened into an elegant smile—and then he vanished in a soundless blur.

“Look out! He’s comi— Gah!”

One of the soldiers went flying, as if he had been struck by a charging bull. His neighbor crumpled to the ground, foaming at the mouth. The third man slashed around wildly but hit only air. A blow to the cheek knocked him out cold.

The new recruit looked around desperately. “Eh? What just...? Are you three—?”

He got no further. Some invisible force struck him hard, sending him bouncing across the ground until he eventually came to a stop.

Selene looked down at the four unconscious men and sighed. “That wasn’t even a warm-up.”

For a beat, there was silence, and then a roar went up from around him.

“Well, well. Where did you all come from?”

He looked around to see soldiers cheering and whooping. Strange—he hadn’t noticed any spectators before the bout had started. Still, best to acknowledge his supporters. He raised a hand and waved.

“At this rate, our drink isn’t going to last the night.”

They would have to buy more from one of the nearby towns. With a shrug, Selene began to walk away, but before he could go more than a pace, somebody called out to him.

“May I ask what you are doing, Your Highness?”

Without so much as a whisper, a man appeared in Selene’s path. He wore no hood today, seeming not to care about concealing his face. He was a member of Vang, the cadre of assassins who served Selene’s uncle, Chancellor Graeci, and until recently, he had been in Hiro’s service.

“Ah, Drix. As miserable as ever, I see.”

“I do not think my disposition is relevant, Your Highness. I ask again, why are you wasting your time on these ‘amusements’?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with you. Or are you here to tell me that you need something?”

“The situation has been explained to you at great length, Your Highness.” Drix’s eyes hardened with anger. “You have been reading our letters, I hope?”

Selene cocked his head. “Your letters?”

“Yes, Your Highness. The letters that Chancellor Graeci has sent you. Repeatedly.”

“Oh, of course. Now I remember.” Selene produced an envelope from his pocket. It was stamped with the seal of House Scharm. He hadn’t bothered to open it, assuming it contained nothing more than Graeci’s usual complaining. “I take it this was something important?”

“Gravely so, Your Highness.” Drix’s voice took on a note of impatience. “With respect, I must ask you to read it at once!”

With a shrug, Selene broke the seal and pulled out the contents. Written in flawless cursive, the letter summed up its subject matter quickly and competently. Without its usual barbs, it made for remarkably easy reading.

“Oh?” A smile spread across Selene’s face as he read. “Brius von Krone, dead? My father responsible? Well, I never. And now House Krone is in open rebellion? Things are happening awfully fast.”

“The situation calls for urgency. Chancellor Graeci requests that you recall your forces to the capital immediately.”

“Understandably so. This would certainly qualify as a national crisis.”

“The rebel army may already have reached the capital’s walls. You must turn your forces about and dispatch these interlopers.”

“I see.” Selene’s smile deepened. “But that sounds terribly boring.”

His expression never faltered as he tore Graeci’s letter to shreds.

“Y-Your Highness?!” Drix yelped in horror as the scraps of paper blew away on the wind.

Selene regarded the man with frigid eyes. “With apologies to your master, I care only for the north.”

“But... But the entire nation is in peril!”

“And what about it? The north has Friedhof. The security of the empire pales in importance next to that of the Spirit Wall.”

“But if the empire should fall, the north will be left exposed! Besides, nobody has heard from the yaldabaoth in years!”

In addition to the five humanoid races—humans, álfar, dwarves, zlosta, and beastfolk—known as the five peoples, the world of Aletia also contained three more outlandish species known as the wild races. Monsters, who prowled all corners of the world, were one. The other two were the ferocious peoples known as the archons and the yaldabaoth. Both could only be found on the central continent of Soleil, where they had established a nation of their own in the untamed lands known as the Sanctuarium beyond the Spirit Wall of Friedhof.

“They are waiting, not dormant,” Selene drawled. “They will swarm over the wall if we give them the slightest opportunity.”

“Be that as it may, Your Highness, you must still make for the capital.”

“Why? To claim the throne?”

Drix fell silent under Selene’s piercing gaze.

“As I have told you before, I am not interested.”

“Then you are happy to watch the people of the empire suffer so long as they are not people of the north?”

They were talking past one another, but that only spoke to how flustered Drix was. If Selene didn’t make for the capital, one of the other imperial heirs would engage the rebel army instead, and a victory would secure their position as the next emperor or empress. Those who wanted to see Selene become emperor would be desperate to avoid that outcome. In particular, Chancellor Graeci had been plotting for a long time to seat Selene on the throne, although a portion of the northern nobles were also eager to see him claim the crown.

“The people of the central territories look to you for salvation, Your Highness,” Drix said. “You must answer their pleas.”

His appeal to emotion was so desperate, it was almost hard to watch. Selene heaved a heavy sigh. “I think not.”

“Your Highness?”

“I’ve never seen the appeal in walking the path others have laid out for me. If my uncle wants the throne for House Scharm so badly, he can sit in it himself. Stovell can take it for all I care.”

“If Stovell were to claim the throne, the empire would be ruined! Have you lost your mind?”

“How many men do you think could endure court politics since the moment they could walk and not lose their minds?”

In that sense, Stovell was equally pitiful. The first prince had been used by his grandfather from early in his youth all the way up until being chosen by Mjölnir, whereupon he had become his father’s pawn instead. In the end, his heart had withered away to nothing. It was hard to look at his life without feeling sympathy.

“I...” The rebuke left Drix lost for words.

With a final scornful glance, Selene looked away. “Although, come to think of it...”

The thought of a black-haired boy crossed his mind. He cupped his chin and sank into thought.

What will he do, I wonder?

Hiro didn’t seem to have any political ambitions, but Liz did. Selene didn’t care for the throne, but he did very much want to see where their roads would take them. What moves might they make in response to this crisis? Perhaps it was worth revising his course of action after all.

Selene beckoned one of his aides.

“Yes, Your Highness?” the man asked.

“Assemble a task force. Four thousand men will do.”

Drix, still on one knee, started. His eyes filled with anticipation. The smile that spread across his face could have been perfectly designed to irritate Selene. The second prince looked away contemptuously and returned his attention to the aide.

“What of the rest of the army, Your Highness?”

“Send them on to Friedhof. We shall return to the capital at a leisurely pace.”

“At once, Your Highness. We will make ready to depart.”

As the aide disappeared, Selene turned back to Drix, who was looking visibly relieved at the second prince’s change of heart. “I don’t know what you’re looking so pleased about. I’m not going to be who my uncle wants.”

Drix’s brows pulled together doubtfully. “Then why are you marching for the capital, Your Highness?”

“Why, to watch, of course. The struggle for the empire’s future is about to play out on a grand stage, and I mean to be there to see it.”

Selene grinned in anticipation as his hands found their place on the hilts of his twin swords.