Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 6 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Lingering Hatred

The tenth day of the first month of Imperial Year 1024

Within a reception chamber in the Grantzian imperial palace of Venezyne

“The invasion is progressing faster than projected.” Hiro’s words fell like lead in the air of the daily strategy meeting.

“Indeed. Two thirds of the western territories have already fallen to the enemy.” Chancellor Graeci regarded the map with a sour expression. The loose end of his left sleeve shook a little, betraying the anger setting his shoulders trembling.

He was not the only one outraged. Virtually everyone in the room wore a disappointed frown, and more than a few cursed the western nobles’ incompetence.

Graeci took a series of deep breaths and placed a pawn on the map. “The influx of refugees into the central territories has choked the roads. An intentional ploy on Six Kingdoms’ part, I expect. I have also received word that Third Prince Brutahl has been captured, although information on this point is confused and I have not been able to confirm what has transpired.”

“Brutahl, captured?” Selene rose from his chair, unable to contain his surprise.

“If nothing else, he is a cautious man.” Rosa joined her brother in his astonishment, covering her mouth with a hand and lowering her gaze. “I would have thought he would have an escape route secured.”

All this, just from Aura’s absence... Not that I’m surprised. He was never a strategist.

Even so, no matter how incompetent Brutahl might be, he was still a prince of the empire. His value was beyond measure. That was most likely one of the reasons the enemy had begun to press the attack. With the death of General Vakish, Shield of the West, Brutahl had become the western territories’ only hope. If he had been taken prisoner, it meant their entire chain of command had collapsed. He would have been better off taking his own life than enduring the shame of capture, Hiro thought; at least that would have inflamed the western nobles to seek vengeance and slowed the enemy’s advance.

Faerzen has effectively fallen into Six Kingdoms’ hands.

The people of Faerzen regarded the Grantzian Empire as little better than hostile occupiers. If Six Kingdoms marched through proclaiming liberation, they would quickly earn their new subjects’ adoration. Even the Faerzen Resistance would likely see defectors. From their perspective, Scáthach, the last living member of their royal line, had effectively been taken hostage by the empire; if Six Kingdoms promised her safe return, they would flock to them in droves.

This doesn’t bode well...

The odds of the empire’s past deeds coming back to bite it had grown incredibly high, and the forecast was becoming increasingly grim. Ultimate responsibility lay with the repeated failures of the imperial elite. In a sense, this was fair punishment for growing drunk with power, but many of the parties responsible had perished in Stovell’s rebellion. If it had happened to any other nation, Hiro would have laughed, but the Grantzian Empire was the legacy of his departed comrades.

For as long as I’m here, I will see the empire survive. I must.

No matter who was scheming what, he wouldn’t let anyone manipulate it as they pleased. This nation was all that he had left of his old friends. He would stop at nothing to preserve it.

“First, we must discuss our response,” Graeci declared. “The tack we take in saving the west is of paramount importance.”

The announcement pulled Hiro back to reality.

“Not to belittle the seriousness of Third Prince Brutahl’s situation,” the chancellor continued, “but considering his station, I do not believe he is in mortal peril. Six Kingdoms may ransom him, or they may demand territory in exchange for his safe return, but either way, all we can do is wait for them to act.” Seeing that there were no objections, he adjusted his collar with a throat-clearing cough. “Now, I would hear your reports on our progress.”

Rosa raised a hand. “I would like to start. If I may have permission to speak?”

Graeci nodded, and Rosa stood, her report in hand. The nobles’ eyes converged on her.

“I have commanded my subordinates to amass our forces in the east, but it will take around a month for them to reach the central territories. I have insisted that troops be dispatched as soon as they are ready to travel, but even so...” She made a dissatisfied noise and shrugged. “Armies cannot function piecemeal. They will not amount to much in thousand-strong chunks. If we sent them to battle prematurely, they could easily be wiped out.”

“Such things cannot be helped. Better to wait until all is ready. Gather all of the forces that you realistically can and depart once you are able.”

“As you wish.” With a nod of thanks to Graeci, Rosa turned to whisper in one of her aides’ ears. She spoke for two or three seconds, then the aide bowed politely and exited the guest chamber in silence.

With Rosa’s report concluded, Graeci’s gaze moved on to Selene. “How fares the north?”

“As you are all doubtless well aware, we have Friedhof to attend to. The yaldabaoth have been silent in recent years, but that is no reason to let our guard down. We must assume that they are aware of the turmoil in the empire.”

Five hundred years ago, queer creatures that would later be categorized as one of the three so-called wild races had been discovered to the north of the empire. Feasters on corpses, they had been dubbed “archons”—flesheaters—and subjected to an attempted extermination. However, they had quickly proven stronger than humans, and the soldiers sent to purge them had instead been wiped out.

Born from the massacred troops were a humanoid race called the yaldabaoth, or “branded,” who possessed unparalleled physical strength and far surpassed the archons in wits. In time, the yaldabaoth made subjects of the archons and attempted to conquer the north. Helpless in the face of their inhuman might, the people died in droves. Only the combined might of the emperor—who would later be deified as the Divines’ God of Valor—and the spirits managed to drive them back into the untamed lands of the Sanctuarium in the western reaches of the north. Even this alliance, however, could not destroy them completely, and so the emperor erected the Spirit Wall to seal them inside their new home. Even now, five hundred years later, they remained beyond the wall, watching and waiting for their chance to resume their march on the north.

“The flesheaters, their advance troops, have been sighted close to the wall. I expect they are waiting for us to lower our guard. Under such circumstances, we cannot spare many men. Twenty-six thousand—thirty, including the four thousand I brought to the capital. That is all I can offer. They may lack experience, but they are well trained—the best of the best, I promise you. I hope that will compensate for my half-hearted commitment.”

“Quite. We all understand the precariousness of the situation in the north. May I ask when we can expect these twenty-six thousand men in the capital?”

“Like Rosa, I expect they will be here in around a month.”

“I see.” Chancellor Graeci made no effort to hide his disappointment. “And what of House Maruk?”

In response, the soon-to-be leader of the newest great house stood up: Orlean Longwill von Maruk. His grandfather, a merchant, had invested a vast amount of wealth in seating the third most recent emperor on the throne and been awarded a peerage for his trouble. As a result, House Maruk had little history or prestige to its name; and yet, by slowly but surely amassing renown, it had become one of the five great houses in only three generations. Orlean had leveraged his grandfather’s negotiation skills, his father’s imperial education, and his own natural guile to become head of the house at an early age. His competence was iron-cast and his ability beyond dispute.

“The lingering effects of the rebellion have kept us from exceeding our estimates, but a large number of nobles have offered their support.”

That was only to be expected. With Six Kingdoms carving deep into the western territories, the central nobles with lands near the border would have no choice but to cooperate.

“We can field approximately twenty thousand men at short notice. All told, we have gathered forty thousand, but a large portion of them would be put to better use safeguarding the central territories and keeping the peace.” Orlean picked up a sheaf of paper. “The influx of western citizens into the central territories is leading to a decline in public order. Bandits are preying on the refugees—as are monsters on the hunt for food to last the winter, if this report is to be believed.”

If Six Kingdoms truly had planned that far ahead, they had a capable strategist at the helm. They were taking the western territories in such a way as to stymie the imperial response.

Stovell’s rebellion, the death of the emperor, the invasion of the west, the march through Faerzen, and now these refugees—all from the death of the head of House Krone. Our enemies found one opening and forced it wide. And we’ve lost two high generals. That’s going to be a blow to our military strength.

And that was unlikely to be the last of the enemy’s schemes. The empire needed a way to counter their ploys, but it had been forced onto the back foot and was still struggling to find solid ground. What was more, everybody in the room knew it. He could tell by the gloom hanging in the air.

“We can but pray that Lady Celia Estrella returns promptly from the south,” a nobleman remarked.

More than anything, the empire needed time—time to assemble the forces required to meet Six Kingdoms on the field—but leaving the matter to luck simply would not be enough.

“We have to do more than pray.” Hiro stood up from his chair. “As I have said, someone has to buy time. We need to take all the troops we can muster at short notice and ride west, even if that means only bringing twenty thousand men.”

“So you have said, Your Highness, but that would be far too great a risk. Third Prince Brutahl has already been captured. If you were to follow, our neighbors would make us a laughingstock, and people would begin to whisper that the empire’s age is truly over.”

The man wasn’t wrong, but this was no time to be concerned with the empire’s image. Besides, his perspective was a little overly pessimistic. For a moment, Hiro considered making an example of him to bring the direction of the discussion back into line, but he quickly thought better of it. For the moment, it was better to avoid unnecessary conflict.

“I sympathize with your concerns, but if we keep sitting on our hands, we will lose the west. If Six Kingdoms gains a foothold in the central territories, it will be extremely hard to reverse their gains.”

“Indeed, Your Highness, but I cannot countenance you throwing yourself into the enemy’s maw simply to buy time. Once the empire gathers its strength, surely retaking the west will not be a difficult matter.”

“It won’t...if things stay the way they are. But politics changes by the second. The more time passes, the greater the risk that traitors will emerge. That’s why it’s important to take clear and decisive action. It will help to deter anybody thinking about changing allegiances.”

“Certainly, some may begin to reconsider their loyalties, but such men exist in every nation. The Grantzian Empire is neither so weak nor so green as to be threatened by their schemes.”

The lion of Soleil had endured several periods of turmoil in its thousand years of existence. If one were to pore over the history books, they would quickly find that Stovell’s had been far from the first rebellion. There was even precedent for succession conflict splitting the nation in two. It had known oppression, slaughter, despotism, invasion, and assassination in volumes too great to count. But through it all, the power of the Lord had always remained.

But I don’t sense the Spirit King’s power anymore.

Spirits still lingered in the world, watching over humanity, but Hiro had not felt their source, the Spirit King, even once since returning to Aletia. It was possible that his senses were just duller than he realized, but that was the kind of wishful thinking that could doom a nation. More to the point, the Spirit King’s absence would go a long way to explaining the various crises and conflicts that had erupted across the continent. If the deity truly had vanished, he would have to find his own path and carve open a new age with his own strength.

All the more reason to put some kind of insurance in place. Something to guarantee that the empire will live on.

But his plans for that were laid. All that remained was to put them into practice. He would not let anyone stand in his way.

He expelled a short breath and donned a confident grin. “It’s not a matter of weakness or naivete. The empire’s repeated conflicts have put pressure on its resources from many quarters. Procuring arms, soldiers’ wages, constructing and maintaining forts: all these things have to be paid for. And gathering men from the other territories, like we’re doing now, will strain the treasury even further.”

War consumed vast amounts of resources. More than a few nations had ruined themselves starting conflicts they couldn’t afford. Whether waged against internal or external threats, at its core, it was a political pursuit that had to be weighed by how much it profited the nation.

Which means that Six Kingdoms must think it stands to gain from this invasion.

Nobody started wars they knew would leave them out of pocket.

“I struggle to see your point, Your Highness. Are you saying we should cede the west to the enemy? That we should hand them our lands without a fight in the name of preserving our resources? Does that not contradict what you just said?”

“If you would let me finish...”

Hiro fixed the nobleman with a glare, making no effort to hide his annoyance at being interrupted. The man fell silent. Hiro continued glowering at him as he resumed speaking.

“To reiterate: the empire’s repeated conflicts have led to inflation, economic stagnation, a reduction in quality of life, and widespread uncertainty. Discontent is growing among the people. Ignoring Six Kingdoms’ aggression could trigger an eruption of public outrage. In other words, abandoning the west would be a foolish move, tantamount to throwing away the people’s support.”

Standing by and watching the west burn while their forces assembled was not an option. The people would think their nation had abandoned them, and the western nobles would become more likely to defect to the enemy. The effects would reverberate through the entire empire.

“That is why I say we need to take the fight to Six Kingdoms, even if we only have twenty thousand men.”

As the beleaguered empire navigated its way through this conflict, it, too, would have to weigh its profits against its losses. Whether it chose to sue for peace or commit to a counterattack, it would need to thoroughly evaluate its decision.

But a counterattack is the way to go, even if our numbers are lacking. We have to show we’re willing to defend our land, our people, and our authority.

An uprising had to be avoided at all costs. It would not be difficult to put one down by force of arms, but that would only fan the flames, not quench them. Violence might buy the empire a little time, but it was not a permanent solution. Tyranny would be its downfall.

“I see what you are saying, but with respect, Your Highness, what can twenty thousand men accomplish?”

“I have a plan.” Hiro’s voice was clear and confident. “Let me take charge and I promise not to disappoint you.”

“You have a plan to pit a hundred and fifty thousand against twenty? Is that what you are saying?”

All around the room, eyes began to gleam with expectation. There were not just one or two; almost every noble in the chamber had the same glint in their eyes.

Hiro smiled internally, satisfied that he had captured their attention. “If all goes well, I will do more than buy time. I will reduce their numbers.”

His words were met with astonished stares. Now that he commanded the room, all he had to do was guide the discussion where he wanted. He began placing pawns on the map, glancing at the report as he went.

“Six Kingdoms has split up its forces to attack the west. If they were all concentrated in one place, they would be much more difficult to deal with, but this way, we can meet them on even terms.”

If he sensed danger, he would retreat immediately. If he caught the scent of victory, he would strike hard and fast.

“The skill of an army’s commanders is certainly an important factor in battle, but it is just as vital to understand the state and nature of the field. As long as we can anticipate danger before it arrives, it will not be difficult to win.”

Taking on a larger army would require a strategy to bridge the gap, but against smaller, scattered forces, a commander’s superior intuition or experience could win the day.

“If we can rout an enemy legion or two, I believe we will find the opportunity we seek.”

He punctuated his language with grandiose gestures, moving the argument swiftly on before his audience could dwell on the particulars.

“Now is the time to forget about factions and interests and join hands as one. I ask you: will you stand with me?”

Cooperation was vital. If the empire was unwilling to unite in the face of the ongoing crisis, it would not be able to strike effectively against Six Kingdoms. If the peace-addled nobles without a care for what happened beyond the borders of their own lands did not open their eyes, the empire would be finished.

Naturally, when the question was put to them like that, there was not a man in the room who could deny their aid. Several of them did regard Hiro with suspicion, however. While the most dubious stare belonged to Chancellor Graeci, more interesting was Orlean von Maruk. Hiro made a note of the man’s odd reaction but otherwise spared him only a glance as he continued.

“We only need to buy time. If I can lead the enemy around by the nose and keep them confined in the west until our forces are in order, we’ll win. With the gathered strength of our reinforcements from the other territories, we will be able to challenge them to a battle and force them back to Faerzen.”

Once the empire recaptured the west, it could keep going, reasserting its authority. After watching it drive back a foe as large as Six Kingdoms, its other neighbors could do little but watch in silence.

Hiro looked over the nobles, gauging their reactions. “First, I would ask for your support in a strike against Six Kingdoms with a small force. Can I have a show of hands?”

One by one, the nobles raised their hands.

“There appear to be no objections,” Graeci commented in a dry monotone.

“I believe we have witnessed history made this day, Your Highness,” Orlean von Maruk added. “Your devotion to this nation will be spoken of for generations to come. House Maruk and the rest of the central nobles offer our unreserved support.”

Something about the man, nodding in approval amid the applause, struck Hiro as odd, but seeing no point in wasting time on baseless suspicions, he banished the notion to a corner of his mind.

He might well be plotting something, but I can cross that bridge when I come to it. Burn it, if necessary.

What mattered right now was that he had succeeded in advancing his own plans. That deserved a moment of celebration.

“Now, let’s start the strategy meeting. Six Kingdoms won’t defeat itself.”

With a sly smile, Hiro placed another pawn on the map.

＊＊＊＊＊

An enormous force ground into motion near Faerzen’s eastern border. They numbered fifty thousand, enough for the tread of their boots to shake the earth. Their armor shone with rainbow hues as it caught the sunlight, and their spears glinted threateningly. The perfect uniformity of their march filled all who saw them with awe.

Standard bearers trailed clouds of dust as they rode between the columns of soldiers. They held banners emblazoned with a serpent on a red-and-black field: the livery of the Kingdom of Anguis. Anguis had produced many high kings over Six Kingdoms’ centuries-long history, and for a long time its current queen had been expected to become the next one, but a certain incident had put an end to her glory days. Now she lived in shadow, the furthest from the throne. That same queen rode in the center of the column, swaying with the juddering of her carriage.

“We are expected to rejoin the Vulpes siblings in four days, Your Majesty,” Seleucus said.

Lucia yawned as she nodded in acknowledgment. “Welcome news. This journey has been a long one.”

A large box lay in her arms. She carried it carefully, as though concerned that the contents might break.

The strange object did not escape Seleucus’s notice. “What is that?” he asked.

“A souvenir for the Vulpes siblings. I happened across some delectable cuisine in Faerzen. They are sure to be delighted.”

“It’s not like you to be so thoughtful.”

Seleucus’s remark was far more blunt than should have been wise in the presence of a queen, but Lucia’s smile only widened.

“Faerzen boasted no commanders worthy enough to win me renown. Do you suppose the western territories will offer better?” Her eyes shone with anticipation as her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips, but the lascivious gesture had no visible effect on Seleucus. She frowned, her queen’s dignity affronted. “Not many could resist my charms. Is there truth to the rumors, then? Are you truly impotent?”

So it was whispered in Anguis’s capital. Countless noble ladies had conspired to seduce Seleucus at balls and banquets, but none had successfully taken him back to their bedchamber. Eventually, one of them had snapped and forced her way into his quarters, but not only had she been chased out, her parents had received a letter of complaint several days later. In the end, the unfortunate maiden had become a laughingstock and still had not wed, while rumors began to spread that Seleucus preferred the company of men. He had a way of attracting unfavorable rumors. Indeed, it was precisely because he was such a black sheep that he now served as Lucia’s aide.

“Think what you are saying, Your Majesty. If I were to lay my hands on you, unwed as you are, I would be eaten alive.”

“I am of the house of the snake, ’tis true... But jests aside, all men are blind fools. None have so much as tried to court me.”

“I distinctly recall you being approached by plenty of suitors, all of whom you turned down. I believe you destroyed one of their houses.”

“He should have known better than to lay his hand on me.” Lucia puffed out her cheeks in a childish pout. “I am no cheap harlot.”

Seleucus sighed. “That, Your Majesty, is the reason nobody tries to court you. Because you will ruin a man’s house for placing a hand on your shoulder. At this stage, you have no recourse but to seek a husband among the other royal houses.”

“This conversation is over. I refuse to be treated as though I am to blame.” Lucia turned her gaze pointedly out of the window.

Seleucus scratched his cheek in exasperation, but his diplomatic smile soon reasserted itself. “You mentioned commanders of renown, Your Majesty?”

“Oh? Know you one?”

“You have already slain the high general of the west, but there is another of whom the western nobles speak highly: a woman named Aura. They call her Aphrodite, the Warmaiden.”

The gleam returned to Lucia’s eyes as she turned back to Seleucus. “I have heard of her. They say that she is quite the talent.”

“Sadly, she has been banished from the western territories and currently serves in the imperial capital, so our odds of encountering her are next to nil. It seems your desires are destined to go unfulfilled, Your Majesty.”

Raising a queen’s hopes only to dash them was blatant insolence. Seleucus was talented enough to get away with it, but if he had been any less exceptional, Lucia would have lopped off his head on the spot.

“Truly, your impudence knows no bounds.”

To Lucia’s profound regret, there was no more capable retainer in all of Anguis. As such, she let him enjoy his jests. He might be aggravating, but so long as he could do his duty, she had no complaints.

“How frightfully dull. Shall I never find a worthy opponent? Perhaps we ought to forget about the western territories after all and storm the imperial heartlands.”

There was no anger in her voice, only disappointment. In a sense, that demonstrated her restraint. Many rulers throughout history would have been willing to execute a talented retainer for a slight, but between Lucia and Seleucus, there was a glimmer of a firm bond. Queen and advisor—where went one, so went the other.

“Unlike you, Your Majesty, I hope we do not encounter any worthy opponents.”

“Is that fear I hear? From my own retainer?” Lucia smiled with mock disdain.

Seleucus did not rise to the bait. He only nodded. “I am not afraid to admit that I am terrified. The empire is commencing its counterattack, and our neighbors have not joined our cause. If our advance is rebuffed, we will be the ones they turn on.”

There was no more volatile nation on the continent than Six Kingdoms. As a union of individual nation-states, it was never truly stable. From the outside, the six appeared to have long joined hands as friends, but their other hands held daggers. At any moment, any of them might slit another’s throat. The high king was meant to maintain order, but the power of the throne had been waning in recent years.

“There is no cause for worry. The Grantzian Empire has overstretched itself. It cannot gather its forces so easily, and even if it could, who’s to say whether they could fight together?”

The empire’s forces were scattered across its vast territories and divided into factions by the five great houses.

“One might say the same of us.” Seleucus loosened his collar. “Our Punitive Army comprises the forces of four kingdoms, each with their own favored tactics and weaponry. They have been trained to different degrees and on different subjects. We cannot expect them to fight in concert.”

“Is that not why we have split them into the Punitive Legions? And when my own dear troops of Anguis join the fray, we shall simply become the first and second cohorts. We shall not be required to fight side by side.”

Once all their forces were assembled, they would number two hundred thousand, far too many for a lesser force to push back. Any opponents would be crushed by sheer force of numbers; they might as well try to halt the tide.

“Although that assumes the enemy has no plan, of course.”

The empire might have seen better days, but it was still the Grantzian Empire, and its vast lands yielded a bounty of talent.

The western territories might not have been blessed with fine minds, but they possessed fertile soil and a market monopoly on the production of cotton and sesame. They would make a profitable addition to Anguis’s domain. That was not Lucia’s goal, however. She wouldn’t object if they fell into her hands, but the other kingdoms would be fiercely opposed, and she had no intention of being drawn into a bothersome political squabble—one from which a certain loathsome woman was guaranteed to emerge the victor.

“My goals lie elsewhere. While the other kingdoms quarrel over who shall rule the western territories, I shall see about erasing my disgrace.”

“That may be easier said than done. This rumored scion of the War God has yet to take the field...although I cannot imagine that he will, as things stand.”

“Then you too expect the empire to abandon the west?”

“Gathering their forces at short notice will be difficult, and striking back with a small number ill-advised. There is nothing to gain from such a course but humiliation. Why would they commit the War God’s only living heir to a doomed enterprise?” Seleucus paused, then nodded, as though he had remembered something. “Although, I did forget about Draal. Our agents’ reports were fragmented, but they paint a picture of Mars’s scion invading with only a few thousand men.”

“I, too, have read them. I did not know whether to be impressed by his accomplishment or appalled by how easily Draal buckled before a simple name. They can blame their loss on having no men with the steel to stand up to Mars’s scion.”

Draal was a nation of fools that had surrendered without a fight despite an overwhelming advantage. Lucia’s smile widened as she spread her fan wide. Perhaps sacking the grand duchy would prove an amusing diversion after she had conquered the western territories.

“I shan’t go to the trouble of dragging him out, but if he rode out west of his own accord... Well, ’twould be a fine thing for the greatest honor of this war to fall straight into my lap.”

“Judging by his record, he does seem to have a liking for battle. Perhaps he may very well ride forth. I would be delighted if he were strong enough to meet Your Majesty’s expectations.”

“As would I. And if he does not take the bait, we can just as easily surge into the central territories. If we destroy the empire in the process, all the better.”

“I only hope that it all proves so easy. Personally, I fear we will discover that the lion is not quite so decrepit as we might like.”

Lucia snapped her fan shut. “It will prove perfectly easy. That is why I am here.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The twelfth day of the first month of Imperial Year 1024

Winter’s chill had firmly set in, and the morning sun did little to ease the dryness in the air. Nonetheless, the people declined to stay in their houses, spilling cloaked in warm excitement out into the streets. Roaring crowds lined the central boulevard, and confetti fluttered through the air between the sky’s blue-and-white patchwork. Unbroken applause and resounding whoops shook the morning air.

Burly men marched down the center of the boulevard as the people cheered from either side. The War God’s heir rode at their head, leading the procession atop his swiftdrake. He smiled and raised a hand to the people.

“Glory to the empire!”

“Divines be with you!”

Their voices formed a chorus to the orchestra’s stately melody as they shouted their blessings, producing a grandiose marching song that filled the soldiers’ hearts with pride. A gentle breeze blew down the road, granting them its blessing for the battles to come.

A black dragon banner fluttered gracefully against the blue—the War God’s sacred standard, which only he was permitted to bear. The onlookers breathed sighs of astonishment, and their gazes held only the purest admiration. There was no high or low there; the Hero King of Twinned Black had laid the empire’s most foundational stones, and soldiers of all ranks afforded him the highest respect.

Hiro’s troops numbered twenty thousand men, gathered from the private forces of the central nobles. The soldiers of earlier belonged to the east and were not part of his sortie. Hiro had insisted on taking only central noble troops in view of the need for coordination on the field.

He turned his gaze from the crowd to the battlements above the main gate.

It’s all up to you now.

Down from the ramparts stared the woman who had protested his plan to the last: Rosa. She gave a small wave and a stiff smile, an unusual display of open sorrow for someone who maintained such a formidable front. Hiro smiled back, half-closing his eyes affectionately, but she did not return his warmth. He knew why. It had driven them to a rare argument the previous night, and he had still not managed to convince her by the time dawn came.

Don’t worry. I’ll be back...once all this is over.

He tried to face forward despite his heavy heart, but found that he couldn’t. Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

His lips parted unbidden. “I’ve seen her before...”

In the midst of the cheering figures stood a young girl. Hiro remembered her well—in fact, he couldn’t have forgotten their meeting if he had tried. She was the girl who had offered him an anat flower during his first victory parade through the capital.

She held the same red blossom in her hands now, but she showed no sign of stepping closer. Perhaps she was intimidated by the roar of the crowd, he wondered, but she looked different today. There was grief in her eyes as she stared at him, or perhaps reproach—whatever it was, it felt uncanny coming from a child, and set every hair on his body on end. After a short time, she vanished into the darkness of the alleyway.

Hiro cast his eyes skyward. “Am I doing the right thing?” he wondered aloud to some unseen ear, but no reply came, and he himself could not discern the answer. He smiled sheepishly to himself as his swiftdrake passed through the city gates.

With his army now departing the capital, the greatest cheer yet went up from behind him. He unsheathed Excalibur from his hip, radiating quiet fervor.

“Glory to the empire!” he cried. “May fortune shine on the path we walk!”

The greenery danced joyfully as Heavenly Sovereign showered the land with its brilliance.

Be well...until we meet again.

Bidding one last farewell to Liz in his mind, Hiro faced forward once more. What was now in motion could not be halted. His heart longed for the battlefield, craved the heated dance of flesh and blood.

“It’s an honor to fight beside the War God’s own heir,” said a voice from beside him.

He turned to see Orlean von Maruk seated on horseback, clad in silver armor. Straight-backed and with reins in hand, the man looked every bit a soldier.

“I will try my utmost not to hamper you as your vice-commander.”

Hiro shot him a look tinged with suspicion. “No need to be so uptight. We’re only buying time.”

“Please, Your Highness. Surely that is not all you are planning. The nobles are already whispering that you are preparing to carve out a legend worthy of your forefather’s name.”

The man’s mouth moved as if greased, and Hiro found his forwardness distasteful. How much of what he was saying was sincere and how much was flattery? There was no way to know. If he was trying to curry favor with Hiro in hopes of winning fame or renown, that would be one thing, but it was difficult to imagine that somebody so small-minded could have steered House Maruk to its present station. No, he was plotting something else, no doubt about it.

“Even if I did have some revolutionary plan to defeat a hundred and fifty thousand men with twenty thousand, the odds of failure would still be high. I’m surprised you’d want to join such a risky mission.” Hiro decided to feel the man out, although his words were more of a warning than a probe.

“Even were the chance of success only one in ten, I would still have insisted on joining you.”

“We’re going to be fighting on a tightrope. Put one foot wrong and we’ll plummet to our doom.”

“But if we prevail, our names shall go down in history. And the central nobles who think of me as an upstart will fall in line.”

“So that’s your goal? You want to use this war to cement your position?”

That might have been the truth, but it was not the whole truth. Von Maruk was hiding something. How best to coax the rest from his scheming mind?

“But of course. Nobody would follow you unless they believed they stood to gain. Why else do men go to war but for the promise of great profits?”

“Some of our soldiers are loyal to their nation. Not everybody is like you.”

“Oh, I am certain of it. But they will be outnumbered by those hoping to advance their station.”

Those words led Hiro to an unpleasant conclusion: he and Orlean were fundamentally incompatible. An insurmountable difference lay between them. This man cared nothing for his nation—it was simply one more agent by which he could profit.

He’s a merchant to his core. In times of peace, that would be a dependable trait, but now...

“Are you not the same, Your Highness?” Orlean asked.

“Forty percent of me, perhaps.”

Hiro was no saint himself, and his loyalty to the empire was not entirely unconditional. At the very least, he left room for his own desires. But he was a far cry from a man like Orlean, who scorned the very notion of country.

“Then how is it that you see this war?”

“I wonder. Perhaps you’ll find out in the course of battle.” Hiro’s rebuff had an edge of derision.

Orlean smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Am I to take it that I have not yet earned your trust, Your Highness?”

“I suppose we’ll find that out on the field as well.”

For a long moment, the two stared at one another, exchanging icy smiles as they felt each other out.

“Surely that is quite enough, my lords.”

A voice interrupted them. They turned as one to see Drix riding alongside them, his expression faintly appalled. He clearly had no intention of hiding that he was Graeci’s agent anymore—or perhaps he was purposefully standing out to give cover to other spies.

“I must ask that you refrain from interrogating one another in front of the troops,” Drix continued. “If rumors of discord between our commander and his vice-commander begin to spread, it will affect morale.”

He was both correct and the last person Hiro had expected to be reproached by.

Orlean rubbed the back of his head. “My apologies,” he said deliberately. “I shall take more care in the future.”

Hiro brought his swiftdrake to Drix’s side. “Don’t worry. This is all according to plan.”

Drix’s eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“How are the roads?” Hiro continued. “Are they usable?”

“Not with an army, Your Highness. I fear they remain crowded with refugees.”

“I suppose that was too much to hope for.”

Still, that was within Hiro’s expectations. The straight road might be out, but he could still take the long way around and catch the enemy by surprise.

“We’ll keep off the main roads as we make our way west. Could you dispatch scouts to find our enemy’s positions?”

Six Kingdoms was bound to be cautious. It would be vital to find the cracks in their armor. With the empire already on the back foot, the ideal approach would be to obfuscate its advance and circle around behind Six Kingdoms. An advantageous position would help make up for lost time.

“At once, Your Highness.” Drix bowed and rode away.

Hiro watched the man go with obsidian-black eyes before turning to look up at the sky. A smile spread across his face as he gazed into the blue.

All the pieces are in place. I see the path to victory. All that’s left is to see what the enemy will do.

He would have to fight dauntlessly and act prudently, lest they catch on.

“By your leave, Your Highness, I will ride ahead to lead the vanguard.”

“By all means.”

Orlean gave a polite nod and rode away, his bodyguards in tow. All that remained were the few aides assigned to keep an eye on Hiro.

“Aha... Ha ha ha...”

He couldn’t help but laugh. He truly was surrounded by enemies on all sides. It was simply too funny.

Now, if I’ve read the situation correctly...

Six Kingdoms would either retreat without a fight at all, or after two or three noncommittal engagements. They would want to lure him deep into their territory to prevent his escape.

Well, I’ll use that for my own purposes. All this is just a stepping stone to my own goals.

His hands tightened on the reins with determination. Now, after a thousand years, it was time to make his grand scheme a reality once again.

＊＊＊＊＊

The fourteenth day of the first month of Imperial Year 1024

Beyrouth, in the northwest of the Grantzian Empire’s western territories

The core of Six Kingdoms’ Punitive Army was yet to make a move. More than a few of its soldiers were freely day-drinking, engaged in heated gambling matches over tables set up in the cold. With the surrounding lands surrendered and no further orders, it was pointless to ask them to remain vigilant. Here and there, women’s screams rose from the camp—prizes claimed from the burning ruins of towns and villages that had resisted, or else offered as gifts by western nobles as a show of surrender.

One place remained untouched by the maelstrom of vice hanging over the camp: the command tent where the officers gathered. It went without saying that nobody here was drinking. A stern weight hung in the air.

“That you would surrender without so much as drawing steel... A poor showing, Lord von Kirschia, I must say.”

Acting Commander Luka Mammon du Vulpes’s voice was laced with scorn. A dozen western nobles knelt before her with their heads bowed.

“Proud rulers of the continent...how does it feel to be the ones on your knees?”

The Grantzian Empire’s strength was great, and it had exerted great power over its neighbors, but its days of perpetual victory were a thing of the past. Now its western nobles bent their heads as one. It was a sight to signify the end of an era.

“Naturally, however, I cannot accept your unconditional surrender. In light of your deeds, due punishment is in order. A price must be paid.”

The nobles’ shoulders began to tremble as they sensed the bloodlust in Luka’s voice.

“If it’s food you desire, we will gladly supply it,” one said. “We have accepted all of your demands.”

“That will not suffice. A great number of civilians perished in the recent fighting—future citizens of Six Kingdoms who would have pledged their loyalty to our High King.” Luka heaved an affected sigh. “Instead, because of their untimely deaths, their families now bear grudges against our nation.”

Lord von Kirschia’s lips tightened bitterly at that. Luka’s eyes filled with glee to see his consternation.

“Considering that our nations will soon be one, I wish to pluck any seeds of discontent before they take root. Their wrath must be appeased.”

“What would you have us do?”

“Offer one of your own blood—a son or daughter, perhaps—to the people and watch them be torn apart. Do this and our Lord, the Faerie King, will cleanse your minds of their villainous notions.”

“I-I could never!” Von Kirschia rose to his feet, spluttering with anger.

Luka fixed the man with a frigid glare. “Did you perhaps expect others to lose their loved ones while you remained unscathed?”

“I surrendered so that we would not be harmed! Now you tell me to kill my own kin?!”

“Very well. You have made your case quite plain.”

Luka cast a meaningful glance at one of her subordinates. The soldier seized von Kirschia and pinned him to the ground.

“Unhand me! Is this how Six Kingdoms treats those who lay down their arms?!”

“Shut up and die.” With a scowl, Igel swung his sword down at von Kirschia’s neck. A fierce jet of blood sprayed forth, rapidly forming a crimson pool. Several western nobles retched as the tangy stench of iron filled the tent. The Six Kingdoms officers lined up by the walls turned a little pale too, but they continued watching the proceedings in silence.

Igel planted a foot on von Kirschia’s head as it rolled across the floor. “Can’t we wrap this up already, sis? Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“And I had very much hoped to play a little longer. You’re always so impatient.” Luka shook her head in exasperation and sighed. “Very well. If the good von Kirschia has any daughters, give them to the soldiers. If he has sons, torture them, cut off their heads and place them on spikes. His wife and other kin, we shall entrust to his people. Strip them naked and set them loose in the center of town. If they were truly benevolent rulers, the townsfolk will see that they remain unharmed.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then it would seem the people took the law into their own hands in their lord’s absence...in which case we will put the town to the torch and pillage what we can.”

A pall of regret fell over the remaining nobles’ faces as Luka’s cruelty unfolded. The extreme stress brought on by cold and terror caused several to pass out.

“Now, what of the rest of you? You would make this far easier if you simply accepted my terms. Frankly, I do not see why you are so hesitant. For the price of just one life apiece, you could protect your stations.”

Refusal was not an option. Despite their reluctance, the nobles had no choice but to agree. Humans will fight to the bitter end if cornered, but they will rarely choose to die so long as escape remains possible, and making an example of von Kirschia had been quite effective at breaking the nobles’ wills. With their minds numbed, they took whatever honeyed morsel was handed to them.

“Then it seems this diversion is done with. Soon our commander will rejoin us. I suggest you take care not to earn her ire, or you will lose your head on the spot. She is not as forgiving as I am.”

Luka relaxed back into her chair with a yawn and a little wave of her hand, as though shooing away a dog. I’m finished with you. Get out.

It was Igel who interrupted. He took a step forward, glowering down at the nobles with contempt.

“Where’s your noble pride, huh? Your people slaughtered, your friends cut down in front of you, your own families sent out to die, and still you won’t risk getting your hands dirty?”

His words stung. They were harsh enough to shatter any man’s self-respect. But the western nobles only kept their heads bowed, saying nothing. Blood trickled from several of their mouths as they bit their lips in shame.

Igel grinned at the reaction and launched into another series of taunts. “Must be some damn fine titles if you’ll sit through all this humiliation to keep ’em. You don’t get it, do you? You can throw your weight around all you want once you walk out of here, you can preen and swagger across the border at your neighbors, but you’re still gonna be losers for the rest of your days.”

He planted his foot on the nobles’ heads, launched vicious kicks at their cheeks, and laughed loudly all the while.

“Don’t forget that there’s a collar around every one of your miserable necks. You’re Six Kingdoms’ slaves now. If you expected to be treated like human beings, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“That will do.” Luka shot Igel a glare of reproach.

“Really, sis? But they’re so—”

“Stand down for a moment.” Something dangerous flashed in Luka’s eyes as she called her brother off. She rose to her feet and looked down at the nobles. “You have neglected your pride, let your fangs rot away, shown yourselves to be more kittens than lions. Your sins are great indeed. Yet beneath Six Kingdoms’ banner, you will at least have the chance to serve as house cats. Be grateful for the Faerie King’s mercy.”

Luka dangled the carrot while Igel brandished the stick, but neither was particularly effective when both siblings were so villainous. Their audience sensed the true intent behind every word. The aides looked at them, perplexed.

At that moment, a drumbeat of hurried footsteps sounded from outside the tent, accompanied by a gale of laughter.

“Gah ha ha ha ha ha! Truly, you siblings never fail to amuse.”

All eyes swiveled to the entrance. There stood a beautiful woman silhouetted against the outside glare, the rays of sunlight seeming to grant her a false aureole. Her unusual dress—for which “bizarre” was really the only adequate word—struck the entire tent dumb. She greeted the leers with an amused smile rather than anger.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lucia Levia du Anguis.”

She had always liked to make an impression. She was eccentric in action, audacious in dress, and often improper in demeanor, but she still radiated a regal composure that stunned those who saw her.

“Staring, hm? Has my beauty entranced you so?”

She had ascended the throne at a young age following the untimely death of her father, but her compelling personality commanded fierce loyalty from her retainers and popularity with her soldiers, while her singular martial skills had earned the fanatical respect of the people of Anguis.

“My apologies, my lady. I was not expecting you so soon.”

Luka offered Lucia a small smile as she dropped to one knee. Seeing Igel and the rest of the aides follow suit, the western nobles shuffled around so that they were bowing toward the new arrival.

Lucia cast a satisfied glance around the tent and strode forward. “Well and good,” she murmured. Taking her place in the chair at the head of the room, she tossed the box she carried to the ground. “A souvenir for you.”

Luka cocked her head. “With all due respect, my lady, is that not for us?”

Her question would have sounded presumptuous in any other context, but here, it was justified. Lucia had thrown the box before the western nobles. Why she would offer a gift to people who had not only surrendered but never even put up a fight was a mystery, but she only smiled; she clearly had no intention of explaining herself.

“They must be the ones to open it. You shall understand once you see what it contains.” Her fan flicked toward Seleucus, who was waiting on her shoulder. “Let him do it,” she said, pointing out a nobleman who was watching the exchange apprehensively.

“At once, Your Majesty.” With a word in one of the guards’ ears, Seleucus had the box set down in front of the man.

The nobleman looked back fearfully. “Wh-What am I to do with this?”

Lucia’s lips pulled into a chilling smile. “Take off the lid.”

A gulp filled the air, loud in the tension.

“Well, don’t just sit there! Hurry and open it!”

Hearing Lucia’s voice take on an edge of irritation, the nobleman scrambled for the box. He grasped the lid with trembling arms and hesitantly pulled it open.

“What? But... What?”

His face filled with confusion. His eyes contracted to points as he looked around, as though searching for somebody to explain. The sight was almost comical.

Lucia clutched at her stomach in laughter. “Gah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Splendid, splendid! A more magnificent expression I’ve never seen!” She struck her fan against her armrest as tears beaded in the corners of her long-lashed eyes.

Luka succumbed to curiosity and peered inside the box herself. She, too, began to chuckle. “So that’s what this was about. You truly are incorrigible.” She sighed in exasperation, but her shoulders shook with suppressed mirth.

“An inspired idea, if I do say so myself. Come, Igel, show the rest.”

“Huh? Me? Why’ve I gotta...?”

“You shall understand soon enough.” Lucia’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

Igel scowled and approached the box. Once he saw what lay within, he began grinning like the two women. “You’re one sick puppy, huh?” He gave the box a mighty kick, sending the object inside rolling across the ground.

The entire tent blanched. Some covered their mouths and looked away, while others retched up their guts without shame or forewarning. Yet others began to shed tears of grief.

“Ohhh... Prince Brutahl! Prince Brutahl!”

One man, lacking the strength to stand, crawled across the ground. Ahead of him, a misshapen object rolled across the floor: the severed head of Prince Brutahl, its face still twisted in agony.

“Oh, how cruel... Your Highness, what has become of you?”

He picked up the head and cradled it in his arms, glaring hatefully up at the Six Kingdoms officers. The rest of the nobles simply stared, mouths agape, stunned into disbelieving silence.

“Our homeland sent the order to kill all associated with the Grantzian royal family. No mercy for women and children. ’Tis no less than Six Kingdoms once received at the empire’s hands—just punishment, one could say?” Lucia’s expression turned serious as she laid her arms on the armrests. “Fear not. You will join your dear Third Prince Brutahl soon enough.”

She snapped her fingers. Armed soldiers surged in through the entrance.

“Wha—?! You knaves! This was not what we agreed!”

As the foremost of the western nobles bridled, screams rose from the back of the group.

“You curs! You would cut down unarmed— Gyaaah!”

A pitiless swing from a battle-axe sprayed the speaker’s brains across the ground. Some of the nobles tried desperately to resist, scrambling away from the blows as they came, but with no weapons of their own, they were at a fatal mismatch—not that steel would have done any more than prolong their suffering.

“Do try to think for a moment. What, other than betrayal, would I gain from inviting self-interested nobles into my camp?”

In spite of Lucia’s words, the nobles were given no time to collect themselves. Sharpened blades speared mercilessly through their backs to pierce their hearts.

“Fear not; your honor shall be preserved. I shall grant you the courtesy of reporting that you died in battle. Perhaps you ought to thank me. You may have lived as pests, but now you may die as patriots.”

Beneath her disaffected narration, noble after noble slumped to the ground, carved open by wicked blades. Others spewed curses as they crumpled. The man cradling Brutahl’s head died in his despair, his throat torn open.

In moments, the command tent was awash with blood and a foul stench filled the air. The soldiers responsible for the massacre were bathed in red to a man, but they showed no sign of hesitation, and their expressions did not falter for a moment. They simply looked on with empty eyes, impassively turning the tent into a slaughterhouse. Gore coated their armor and blood sprayed with every arc of their swords.

“Graaaaaghhh!”

Even after they ran out of nobles to slay, their strange madness did not end. With a sudden scream, they began driving their blades into the corpses. Their victims might have been dead, but their blows were no less vicious. With faces twisted in vengeful ire, they set about brutalizing the bodies. Some even sank their teeth into the cooling flesh and savaged them, weeping tears of blood.

Even Lucia frowned at that. “Enough! There is no need for such barbarity!”

A sharp crack accompanied her command. Her fan had shattered her armrest. Unseeing gazes converged on her as the soldiers spun around at the noise, but she stared back, unintimidated.

“Your prey is dead. ’Tis no use tormenting them further.” She placed a fist to her forehead, as though suffering from a particularly vicious headache. “You have done well. Bring in the nobles waiting outside.”

A wave of her fan toward the entrance pointed the soldiers in the right direction. They set out with a clatter of armor.

Luka surveyed the sordid scene for a moment before approaching Lucia, her eyes cold with disapproval. “May I ask you to explain what just occurred, Your Majesty?”

“Hm? Oh, very well. Clearly you aren’t well pleased.” With a sheepish smile, Lucia set her fan to her mouth and took a deep breath. “Do you recognize those soldiers, perchance?”

“I do not. Were they your royal guard? If you’ll forgive me, they seemed a little lacking in discipline... Not that that’s any of my business. I am not a citizen of Anguis. I cannot be expected to know the comings and goings of its military.”

To provide a serviceable answer laden with biting sarcasm was typical of the royal house of Vulpes. They affected a facade of straightforwardness to lull their enemies into complacency, but beneath the mask lay a house of cunning schemers who loved nothing more than bringing others low. As though to prove it, their banner was a fox, and Vulpes was known as the nation of avarice.

“They are a new venture of mine. I call them ‘Vendetta,’ my Revenant Brigade.”

“Revenants? Their eyes did look dead, I admit, but was there no other name you could choose?”

“They may as well be dead.”

Every one of them had lost their loved ones to war with the Grantzian Empire and endured indescribable treatment at the hands of its soldiers. Unable to bear the reality before their eyes, they had plunged into the depths of despair. Now they wandered the world with body and soul wounded beyond repair, living only to exact revenge.

“Hence, Revenant Brigade...” Luka nodded at the explanation. “Still, I cannot say that using their grief for your own ends strikes me as being in the best of taste.”

“Using? Not in the slightest. I gave them a reason to live, nothing more. Am I to take it that you believe you would be a better mistress?”

“I would have given them despair and then set them free.” Luka’s smile seemed to come straight from her heart. Her eyes gleamed. “In faces twisted with agony and eyes smoldering with hatred, there is a beauty one can find nowhere else—although I admit, there is a certain appeal to buying their loyalty with red meat.”

Lucia furrowed her brows distastefully, uncertain which of them was the more twisted.

Igel watched the exchange, faintly aghast. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve brought those nobles you wanted.”

He dragged one of the western nobles in question by the hair as he approached, forcing the man to step over the bodies of his peers—a show of villainy no less wicked than his sister’s. Half a dozen more followed, their arms bound.

Igel ordered the group to their knees in front of the forlorn shape that was Brutahl’s head. “There’s your beloved third prince.”

One of the nobles squealed and looked away.

“Hey, now. Get a nice, long look. Make certain it’s the real thing.” Igel seized the man’s cheek and forced his head back. “That’s what’s gonna happen to you if you get any bright ideas—and not just you, but your families too.”

“That will do, Igel. Unlike the poor fools from before, Six Kingdoms has need of these men. ’Twould not do to scare them out of their wits.” Lucia rose to her feet, smacking her fan against her palm, and approached the nobles. Her voice turned sweet and low. “I mean to take the heads of the Grantzian royalty you so venerate. If you have no stomach for that, I will gladly relieve you of your lives here and now. Otherwise, pray pledge yourselves to Six Kingdoms. The corpses around you were imbeciles of little worth, but you have far greater value. You shall not be mistreated.”

Her gentle smile radiated the kindness of a mother scolding a beloved child, but in a world stained with blood and gore, it seemed more demonic than angelic. The western nobles’ teeth chattered—half due to cold, but certainly accentuated by terror. At last, faces taut, they bent their heads in a show of loyalty.

“Splendid. If you recognize what is best for you, I have naught more to say. You may return to your camps.”

The prisoners were escorted out, still reeling from the whirlwind judgment. Lucia quietly watched them leave. No sooner had they left than a messenger entered the tent in their place.

“I have a report, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?” Lucia cocked her head.

The messenger stepped closer and whispered into her ear for a second or two before handing her a letter and taking his leave. Luka cast him a dubious glance as he left.

“Has something happened?”

“I suppose there is no harm in telling you...but the rest must take their leave.”

“You mean me too?”

“No, Igel, you may stay.”

The aides obediently filed out. In short order, the tent’s only occupants were Lucia, Luka, Igel, and a mountain of corpses.

Lucia scanned the letter. “’Twould seem that Mars’s scion has taken the field. His force numbers only twenty thousand, so ’tis doubtful that he means to engage us directly...if our informant is to be believed, and I cannot be certain that they are.” The Vulpes siblings’ faces filled with surprise, but she only chuckled. “Whatever the truth of the matter, ’twould seem my prize is wandering into my arms of his own free will.”

Igel stepped closer. “Give me thirty thousand and I’ll bring you his head.”

“No.” Lucia did not even hesitate for a moment.

“Huh? Why not?”

Igel glared back, his face twisted in anger, but a rebuttal arrived from an unexpected quarter: Luka.

“You are not strong enough,” she said.

“Wha—?!” Igel swung around, caught off guard by receiving such a blunt put-down from his own sister.

Lucia nodded along with Luka’s assessment. “To defeat him shall take uncommon prowess. Even should we best him on the field, pursuing him will be impossible so long as the western territories are not fully in our grasp. We must lure him deep into our lands—” She cut herself off as Brutahl’s head, still lying on the floor, caught her eye. A masterful plan took shape in the back of her mind. In a world painted with blood and gore, a devilish smile spread across her face.

“Am I to take it that you have thought of some sort of scheme?” Luka asked.

Lucia nodded and flicked open her fan. “Oh, yes. A most splendid scheme indeed.”