Chapter 121

The city had changed. Nothing about its appearance was different, but something more fundamental had changed.

The citizens of Adelivari now had daily duties. Some tended small vegetable patches, some drove livestock far afield to graze, some smelted iron, some felled and hauled timber, some built outposts at strategic points near the city, some carried stones, and some stockpiled food and checked inventories...

Markwin’s job was to oversee all of it under Ricard’s direction. It was different from anything he had done before, and he gradually adapted, encountering and overcoming minor obstacles along the way.

The city had originally been the king’s retreat. Thus, whatever their occupations or duties, all the citizens of Adelivari had essentially been royal attendants. Their purpose was to provide everything they could to keep the king comfortable and spare him any inconvenience.

But no longer. The man who could now be called this city’s king wanted none of that. What he wanted was not a comfortable retreat, but to fight the enemy.

Carrying a scroll, Markwin headed for the secondary palace. He passed through a short corridor and reached the room being used as an office. Its door was already open—an invitation for anyone to enter. Peering inside, he saw Bori sorting and reviewing documents.

“General.”

Bori looked up from his reading. Seeing who it was, he gave a small chuckle and lowered his eyes to the document again.

“What general? I’m just a wandering swordsman. Just call me Bori. Really, I don’t mind.”

“Well... Some people are unaccustomed to etiquette, but others have grown far too accustomed to it. I would feel uncomfortable simply addressing you by name.”

“Then do whatever makes you comfortable,” Bori said with a smile.

To Markwin, they were all remarkable people—Ricard and everyone around him. Something about them felt different from ordinary people. They seemed detached from the things others obsessed over. Most people with even a little power would swagger about or trample others underfoot, but there was none of that here.

Markwin approached him and slid the scroll he had brought across the desk.

“What’s this?”

“The register of assets our champion requested. It lists all the property belonging to the city and its citizens.”

“Ah.”

Bori broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. Everything was listed, from livestock such as cattle, chickens, and sheep to land, buildings, and movable property. As in any city, the wealthiest citizens owned most of the assets, so there was no need for many sheets.

“Hmm. This won’t quite be enough, though.”

“Pardon?”

“To get through the winter. We don’t know how long the fighting will last, but we should at least make it safely through this winter, shouldn’t we?”

“I see.”

“Yes. That’s why Riki’s planning to cross the pass, too.”

Ricard was currently preparing to lead soldiers over the pass beyond the city’s rear gate. His sole purpose was to bring in food from outside.

Like any other city in the world, it could face famine in no time if its food supply faltered. Cities with extensive farmland were better off, but those without it had to buy their food from the countryside.

Adelivari had managed to endure the past four years of civil war thanks to its small population and the food it purchased from the Beringen region. Unless they secured a safe food supply route, they could do nothing but sit and starve.

“Apparently, Grantz is splitting his army into two major forces. One will take the long way around to block our food supply route, while the main force prepares siege towers and pushes in. A diversionary operation, essentially.”

Bori delivered this alarming news as casually as could be. Markwin was momentarily dumbfounded. An attack from both front and rear would mean their doom. At least, that was how it sounded to someone who knew little of warfare.

“... Is that intelligence reliable?”

“Riki says it hardly even counts as intelligence. With ten thousand troops, you couldn’t hide them if you tried, so both sides end up fighting with full knowledge of each other’s movements. He says what matters is deciding which information to act on out of everything you hear.”

“I see... But surely we are in grave trouble regardless? Even divided in two, ten thousand men would leave five thousand in each force. That is still far more than we have.”

“But that also means we won’t have to fight all ten thousand. Their numbers have been cut in half, haven’t they? We could defeat them separately. Riki said that too.”

Bori briefly looked up from the document to smile at Markwin as he spoke.

By now, Markwin wondered whether Bori was being far too optimistic. Did this man have no worries at all? Or did he simply have no thoughts in his head?

Still, he could more or less guess the reason. That composure came from his complete faith in Ricard. It was an absolute trust of a different kind from loyalty, and Markwin was curious about it.

“If you do not mind my asking, what sort of man is our champion?”

Though the question came somewhat out of the blue, Bori set aside his reading and considered it quite seriously. No, rather than considering it, he was recalling and retracing the past. Then a smile spread across his lips once more. Those memories were like the most beautiful jewels in the world, impossible to behold without smiling.

“He really is a hero. To me, at least. Riki means more to me than the whole world. As long as I’m with him, even dying doesn’t frighten me at all.”

“How can you trust him that deeply?”

“I was bullied as a child. Riki was the one who saved me. It might seem trivial to adults, but back then, I think I had only two choices: give up on the world, or destroy it. But thanks to Riki, look how well I’m living now. I’m even writing a book.”

The book he was writing was part of the reason Bori had taken on the paperwork: a work on Mana Drive called Black Stone. In other words, he was using the opportunity to study and research while he worked.

Markwin watched him quietly before speaking.

“What happens in childhood is far from trivial. It determines the course of one’s entire life. In that case, our champion has already saved the world once—from the destruction you might have wrought upon it, General.”

“You have such an elegant way with words, Mayor. Enough to make me want to learn from you. Truly.”

“Hahaha... Unfortunately, it is the only talent I have at present,” Markwin said with a bitter smile.

Yet he also felt unburdened. This was the first time he had ever been able to speak so openly.

After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Bori, Markwin left the secondary palace and went in search of Ricard. Leaving the city and following the river downstream, he spotted Ricard in the distance, surrounded by soldiers. He wore a red cloak and sat on a rock, eating something.

Markwin thought he might be explaining an operation, but they were merely talking about everyday matters: wives, children, life before the army, that sort of thing. Every so often, hearty laughter rose from the soldiers. It was natural, not forced.

As Markwin drew closer, he saw that Ricard was dipping thin, baked bread in honey.

“What brings you here, Mayor?”

Ricard turned and addressed him. Hazel eyes, gleaming blond hair, even teeth—judging by his looks alone, he certainly seemed a noble. His features looked boyish, yet their strong lines also made him seem manly. Two contrasting impressions coexisted in his appearance.

But perhaps it was not his appearance that gave that impression at all, but some mysterious air emanating from within.

“I heard you were going to bring in food.”

“Ah, have you been to see Bori? That’s right. I was discussing with the soldiers whether to go to Beringen’s capital or to Torweil. We’ve just finished, so we’ll probably set out sometime tomorrow.”

“But, my champion, forgive my presumption—could you not leave such matters to others now?”

“What do you mean?”

“For five days, you wreaked havoc in the enemy camp alone and brought back their banners. Everyone understands your resolve now. Would it not be best to stop exposing yourself to danger? Should anything happen to you, the people would lose heart as well. Why not entrust the food convoy to someone capable and remain here, mindful of the weight of your position?”

“Hahaha... I appreciate your concern, but I cannot. Not because I distrust anyone, but because I must see and assess things with my own eyes. Our next battle will most likely take place along the rear road.”

“How do you know so much? Have you commanded troops before?”

“Let us say I have. But isn’t it simply common sense? They intend to pressure us from front and rear, so wouldn’t they send the force meant to block our rear first? Better to arrive early than late. They’ll try to take up positions behind us. We must smash that force, bring the food in safely, and perhaps look into hiring mercenaries of our own.”

“Mercenaries?”

“I know you have a poor opinion of mercenaries, Mayor. But we’ll have to fight a pitched battle to settle this, so surely we must bolster our numbers. A hundred men can do no more than hold the enemy off.”

“But... we have no money to hire mercenaries.”

“We’ll have to count on old loyalties. Or hire them on credit.”

“Pardon?”

“You might wonder what loyalty mercenaries could have, but I have quite a few connections in Beringen. I’ll make some inquiries while I’m arranging the food convoy.”

After that, Markwin could no longer dissuade Ricard from going in person. Ricard always seemed to have a plan, a vision. He was not merely strong; he had a generous heart and a keen mind. It was truly remarkable.

Clever people sometimes lacked courage, while those with abundant nerve could be short on intelligence. Yet Ricard possessed both. He was a truly multifaceted man, someone in whom opposing qualities coexisted. That was how Markwin saw him.

Markwin stared at him so intently that Ricard wondered whether he had something on his face. Then, abruptly, Markwin asked a question.

“What do you believe a king is, my champion?”

“Hmm, well, I haven’t given it much thought. But I don’t believe it’s a position that exists merely so the person at the top can enjoy its privileges.”

Markwin thought for a moment, as though turning Ricard’s words over in his mind, then stepped back.

“I see. I understand. My apologies for interrupting your leisure. I shall take my leave.”

“Not at all. Come whenever you wish. I have nothing to hide.”

At that, one soldier shot his hand up.

“Shouldn’t you hide away a little when you’re with your wife?”

The other soldiers roared with laughter, and Ricard simply laughed along with them. Markwin was unused to seeing someone mingle so freely with his soldiers. It occurred to him that one who truly stood at the summit came down among the lowly, rather than swaggering, showing off, and indulging himself.

The next day, Ricard led sixty soldiers out through the city’s rear gate. The surcoat over his mail bore a white cross on a red field: the coat of arms of House Kaldebern.

It had always been so. From his cloak to everything else, Ricard favored colors that stood out wherever he went. It was not to show off. It was an invitation to attack him. He would shoulder the danger so his friends and allies could strike back.

Was this what it took to quell the turmoil and become a true king? Did he truly have no fear of swords and spears, of being cut down or stabbed to death?

Watching Ricard depart through the window of his room, Markwin turned something over in his hands. It was a crudely fashioned iron crown—the Adelon Iron Crown, the Kingdom of Adelorn’s most precious treasure, a symbol of kingship passed down through a thousand years.

As he handled the crown, Markwin prayed with all his heart for Ricard’s fortune in battle.

God, without him, this kingdom is lost. He is our last hope. Please, do not let our final flame go out.