Chapter 144

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Surrounded by vast stretches of fertile land, Valensha was one of Sinatria’s leading port cities. Its thriving trade and abundant food production made it worthy of serving as a nation’s capital, but it had one fatal weakness: the terrain offered little advantage to defenders.

“... Valensha has a long history of being occupied by different powers. Switching allegiance from one side to another is a time-honored tradition here. That is why everyone calls it the ‘Land of Treachery.’ You must never trust the emir, Señor El Cid,” said one of the knights in the army King Santonio had assigned to Ricard.

Ricard had stationed his army outside the city and was riding his red horse around the harbor. There were an unusual number of cats about, and they did not flee at the sight of people. One yellow cat had even stretched out in the warm sunlight for a nap.

Watching the cat, Ricard replied, “I will bear that in mind.”

The people at the harbor seemed largely indifferent to whether Ricard had brought an army with him. They loaded and unloaded cargo, checked goods against their ledgers, and sailed their ships out or brought them in. That was all.

The sea breeze was as refreshing as the sea was blue. The squawking gulls were irritating, but they posed no threat.

“The emir has sent someone.”

Raimund approached with the message as Ricard gazed out to sea. Now that Ricard commanded an army, no one could address him directly without going through an intermediary—even when he was not far away.

He turned his head at once and saw the emir’s messenger surrounded by knights of the Order of Flame. They were not threatening him outright, but their stares at such close quarters seemed intimidating enough. He was thoroughly cowed.

Without even beckoning him closer, Ricard looked down from his horse and asked, “Where should I go to see the emir?”

“Pardon? Oh, I will show you the way.”

“No. I asked where I should go.”

Ricard had come as the leader of an occupying army, not as a guest. A man who had surrendered deserved proper courtesy, but a clear line still had to be drawn. In short, he would not come and go at the emir’s bidding. He would go when he wished.

The messenger quickly understood what he meant.

“... There is an orchard not far from the western gate. You will find the emir there.”

“Very well. You may go.”

As soon as Ricard spoke, a knight roughly seized the messenger by the scruff of his neck, dragged him out, and shoved him away. It was somewhat violent, but it made one thing clear: they had not come here for a holiday. The emir’s messenger slunk away as miserably as a rain-soaked dog.

Watching him leave, Raimund said to Ricard, “He has surrendered, after all. Would it not be better to offer him a little reassurance?”

“No. He will actually be more satisfied if we treat him sternly.”

“Why?”

“There must be a reason for this sudden surrender. If we do nothing but smile and exchange pleasantries, he will think us weak.”

“Do you know why he surrendered?”

“It is obvious. People who keep switching sides inevitably try the patience of kings. Even a goose that lays golden eggs cannot toy with its owner. Rather than hand the goose over to a neighbor, he might prefer to kill it and eat it.”

In other words, the emir had invited King Santonio’s army in to fend off an enemy. That enemy was none other than his former lord, a sultan named Yusuf.

“... So he offered up an entire city to hire mercenaries.”

“No. Hiring mercenaries would have cost him a fortune. But has this cost him anything? He brought in a king’s army without spending a single coin.”

Raimund had served in this region for a long time, but as a member of the insular Order of Flame, he had little understanding of how these people thought or how their affairs worked. Admittedly, surrendering and even converting was rather unusual. The emir of Valensha had never gone so far as to convert before, but he had made a bold move of his own to draw in the suspicious King Santonio.

In any case, Ricard took his time looking around the harbor. Only after the sun had moved some distance across the sky did he head toward the city’s western gate.

He had seen it on the way in, but the farmland around the city truly stretched on without end. It was all wheat, covering more ground than most domains in the Empire. Whenever the wind blew, the unripe green wheat rippled like waves.

Beyond the farmland, he came to a low hill encircled by a low stone wall. Trees stood in rows on the other side, bearing unfamiliar orange-colored fruit.

Ricard dismounted and entered the emir’s private orchard. The knights attending him remained on horseback, keeping watch around the hill.

As he walked among the trees, a fresh scent unlike anything he had ever smelled captivated him at once. The fruit’s bright fragrance rose above the comforting smells of earth, wood, leaves, and flowers, seizing his attention. He could not help stopping to look at the trees.

He suddenly wondered whether this was what sunlight would smell like if it became a fragrance. The unfamiliar fruit smelled like sunshine.

“Oranges. They are different from lemons.”

Someone had spoken. Ricard turned to find a man who seemed to be the emir of Valensha, though he wore shabby work clothes with the sleeves rolled up rather than fine garments. In appearance, he looked more like someone from Franken than a Salaman.

The man reached up and plucked one of the fruits called oranges, scored it with a dagger, and stripped off its thick peel. Then he split the flesh in half and offered one half to Ricard.

Ricard sniffed it and examined it from every angle before putting it in his mouth. As the juice burst out, a perfect harmony of sweetness and tartness struck his tongue with almost shocking intensity.

“I bred and grew them myself. Even the Salaman people failed to cultivate them, but I succeeded. Would you not say it was worth the effort?”

“The fragrance and flavor are heavenly, but people will tire of this too. Such are human beings.”

“Then why not share it with someone tasting it for the first time, like you, rather than someone who has grown tired of it? A loved one, for instance.”

Sometimes, when people experienced something good or ate something delicious, they thought of their parents, their lovers, or their children. Tasting this fruit called an orange was an intense, sweet, and harmless experience—one they would want someone precious to them, someone they loved, to enjoy at least once.

Still, it seemed too leisurely a pastime for someone trying to survive in this harsh world.

“You are right, Emir of Valensha. But we cannot spend our entire lives indulging in sentiment.”

“True enough... I am Ahmad. And you must be El Cid?”

Ricard nodded.

“Have you heard the name ‘Land of Treachery’?”

Ricard nodded again. That was what people called Valensha.

“Honorable men may not understand us, but seen another way, it is merely one way to survive. Heroes whose commands ring out like thunder, emperors who once held the entire world beneath their feet, dynasties that boasted immense power—all must eventually fade before time. What I mean is that these oranges may outlast them all. And they will give people this taste of happiness—perhaps one day even commoners, not just nobles.”

Ricard knew what Emir Ahmad meant. He understood it and found it reasonable. But it was far removed from what he sought. Those thoughts were plain enough in his expressionless face: he understood and respected it all, but had little interest himself.

So Emir Ahmad put the remaining half of the orange into his mouth and spoke as he chewed.

“Twenty thousand men, from what I hear. I made several extraordinary offers, but the sultan seems to have made up his mind already. They will arrive before this year’s wheat ripens and sweep it all away. There is no knowing how many people they will kill or how much they will plunder. I could flee. Yet I remain, because I love this city. It alone has my loyalty.”

Twenty thousand. If that meant twenty thousand fighting men alone, excluding supply units, it was a truly staggering number. A force like that could take on even the Empire. The number conveyed the strength of the sultan’s resolve: he would destroy the city rather than let someone else have it.

One might wonder why the emir had not simply stayed put instead of siding with King Santonio, but there was no knowing what complicated affairs and incidents had unfolded behind the scenes.

Yet despite clearly hearing that immense number, Ricard showed not the slightest disturbance. Emir Ahmad watched him quietly, scrutinizing him in his own way. Was he merely putting on an act, or was he truly a man equal to the task?

The combined strength of the Order of Flame and King Santonio’s army gave Ricard a little over six thousand men. Sultan Yusuf’s force outnumbered his by more than three to one.

“How far?”

That was all Ricard asked.

“They should be setting up camp by now. About two days’ ride for a lone horseman. Three or four days with an army.”

They were closer than he had expected. An immense army was practically on their doorstep. Whether Ricard considered it someone else’s problem or simply felt no fear, his expression did not change. He merely looked around the orchard and said:

“Have all this fruit picked and give it to the soldiers. If you divide them in half or so, there should be enough for every last man to have some.”

Ahmad, the emir of Valensha, gazed at him for a moment. He had expected an unreasonable demand, not one so surprisingly romantic.

“... Is that all? What about funds for the campaign?”

“Weekly wages and rewards for victory. Have them ready.”

“Is there nothing you need for yourself?”

“Hmm... Send someone to deliver this fruit to me in Adelorn once a year.”

No matter how Ahmad thought about it, it seemed strange. Ricard had not demanded beautiful women or treasures from the ancient empire. Military commanders were usually arrogant and self-centered, but he was not.

“I will be going.”

With their business apparently concluded, Ricard turned to leave the orchard. Before he left, however, he picked an entire basket of oranges to take with him. He needed some to eat himself, after all.

Outside the orchard, he told Raimund and the others what he had discussed with the emir. One knight asked, “Leaving aside their numerical advantage, can we trust him? What if we march out to fight and the emir attacks us from behind? What if he shuts the gates when we retreat?”

“We cannot fight if we worry about every little possibility. He will decide whom to side with based on who is winning anyway. So we need only think about winning.”

Ricard had never trusted Ahmad in the first place. He had merely confirmed that their interests aligned, and he considered that enough.

“Still, twenty thousand...”

“We stand a good chance if we use the terrain to our advantage,” Raimund said confidently in answer to one knight’s concern.

But just as he had when everyone took him for a braggart, Ricard offered a very different opinion.

“No. We will meet them in a pitched battle and crush them.”

“...”

They had all resolved to trust and follow Ricard, but already they were beginning to think this was a mistake. Was he so strong himself that he had no sense of how to command an army? Did he imagine everyone else was like him? Those were the worries running through their minds.

In any case, the oranges Ricard distributed to the soldiers tasted incredible. Whether they were good enough to leave a man with no regrets even if he died in battle was another matter.

Naturally, his family and friends were precious to him, but right now, the people most precious to Ricard were his soldiers. He did not work them like livestock or use them like tools. He treated them with sincere respect, as one human being to another.

It was because of what he had experienced in his previous life. Now that he commanded soldiers himself, he was also easing the bitterness of what had cut him so deeply back then. Then as now, soldiers were sinful people, but they were also pitiable. Ricard, at least, could understand their hardships.

That was what the oranges meant.