Chapter 130 - The Last Ravnoma (3)

A place where men came to indulge base desires too shameful to confess to anyone.

Because it was such a place, unexpected accidents sometimes happened.

The men who came here often deluded themselves into thinking they could buy all of a woman with just a few faded silver coins.

"Aaagh! You crazy little brat!"

Beneath a faint lamp that seemed about to go out with a sigh, a man was screaming loudly enough to bring the brothel down.

On the neck of the woman crouched before him, clutching a child in her arms, was a palm print swollen dark blue.

If it had been even a little later, the wound might have bent something that must never be bent.

"You crazy bastard, how dare you stab me?"

In the man's shoulder blade, just out of reach, a small piece of metal was stuck, dangling there.

After flailing both arms to pull it out, the man eventually chose to vent his rage on the woman and child before him.

"...!"

The vibration rang deep, as if Vlad himself had been struck.

Even so, the reason it was bearable was probably because of the mother who was gritting her teeth and shielding her son with her entire body.

Even in the lowest and most wretched place, the shining thing called motherhood did not hesitate to wrap itself around a young boy.

The sound of rain filled the air from outside.

Even now, Vlad remembered the mother's scream ringing out with that rain.

Vlad had always been someone who wished to protect something.

But the first sword he had ever raised to protect someone had been far too small and short.

* * *

Vlad was riding Noir at the head of the group.

But the way he kept scratching the back of his head made him seem somehow uncomfortable.

"... Is that little brat still glaring at me?"

"Yes."

At the casual question, a quiet answer came back.

After hearing Stefan's reply, Vlad ended up frowning.

'What the hell is his problem?'

The last Ravnoma, rescued from the slave traders last night.

The little child named Karl was still sitting in the woman's arms, staring fixedly at Vlad's back.

"Why don't you go over and at least say hello?"

"... He's holding a knife right now."

"Not 'he.' Karl Ravnoma. The more accurate the title, the better."

It meant that he was a child of a count's house who would be useful in many ways going forward, so he should be treated carefully.

After being needlessly scolded by Marcus, Vlad cautiously turned his head and looked at the boy.

A small boy who did not even look ten years old.

The way he was held tightly in the woman's arms might have made him seem weak, but the dagger he still clutched tightly was gleaming sharply.

"It seems he liked the cloak you gave him."

"I only lent it to them to keep the rain off. I'll be taking it back anyway."

The woman and boy, riding with difficulty, were now covering themselves with a black cloak.

A cloak from the North, bought without sparing gold coins.

The cloak Oksana had given Vlad was warm, just as she had intended, and that warmth was now enough to wrap around two people who had been wandering in the most wretched place.

"In any case, treat him with care. Nothing good will come of having a bad relationship."

Handling children was a child's job.

In this place full of vicious faces, the only appearance that might put him at ease was Vlad's, so Marcus's choice of personnel was accurate.

"... Understood."

With this mission that was not a mission, Vlad turned his head again and looked at the boy.

Greenish hair, cut messily as though it had been hacked off in a hurry.

Perhaps because he had suffered harsh things, his hollow cheeks certainly made the boy look shabby, but even so, the beauty he was born with had not faded at all.

'When he grows up, he'll make quite a few women cry.'

He was a little brat who did not even look ten years old, but the former candle-seller of Rose's Smiles could be certain.

That the boy's looks would become the sort women would never leave alone.

But Vlad did not know.

That the little brat before him was thinking something similar about him.

"... Hey."

"Get lost."

The refusal flew at him like a dagger before he could even finish speaking.

It was the first thing Vlad had said after working up some courage, but the boy's chilly response only made the mood even colder.

"I didn't even say anything yet."

"Get lost. Stay away from Marta."

The dagger he waved with his short hand was not threatening at all.

But the eyes fixed on its tip were sharp.

"All right."

Meeting the woman's apologetic gaze, Vlad nodded.

Though it was not the sort of behavior one should show a benefactor, it was something he could fully understand and sympathize with.

Because Vlad knew very well that no matter how young one was, there were still things one wanted to protect.

"You're doing well."

"..."

Looking at the child bristling with thorns like a wounded hedgehog, Vlad could not help giving a bitter smile.

Still, you're better than I was.

Because in the end, you succeeded in protecting her.

That day, a thin wound had been carved into the neck of the slave trader sprawled across the bed.

Small and shallow, but clearly fatal.

The boy had aimed true, and had stopped the malice that lunged toward the woman.

It was a far better finish than what Vlad had managed as a child.

"Keep doing that from now on."

A similar sight, but a completely different result.

Looking at the boy who had stood in front of the wounded woman inside the slave trader's tent, Vlad felt a comfort he could not explain.

"Take it."

"... Huh?"

Karl had been bristling with thorns, but he could not help being flustered by the bundle of paper that came flying at him without context.

A savory smell recognizable even through the wrapping.

On top of the paper bundle was stamped the symbol of the Kannor Family.

"... What is this?"

"Eat it. That's expensive."

A sausage from the Kannor Family.

It was Vlad's praise to Karl, and also his sign of thanks.

* * *

Like the heat of the crackling campfire, the eyes of the boy sitting far away were still following Vlad.

Leaving behind a gaze that had now become obvious enough for anyone to notice, Vlad simply sat there tearing at a strip of jerky.

"It seems Karl Ravnoma is quite interested in you."

"... I gave him my cloak and even my treasured sausage."

"Well, if it was a sausage from the Kannor Family, he might well want to ask for more."

Marcus quietly nodded at Vlad's answer.

It was not simply because Vlad had given him something that he was showing this much interest, but in any case, it was not a bad relationship to build.

Marcus had thought the boy knew only how to behave prickly after living only in low places, but he still had some ability to give.

"... But can we really do it with that little brat?"

Carving off a piece of jerky with his dagger, Vlad looked past the flames of the campfire at Karl.

The last remaining Ravnoma.

A boy who might perhaps become another axis of power in the West.

But the weight that boy carried was far too heavy.

"We have to make it possible."

Behind Gaidar, there were still families who remained neutral without budging.

Some families were merely watching for an opportunity, but it was also true that there were definitely still families who followed Ravnoma.

"If we can blunt Gaidar's momentum even a little in this war, the western allied army will surely begin to waver."

War did not end with a single clash.

Peter was looking beyond the battle at Deirmar, and for that purpose, he had invested a great deal of time and money into drawing the last remaining Ravnoma out of the West.

"If a front forms in both the front and the rear, even Gaidar will find it troublesome."

He was advancing while aiming forward, but if flames rose from behind, even Gaidar could not help being flustered.

That was probably why he had been eliminating Ravnoma bloodlines all this time, to prevent such a situation before it happened.

"Now all we have to do is go back..."

The mission had succeeded, and they had even gained unexpected results.

But Marcus, chewing on the jerky Vlad had given him, only frowned.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, not exactly."

Marcus was a knight who had long operated behind Bayezid's shadows.

He had always been sent into complex, tangled situations, and he was someone who had successfully led most of his missions.

"It's just that things are going too well."

A superstition, a jinx, born from all those countless experiences.

If the beginning was good, the end was not.

"Damn."

A premonition was a sensation hard to explain in words, and it was like something accumulated through countless experiences.

Marcus's worry, built up through long experience, was absolutely not groundless, and just as his ominous premonition suggested, a crow flew in through the dark night sky.

The scent of blood wafting between the flapping of its wings made it seem unlikely that it had brought good news.

"I knew things were going too well."

A single crow had flown in covered in someone's blood.

The message that crow brought contained someone's warning, scrawled in desperate haste.

"... We stop camping here."

"Is it serious?"

The secret intelligence squad had not even received an order yet, but after grasping Marcus's mood, they swiftly began putting out the campfire first.

At their quick movements, Karl's eyes, which had only just begun to find stability, started shaking violently.

"I knew things were going too well."

The look Marcus gave Vlad began to gleam meaningfully.

Bayezid's greatest dragon driver.

And a knight of the North who had steadily built up grudges with Gaidar.

The gaze Sigmund had kept fixed on Vlad was deeper than Marcus had expected.

"It seems Gaidar's grudge against you runs deeper than I thought."

"..."

Marcus handed the bloodstained message to Vlad.

On the note he received, his own name was written alongside a designation he had never heard before.

* * *

"Have they blocked all the routes?"

"Yes, Count. We received firm confirmations from the lords through magic telegrams."

Inside the tent of the garrison, where he had been forced to settle down because of Peter's interference, Count Sigmund was quietly looking down at a map.

"Then we have cast the net for now."

A northern strike force had been stirring up the West.

It was not only Gaidar who had been thoroughly enraged by Vlad's interference.

The sabotage Vlad had carried out along the main roads near the western coast had been a blow forceful enough to provoke the anger of the surrounding lords.

"In any case, an extraordinary bastard is extraordinary indeed. He has built up grudges this quickly."

One by one, the pieces on the map began blocking the routes.

The pieces moved by Sigmund's fingertips were sealing off every road leading north, like pieces on a chessboard.

"Being too outstanding is a problem too, Vlad of Soara."

The lords of the West were moving far more actively than he had expected.

The battle results that had exceeded Vlad's expectations had now returned in the form of grudges, and they were slowly trying to tighten around his neck.

"How long until they arrive?"

"Three days."

"Good. It should be about that much."

And so, the final remaining route.

As Sigmund picked up that piece and slowly blocked the road, a deep smile began to carve itself across his face.

"Send my cavalry to that young whelp. Show the damned Bayezid the will of Gaidar."

"Understood, Count."

The final piece settled from Sigmund's fingertips.

On top of that piece stood a flag signifying the fastest cavalry in the West.

"You will have to pay the price for running wild all this time, Bayezid."

The West were those who took, not those who were taken from.

Sigmund had to show and prove that to Peter.