Chapter 223 - Through the Cracks (2)

Stale air filled the long, narrow corridor.

He should have been used to it by now, but the mansion's stench rising with the moisture was like poison to Joseph, who had to breathe.

However, just for now, Joseph was staring at the man in front of him, oblivious to the damp stench that could be felt everywhere.

"You wear death clumsily. A single breath could blow it away."

A man who had lost all his color.

But the person who had once possessed the most brilliant light of anyone was now right in front of him.

"I do not quite understand what you mean, Your Majesty."

He tried hard not to show it, but his heart couldn't help racing at the sound of Frausen's voice.

And Joseph's fiercely beating heart right now wasn't a palpitation stemming purely from a sense of crisis.

'The Founding King...'

The man who appeared in the fairy tale books his mother had read to him when he was young was right before Joseph's eyes.

The existence of a Swordmaster, which he had vaguely admired since childhood, was like an unreachable bubble to Joseph.

"... Do not call me Your Majesty."

However, the current Joseph was no longer that young child, and the man in front of him was also no longer a glorious knight.

Walking in a place so far removed from the image they had dreamed of, they merely continued to silently walk down the damp corridor.

CREAK!

The place Frausen took the imperiled Joseph was his own room.

It was a room that was incomparably spacious and well-organized compared to the rooms he had seen so far, and at least here, the stench that tormented Joseph did not seep in.

"Sit."

"Yes."

Looking at Frausen's room, which didn't have a single candle lit, Joseph finally stiffened his face as if he had come to his senses.

He had just been called over after eavesdropping on the dark mages' conversation, so it would not be strange at all no matter what happened next.

"Joseph of Bayezid. I intended to meet you at some point."

"......"

Was it because he had been in the dark for too long?

Even though it was a room without a single light, Joseph felt as if he could clearly make out Frausen in front of him.

"I heard you were the first to recruit that fellow named Vlad?"

His face was stiff and hard like a corpse.

However, whenever the name Vlad came up, something resembling an expression formed on his face.

He didn't know exactly what emotion that expression conveyed, but it definitely gave off a feeling of being slightly alive compared to earlier.

"That is correct."

"Right. Then tell me."

SSSSS.

The candle must have been a mere decoration.

Since Frausen wasn't alive, he didn't need even the slightest bit of light.

"Slowly, from the beginning. Tell me what he was like."

However, right now, Frausen struck a match himself to light the candle in the dark room.

It was likely for the guest in front of him, but Joseph couldn't help feeling that the light he saw wasn't meant for him.

"If you answer sincerely, I will pretend I didn't see this."

Seen from beyond the candlelight, Frausen was faintly smiling.

However, Joseph couldn't bring himself to smile back at him.

Because what Frausen was holding right now was the small teacup that Joseph had been painstakingly keeping hidden.

Seeing the dwarf teacup that remained completely unstained despite holding pitch-black tea all this time, Joseph had no choice but to stiffen his face.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since that gruesome battle.

The empty seats scattered about and the graves that had sprung up in equal number remained a source of sorrow, but the green palisades that had taken their place offered great comfort to the elves.

"Is your arm alright?"

And from the room Vlad was currently in, Aushrina's green palisades could be seen as well.

With the drawing the young World Tree had drawn behind him, Vlad looked down at Jager, his expression growing complicated at the sight of the bandages wrapped around his arm.

"... My arm is one thing, but right now my leg is a bit uncomfortable."

Thick layers of pure white bandages were still wrapped around Jager's left arm, where Vlad's sword had pierced through.

It was a severe injury that might prevent him from ever wielding a sword again, but Jager seemed more bothered by the chains binding his ankles than his dangling left arm.

"No."

"I haven't even said anything yet."

"Don't forget you're a prisoner right now."

To Vlad, he was a deeply connected master, but to the elves of Aushrina, he was merely an ominous man who had arrived alongside wicked beings.

Lying in bed with even his eyepatch removed, Jager nodded as if acknowledging that Vlad had a point.

"True, I wouldn't have anything to say even if they killed me right now."

Seeing Jager giggling as he said that, Vlad let out a short sigh of disbelief.

Jager's characteristic composure that could deceive opponents anytime, anywhere.

Vlad sat down, looking at the demeanor he had wanted to learn just as much as his swordsmanship.

"Now tell me. Why on earth did you do it?"

"......"

However, the momentarily relaxed atmosphere between the two began to freeze over again with those words.

Just moments ago, Vlad had been worrying about his master's injuries, but before long, a resolute gleam settled into Vlad's blue eyes as he looked at Jager.

"I'll say this in advance, but what I'm saying right now isn't a request."

Vlad's gaze grew cold, as if to say that the consideration he could offer out of simple compassion ended here.

Seeing that, Jager must have intuitively realized he could no longer hide things, and he closed his remaining eye.

"I'm sorry."

"Forget the apology. Where is that woman in black right now?"

CREAK!

A sharp sound rang out from the chair Vlad pulled closely.

That sound piercing Jager's ears also demonstrated Vlad's will not to back down easily.

"The people that woman has killed number in the hundreds just from what I know. If you include the ones I don't, it must be in the thousands."

"......"

"What makes that damn bitch truly wicked is that she only seeks out and kills the weak, like children. If she was just killing anyone like it was a war, I wouldn't have stepped up this much."

Vlad had never once thought of himself as a righteous person.

He merely firmly believed that there was a line people had to keep.

The reason Vlad hadn't lost his way even in those gutter-like back alleys was because of the minimum conscience he had fiercely guarded all along.

"... So where is that bitch right now?"

And Vlad was currently sitting here to protect that line he had drawn.

Vlad's resolve to repay as much as he had received, and to look after those he had ties with, was as steadfast as the solid palisades visible outside.

"I don't know where she is either."

"Jager."

"That bitch you speak of isn't someone who belongs 'somewhere'."

Sensing Vlad's resolve, Jager had no choice but to tell him.

It was a bit earlier than expected, but Vlad was a person who fully deserved to know the truth.

"The woman named Lamashtu lives inside memories. I'm not a mage so I don't know the details, but she hasn't set foot on this land, at least."

The woman named Lamashtu that Jager had investigated was not someone who existed in reality.

She was merely a being who had taken up residence in a bloated illusion like a bubble, occasionally surfacing like a nightmare.

"However, I can tell you a few passages to reach her. Though I don't know if they will still connect now."

But her dark bubbles, which those in charge should have cleared away long ago, had now overflowed enough to threaten reality.

"Point them out."

As Vlad calmly lifted a map, Jager raised his right arm, which was somewhat intact.

His hand trembled as he pointed out the spots on the map one by one, but neither Vlad, who wanted answers, nor Jager, who was telling the truth, said a word.

"Why aren't you asking?"

"About what?"

"About Lord Joseph."

Having pointed out the last spot he knew, Jager mumbled with dry lips to continue, but Vlad's answer did not come for a long time.

"I'm planning to go ask him myself."

"... Right."

Jager had intended to relay Lord Joseph's final message, but decided against it after hearing Vlad's words.

He thought a messenger wouldn't be necessary between the two who would meet soon anyway.

* * *

"Lord Peter. It's a report."

In an office in the city of Sturma, where the cold winter air had not yet faded.

In that place lined with as many books on the shelves as there were swords stuck in their scabbards, the advisor Ragmus came to Peter holding a few sheets of paper.

"It is said that the Gaidar Family is marching north toward the western gate."

"......"

Peter, who had been leafing through documents for a while, raised an eyebrow at Ragmus's words.

The Gaidar Family of the West, which had returned after suffering a major blow in the great battle at Deirmar a few years ago.

But now, as if they had recovered from that damage, they were raising their heads once again, attempting to sweep aside the shield of the North that was blocking the gorge.

"They're faster than expected."

"It seems there was support from the Golden Duke."

Strictly speaking, it was likely the Dragonblood Duke's ulterior motive.

The sight of Gaidar's army marching north again in step with the central forces launching from the central region was a cunning maneuver that would clearly be difficult to pull off without someone directing from behind.

"The frontline becomes too long to defend all the way to that point. We must have them retreat for now."

"How far should we withdraw our troops?"

The Orlangbar Gate fortress was held by an alliance of the seven houses of the North, but even so, it would be insufficient to repel the combined forces of the Golden Duke and the Gaidars at the same time.

Holding total authority over that region, Peter decided to retreat for now to cut down the lengthening frontline.

"To Deirmar."

Having stared at the map for a while, Peter lifted the pen he was holding and began to mark the spot where Deirmar was drawn.

Although small, Deirmar, which was close to his own city of Soara, was a good, unburdening point for the northern houses to rally.

"... And Lord Peter."

"Hmm?"

"Here. It is a report from Lord Joseph."

Peter had been on edge for a while due to the enemy's sudden advance, but he couldn't help softening his sharp expression at the note Ragmus just handed him.

"... It has been a long time."

"It contained information that important."

It was neatly folded, but the paper containing the actual report looked terribly torn, as if prepared in a hurry.

Thinking of his son's hand urgently pulling at it, Peter unfolded the folded note with a complicated expression.

"He did his best."

"Indeed."

Written in the middle of the unfolded note was his son's familiar handwriting.

It was fainter than before, but it was a handwriting he could recognize because it belonged to his blood son.

"Prepare a dispatch. Ragmus. We must inform the Iron Duke and the Orthodox Church."

Peter, who had read through the note, carefully looked at the map he was just observing and took out his pen.

"Should we not inform the Court Duke?"

"The Iron Duke will inform him. Too many dispatches must not go out from us."

Even before the dispatch sent by his poor son, Peter did not show the slightest wavering.

He merely made a cold judgment to fulfill his role as a lord and ruler.

"I cancel my previous order. We will pull the forces of the Northern Alliance back to Soara."

Along with the words he just uttered, Peter began drawing a thick X mark over the mark made on Deirmar.

Past Deirmar and all the way to Soara.

Watching Peter pull the upcoming static defensive line back as far as possible, his advisor Ragmus gave a heavy nod.

"Understood, Count."

Watching Ragmus's back as he left the office with those words, Peter finally stood up quietly from his seat.

Carefully unfolding his son's dispatch that he had just looked at, he pulled out a small book from the bookshelf behind him and gently slipped the note inside.

"... I am proud of you, Joseph."

The cover of the book Peter pulled out featured a colorful illustration that young children would likely adore.

In the old fairy tale book his second son loved so much as a child, there was an illustration of a knight charging toward a massive dragon.