Chapter 81 - Even If You Win, I Can’t Return the Armor

Hasra—the city they had once slipped out of under cover of darkness like petty thieves. Entering it in broad daylight like conquering heroes stirred a remarkably complicated mix of feelings.

“Back at last.”

“Yeah...”

On this final day, as they entered Hasra, Shan was with Sherin’s contingent rather than at the duke’s side, allowing him to share those sentiments with Roden.

The enormous gates rumbled open. Surprisingly, at first glance, little seemed to have changed inside the city. Was that because the last time he had seen it, the princes’ civil war had already left it in shambles? Compared with its former splendor, the people’s clothes, the streets—everything—were filthy and shabby. Even so, he found himself thinking it wasn’t so bad.

‘Maybe things outside are so horrific that this hardly seems worth worrying about...’

The thought occurred to Shan as he rode Arwin between the lines of people.

Those looking up at him showed neither their former awe for the winner of the joust nor hatred for an enemy knight. There was only a desperate wish for someone—anyone—to put an end to this situation.

A little later, Prince Conrad emerged from among those exhausted, weary people. His hair, which had only been thinning slightly at the royal banquet, was now more than half gone, leaving his scalp gleaming. Beside him stood Marquis Abel and the other knights and nobles of Conrad’s faction, fully armed. Their fierce stares made it seem as though they were greeting enemies rather than reinforcements.

“You’re here.”

“Yes.”

The half siblings’ first exchange in years was colder than one between strangers. They regarded each other with contempt until Conrad spoke first.

“I had heard, but you really have covered your entire army in the products of sin. Do you not fear the Goddess’s punishment?”

“You never complained about the royal knights enchanting their weapons and armor when Father was well. Why start now? Besides, everything your knights are wearing and using is an Altoan relic.”

As she said, the armor Conrad’s knights wore and the swords at their sides were all magical devices from the old Alto era. Such equipment was possible only because he had emptied the royal storehouses and distributed their contents for the war.

“Using Altoan relics is merely taking spoils from the defeated. Your techniques are another matter. I hear the Holy See has already declared them forbidden. An announcement of your excommunication will follow soon.”

“Make yourself clear. Did you invite me here to pick another fight over my magic, or because you have no hope of surviving Elvin on your own? If it’s the former, I’m leaving. Though I’ll still collect the cost of the journey here and back.”

The question struck a vulnerable spot, leaving Conrad with no answer. At last, he shut his mouth. Behind him, his supporters’ faces twisted hideously with rage. To these devout followers of the Old Faith, a mage—and a mere woman, at that—had no right to talk back to a man like that. Had Sherin not been a princess, and had she not brought an army capable of threatening even them, they would have dragged her from her horse and beaten her on the spot.

“Let us move on to business.”

“My terms?”

“Everything is ready. Ten wagonloads. I’ll hand over half in advance.”

In return for her help, Sherin had demanded the vast stock of magic stones kept in Hasra’s royal storehouses. Pendia had long been the leading producer of magic stones, exporting its surplus to other countries, while the capital bought up suitable quantities to regulate supply. If all the stones accumulated through that process fell into Sherin’s hands, she would naturally soon be mass-producing even more powerful magical devices.

It was a price Conrad should never have paid, whether for religious or practical reasons, but he had nothing left with which to refuse. Blessed Pales already far outstripped civil-war-ravaged Hasra in productive capacity.

“Good. I’ll check the quantities in due course.”

“I would like to confirm my payment as well, Prince.”

“Duke Morayen...”

As Duke Morayen leaned in beside them, Conrad ground his teeth audibly. He had rescued this beaten dog and unleashed him to keep Sherin in check, only for the man to stab him in the back and settle down in his country. And now he had the gall to act like this! Yet Conrad’s present circumstances did not even permit him to rebuke the duke. With a deep sigh, he regained his composure and answered.

“I swear in the Goddess’s name to grant you rule over the Sengel Plains, Kobia Valley, and eastern Solod for one year. The local lords have agreed as well.”

They would need to draw up a separate contract later, but with the promise made so publicly, the verbal agreement was as good as binding.

Duke Morayen smiled.

“Excellent! I appreciate a clean arrangement. Now, shall we get down to business? How far has Elvin’s army come?”

“Mount Shakhtar.”

“Oh dear, practically on our doorstep! That puts them less than three days from Hasra. Any later and we might have been in trouble.”

Mount Shakhtar was a short mountain range south of Hasra. Its enormous gold deposits had earned it a reputation as the King of Pendia’s purse, though by the present day, the veins were nearly exhausted and the area had fallen into decline.

“His army is estimated at roughly ten thousand. More than half are, of course, conscripts gathered from southern Pendia and traitors from the central regions. The rest, however, are elite troops of Luman’s royal family and mercenary companies from all over.”

“Such as the elephants?”

“Yes. And those aren’t all. From masked heathen legions out of the Republic of Selim to Horace’s half-horse archers, you might as well say every impious band in the world has come.”

At the mention of Horace’s half-horse archers, Shan, who had been listening quietly behind Sherin, marveled inwardly. The finest horse archers in the Arman Alliance, trained in Horace, that land of western grasslands... To think the day would come when he would face those beings he had only heard about.

“Hmm. I see...”

Sherin and Duke Morayen exchanged a glance and nodded. This differed little from the intelligence they had already gathered.

From what they had confirmed after entering the city, Conrad had roughly eight thousand troops. Although it was uncertain, no more than one or two thousand of them were likely to be seasoned soldiers. With Sherin’s and Duke Morayen’s reinforcements, they seemed capable of holding their own against the enemy. The real uncertainty was how well they could fight together as a beast with three heads.

* * *

Agreeing to discuss the details after settling their troops, Duke Morayen and Sherin each occupied a district of Hasra and let their armies rest. Once home to over a hundred thousand people, the great city had no shortage of empty houses, for many inhabitants had fled this center of the war.

Sherin chose the Wievers family mansion as her own headquarters. Count Pales’s mansion, which she had once used as a villa, had been reduced to ruins during the fighting in the capital several years earlier. This mansion, which had changed hands a few times since its household fled in the night, was at least more habitable.

“Damn those bastards! They’ve made a filthy mess of it.”

Inside the mansion, Roden grumbled as he personally hurled a heap of ruined fabric out of a room.

The mercenary captain who had taken over the place had turned it into a veritable brothel. When Roden kicked him out, several naked whores had scurried after the fleeing man. The mansion, once kept spotless by the servants under the fastidious Kalion, now reeked of cheap perfume.

Shan, who had first experienced all manner of life’s pleasures here, was equally displeased. It felt as though a place precious to his memories had been defiled.

“I wish I could pick up the whole mansion, dunk it in the river, then take it to Pales.”

“It’d be quicker for us to conquer Hasra.”

Roden chuckled as he answered.

Heading off to clean the next room, he noticed Shan walking away.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To guard Her Highness.”

Leaving Roden, Shan went to see Sherin, who had claimed one of the cleaner bedrooms on the pretext of resting.

“Thank you for your efforts, Sir Ravana.”

“It was nothing.”

The rabbit-eared knight, who had been guarding Sherin, nodded at his greeting and left the room. She had already been told to switch places with Shan in situations like this.

Seated in a chair with her eyes shut as though asleep, Sherin was already spreading her consciousness throughout Hasra. Her powerful soul inhabited spiders with similar spiritual wavelengths, taking over their eyes and ears and subduing their minds. In this state, she could not use all their eyes and ears at once, but she could shift her vision anywhere the instant she wished.

Inhabiting the spiders, Sherin quickly surveyed Hasra before turning her attention to the royal palace. She explored the familiar buildings and corridors she had seen thousands of times since childhood, watching the people within and eavesdropping on their conversations. Several dozen minutes later, she withdrew her vision, opened her eyes, and spoke to Shan, who stood across from her.

“He’s not quite the idiot I thought. All the secret passages into the palace have been blocked. He must have done quite a bit of investigating.”

The story of Shan rescuing Sherin from imprisonment in the palace was fairly widespread. Naturally, people were bound to suspect they had used a secret passage. They had even left clear traces behind in places such as the Blue Palace’s tower.

“A pity. After winning the battle, we could have ended everything by sneaking in at night and cutting off Conrad’s head.”

“Do that and history really will remember me as a worse tyrant than my father.”

A queen who took the throne by ordering her knight to assassinate her brother—that would be tantamount to abandoning any hope of recognition from the nobility. Sherin chuckled and shook her head.

At any rate, Conrad did not appear to be concealing any secret scheme against them for the moment. In his conversations with his confidants, she had found neither the urgency of preparing for an imminent clash nor discussion of one. In fact, they were wary of Sherin launching a surprise attack with Shan at the fore, though they dared not discuss it openly for fear of Marquis Abel’s reaction.

“There is something bothering me, though. My sister Cassia isn’t here.”

“Your sister... Oh, the eldest princess?”

“That’s right.”

Conrad’s only full sibling, the girl hailed as the Jewel of Pendia—or rather, woman, since she had come of age several years ago. Sherin could not guess why Cassia had not remained here.

“I’ll be seeing him shortly anyway, so I’ll ask. Though I don’t know whether he’ll answer.”

* * *

Around sunset, five wagons sent by Conrad arrived outside the mansion. Laden with magic stones, they were payment for fighting here as mercenaries. After ordering two knights and some soldiers to guard them, Sherin set off for the palace with her retainers and a portion of her elite troops.

They met Duke Morayen along the way and entered the palace together with due ceremony before proceeding to the banquet hall. Of course, with Elvin’s army only days away, they were not holding an actual banquet. However much they wished to uphold their prestige, that would have earned them accusations of stupidity first.

With everyone from Conrad, Sherin, and Duke Morayen downward wearing armor and carrying weapons, the gathering was closer to a war council than a banquet. They observed the customs of hospitality with a little food and wine, then discussed how to confront the enemy.

“We have no hope of defeating the elephants head-on. Even if a highly skilled knight lands a perfect lance charge, he’ll simply be crushed to death.”

“One knight for one elephant doesn’t sound like such a bad trade.”

“Then you can order your knights to charge, Duke.”

“Oh dear. That would be rather inconvenient.”

Duke Morayen shrugged in response to Conrad’s sharp retort.

Sherin, who had been listening quietly, asked a question.

“I hear elephants are rather timid. How do they react to arrows flying at their faces?”

“They don’t flinch. I even saw one charge with arrows in both eyes, weeping blood. It crushed dozens of elite soldiers to death.”

Conrad’s expression darkened as he answered.

“Hmm.” Sherin tilted her head thoughtfully. “Then perhaps they’ve been given some sort of drug. If we could neutralize it from a distance, we might bring them down surprisingly easily...”

As the three leaders conversed, Shan, standing quietly behind Sherin, felt a sharp gaze upon him. Turning, he saw a young nobleman who looked to be around thirty. Like most followers of the Old Faith, the man regarded him with contempt and disgust.

“Shan Barendil.”

“That’s me. And you are?”

“Count Ronsh. Surely you won’t claim not to know me.”

Count Ronsh. After briefly searching the old library in his head, Shan reached a conclusion.

“I don’t. What do you want?”

“... The shield that hideous Altoan squire behind you is holding, and the lance your other squire carries. Both were originally treasures of my house.”

Shan looked back at the two squires behind him. The Altoan—Biko—was holding the holy relic shield Shan had taken after killing Kamad. Come to think of it, hadn’t Sherin said Kamad was Count Ronsh’s son? The man had done well to recognize it, considering Shan had erased the coat of arms and painted a new one.

“... You’re younger than I’d expected Kamad’s father to be.”

“Kamad was my younger brother! Our father, the previous Count Ronsh, died in battle!”

Apparently taking Shan’s question as a provocation, Count Ronsh flared up.

Unfazed, Shan kept his expression blank.

“So, what do you want?”

“I demand that you return Kamad’s arms, which you plundered through your vile trickery! They are treasures passed down through House Entor for generations—”

“I have no idea what you consider vile, but I fought Kamad in a fair duel, won, and claimed the spoils as the victor. That is all.”

Unless the two cavalrymen who had escaped that day had given some strange account, the count ought to have known that already. For some reason, however, Shan’s answer only seemed to agitate him further.

“Kamad could never have lost to the likes of you! He was an extraordinary man! How could a mere Altoan possibly have beaten him in a fair fight?”

His blustering, utterly oblivious to his own limitations, so closely resembled his younger brother’s that Shan could readily believe they were siblings. Shan took a step forward and tapped the sword at his waist with a finger, making it ring.

“Then why don’t you put me to the test? If you’re not confident in your own fighting skills, you’re welcome to bring every knight you command.”

Apparently a little less courageous than his younger brother, Count Ronsh flinched and backed away rather than answering.

Watching him, Shan added an “Ah,” as though something had just occurred to him.

“Just so you know, even if you win, I can’t return the armor. I was using it until recently, but it got so badly damaged that I had it melted down.”

“You son of a—!”

“That is enough.”

Just as the unintended provocation sent Count Ronsh into a frenzy, Marquis Abel, the Lord Protector, stepped between them. His ominous voice seemed to echo from deep underground, sending shudders through those nearby.

‘Oh...’

Shan studied Marquis Abel with interest. The middle-aged man, distinguished by the sword scar on one cheek, had a deeper gaze than when Shan had seen him two years earlier. His movements, too, followed the natural principles of motion more smoothly than before, suggesting he had not spent the intervening time idly.

“Royal Knight Kamad Entor fell in a fair, one-on-one duel against Shan Barendil. Those are the facts as I know them. Do you have evidence to substantiate a contrary claim, Count Ronsh?”

“L-listen to me, Lord Protector! Surely you know how skilled Kamad was!”

“I do. Which is why I also know that his defeat by this boy was only natural.”

Count Ronsh looked aghast, as though it had never occurred to him that Marquis Abel might not take his side. Ignoring him, Abel turned to Shan.

“I apologize for the count’s discourtesy. I know we could have no objection if you challenged him to a duel, but I ask that you overlook it this once. We have an important battle ahead.”

“If he apologizes, I’ll let it pass for now. Though someday I will make him pay.”

With his prowess as a knight openly insulted to his face, Shan would have been justified in challenging the count and killing every one of his knights. But as Abel said, with Elvin to fight imminently, he could not inflict a serious loss on their fighting strength. Shan therefore accepted.

Having listened in silence, Marquis Abel immediately turned his gaze on Count Ronsh.

“You heard him, Count.”

“Your Excellency, I am a noble of this kingdom, sworn to Prince Conrad! How can I bow to some lowborn Altoan...”

“I will not repeat myself. Apologize.”

Under the steady stare of those eyes, set deep in their sockets like a skull’s, the count groaned, muttered that he was sorry, and hurriedly fled. The apology, devoid of any proper formality, only made him look more pathetic. Several Altoan mercenaries attending as retainers snickered in derision.

The Old Faith nobles ground their teeth in shame and fury, but dared not show it. Marquis Abel still stood there unperturbed, and even without him, they could not bring themselves to challenge Shan to a duel.

Watching the farce in silence, Shan suddenly thought of Yurk, who had picked a similar fight and ended up with his bones shattered all over his body. He smiled. Had Yurk, now guarding the magic stones, witnessed this, he would have cried out indignantly that it was unfair.

Then Marquis Abel spoke to the silently smiling Shan.

“Come to think of it, is this the first time we’ve spoken like this?”

“Yes, Lord Protector.”

“You’ve grown a great deal taller since I last saw you.”

Their first meeting had been at the royal banquet when Shan hunted the ogre, hadn’t it? He had grown more than twenty centimeters since then, so it was hardly something Abel could miss.

“I can’t say about back then, but you certainly wouldn’t be easy to beat now.”

“I probably would have won back then, too.”

“Perhaps you would.”

A strange surge of competitive spirit had prompted Shan’s provocative remark, and he was a little surprised by how readily Marquis Abel accepted it. The Lord Protector’s eyes remained as calm as a lake, as though he took no offense whatsoever at the words of a knight more than twenty years his junior.

“I’ve kept an eye on you since I first saw you. I had hoped we might one day settle who is the strongest in the kingdom, yet somehow we find ourselves fighting on the same side.”

“So we do.”

Of course, they both knew they would have to fight each other someday. Politically, Prince Conrad and Princess Sherin were utterly irreconcilable.

“But don’t make the mistake of setting your sights on me and forgetting to look beneath your feet. You have pursuers of your own. That lanky southerner, for instance.”

“You mean Sir Lug?”

“Yes. He, too, is rising fast. He still falls short, but young people can grow at a dazzling pace.”

Over the past few years, Lug had won renown through brilliant achievements in Elvin’s service. It seemed almost impossible that he had once been passed over for important duties; now, apparently, he was Prince Elvin’s chief knight. If they met on the battlefield, Shan would get to see firsthand how far he had grown. For the Lord Protector himself to speak so highly of him, he had probably become stronger on an entirely different level.

‘I’ll capture him, then tell him to switch sides once his contract runs out.’

With that thought, Shan asked Marquis Abel which other knights in Prince Elvin’s service were strong.

They had been chatting amiably like this for some time when Shan felt an odd gaze from right beside them.

“Ugh.”

Duke Morayen was watching Shan and Marquis Abel face each other with an expression of sheer rapture—so blatantly that even Sherin and Conrad beside him looked disconcerted. The two knights exchanged a glance, then stepped apart as though by agreement, escaping that lecherous gaze.