From the Baptism of Fire (4)
Even in my childhood, there was one nagging question about my memories from my previous life. Game knowledge and study materials remained vivid, yet recollections of family or daily life had all but faded. The hazy remnant of blowing out birthday candles was about all I had left.
That mystery unraveled naturally as I grew up here as "Werner, the eldest son of Baron Hebel."
If the things I remembered were precisely those that thrilled and delighted me... then perhaps the forgotten ones were simply those I had no desire to recall.
That must have been why, despite my past-life memories, I accepted my father and mother as family with so little resistance.
"The orcs have rebelled...!"
"Taxes too high? It's been less than three years since His Majesty's envoy passed through! How can they just overturn a negotiated settlement on a whim?!"
"...It seems a faction within the Benet clan was dissatisfied with the negotiations. And their current representative head, Siemobit, is still new to the role. The former head was ousted, so the displaced side is probably pushing things to extremes on purpose."
"...So the orc bastards are using us for their internal power struggle? Hah, those brutes have learned a lot from the Empire. Sly devils."
This was the frontier, a world teeming with other races, yet dominated by the Empire's brute force. I'd long understood that unrest was inevitable.
"Werner. You must protect your mother."
My father—only a bit older than my past-life self—left those words with a smile and never returned.
Soon after, I heard that one of the orc clan heads who raided the Ruticia Margraviate had made a drinking goblet from my father's skull.
Mother fainted upon hearing it, but while I grieved, I could at least comprehend it. I'd once read that orcs honored fallen warriors by turning their skulls into goblets.
Still, my small hand turned deathly pale that day, red tears dripping until I had to bind it in cloth.
"The orcs are almost upon us!"
"When will the margrave send reinforcements?! Our lands are falling one by one!"
"The orcs' scheme has pinned down our main forces along the border...!"
Putting the pieces together later, a dissatisfied faction in the Benet clan had stirred up their allied clans under the pretext of taxes to spark war and seize power. But the Benets had no intention of full-scale battle, focusing only on defense against the margraviate's punitive forces.
Exploiting that gap, the Sorbs and Vends—hired as mercenaries—struck deep. With the Benets pulling strings from behind, they rampaged unchecked, turning the Ruticia Margraviate upside down.
Our modest barony, poor but perfectly positioned as a staging point on their invasion route, was no exception.
"They say they'll accept our surrender if we hand over a special hostage..."
"...A special hostage?"
"It's... the orcs are demanding Lady Hebel come herself."
"......"
"And when orcs demand a woman as hostage, it's usually for..."
Plunder marriage. The steward who went as envoy trailed off, but their custom was infamous. Especially since one of them had killed Father and made a goblet from his skull.
Mother would sooner die than yield her body to such a monster.
"......Tell them I'll prepare."
"Mother?"
"......But at least make them swear on their lives not to lay a finger on my son."
"......"
Thus spoke my mother, not yet thirty. Her words mingled with Father's dying command to protect her, thundering in my mind like the legends of Germanicus or Saint Olga.
And in that flash, I realized I wasn't powerless.
What followed was swift.
Rage, despair, reason, tears, regret, longing, childish omnipotence, knowledge, vengeance, the lingering sting in my small palm, and duty.
Following that fire within, I convinced our people to let the orc clan heads into the castle.
I had them host a feast to get the orcs drunk.
And as the liquor took hold and their eyes grew hazy, I locked the doors and set the blaze.
...The screams of the roasting orcs ignited sparks that singed a few strands of my hair—a memory still vivid.
'...If we'd done this to you, you'd call it a cunning masterstroke.'
History proves it time and again. What we do is clever and shrewd; what the enemy does is vile and cruel.
So this was mere retribution. The price for touching my family.
...If only I'd believed that, how easy it would have been.
"......Wheek...!"
The stench of barbecued orc flesh was so vile I emptied my guts completely.
Looking back, that day marked my true start in this world.
A baptism of sorts.
Only with fire and smoke, not oil and holy water.
"Feeling better?"
A day later, after class, Margrave Albert von Beletia—who'd given me space—called me aside cautiously. Perhaps my daze had shown.
I answered hastily.
"No reason I wouldn't be."
"Overthinking gives you headaches. That's how it looks to me, at least."
"Haha..."
I forced a wry smile and pulled out a thin sheet of papyrus instead. I still had yesterday's makeup assignment.
It doubled as proof I was fine, but our margrave seemed overly worried.
"About that mock battle promise you made on impulse yesterday."
"Yes."
"If it's too much, I'll handle it for you. What do you say?"
For him to offer first meant his concern ran deep.
"......Frankly, I should be the one worrying about you there."
"True, but..."
"They might seize the chance to demand something. What starts as personal could drag in my lord and blow up."
"But the imperial princess smoothed it over, and we had no reason for a mock battle to begin with."
He had a point. It stemmed from petty bickering... which I could've avoided by holding my tongue. Not even productive talk—just circling to rile each other.
"......The ideal fix would be mutual apologies. Darko to us, me to him. No more anger needed."
"Sure. But things rarely go ideally."
Albert von Beletia, Margrave of Ruticia, crossed his arms.
"Not to speak ill, but the topic you provoked is too grave for my apology to cover. He's staked his clan's pride; I've staked my domain's honor."
...Yes. That was the crux.
No simple apologies anymore.
Darko had cried out his clan's and kin's unjust deaths before his crew, so the margrave had to justify it somehow.
Once personal became political, no half-measures.
Especially when that "justification" looked utterly base to any onlooker.
Luring the enemy leaders under false pretenses, then assassinating them. A breach of guest right and diplomacy alike, however the motive arose.
No brushing it off lightly.
Our margrave might think himself flexible enough, but yielding would shake the domain's stability.
He knew that.
And.
"Even if an apology's needed, it shouldn't fall to my lord."
I remember it well: the margrave's knights who saved our barony from the orc remnants after their heads fell into chaos.
And this man—not yet margrave then—who urged them to bring every last soldier for the rescue.
I'd already sensed he'd blurred blame to shield himself from suspicion.
So he needn't anymore, and I could dodge my duty no longer.
"When a vassal starts trouble, his first duty is to handle it without tarnishing his lord's face... And it's my mess to clean."
"If you're that set, I can't stop you."
Not much "cleaning" possible, but I'd resolve this somehow.
It was my rashness that sparked it, after all.
"Don't worry. I've thought this through this time."
I grinned, showing him the papyrus scrawled thickly.
Our princess's pretty script spelling out, 'This isn't half-assed, right?'
I vowed.
"I won't lose, and it won't cost you face."
With minds somewhat settled, the margrave and I headed to the arena at the appointed time.
Darko waited with his crew, faces sour. A few onlookers had gathered, sensing the vibe.
'No princess.'
She'd claimed busyness and hadn't shown—despite brokering it herself.
"You're here."
"Yes."
Curt greetings exchanged, I looked up at the towering orc.
Still imposing as ever.
I met his gaze.
"This stays between you and me, right, Senior?"
"Hmph."
"Can't do a real duel, but this counts as one, doesn't it?"
"So, what's your point?"
"Keep it personal. Whatever we wager or demand."
A day had cooled heads enough for reason.
"......Not hard. If I win, you apologize. Objections?"
"None. Same if I win."
"Good. No loose tongues—straightforward. Environment on your terms, per rules."
"Thanks."
Facing the man ignorant of the full truth, I shook my head slowly.
What would he do if he knew I was the true culprit behind his burning rage?
No certainty there, but first, tie up the surface matter.
I peered into the crystal screen and reached toward the surging text.