Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Provocation
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Meanwhile, at Baron Parker's castle.
While the staff officers of the Order of Saint Magdalena discussed their strategy late into the night.
"Pour it! Drink it!"
"Hahaha!"
Shouts, laughter, and the foul stench of alcohol filled the hall.
Scantily clad courtesans gathered in small groups, fawning over their guests. In their midst, 'Phillip the Lecher' sat with a face flushed red.
"You certainly know how to entertain me!"
"But of course, Young Lord Phillip!"
It didn't take much for Baron Parker to prepare entertainment for Phillip.
Wine and women. Even without Phillip's visit, Baron Parker's castle was always overflowing with them.
"That little brat from House Sachsen will be utterly crushed by me and my knights!"
Phillip raised his voice in a boastful tone as he gulped down wine, deliberately forgetting that he was merely a figurehead in this battle, nothing more than a stooge.
"Oh my! You're so dashing, my lord!"
"So dependable!"
"Indeed! Do you know who I am?"
The courtesans' flirtatious cries egged Phillip on, and, fueled by the alcohol, he grew even louder.
"I am the one and only son of the Empire's war hero, the Holy Sword Master, the great Count Brandenburg!"
"Besides, your opponent is just a ten-year-old brat who's still wet behind the ears!"
"Oh my, isn't he still at an age to be suckling his mother's breast?"
"It's a battle won before it has even begun!"
Baron Parker's desperate flattery, meant to curry favor, and the fawning of the courtesans felt like unshakable certainty to Phillip.
"Indeed, that's right."
—The young heir of House Sachsen is a monster that a dullard like you couldn't even hope to catch up to in a hundred years.
'A monster I couldn't catch up to in a hundred years?'
What a joke.
'No matter how much they fuss about the ducal family's prodigy, he's still just a ten-year-old brat.'
His father was far too afraid of House Sachsen's heir. And he failed to recognize his own son's true worth.
Therefore, this was an opportunity. His father would finally have to acknowledge him, and the entire Empire would sing of his glorious victory.
Just like they chattered on about that damn ducal brat!
Phillip drained his cup again.
He imagined his own name, not Dale of Sachsen, echoing from the lips of the Empire's gossips.
For Phillip, the eldest son of House Brandenburg, this was truly 'a chance to prove himself'.
***
If knights are the standard-bearers who plant the flag of victory in the enemy's camp, the flowers of war...
...then mages are more akin to tactical weapons that can turn the tide of battle.
However, a territorial war is by no means a total war aimed at the annihilation of the opposing force.
Shortly after unifying the continent, the Emperor promulgated a new imperial constitution in the Imperial Diet: the 'Golden Bull'.
Among its articles was a clause stating that mages of the 4th Circle or higher could not participate in 'disputes between lesser lords,' nor could they cast corresponding Magics of Mass Destruction.
And as long as this battle was framed as a 'dispute between mere barons,' House Sachsen could not use its famed dark magic.
A limited war, fought under countless rules and restrictions.
A fair fight where the powers of mages 4th Circle and above could not intervene, where only spears and swords would clash.
That was the Holy Sword Master's aim, and it was Dale's as well.
***
Dawn that day. A room in the lord's castle.
—Dale, a 3rd Circle mage, sat quietly in a cross-legged position.
3rd Circle.
Though a respectable mage in his own right, it was a level still insufficient to 'pull one's weight on the battlefield.'
But Dale's true terror did not come from merely running on rails laid by others.
Chilling frost and refined dark magic intertwined and combined in a two-stranded chain structure.
'It's done.'
Dale's own masterpiece, the result of long deliberation on how to combine the two attributes of water and darkness.
The double helix structure of a gene.
In this world, magic was a projection of ideology, and based on the roots of that ideology, there existed five colors and meanings.
The White Magic Tower of light (wisdom), which served the Sistine faith and called itself the 'Handmaiden of God'.
The Black Magic Tower of darkness (truth), which pursued the truth beyond death.
The Red Magic Tower of flame (power), which had become the enforcer of the Empire's zeitgeist and wielded the greatest influence on the continent.
The Blue Magic Tower of water (harmony), which maintained a strange silence amidst the Red Tower's tyranny.
The Green Magic Tower of nature (life), which rejected contact with the civilized world and valued a wild existence and primitive traditions in the Great Forest.
Although he was learning black and blue magic from Lord Black and Sephia, strictly speaking, the 'ideological roots' Dale possessed did not belong to any of the five towers.
Magic built upon the ideology and knowledge systems of his past life—another world—viewing them all coolly from a few steps away.
The one and only mage.
On a path no one had ever walked, he envisioned the scenery that would lie at its end.
Alone with himself, gazing at a sight no one had ever seen, in a world where no one else existed.
***
Early morning, before even the twilight of dawn had broken.
"*Gasp, hack!*"
"Please! We can't take any more...!"
The sounds of dying men echoed from the clearing in front of Baron Greenbelt's castle.
"Giving up already?"
"Get up, you weakling!"
"And you dare call yourselves knights of the North!"
In addition to the five hundred knights of House Sachsen who, as usual, were devoted to their training from early dawn, there were also the rabble of knights from House Greenbelt, being drilled to death under their guidance.
'Time is short, but there's a mountain of things to do.'
Furthermore, once the sun rose, the military training for the territory's conscripts could not be neglected.
Watching the scene from a distance, Dale clicked his tongue bitterly.
Even though the 'Order of Saint Magdalena' had just completed a forced march across the continent... considering the poor supply situation of a long-distance expedition, they would likely launch an offensive as soon as they recovered from the bare minimum of travel fatigue.
'A few weeks at most.'
Moreover, Baron Parker's forces were not to be taken lightly.
Baron Parker's cavalry consisted of seasoned warriors he had led since his days as a robber knight. Considering that the entire barony of Parker was essentially a band of thieves, their military discipline, at least, would be incomparable.
'Villains are better than idiots.'
Clicking his tongue again, Dale turned his head.
He turned toward the high knight and adjutant of the Night Raven Knights who served by his side.
"Lord Veil."
"Your orders, Young Lord!"
"There is a specific training regimen I wish to assign to the knights of House Greenbelt."
After explaining the details of the training from start to finish, Dale continued.
"Also, send a man to Baron Parker's territory with a message that we wish to propose negotiations."
"Negotiations...?"
At the unexpected words, Lord Veil blinked for a moment.
"I'm not trying to endure a humiliating peace."
But Dale shook his head as if to say there was no cause for concern.
"There's a face I want to see before we go into battle."
Shaking his head, Dale spoke.
He thought back to more than a decade ago, before he even had the name Dale of Sachsen.
Remembering the face of a pitiful child, broken by a father's abusive greed and obsession.
***
There is likely nothing easier in the world than for a parent to ruin their child.
In that regard, the Holy Sword Master, Count Brandenburg, was the perfect example.
'A swordsman driven mad by the desire for eugenics.'
—At the end of his recollection, Dale lifted his head.
Some time after sending a messenger to Baron Parker's domain, a table for negotiations was prepared at Dale's request.
It was at the border between the two baronies, where heavily armed knights from both sides stood in formation.
The representatives for Baron Parker's side were the 'eldest son of House Brandenburg' and a high knight who served as his aide.
The same was true for Baron Greenbelt's side.
Clear proof that this battle was, in essence, a proxy war between Lord Black and the Holy Sword Master, two great lords.
'Just as I thought.'
And after seeing them seated at the table, Dale's suspicion turned into certainty.
The count's eldest son was merely a figurehead for the sake of appearances. The one actually commanding this battle would be that high knight over there.
...
The golden epaulet worn over his surcoat was the proof. The mark of a high-ranking officer of the Order of Saint Magdalena.
"Young Lord Phillip of Brandenburg."
Dale shifted his gaze and bowed his head respectfully.
"Negotiations, after coming all this way!"
Unlike the knight beside him, who was cautiously studying Dale's intentions, Phillip, the count's eldest son, made no effort to hide his sneer.
"Looks like you've wet your pants at the thought of a 'real war,' eh, little boy?"
Dale did not answer immediately. A brief silence fell.
"Why did you agree to my offer of negotiation?"
Dale asked after the silence.
"Hah! That's because..."
And just as Phillip was about to bluster a reply to that question.
"I wasn't asking you."
Dale cut him off.
"I'm asking the real 'commander,' not the puppet put forth as this battle's stooge."
He said with a cold sneer.
"Wh-what did you say...?"
—A stooge, and the real commander.
At Dale's words, Phillip's face twisted in humiliation.
"Isn't that right?"
Leaving the humiliated Phillip behind, Dale turned his head.
"Otherwise, the great Holy Sword Master..."
He was looking not at Phillip, but at the adjutant by his side.
"...would never entrust such a critical battle to a talentless dullard."
The high knight, armed in pure white armor and a blood-red surcoat.
"...!"
Finally grasping the purpose of the negotiation, the adjutant, 'Lord Milvas,' cried out, a shock so great it felt as though the blood in his veins had turned to ice.
"Young Lord Phillip! Don't fall for his tricks!"
How could a noble family from the remote northern frontier know the inner workings of House Brandenburg?
To the Holy Sword Master, his son was a shameful secret he wished to hide, so their family matters were kept strictly confidential.
"How does it feel to not even have a shred of trust from the father you so admire?"
—But how, just how?
He couldn't understand. And right now, that wasn't the important thing.
He had been a fool to think, even for a moment, that they had proposed negotiations after realizing their disadvantage.
"The negotiations are off! Young Lord Phillip, let's return at once!"
Just as Lord Milvas urgently shot up from his seat.
"Do you even need your 'subordinate's' permission to listen to what others say?"
Seeing this, Dale sneered once more.
"To obey and swear fealty like a slave to the commands of a subordinate you are meant to lead."
As if he couldn't help but find it hilarious.
"The name of the great eldest son of House Brandenburg must be weeping."
"Young Lord Phillip, get up at once! You must not be swayed by his words!"
"Q-Quiet!"
At Lord Milvas's urging, Phillip shouted in a fit of rage, his face beet red as he snorted furiously.
As if he could not possibly obey the words of a 'subordinate he was meant to lead.'
As if he could not let things unfold exactly as Dale's taunts predicted.
Watching him, Dale paid it no mind and smiled coldly.
"At this rate, I'm getting confused about whose puppet to call you, Young Lord Phillip."
He feigned the cruelly innocent malice of a child.