Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: A Lord's Pilgrimage
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* * *
Lord Black and the Holy Sword Master. A proxy war between two great lords, fought in the name of mere barons.
The battle of that day, dubbed the ‘Battle of Black and White’, spread like wildfire.
Sometime later, the story, exaggerated as it passed from person to person, had become excellent propaganda, something not even Dale had intended.
At a young age, he had slaughtered enemy knights on the front lines, deployed an encirclement with heaven-sent strategy to lead his forces to a resounding victory… and in the end, he showed not a shred of mercy to the enemies crying for their lives.
A mountain of corpses that a flock of crows couldn't diminish even after pecking for a week straight, a sea of blood overflowing like a flood.
That was the great victory and cruelty of the ‘Black Prince’ that the people of the empire gossiped about.
A tale of valor, embellished with a mix of truth and lies tailored to taste.
The son of Lord Black, the Black Prince.
‘Like father, like son.’
This was not unrelated to how Dale’s father had become the object of fear he was today.
People's stories always tend to be exaggerated.
After all, the tale of Lord Black's son ruthlessly executing surrendered enemies seemed far more plausible than the dull truth of an entire unit being annihilated thanks to an incompetent commander.
* * *
“I have a gift for you on your eleventh birthday.”
Sometime later, in Duke Sachsen's office.
With Dale's birthday approaching, his father, Lord Black, spoke.
“Soon, at the official ceremony celebrating your birthday, I will appoint you Viscount of the Duchy of Sachsen.”
“…!”
It was a birthday gift truly befitting a silver spoon.
“From then on, as the ‘delegate commissioned by Duke Sachsen,’ you will assist me and govern the affairs of the duchy, both great and small.”
Strictly speaking, a viscount was not a ‘true noble’ like a count or a baron. They did not possess their own fiefdoms but were closer to honorary nobles, appointed by their lord to exercise authority as a delegate in his lands.
“When necessary, as the ‘Duke's Delegate,’ you may summon the knights of House Sachsen and demand they fulfill their duties, including military service.”
But not all viscounts were created equal.
Becoming the delegate of a mere count versus becoming the delegate of a great lord like Duke Sachsen—the difference was like heaven and earth.
Moreover, Dale was the heir who would inherit this duchy. Therefore, what Lord Black promised Dale was something that could not be compared to a few random fiefs or titles combined.
“Thank you, Father.”
Dale bowed his head once more, showing his respects.
Lord Black's promise to respect him as an equal head of the family in leading House Sachsen. He had kept his promise.
“And since you have said so, Father…”
Thus, based on that promise, Dale spoke.
“This may be rather sudden, but there is something I wish to undertake as Your Grace's delegate.”
* * *
A short while later.
Dale celebrated his eleventh birthday and was enfeoffed with the title of Viscount, assisting Duke Sachsen in the name of his father, Lord Black.
Around that time, a letter was delivered to the Church, stating that the Black Prince of House Sachsen was preparing for a ‘pilgrimage’ to the land of the Goddess.
* * *
“You intend to go on a pilgrimage to the Papal State of Sistina?”
That day, at the unexpected words, Lord Black momentarily doubted his own ears.
“That is correct.”
The Papal State of Sistina. In the past, it was known as the ‘Theocracy,’ the heartland of the Goddess's faith that proclaimed itself the pillar of belief, and the place where the White Magic Tower, which called itself the handmaiden of the gods, was located.
“People say that in the battle that day, the Black Prince showed a cruelty that spared not a single prisoner.”
Dale continued.
“Knights armed with the faith of the Goddess became victims of my cruelty. The Church would not look upon this favorably.”
It was well known that the Holy Sword Master and the Order of Saint Magdalena proclaimed themselves standard-bearers of the Goddess's faith, just as their names suggested.
And those standard-bearers of faith were annihilated, forming a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. The result of that day was the very infamy of the Black Prince's brutality that gossips chattered about.
The outcome of the Battle of Black and White was a disastrous defeat that could only be described as such. As Dale said, it was a truth the Church would hardly welcome.
“Fear is a great asset, exchangeable for nothing.”
Nevertheless, Duke Sachsen asked back, as if he couldn't understand.
“Do you intend to deny your own infamy and curry favor with the Church?”
“They are a power worth enduring that much for.”
Dale nodded without hesitation.
“As long as the eldest son of House Sachsen and the ‘Duke's Delegate’ sets out on a pilgrimage on his own two feet to seek the gods' forgiveness…”
He nodded, then continued.
“The Church, too, will surely show sincerity in return.”
“Do you have something else in mind?”
To Lord Black's question, Dale nodded without hesitation.
“I intend to make them an offer they can't refuse.”
Along with a few ‘forbidden grimoires’ I hope to acquire there.
* * *
The border between the Barony of Greenbelt and the Barony of Pucker, where the Battle of Black and White had once unfolded.
The place where the region known as the northern part of the empire finally ended, and the central territories, beyond Duke Sachsen's influence, began.
It wasn't only the count's knights who had experienced an irreversible defeat in that day's battle. The robber knight, Baron Pucker, who had lucked into his noble title, was no exception.
He had lost most of the trusted subordinates who had been with him since his mercenary days, and the baron himself had to be released after paying a hefty ransom to House Sachsen. The castle was dry of wine and women, and in his scorched fief, there was not a drop of blood left to squeeze from the people.
For that reason, there was only one thing for the now-destitute Baron Pucker to do.
Robbery.
Befitting a villain renowned as a robber knight since his youth, shaking down those who passed through his lands was a time-honored industry in the Barony of Pucker.
—That day was no different.
Just then, a group of travelers fearlessly entered the barony, and the baron's man, having spotted his prey, shouted.
“Fire!”
A few arrows split the air, breaking the silence. From the hills perfect for an ambush, from the front and back of the road the travelers were on, from all sides.
*Hee-hing!*
At the sudden ambush, the travelers' horses began to stir restlessly.
“How dare you try to pass through Lord Pucker's lands without permission!”
As Baron Pucker's band of robbers surrounded the area, a robed traveler stepped forward as a representative and spoke.
“What is it that you want?”
The voice was incredibly young and boyish.
“Isn't it common sense to pay a toll to pass through a nobleman's lands!”
“…I understand.”
But despite the robber's threat, the traveler nodded as if it were nothing surprising.
*Clink.*
He took out a heavy pouch of coins from within his robes.
“As it happens, I have prepared a small sum for the toll.”
“Right, it seems you know a thing or two.”
The baron's man approached with a satisfied smile. He snatched the pouch from the traveler's hand, checked its contents, and nodded. The amount was quite large.
“Good, seeing your sincerity, I'll make a special exception and let you pass!”
As one robber shouted as if bestowing a great favor, the rest of them obediently backed away.
They exchanged meaningful glances, unable to hide their sordid smiles and snickers.
A few hours later.
As dusk settled over the western mountains, before the travelers had even crossed a single hill.
The same band of robbers appeared before them once more. This time, their numbers had swelled to a scale incomparable to before.
“Halt!”
The leader of the robbers, Baron Pucker himself, had joined them, leading his few remaining knights.
“It is the procession of Lord Pucker!”
“Show your respects before the Lord Baron!”
“How dare you try to pass through my lands without paying the toll!”
Their armor was all faded and rusted, so cheap that calling it so would be an insult compared to that of the Night Raven Knights. However, it was more than sufficient for dealing with a mere group of travelers.
“A toll, you say?”
The same traveler spoke to Baron Pucker.
“We paid the price to your subordinate just a little while ago.”
He said it calmly, as if he couldn't understand.
“According to imperial law, is it not illegal to collect a toll more than once in a single fief?”
“Paid the price? What kind of nonsense are you spouting in broad daylight!”
The baron's man cackled and raised his voice.
“We've only just met, haven't we!”
“That's right, we are men who abide by the laws of the empire more than anyone!”
As if they had no memory of the encounter from just a few hours before. The band of robbers burst into mocking laughter once again.
This world was fraught with threats on all sides, and the term ‘rule of law’ did not carry a very reassuring ring.
The law is distant, but the sword is near. This was that kind of world.
“Do you know who this Lord Baron is?”
“The one who fought a bloody battle against the infamous ‘Black Prince’ without yielding an inch…!”
“Aye, that's right! He is the veteran hero who survived to the very end of the famous Battle of Black and White, Lord Pucker!”
“If you value your life, hand over your possessions obediently!”
However.
‘…Huh?’
Behind his men's blustering boasts, Baron Pucker swallowed hard, feeling an inexplicable sense of unease.
‘N-No way.’
The Black Prince, the battlefield of that day, the familiar child's voice. It couldn't be.
“A veteran hero, you say.”
The traveler with the boyish voice continued, lifting the deep hood he wore.
“That's quite different from what I remember.”
At the sight of the eleven-year-old boy's youthful face, Baron Pucker's expression turned deathly pale.
“Ah, ahhh…”
By then, the other travelers had dismounted and drawn the swords at their waists.
“Your orders, my lord.”
Each of them wreathed their blades in the jet-black aura blade that symbolized the Night Raven Knights.
How could he ever forget? It was the very same aura blade that had mercilessly slaughtered Baron Pucker's soldiers on the left flank of the battlefield that day.
Not the sword of a mere traveler desperate to protect himself, but the merciless black sword of House Sachsen.
It was the return of a nightmare he could never forget, no matter how much he wanted to.