Good News (3)
"Let the head of House Lichtenauer receive His Imperial Majesty's will."
The imperial messenger stood with the Emperor's letter in his hands and cried the words at the top of his lungs. Before him, Sien sank to her knees.
In an atmosphere of the utmost solemnity and reverence, the mistress of Lichtenauer made herself ready to receive the imperial will.
"Sien, head of House Lichtenauer, receives His Imperial Majesty's will."
The moment the words left her lips, every vassal and knight assembled there — and every soldier and imperial subject besides — followed her down onto their knees.
The messenger took in the sight, then carefully unfurled the letter. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and began to read, in a voice heavy with grief, the words the Emperor had written with his own hand.
Woe, how grievous! A loyal soul of the Empire has been lost — how could We not mourn? How could We not mourn!
The moment We received word, We ought to have sent someone to offer comfort. Yet tragedy has struck the Empire in such abundance that only now can We convey Our will. We ask that the head of House Lichtenauer forgive this failing of Ours.
"I am overwhelmed by Your Majesty's grace. The head of House Lichtenauer harbors not the slightest grievance."
Sien bowed her head low and prostrated herself before the Emperor's letter.
For House Lichtenauer alone, the loss of both its former head and its heir was indeed a great tragedy. But far more terrible things had unfolded across the Empire. There were fortresses that had failed to withstand the Rifts and been swept away entirely. From the imperial court's position, it was no simple matter to dispatch condolences the instant any one person fell in battle. The Empire was only now beginning to recover from the great war of the past, and even that recovery was consumed by the work of wiping away the blood still flowing. The Emperor's messenger, it seemed, understood this all too well. He made no effort to hide the wretchedness in his heart as he continued.
Our heart is wretched, and wretched again. Even as the Empire slowly mends, the bloodshed has not ceased. We are pained. We are aggrieved. We are truly sorrowful — and yet words are all We have to give.
After much deliberation, We have resolved to send even this small token of consolation.
The Emperor's messenger pointed. Several carriages stood waiting in that direction.
With a sharp snap, the cloths covering them were swept aside, and a collective gasp rose from the crowd.
Even at a glance, the swords, spears, and weapons of every kind laid out within were superbly honed. What set them apart was that every hilt, every tassel, every fitting had been rendered in black — a mark of mourning, it seemed, to which the imperial household had given careful thought. The carriages behind those held crates stacked neatly one upon another. No one needed to open them to guess, more or less, what lay inside.
We know it is folly itself to place a material price upon your loyalty and sacrifice. And yet We would wipe away even a fraction of this misery; We would make known the grief in Our heart.
Do not refuse Us. For the Empire, and for Lichtenauer, We ask that you accept Our will.
Lest anyone take the gifts to mean that a death could be settled with gold and steel, the Emperor's letter carried a plea that it not be so misunderstood.
"I am grateful for His Imperial Majesty's will — grateful beyond measure."
Sien bowed her head once more and received the Emperor's will.
For the supreme sovereign of the Empire — the Emperor himself — to send a man so publicly and offer condolences in person for the death of a noble was almost unheard of. He might console the spirits of fallen soldiers or of ordinary imperial subjects, but toward those who were expected to bear their proper duty, he had always maintained a cold composure. That was why what was happening now could only be called extraordinary.
Continue to fight with all your strength for the Empire. Head of House Lichtenauer — We pray that you take the utmost care.
With that, the letter the Emperor had sent came to an end.
Not long after the imperial messenger departed, people from the Regram Trading Company arrived at Lichtenauer — bearing funds, of course, and all manner of goods besides, just as Sien had arranged in advance.
Smiles bloomed on the faces of Lichtenauer's vassals. Ever since the former family head had fallen in battle, and so many had died or been wounded in the days that followed, despair had been impossible to hide before the tragedies that kept coming. This was the first time in a very long while that they could set their hearts at ease and simply laugh.
"Thank goodness. Truly, truly, thank goodness."
"We were scraping the bottom of the coffers until just the other day. I hardly know what to make of this."
"My thoughts exactly. We can breathe a little easier now."
"And that isn't all. The arms His Imperial Majesty sent are remarkable. Every last piece is finer than what our knights are using now. They'll be a tremendous help to our fighting strength!"
There was perhaps no act more foolish than trying to settle a death with material compensation — and yet there was also nothing quite so certain when it came to making one's feelings known. Was this not a time when a single act of help landed harder than a hundred words? Thanks to it, the vassals could be certain once more that the imperial household truly grieved over what had happened, and that Lichtenauer was, without question, a place of importance.
And so the vassals smiled for a good long while. Only one man among them stood lost in thought, staring at nothing.
That man was Rascal, the old veteran who served as Guard Captain. By every measure, he ought to have been leaping for joy more than anyone — the Emperor and the imperial household were taking an interest in Lichtenauer, and the financial noose that had been tightening around their throats had been cut entirely. And yet Rascal offered little more than a vague nod. There was scarcely a trace of gladness in him over the day's events.
"Ah… Guard Captain?"
"Rascal, sir. Is something the matter?"
The other vassals were concerned enough to ask.
"Ah. You called for me, gentlemen."
"There's a heavy shadow on your face. If something is wrong…"
"Hm? Ah, no. It isn't that. It's only — it was all so sudden. That's all."
"Is that so? Well, none of us expected things to turn out this well, I suppose."
"Perhaps the former family head is watching over us."
"That may be — but our present family head has handled this remarkably well, too."
Praising both their former lord and their current one, the vassals renewed their vows of steadfast loyalty. Rascal smiled along with them and said that it was all very good. Inwardly, he was still in turmoil.
No. No. That cannot be. It absolutely cannot be. This is impossible. It doesn't make any sense at all.
Knight Commander Brender said it himself. That he slaughtered third-grade demonic beasts on his own. The knights testified to the same. And that wasn't all — even the Kelots, fourth-grade beasts that become as dangerous as third-grade ones when they hunt in those terrible numbers, he cut down by the dozen, alone. That means he's more formidable than most knights!
Those "most knights" all possessed at least two bands of the Chakra Disk. Chakra was not the sole absolute measure of a knight's martial power, but every skilled knight was exceptionally adept at wielding it. And yet the answer that had come out of Adel's mouth had defied all imagination. He had said, quite plainly, that he had only a single band of the disk — the one even newly minted knights could form without much difficulty. Not three. Not two. One.
Rascal's head felt ready to split from the confusion.
Does that make any sense? Then he butchered third-grade demonic beasts while barely able to use chakra at all? What in the world is that supposed to mean?
Why were knights regarded as the most vital fighting force? Simply because they fought better than common soldiers? Because their loyalty ran deep? Because they held honor dear? There were any number of reasons, but if one had to name a single one, a great many people would point to mastery of chakra.
Demonic beasts, perhaps because of that vile energy they carried, were difficult to kill with ordinary weapons. It was far better to call upon the mysterious power known as chakra. Spin the disk within the body, and one gained greater strength, greater speed — and with those, one could cut and pierce those accursed creatures all the more readily. And so, when people across the Empire thought of those who killed demonic beasts, knights were almost always the first to come to mind.
Knights were not the only ones who could use chakra, of course. But they were the ones who possessed the greatest store of knowledge in how to wield it, and from that the notion had hardened: to face a demonic beast, one needed a knight. In this age of calamity, the power called chakra was a single ray of light — something of the highest importance.
And yet Adel, who claimed he could not use that power as other knights did, was displaying martial prowess that overwhelmed those same knights several times over.
It doesn't make sense. That would mean the young man fought third-grade demonic beasts with nothing but the faintest trace of chakra — with pure swordsmanship and physical ability alone.
However fine a human body might be, the enemy was a demonic beast — a word like "monster" did not begin to cover how hideous they were. Even a fifth-grade beast could readily take on two strapping men. That was why ordinary soldiers feared them so. They were beings that human strength alone could never defeat.
Rascal stared into the distance at Adel with dazed eyes.
He would not be lying. There was no reason to, and looking at him now, he was not the sort of man who would. Nor would he be downplaying his ability out of humility. In times as chaotic as these, that kind of humility was worthless. If you were strong — if you could fight — you fought. If you were weak, you stepped back and focused on support. If he were terrified of fighting demonic beasts and scheming to avoid it, that would be another matter. But a man like that would never go out and face them alone.
"Guard Captain? Is something the matter?"
Just then, Sien came up beside him and studied Rascal's face. Even to her eyes, his expression must have looked wrong. Rascal opened his mouth in a hurry to tell his lord that it was nothing.
"Ah — my lady."
And then, all at once, a certain fact occurred to him.
"You said your Chakra Disk gained a second band this time, did you not?"
"Yes. Two bands, with my inadequate swordsmanship? I am more than grateful."
That was it. Sien handled chakra with a fluency that surpassed most knights.
Adel had said that. That he wanted to draw out that thing called chakra, just once, for himself.
The thought reached that far, and a smile touched Rascal's face.
It might not be a bad idea at all. It could be a way to keep Adel at Lichtenauer. And it could be a way for my lady to ease the guilt she carries.
Adel would give Sien the sword. Sien would give Adel chakra. If they exchanged those gifts, would it not benefit them both?
So Rascal thought, and he nodded to himself.