Chapter 82
Chapter 82
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: Cavalry Catching Cavalry Catching Cavalry (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I frowned.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The inside was truly empty.
"It's exactly as you received it."
I glanced at Igor, wondering if perhaps he'd set aside the contents separately, but that was his response.
Maybe the chest itself was the gift.
This chest, unmistakably from the eastern continent, was lavishly adorned with gold leaf and jewels, valuable in its own right just as it was.
Of course, that was just talk.
The contents were far more likely to be the real gift.
It was ridiculous.
To convey their intentions by putting nothing inside.
"This is... a remarkably elegant and refined threat."
I couldn't help but genuinely admire it.
Depending on the decision Thracia made going forward, what would fill this chest could be someone's head, a massive trove of gold and jewels, or something entirely different.
Every word, every action carried hidden meanings—it made them utterly tiresome to deal with.
Fortunately, dealing with him wasn't my role.
"I've seen enough."
As I handed the chest back, a sudden thought crossed my mind.
Thracia's king being Igor was truly a blessing.
He possessed the resolve not to cower before Hermann's might and the insight to avoid being toyed with by the insidious schemes of this guest who tested us at every opportunity.
Knowing that no one else but him sat in that seat filled me with such reassurance.
"Your Majesty. May you enjoy long life and good health."
I found myself gazing at him intently without thinking.
"...What an embarrassingly earnest look all of a sudden."
Igor wrinkled his nose.
For some reason, he didn't seem displeased.
The victory banquet continued for three more days after that.
"Oh dear. The star of the show was left all alone. Heh heh. No need, no need. We're both generals now—what's with the salute."
"Thanks to you, I could save face this time. I'll repay this debt someday, no matter what."
The Northern Army commanders attending the banquet approached one after another, acting chummy, their gazes toward me filled with goodwill.
I, too, warmly welcomed these men with whom I'd shared the front lines, shoulder to shoulder.
"Congratulations. It feels like just yesterday we met as a mere NCO, and now you're a general."
"Soon enough, we might be serving under you."
"We may have been a bit prickly in the past, but that was just us sticking to our duties—so don't hold it against us. We're all in the same boat now, aren't we?"
As I chatted at length with the Northern Army commanders, the veteran generals from headquarters sidled up, subtly extending olive branches.
They'd been itching to devour me not long ago, and now they were throwing out invitations for private meetings.
"Ah, yes. No regrets here. I only ask for your continued guidance in the future."
I brushed them off with insincere pleasantries while keeping an eye on Prince Zekezyil.
The prince was behaving himself as a guest, without overstepping.
He'd visited daily, each time bringing a chest under some pretext or another. Aside from the first day, they'd all contained proper contents.
That didn't mean I could relax, though.
"Your Majesty."
Throughout the ongoing banquet, I shuttled back and forth to the glass garden, holding private talks with Igor.
"Take a look."
Each time, he showed me the gifts from the prince.
The item inside the long chest was both unfamiliar and oddly familiar.
I recognized what it was at a glance.
"A prosthetic leg?"
"Isn't it amusing?"
Bluntly pointing out a physical defect of a king from another nation was already teetering between rudeness and outright roguery, and the implication was profoundly meaningful.
Of course, judging by General Langrid's prosthetic arm, the empire's technology was beyond doubt.
The problem was that attaching such a fine prosthetic required amputating a perfectly good(?) leg.
It was clearly a metaphor: to gain something, you must sacrifice something else.
That was the nature of most of the prince's "gifts."
Too rude to call out, too unsettling to accept graciously.
Every one balanced precariously on the line between persuasion and intimidation.
And yet, the prince still hadn't clearly stated the reason for his visit.
"...What a tiresome way to live."
Why live so exhaustingly?
Since you're here, just offer some pleasant congratulations, hand over a gift that delights the recipient, and be on your way—wouldn't that be so much better?
It didn't matter to me anyway.
Our wise, considerate, and sagacious King Igor was already making moves.
Thracia's ministers and Kazan's envoys were holding daily secret meetings on the empire's movements.
It seemed an alliance against the empire would soon be born.
Kazan, inevitably at odds with Hermann over religious issues, was a sure bet. The Malta pirates down south were still uncertain.
Whether those sea raiders still clung to their faith was anyone's guess, but they had originated from the eastern continent's expeditionary knightly order—one of the branches of the Hermann Empire's orthodox monotheistic faith.
As long as they still flew the banner of the "Holy Order of Malta Knights," we had to consider the possibility they'd side with the Hermann Empire at any moment.
Of course, Igor surely knew that much and would handle it adeptly.
The victory banquet and festival were down to their final day.
For me, who'd been hounded by crowds throughout, this was most welcome news.
Between holding my seat at the endless banquets and devising countermeasures against the Hermann Empire, even Igor seemed quietly eager for it to end.
Thus, the past three days had been more bothersome and headache-inducing than enjoyable for Igor and me—but not for everyone.
"Marriage?"
"Yes. It just sort of happened."
Captain Lamir—who'd been specially promoted—suddenly approached me at a banquet venue different from before, announcing his wedding news out of the blue.
"So suddenly? To whom?"
"A fellow Northern Army soldier, an infantry officer. We met at the banquet hall."
Lamir wasn't the only one.
Every guy I ran into had paired up.
Not long ago, their entire romantic history consisted of one-night flings with village girls or camp followers like the Tavortsi—women trailing merchants or armies—and now they were all getting married.
"You all had your fun without me, huh?"
Trembling with inexplicable anger and defeat, I watched the Bluecoats' eyes widen in surprise.
"Come on, what are you saying? You're the star of this banquet, Colonel—no, General Yannick."
"A royal palace banquet is a whole other world, right? How was it? They say the noble ladies are so refined and lovely."
"My girl told me there are tons of young ladies gunning for you, General."
Come to think of it, throughout the banquets, the young ladies had hovered around me suspiciously often.
So what?
I hadn't even had a chance to chat with them—constantly cornered by other generals, summoned to Igor, and by then the banquet was over.
"Don't tell me you spent the whole banquet hanging out only with the commanders?"
"With all those fierce-looking guys clustered together, no one dares approach."
"And you're not exactly approachable yourself, General."
The Bluecoats nagged me competitively.
"You little punks— who do you think you're lecturing? Forgot you're still tadpoles to this frog?"
These damn guys, seizing the moment to gang up on me.
"We're hardly in a position to worry about you. Who do you think you are? You'll handle it just fine."
"Lady Natasha the mage, Captain Staretzka, Lord Otto's daughter—they're all rare beauties."
"Two of them definitely seemed sweet on you, General."
With that, they wrapped up the conversation on their own and scattered like they were fleeing.
"Uh, that..."
"...?"
"The banquet's not over yet, so hang in there for this final day."
The other Bluecoats had all left, but Lamir lingered, flashing me a fist pump.
His words were clearly meant as encouragement, yet they irked me oddly.
"Go!"
"Yes, sir."
Startled, Lamir scurried off.
I had to admit it.
I was taking Lamir's words to heart.
I scanned the young ladies prowling around me with a hawk's eye, carefully maintaining a proper distance from the commanders.
"Looks like we were too clingy. Young folks should stick together. We've held on too long."
The Northern Army's eldest commander, the 9th Legion's general, led the others away with a knowing look.
Thank you.
I signaled my gratitude to the 9th Legion general with a nod and took a deep breath.
Twitch, twitch.
A determined resolve appeared on the faces of the young ladies milling about.
I waited with an open heart.
Pat.
Among them, one young lady with particularly voluminous curly hair grabbed her skirt hem and charged toward me at nearly a trot.
"Why is the star of the show all alone?"
A familiar voice made me turn.
"General Langrid."
Langrid Guldiv, dressed not in her usual drab uniform but in pristine white ceremonial garb for the occasion, stood a few paces away, looking at me.
"General? Too formal. We're both in the general ranks now."
"I'm a brigadier general, while you're a lieutenant general. How could I."
"Considering our affiliations and status, it's not that big a difference."
Congratulations on your victory and promotion.
She handed me one of the wine glasses she held.
"Even so..."
I responded appropriately and searched for the young lady from moments ago.
She'd kept her charging momentum, trotting resolutely across the banquet hall and out the door.
"Was she the one you had your eye on?"
"We didn't even exchange a word."
Thanks to someone.
"Your thorny words say you're disappointed."
Langrid snatched a wine bottle from a passing servant's tray and filled her glass to the brim. Then she topped off mine as well.
"Might be a poor substitute, but if you need a drinking buddy, just say the word."
"I swore never to drink with you again, General."
"Why? Afraid I'll eat you up?"
"......?"
"Joking. Joking. No need to get serious."
Seeing her still reveling in dad jokes made me sigh.
In the brief time chatting with her, all the noble ladies who'd been hovering had vanished.
Gulp.
In futile frustration, I downed my glass in one go.
But the emptiness remained unfilled.
"You said you'd never drink with me again."
As if waiting, Langrid refilled my glass.
"Oh, right. Johanna von Bauer."
She said it offhandedly.
"Her defection process is complete."
"Already?"
"It shouldn't have wrapped up this quickly. We secured circumstantial evidence through various channels proving she can't return to Astoria. Even without that, we've given great weight to her contributions to our victory in this war."
In truth, Johanna von Bauer had made no small contributions to our victory in the recent war.
Her testimony alone had shattered Astoria's army morale and eroded trust in their command structure.
During the battle against Astoria's main force, while I focused on Nightheart, she'd timed the second wave perfectly and even swung part of it around to annihilate the mage corps.
Had she not been a defector, she'd likely have received major commendations as the next top hero after me.
"Drop by headquarters later. Just like with the defector knights, one signature and you can take custody of her."
"Thank you for the swift action."
"What thanks between us."
"...?"
"Enjoy your youth, but in moderation. It'll wear you out."
Her dad-joke quip made me grimace again, and she chuckled.
"Anyway, good seeing you. Keep up the good work."
That seemed to be all her business; she clapped my shoulder once and walked past me out of the hall.
Left alone, I scanned the surroundings.
I swept the banquet hall repeatedly, as if searching for a conversation partner or dance companion.
"Damn. Left alone again."
I sighed in mock disappointment.
Only on the surface, that is.
It's gone.
The subtle gaze that had dogged me relentlessly during my talk with Langrid was no longer there.
"Haa."
I sighed again.
This time, it was genuine, not for show.
"Wear you out my ass. No time to even enjoy myself."
For others, this banquet was a chance to find a partner and a rosy page in their youth—but for me, it was shrouded in gray intrigue and schemes.
"His Highness the Prince says that given Thracia's astonishing victory, it would be a shame to let the banquet end like this!"
I could endure up to that point.
"His Highness the Prince says that, by happy coincidence, his knights possess minor talents perfect for livening up the festivities!"
Damn this world—it had no intention of stopping there.
"Furthermore, His Highness the Prince says that while his knights need opponents to display their skills, Thracia boasts renowned cavalry heroes across the continent! Thus, Thracia's sovereign should allow the nameless knights of Zekezyil to contribute their humble talents to the banquet!"
The moment the prince's interpreter finished speaking...
Swoosh.
Everyone in the banquet hall turned to me.
"Ha."
No wonder they'd been quiet these past few days—they were brewing this stunt.
"General Yannick."
Igor called me in a low voice.
"I leave it to your decision."
No need to think.
"Bluecoats don't shy from a fight that comes to them."
This was far more familiar territory for me.
"We're just rough field riders, though—I'm only worried we might hurt our guests."
The interpreter whispered in my ear, and the Zekezyil prince's eyes instantly sharpened.
"If that's no concern..."
That fierce glare thrilled me beyond measure.
It felt like days of pent-up indigestion dissolving at once.
"How about we make the stage even bigger?"
Emboldened, I tilted my chin up and provoked the prince directly.
It might seem a diplomatic faux pas at a glance, but the imperial folk wouldn't blame me for it.
After all, it stemmed from the teachings of their monotheistic faith, to which they adhered, and the long-held doctrines of the Hermit Convent I'd once belonged to.
No, really.
The scriptures had a verse: if someone tries to mess with your head, crack theirs.
'For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with what measure you measure, it will be measured to you.'
I do love that passage.