Why Did You Not Betray?
“Sir Franz Meyer, tell me. Why did you employ the Scorched Earth Strategy?”
Why had I used the Scorched Earth Strategy?
The reason was, in truth, quite simple. It had been my first battle.
“As a noble, I have yet to build anything of my own.”
“I know that. This was your first campaign, was it not? What does that have to do with it?”
“Just as first impressions matter to a person, I believed a noble’s first battle matters just as much. I did not want to leave people with the impression that I was incompetent.”
That was my honest feeling, and I saw no reason to hide it.
After all, the man before me was of the same breed as myself.
“Heh heh… Hahaha!”
Andeln, the next lord of House Setia, laughed.
“Fascinating! Quite fascinating! Destroying the property of the house you belong to for the sake of your own advancement! You are a man of considerable ambition!”
Just as I thought. A man like him would fixate more on the destruction of property than on the slaughter of civilians. Or perhaps, in his mind, “property” already included human beings. To him, serfs were not people—they were assets, nothing more. That was the kind of man he was.
But Andeln was right. I did have ambition. Ambition to conquer the world. And for the sake of that ambition, I possessed the selfishness to commit massacre without hesitation. Andeln was trash, and I was of the same kind as Andeln.
“I like you. From now on, I will keep an eye on you.”
So that had been the real point all along. Andeln wanted to draw me onto his side. But he had judged it still too early for a formal recruitment.
“And you, Lucill Meyer.”
Lucill quietly bowed her head.
“I hear you are quite the prodigy?”
“It is nothing more than an undeserved empty reputation.”
“Well… that is something we shall see in time. I will keep an eye on you as well.”
Fortunately, he did not seem to take any great interest in Lucill.
Lucill was an S-class strategist with an Intelligence of 100—the strongest of her kind. Andeln, by contrast, was nothing more than an ordinary lord. I could never hand an Intelligence 100 strategist over to an ordinary lord. Of course, even without my intervention, Lucill would have handled it herself.
In any case, my first meeting with Andeln ended without incident.
The next day, at midday.
“Franz Meyer, eldest son of House Meyer, enters!”
Accompanied by noble music, the servants threw open the doors. I stepped through them into the hall.
Dozens of nobles were arrayed throughout the chamber. Some faces I recognized from the game; others I did not. The unfamiliar ones were likely extras, or characters who would die before the game’s starting point.
One of them raised a hand toward me. I knew the name well. Andeln von Setia—heir to the Ducal House of Setia, the same man I had met the day before.
I offered him a small nod of greeting and made my way to an empty seat. My place was directly before the seat of honor. Ordinarily I would never have been seated there; it seemed I was today’s guest of honor.
And the long-awaited seat of honor itself…
What eyes…
A clean-shaven bald head and a full beard—an elderly man who might almost have been taken for a monk. Yet those eyes were savage and razor-sharp. I knew this man’s name well.
Henrik von Setia. The man who switched masters three times.
A man of tremendous talent who had risen from a mere merchant to a duke in a single generation, and an icon of betrayal who had lived a life steeped in treachery. A figure who embodied the chaos of the age sat before me.
“I present myself before His Grace the Duke.”
I was tense, but I had done what needed doing, so I greeted him according to proper etiquette. He answered in a low voice.
“Sit.”
Henrik’s voice filled the hall. It was quiet, yet it overwhelmed everyone present. Perhaps it was because this was a fantasy world, but here a voice could truly carry killing intent or mana. The effect of that voice differed completely depending on the speaker’s nature. And Henrik’s voice was the color of blood. A faint chill ran through me, but I showed nothing and took my seat before him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I hear you distinguished yourself in battle.”
“I merely did what needed to be done, however meager the result.”
“Killing the people of your own domain cannot have been an easy choice.”
“It was not easy. But had I protected my people, I would have failed to protect my lord.”
“So it was simply what had to be done, then.”
“Yes.”
A smile spread across his face. Or was that truly a smile? There was little point in a human trying to read the expression of a predator—unless one had studied such beasts professionally. I could not be certain whether he was truly smiling.
“Why did you not betray?”
The question came suddenly. Yet I knew instinctively. The earlier questions had been decoys. This was the real one. What he truly wanted to ask was not “Why did you use the Scorched Earth Strategy?” but “Why did you not betray?” And of course he would—the man asking the question had lived a life paved with betrayal.
Yes. I could have betrayed my lord at any moment. Our domain sat astride the path of Kruzenstein’s detachment. Had we chosen to side with them, simply supplying them with provisions would have inflicted catastrophic damage on our lord while making us the architects of the enemy’s victory—and we would have reaped rich rewards for it.
Yet I had not betrayed. Henrik was asking about that. It would have been the perfect chance for advancement. Why did you throw away that chance and keep faith instead?
Two choices lay before me. One: spout pleasant words about loyalty, chivalry, and virtue. Two: speak the truth.
Which is the correct answer?
I closed my mouth for a moment and considered. Keeping one’s lord waiting was not good, but speaking rashly was far worse. So I kept silent a little longer, careful not to open my mouth carelessly. Then I reached my conclusion.
“I judged that it was not the right time.”
I would speak honestly. It was not yet the time for betrayal. It had been my first campaign. As a noble I had built nothing yet. To leap into betrayal under those circumstances would have invited people to point and say, “That one was born to betray from the very root.”
If the day ever came when I did betray, it would be only after I had accumulated sufficient reputation and career. Only then would the damage to my image from the betrayal be relatively light. That was my true heart.
At my answer, a chill seemed to settle over the hall, leaving it utterly silent. Small wonder—it had been that bold and that honest a reply.
Henrik rose from his seat. Several people flinched. They must have thought he might kill me then and there. After all, saying “It is not yet the time to betray” was not so different from saying “When the time comes, I will betray.” No one would have found it strange if he had simply cut off my head on the spot as a future traitor.
But Henrik did not reach for a sword. He made no move to take my head. He simply rose calmly and, accompanied by his attendants, walked out of the banquet hall. As he passed beside me, he spoke in a low voice.
“Had it been me, I would not have waited for the right time.”
I honestly found myself admiring those words. It meant that Henrik would have pursued pure profit without the slightest regard for his own image. In that single sentence, one could read the entire life of Henrik von Setia.
He was a predator. A beast that never let an opportunity slip once it appeared. Fundamentally a different breed of human from an ordinary man like me.
Was speaking honestly the right answer?
Henrik was of common birth. He despised empty formalities and hated hypocrisy. He was the sort of man who would openly declare that evil was better than hypocrisy.
That was why I had decided to speak frankly, and it seemed to have been the correct choice—at least he had neither killed me nor even rebuked me.
After Henrik left the banquet hall, the gathering was led by his son Andeln. There was a reason Henrik had departed so early. By letting his heir take charge of the banquet, he intended to shift the structure of power naturally from himself to his son.
Andeln introduced me in turn to his subordinates. Endia, Ost, Gisel, Plea—the heirs of the four great houses that governed the Duchy of Torgenberg.
Our own House Meyer was also a powerful family, yet it was not counted among the Four Great Houses. That was only natural: the Four Great Houses represented the mainstream faction, and while House Meyer was no weaker in raw strength or prestige, it had always drawn a clear line and lived proudly apart from the mainstream.
Thus House Meyer had never been included among the Four Great Houses of Torgenberg, and it was expected that it never would be.
But before long the head of the house would change. Georg von Meyer, current lord of House Meyer, was in poor health, and his heir had already demonstrated competence by winning his very first battle.
Under those circumstances, it was hardly surprising that Andeln, the next duke, would try to draw me onto his side.
“Franz Meyer. Accept a cup. This is the reward I bestow for your service in the recent battle.”
Andeln poured wine for me. I received the cup with proper deference and accepted the wine from his hand. The moment I drank—
Bitter.
In my original world I had never liked alcohol. No—I had disliked it beyond mere indifference. Every time I had ever drunk in my life had been because I was swept along by the atmosphere; I had never once drunk of my own free will.
What pleasure do people find in drinking this?
When I finished the cup and my face twisted, someone spoke.
“Can’t even drink wine properly? Still as pathetic as ever, Franz Meyer.”
The one who suddenly called me pathetic and picked a fight… who was that again? The heir of House Endia? One of the noble brats, at any rate.