The Shame of Shatren (2)

"Wow... Young Master, you've fully settled in now, haven't you?"

Mark approached the moment I finished my jog, letting out an admiring whistle as he handed me a canteen. I took it and responded with all the enthusiasm of a stone.

"Settled in, my foot. Compared to everyone else I'm still slow as molasses."

"If you put it that way... I start feeling sorry for those poor fellows."

Mark said this with a sidelong glance toward the training grounds.

"Hah! Hah!"

"Ugh, so tired...!"

"Faster! Pick up the pace! Slack off and it's two extra laps!"

My eyes landed on the ones still running laps around the training grounds, harried along by a full knight barking at them to keep moving. As their uniforms made plain, they were trainees. The murky dregs had been flushed out wholesale—apart from me, almost none of the probationers and apprentices remained. Which meant those boys were, in class terms, my juniors—the new intake.

"You may not realize it, Young Master, but those fellows were actually decent recruits even among the applicants. They'd been conditioning their bodies for a while before they even joined. So imagine how demoralizing it is to hear that from their immediate senior—the one right above them."

When the senior class is that exceptional, the juniors can't help but look underwhelming by comparison. Mark added that if his senior had been me, it would have been pure hell.

Well, I had my reasons.

Otherwise I die.

My life's on the line. That's why I push like this.

I couldn't say it out loud, so I offered him the answer only in my heart.

Hm... come to think of it, they say it's all thanks to the stats, but I have been fairly consistent, haven't I?

Watching my body—which had never once touched even light training—claw its way out of last place during the morning jogs, I thought I might genuinely be in better shape. No. In fact, I had gotten better. That had to be it.

My stats had climbed sharply compared to before. The rate at which my breath ran short with each lap had slowed, and my agility lagged less. I couldn't speak for my HP, but I no longer felt that same creaking, groaning drag from before. By every measure, I really had improved.

The ??? stat remained as baffling as ever, but I'd figured out one thing: it was far removed from anything physical.

"...Young Master. Another one of these came today."

Mark handed me a box with an expression of open discomfort. Lately, the mere sight of that box made me sick to my stomach.

Why on earth does she send this every single day without fail?

Flora kept sending them without pause, no matter how many times I told her there was no use for them. I'd told her not to come because I'd be training at the grounds, and this was her response. Honestly...

"Ahem. I'll see that this is sent back, of course. But this letter, I'm afraid, I can hardly pass along."

Mark coughed awkwardly, having clearly caught my displeasure. It had been a good while since I'd holed up here—ten full days, no less. After Arina's final tongue-lashing, I'd confined myself to the training grounds, so word eventually reaching this side was only to be expected.

Just as I predicted.

One was Claire nagging me to come home already. Another was a message from Isabella saying it was fine to return now, and that she would be the one to talk Arina around. And then there was the third.

Yet another letter from Arina, still intent on stripping me of my right to attend the conference.

"Ugh. I'll pass on sparring today. I have things to do. Actually—hold on, I won't be coming here for a few days."

"Understood, Young Master."

Still, something about moving immediately gave me pause. Mark happened to be right beside me, so I might as well ask.

"Mark. Speaking coldly and objectively—if I ran into a band of bandits or demonic beasts, how do you think that would go?"

Why else would I have been piling up stats before going to Rusmayer? Because I'd be meeting those things. That was the whole point.

But I couldn't judge my current condition. This wasn't a game where I could simply check a stat sheet—I had to move this body and fight with it. So I genuinely had no idea whether I could win, not just against bandits and brigands, but against demonic beasts too.

Mark, however, answered with surprising speed.

"A ragtag bunch of those mongrels wouldn't even be a match for you, Young Master."

"...What?"

"You don't seem to know much about yourself, Young Master... The reason the full knights of our order have been so fired up lately—it's because of you."

"Me? Why?"

"Because you've been training without rest, without pause—and you're closing in fast on the very master they're sworn to serve."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Mark jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then broke into a hearty laugh.

"Hah hah! Just look at them, sweating away even on their day off. Seeing all of them like that, I'd say watching you has lit quite the fire under them."

...I was just doing it for my own goals.

No. That's not the problem here.

"That's far too generous a compliment. Could you maybe assess me a little more coldly?"

"Assessed coldly, your skill is simply what it is, Young Master."

"Excuse me?"

"And I don't mean just bandits or thieves. Having sparred with you myself, I can say this with confidence: the knights of the East would be pushed back the moment they made even one mistake. All the more so against those who favor large, heavy blades."

Mark explained what he'd felt sparring against me—which parts had been fierce, which had been difficult to handle. Naturally, none of it made much sense to a rank amateur like me.

Gulp, gulp.

I uncapped the canteen and let the cool water slide down my throat, my mind drifting back to the game's lore. Come to think of it—things I couldn't see before suddenly coming into view... I doubt Mark is wrong.

In the few times I'd sparred with Radiel or Mark, there'd been moments where I actually pressed them back. Unlike before, I could distinctly feel that I'd grown. The strangest part was that as training and sparring piled one atop another, at some point the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠paths of my blade began to come into sharper relief. That might have been what had subtly shifted my vision.

Of course, the correct interpretation was probably that I owed all of it to the system.

Right. Either way, the only way to know for sure is to test it firsthand.

Enough time had passed. Camilla had even hinted that other matters had been taken care of during my stat-grinding period. It was time to move in person.

"Ugh!"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Kiyan!"

Kiyan took a knight's kick and went sprawling into the dirt. How could they not feel their blood boil, watching a friend they'd known for decades in the village be knocked down like that? Gritting their teeth, the two boys glared at the knight who had kicked Kiyan.

"No Rusmayer dogs allowed through here."

"If you want to pass, go find another road. That's the Count's order."

At that, the two boys who had been propping Kiyan up suddenly shouted:

"We told you it's an emergency! We have to get through this road!"

"A person is dying right now—you can't spare us one lousy road?!"

They had to cross this path to save a girl teetering between life and death. Rusmayer was an isolated region with no doctor of its own, which left them no choice but to cross over into another village.

But the knights refused to budge an inch.

"Listen to yourselves. We are the knights sworn to protect this territory, and you're Rusmayer dogs. Do you have any idea what could happen if we just let you waltz through?"

"That's right, that's right. If you lot suddenly cause trouble, the fault lands on us for opening the road."

"We told you, someone's about to die! How does that—"

"And how are we supposed to believe that? You filthy, stinking rabble could wander into our territory and start plundering, and who'd be surprised?"

"I hear there's been more theft from your village lately too. Makes it even harder to trust you, doesn't it?"

If anyone was pressed for time, it was these boys. With a life hanging in the balance, they were already stretched to their limit. And these knights of the neighboring territory wouldn't yield even a single stretch of road.

"How would we plunder anything? We don't have anything to begin with...!"

"Those bastards know exactly what they're doing. They just don't want to open the road. Simple as that."

"Count Modrich uses our territory freely whenever it suits him, and yet...!"

The boys of Rusmayer muttered bitterly through clenched teeth. And when it came down to it, the fault lay with those very people. Count Modrich had caused the accident—it was because of him that Diena had ended up like this.

"It's not like we're making this up out of thin air. And here's something else I heard—there was a territory that had an actual riot recently, wasn't there?"

"Ah—of course, that wasn't the people of that territory's fault, but... well, it caused quite the stir. So you can see why we can't relax. Starting to understand now?"

"You think that makes me understand anything? Aha-ha!"

They had no choice but to swallow the accusation flung at them so shamelessly, as if the wronged party were the guilty one.

"..."

"Eh? What's with those faces? What's that look supposed to mean?"

"Oho? These little brats? Lower your eyes!"

"What did you do right, to glare at us like that?"

"We spelled it all out for you and you still don't get it?"

"We tried to settle this ever so peacefully, but it seems that's not working?"

The smirking knights showed their displeasure at the glint in the three boys' eyes. No—in truth, what they felt probably went far beyond mere displeasure.

"...Let's go back."

"Kiyan!"

"There's no other way, Kiyan. Not right now..."

"But if we go back now, Diena could die!"

"I know, but there's truly nothing we can do. Kiyan."

Melik, standing beside him, clenched his fist and bared his frustration. Tony, with Diena on his back, shut his eyes tight, feeling the same.

"Damn it all... if only we had the protection of some house too...!"

"...!"

At those words, something flashed through Kiyan's mind.

"There is."

"What?"

"We can get a house's protection."

"What are you talking about?"

The two boys asked, cocking their heads in confusion.

"The banquet hall! We already met someone there who'd back us up—that's what I mean!"

That's right. The three of them had met him. A young lord of a family that wielded power ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠second only to the Imperial Family, standing at the very summit of the nobility. And not just any house—Karsein Bagrand, of House Bagrand itself.

"I mean, that's true, but... he's not here right now, is he?"

"Honestly, we did receive funding, but on that alone it's hard to even claim Rusmayer counts as Bagrand land yet..."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Excuse me!"

"Eh?"

Kiyan rose to his feet again. Melik and Tony hurriedly tried to hold him back, but he was already in front of the knights.

"Rusmayer is about to become Bagrand land. Even so, are you truly in a position to speak so carelessly?"

"...What did you say?"

"House Bagrand is going to purchase our territory! And the young lord of that house is coming here in person to do it!"

Gulp.

For a moment, the knights' mouths went shut. Was this not something to take deadly seriously? Coming from House Bagrand itself, no less—a declaration that they intended to buy the territory in advance was not a claim to be brushed aside.

But they soon turned to sneering at Kiyan instead.

"Bwahahaha!! You're saying that with a straight face?"

"Why would House Bagrand buy your land, hm? Do you think buying a territory is like buying a loaf of bread?"

"I've heard some barefaced lies in my time, but that one takes the cake. Kheheh. You didn't honestly think such an obvious lie would work, did you?"

"Wh-what do you mean?"

One of the knights stepped closer, grinning, and flicked the top of Kiyan's head with his finger.

"Listen here, runt. Land isn't something you just buy and sell. Owning it means accepting the duty of paying taxes on it—and it means taking it upon yourself to govern the people who live there."

"I mean, territory is also a symbol of a family's wealth and power, see? So they collect taxes from it, and because it benefits their house, they manage it."

"Now—suppose a family spends a fortune buying a barren wasteland with nothing on it, and there's no prospect of it ever developing. What happens then? The money just burns away. You need crops, or a mine, or something, you understand?"

Then every last knight broke into grins.

"So tell me—what does your land produce?"

"The soil's not fertile. There's no mine. Not a single scenic attraction, and nothing that sets it apart from any other territory. What, exactly, do you have?"

And there it was—the reason they hadn't yielded to Kiyan's plea. It was because the land called Rusmayer had no value at all.

"And yet House Bagrand is supposed to buy your worthless plot of nothing and manage it?"

─BWAAAAHAHAHA!

The knights burst out laughing all over again.

"Wake up, kid. Your land is plain garbage. It's blocked in by barren mountains, a huge river cuts straight through it, and the only flat stretch you've got is barely usable as a trade route even if you tried."

"..."

Listening to the knights' laughter, Kiyan bit down hard on his lip.

It was true. The land called Rusmayer really was like that. It had nothing.

But he couldn't bring himself to accept it.

"Lord Karsein himself is coming! He's coming in person, and he said Rusmayer will become Bagrand land!"

"BWAHAHAHA!! Then it makes even less sense!"

"What on earth...?"

"You believe the word of that fake young lord with peasant blood in his veins? Even a stray dog passing by would laugh at you!"

"All puffed up about 'Bagrand this' and 'Bagrand that.' And this isn't even one of the three young ladies—it's Lord Karsein? Ah, my sides. Never imagined you'd bring up that tale about him getting whacked in the back of the head so easily."

"Hey, hey—now that I think about it, it might not actually be a lie, you know."

"Oh? How so?"

The knights twisted their heads around and nodded along.

"I mean, honestly—for your sake, it'd be better if it were a lie."

"What do you mean...?"

"I told you earlier, didn't I? There was a territory where a riot broke out. Remember?"

"...So what about it?"

"Well. The one who caused that riot was Karsein Bagrand."

At those words, Kiyan's expression froze solid.

"The cause of the riot was... Lord Karsein?"

"Shatren Territory. Once a shining jewel even among House Bagrand's holdings. Two rare crops that grew only in its unique environment sold like wildfire across the entire empire."

"Shatren strawberries and Shatren grapes. Those two fruits, grown nowhere else, tasted out of this world. They went into everything, and they grew fast. The only catch was that, well, supposedly only the territory's own people could cultivate them. A minor flaw, that."

"And then that young lord got assigned Shatren at the Eastern Noble Conference, see? After that, both crops flat-out stopped growing. Starting to get the picture?"

"...!"

"Their livelihoods were cut off. Because of one young lord's blundering. How could a riot not break out?"

"You idiots. You're laboring under the delusion that you received help from that very man."

Kiyan stared into empty space with hollow eyes. His mind had simply gone blank.

And then a coin flew at his cheek.

Clink—!

"Well, you did split my sides laughing, so consider this your due. Kheheh."

Even as a few more coins came sailing his way—telling him to use them for the girl's medicine, at the very least—Kiyan stood frozen in place like a stone, unable to move a muscle.

I thought I was finally going to escape this godforsaken situation...

And now he'd learned that it had all been nothing but an illusion.

An uncontrollable fury boiled up from his depths.

This is why nobles are nothing but vermin that all deserve to be slaughtered.

Thinking that, Kiyan's hand drifted, without his noticing, toward the sharpened stake he'd hidden behind his back.

But in that very moment—

Clink—!

"Gah?!"

Something came flying and struck a knight square in the head, with the same metallic ring that had smacked Kiyan's own skull moments ago.

"Who the hell did that?! Who dares strike me, a knight of Modrich County—?!"

The man bellowed as though to cow the three Rusmayer boys. But the object had come flying in from the flank.

Kiyan registered this precisely, turned his head, and his eyes fell upon a man.

"Kugh—?!"

The man closed the distance in a blink and drove his foot into the knight. The knight went hurtling backward and toppled into his comrades, knocking them down like dominoes.

And the man who strode toward them—

Shing.

"Do take good care of it. After all, it's your traveling money for the road to hell."

drew his blade without a moment's hesitation and held it to their throats.

The instant those blue-green hairs came into view—

the fury clouding Kiyan's eyes began to clear.