Chapter 70
Chapter 70
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: Tomboy Lady
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"Absolutely not! Even if dirt gets in my eyes when I die, no!"
"I'm all grown up now! And I've been training hard with the sword!"
"You think the battlefield is a playground? And sword training? I told you not to do that! What if you get calluses on those hands? Who taught you the sword anyway?!"
A father-daughter spat was unfolding in a lavish mansion. Aside from the family's signature red hair and blue eyes, they looked nothing alike.
But anyone who learned their identities would be shocked. The man was Duke Northmond Alric of the Empire, and the woman was his daughter, the sole heir to the dukedom, Northmond Hillia.
Duke Northmond was angrier than he'd ever been. After years of marriage to his beloved wife with no children, he'd finally gotten this precious daughter in his later years—and now she wanted to head to the battlefield.
If it had been a son, he could've beaten some sense into him, but this delicate girl had no part of her body that could withstand a beating. Not that he was a doting father, of course.
"Absolutely not!"
Hillia pursed her lips and pouted at the duke's fierce opposition. She was the very picture of a flower raised in a greenhouse. As the proud heir to the dukedom, she wanted to rack up military achievements. Not just sit back and inherit the title.
Of course, there were other reasons too—like the fear that a younger brother might steal her position as heir if one came along.
"Father!"
"If I say no, it's no! Guards! Escort Hillia back to her room!"
In the end, the argument concluded with Hillia confined to her quarters.
"Why not? I've trained so hard with the sword!"
The maids attending Hillia forced smiles as she grumbled in frustration.
"The duke loves you dearly, my lady."
"If you went to the battlefield and got captured, do you think His Grace could focus on the war?"
"Ugh..."
Hillia could only huff in response. Seeing her calm a bit, the maids ventured cautiously.
"Just know that the duke cherishes you greatly."
"Enough! Out!"
At Hillia's shout, the maids gasped and fled the room. Getting on that tomboy lady's bad side could cost them their jobs.
"..."
Once the maids were gone, she was alone in a room bigger than most commoners' houses. Her flared red eyebrows softened instantly.
As if her earlier hysterics had been a lie. She'd been biding her time. When the duke finally left the mansion, she peeked outside and grinned.
"Heh~ You think that means I can't leave?"
She'd vented all her temper, so no one would come near her room for a while. Exactly what she wanted. Hillia pulled her preparations from under the bed: sword, armor, and travel gear.
"It looks like every noble in the Empire has gathered."
"There are still more nobles arriving, so this isn't even the end of it."
It was a conversation among the knights I'd brought. As they said, the plains before the capital fluttered with countless banners. From crests of unknown houses to ones that looked familiar.
Hundreds of flags whipped in the wind at minimum, and the armies beneath them were massive enough to speak for themselves.
Besides, large armies like these weren't just combat troops. Merchants, mercenaries, and their families trailed along—putting the total near 100,000.
Even scarier? This wasn't everyone. Lords hungry for glory were marching armies from across the Empire, so the forces would only grow.
"My lady! Where should we set up camp?"
Sir Karon's question made Lenia scan the banners before pointing to an open spot.
"Set up there. And Sir Lucas."
"Yes, my lady."
"Come with me. We need to pay respects to the supreme commander, Duke Northmond."
I followed her through the Empire's camp. She stopped at a massive tent in the center, topped with a flag bearing two facing eagles—a familiar crest, no doubt the Duke Northmond's.
"What business brings you?"
The guards weren't soldiers but knights, showing the duke's power. Knights on sentry duty? He must have plenty to spare.
"I am Lenia Cligrove, acting Count of Cligrove and commander of the Cligrove forces. And this is..."
"I am Viscount Lucas Kyle. We've come to see Duke Northmond."
The knights took our message inside, then returned to collect our swords and step aside. I didn't know why fellow Imperial nobles faced such scrutiny, but once inside, it made sense.
"Welcome, Lady Cligrove and Viscount Lucas Kyle."
The tent was packed with nobles—practically every one in the Empire, led by Duke Northmond. They were red-faced and arguing furiously.
"How dare you claim the vanguard? My troops outnumber yours two to one, and you call them rabble?!"
"What? Rabble? Watch your mouth! And does vanguard mean whoever has the most men? If we're talking valor, you can't exclude my house! Our ancestors once..."
The nobles were fighting over vanguard position. Underestimating elves, no doubt. Commoners and northern nobles knew their terror from experience, but these southerners apparently didn't.
"Looks like being in the rear will be easier than I thought."
"They're all brimming with enthusiasm."
I'd worried how to argue for the rear without seeming cowardly, but the nobles were tripping over themselves to claim the front. As the saying goes, stay quiet and half the work's done. We kept our mouths shut and watched them bicker.
"Sir Lucas."
Duke Northmond addressed me from afar amid the squabbling.
"Yes, Your Grace."
I bowed, and he smiled, suggesting I take the vanguard. Was he trying to get me killed? Luckily, I had an excuse.
"My apologies, Your Grace, but I couldn't bring an army. My domain is too new..."
He looked disappointed but dropped it. Couldn't foist the vanguard on some lone noble without troops. Instead, he slammed the table.
Thwack!
"Enough! We'll draw lots for the vanguard fairly!"
The nobles shut up and sat. Lots were drawn, and some nameless count got the vanguard.
The next day.
"Good luck, Viscount."
"You too—hope you fare well there."
The three knights I'd brought had found new lords and left my camp. They bowed farewell, leaving me with just one squire-turned-soldier under my command. And even then...
"Damn it..."
Yesterday, that lone squire had broken ribs after tripping over Merlin's hind leg while brushing her. Damn mule.
"Guess I need to hire a mercenary."
No one left to attend me, so even morning wash water came from Cligrove soldiers.
I could've fetched it myself, but a noble sloshing water every day? Ridiculous.
"Time to find someone to serve as my attendant."
With that, I mounted the culprit, Merlin, and headed to the capital. One worry: with war imminent, would any mercenaries remain? My bad feeling proved spot on.
"Of course not..."
With the emperor's subjugation army, even taverns and guilds that usually had a stray merc or two were empty. I just needed hands and feet—didn't care if they were riffraff.
Creak—
I'd told the tavern keeper and guild clerk to send any hires straight to Viscount Lucas Kyle, then sat for a beer. That's when the door opened, and an armored man entered.
"A mercenary?"
His gear was top-notch for one. Chain mail, breastplate, longsword—he was special A-rank at least.
He glanced my way, then fixated on my breastplate crest.
"Viscount... Lucas... Kyle...?"
His voice from the helmet was boyish, almost androgynous—enough to mistake for a woman.
"Sent by the guild?"
"Yes... I heard you want to hire a mercenary..."
His dragging speech was annoying, but his shiny new gear impressed me. Meant he was neat and tidy.
One issue: the sword was high-end. No flashy decorations, but the scabbard's leather was too fine for a merc.
"I do want to hire... but take off the helmet first. We should see face to face, right?"
"......"
He hesitated, then slowly removed it. Revealing...
"My face isn't very manly... so I wear the helmet."
Flame-red hair like woven silk cascaded to his collar, with blue eyes slightly lighter than Lenia's.
His voice was neutral, but his face went beyond—beautiful as a woman's. Even with shoulder-length hair, a bit longer and he'd pass for a lady.
"What's your name?"
"Rahil..."
"Can you handle a sword?"
"A little..."
"Your pay?"
"One pound... should do..."
"One pound?"
I stared, and he fidgeted, lowering it.
"Then eight crowns..."
"......"
"Six crowns..."
Looked like a rich kid playing mercenary, not the real deal. His gear screamed money, but his newbie speech and haggling screamed amateur. One pound was cheap for battlefield work.
Before he changed his mind, I smiled and took his hand.
"You're hired."