Chapter 78
Chapter 78
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: His Identity
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“Kuh-huhk—gah! Kuhk!”
The knights and cavalrymen scattered everywhere were snoring up a storm. Even they, who prized face and honor above their own lives, apparently couldn't change their sleeping habits.
“Should we... add more... firewood... maybe...”
The small campfire we'd lit by the stream looked like it was on the verge of dying out at any moment. Rahil spotted it and voiced his concern, but what were we supposed to burn?
Finding wood in this open grassland was like chasing stars in the sky. In the end, all we'd managed to fuel it with were horse saddles and dry grass. And those saddles weren't even ours—they came from the warhorses we'd captured from the elves. Still, it looked like we'd need to toss another one on soon.
Whoosh!
As soon as I shoved a saddle into the flames, the flickering fire latched onto it, slowly consuming the leather and buying itself a bit more time. Starting a fire with leather, of all things. Leather didn't even burn all that well to begin with.
Meanwhile, Rahil, who had been staring blankly into the flames, started nodding off, his head bobbing forward and back. It was almost admirable how he was the only one managing to enjoy a peaceful fireside daze in a situation like this, but...
“If you're sleepy, go crash inside the tent. I can handle it alone.”
Finally losing patience, I gave him a light pat on the back. He insisted he couldn't do that, then promptly resumed dozing off. About halfway through our watch shift, he suddenly bolted upright.
“I'll just... splash some water on my face... and be right back!”
“Just go to bed already.”
“I can't... do that!”
With that, he dashed off toward the downstream flow of the stream. For a rich kid from a fancy family, the guy was surprisingly diligent. His habits were a bit odd, sure. I glanced after him for a moment, then looked down—and spotted the sword he'd left behind.
Shing—
I drew the blade, and its beautiful steel caught the firelight. No matter how I looked at it, this wasn't some toy for a wealthy young master's amusement. He hadn't stolen a family heirloom or something, had he...?
The blade gleamed with an eerie mix of the metal's blue hue and the fire's red glow. Intricate patterns were engraved along its length, culminating in a family crest at the base.
A knight holding a shield. Above him, a roaring lion; flanking the sides, motifs like red and blue bird wings. This was a classic knightly house crest, wasn't it?
If you want to know what a foe's family does at a glance, forget everything else—just check their crest. A merchant house like Cligrove would feature coins; a knightly one, knights or swords and shields. So, the crest on Rahil's sword marked it as belonging to a knightly house.
“Viscount!”
Right then, Rahil came rushing back and snatched the sword from my hand.
“My sword...”
I could guess the rest. I'd be pissed too if some stranger handled and drew my blade without permission. But why would a guy from a merchant house carry a sword emblazoned with a knightly crest?
In the eerie dawn quiet, my brain, which hadn't been working much lately, started spinning at full speed. Let's think this through. A supposed merchant's son with a knightly sword bearing a family crest. And those crests aren't exactly common on just any blade.
Families only engrave their crests on things they truly value. So the odds of him wielding someone else's sword were low. And it wasn't like he'd scavenged it from some wiped-out house—otherwise, he'd have erased the old crest and added his own.
“Don't push yourself. Just head in and rest. Not much time left anyway.”
“No, sir...”
In the end, we kept quietly tending the fire. When our watch was about up, two cavalrymen snapped awake like clockwork—without any alarm—and relieved us.
“Ugh...”
That evening, a faint groan pulled me from sleep. It was just a small sound, but since we were in elf territory, I wasn't letting my guard down.
You hear stories sometimes. Enemies sneaking in at night, silently slitting the sentries' throats before launching a raid. I slipped my hand out from under my cloak, and the chill prairie air nipped at my fingertips.
“Nngh...”
As I shivered from the cold, the groan sounded again—clearer this time. I couldn't tell if it was the same person or different ones, but...
Clink!
I grabbed the sword by my head and opened my eyes. The campfire came into view, along with the men on watch there. The sentries looked fine. So where had that groan come from?
“Urgh...”
Confirming the sentries were unharmed melted away my tension in an instant. Fair enough—elves weren't master assassins, and quietly taking out sentries wouldn't be easy. Plus, our watchmen weren't regular soldiers; they were knights and cavalry.
I let go of the sword and stood. The peaceful campsite stretched out before me: knights and cavalrymen sprawled everywhere. And the source of that groan? Closer than I'd thought.
“Huuuh... so c-cold...”
Curled up like a shrimp, wrapped head to toe in a thin cloak like a caterpillar, trembling violently—it was Rahil.
He clearly wasn't used to camping in the cold; even in full armor, he clutched his cloak tight, whining about the chill. Maybe I'd just grown too accustomed to nights like this.
It reminded me of my military days—dragged out on some “anti-guerrilla” op with no warning, forced to sleep on bare forest ground without tents or bedrolls. Most guys had it worse; at least I'd had a bedroll.
“Tsk tsk... shoulda gotten yourself a thicker cloak...”
“You all look beat.”
“Huh-up! V-Viscount Lucas?”
The half-asleep cavalrymen jolted awake at my voice and scrambled to their feet. No need—they weren't under my direct command.
“If you're tired, hit the sack. I've slept enough.”
They eyed each other at my offer to take over sentry duty, temptation written all over their faces. But they remembered their place: knights and cavalry first, nobles second.
“But...”
“Enough. Go rest. I'm up anyway.”
As the cavalrymen hesitated awkwardly, a familiar voice came from behind them. Lenia's.
“You sure that's okay, my lady?”
“Ask again, and I'll really make you stand watch. Go on.”
With her permission granted, they bolted back to their spots like their asses were on fire. Silence returned to the firelit circle.
“No casualties on this mission? That's a miracle.”
Miracle. Spot on. We'd faced more than double our number in foes—wounded, yes, but no dead. And we'd snagged over twenty warhorses to boot. Pure profit.
“I'll handle distributing the captured horses. Five sound good?”
“A decision from you, my lady? How could we complain?”
She let out a small laugh.
“Still the same. That's why I like you. Anyone else with your successes might get a big head by now.”
Our brief chat broke the silence. As I poked at the fire, I decided to ask her about what I'd seen earlier. The crest on Rahil's sword: the shield-bearing knight with wings spread around him.
Lenia was the expert here. She stared at me after I described it.
“Know something?”
“Only one house matches that crest. The Northmond Ducal House.”
Northmond Ducal House. Power unmatched by any but the imperial family. Hearing it from her made it all click. Rahil's true identity.
Fiery red hair rare as a flame, piercing blue eyes, swordsmanship and horsemanship rivaling any knight, an almost excessive love for helmets that went beyond mere unmanly looks, and finally...
“My lady. That story you told me before... were you serious?”
“What story?”
“About the guy I hired... being a woman.”
“I was. You think I lied?”
Her eyes narrowed, sensing doubt. I shook my head frantically.
“No, it's just... why'd you think that?”
Her gaze grew even stranger. She sighed.
“Isn't it obvious? Watch that mercenary's walk closely. You can hide intent, but not unconscious habits.”
“Even Cligrove's lady must've fallen victim!”
“Move the main force now—rescue Count Sterling's army and uproot those savages!”
Count Sterling's scouts, his cavalry detachment, and now even Cligrove's lady—all vanishing without a trace. Morale in the imperial army was plummeting. They tried hushing it up, but you can't silence over 100,000 mouths. Rumors of the missing spread like wildfire through the ranks.
“Heard the latest?”
“That army that left before... actually...”
As the gossip exploded, soldiers ran their mouths freely: elves secretly encircling the camp; elves being brutally strong. It died down a bit after a few public punishments, but not much.
“Quiet.”
The conference tent, rowdy as a flea market, finally fell silent as Duke Northmond spoke.
“We can't retreat. We marched out so boldly—what would the empire's people say if we slunk back now?”
The nobles shut their mouths. Anything but being branded as chased off by savages—that was worse than death.
“Then...”
“We'll wait a bit longer. Cligrove's lady brought knights. Even if the elves got them, one or two should make it back.”
Just then, a knight burst into the tent. He bowed hastily and reported to the duke. His words were exactly what the duke and all the nobles had been praying for.
“Your Grace! Cligrove's lady has returned!”
The gloomy tent lit up in an instant. Good news at last for the imperial army, weary of nothing but bad reports.