Chapter 85
Chapter 85
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Return
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The field was strewn with weapons abandoned by their masters and the corpses of horses that had lost their innocent lives amid the war. On that very battlefield where tens of thousands had clashed, the imperial army and the elves now faced each other once more. This time, not for combat, but for negotiations.
“Those pointy-eared bastards...”
“Damn empire dogs...”
The atmosphere was vicious, considering they had been swinging weapons and loosing arrows to slaughter one another just days earlier. Still, since this was a parley, no one hurled open insults.
It was simply that the combined forces—tens of thousands strong—brimmed with killing intent toward each other, making the pressure overwhelming.
“Let’s go.”
The duke’s escorts numbered three in total: Lenia and I made two of them. The duke had asked us to take on this unexpected duty. The third was one of his own knights, who I heard was the captain of the ducal knight order.
We followed quietly behind the duke. There, in the heart of the plain that had once been a battlefield, we spotted elves clad in red armor alongside those in yellow. Escorts had been limited to three per side as agreed beforehand, so those amid the yellow-armored bunch had to be their finest warriors.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“I’ve seen you from afar, but this is my first time up close. You look more aged than I imagined.”
“I’ve heard elves age gracefully, but it seems that’s true enough.”
In the suffocating tension, the duke and the elf chieftain bantered. Through an interpreter, of course. What was that fellow’s name again?
“Dekai. It’s an honor, humble though it be, to lead the Khan’s army.”
“Northmond Arik. Call me Duke Northmond. But the Khan’s army?”
The duke lobbed the question casually, probing their overall numbers. The elf leader answered without batting an eye.
“We are all the Khan’s army. In terms of ranking, we’re about the fourth of eight.”
At that instant, the duke’s expression flickered ever so slightly. Dire tidings. True or not, casually mentioning eight armies suggested at least three or four existed. If there were truly eight... the empire was finished.
“Hmm... I see. Bigger than expected? Roughly twenty to thirty thousand, by the look of it.”
This time, he got only a cool, impassive stare in reply.
“Enough about army sizes. You called us here to negotiate, so let’s negotiate—not drag this out.”
“You...”
The knight captain ground his teeth at the affront, but the duke’s gesture made him settle for glaring daggers at Dekai.
“What we want is a truce. We’ve both taken losses—let’s end it cleanly here.”
“What we want is the empire’s northern territories and fair trade.”
The elves’ demands weren’t so bad, aside from the land grab. The real issue had been the empire’s unfair dealings up to now. But the elf didn’t stop there.
“...but we’ve changed our minds.”
“Changed how?”
“Have the Deford Empire pay tribute to our empire. Fail that, and your emperor will be dragged before the Khan to kneel.”
“You barbaric wretch! Is that gaping hole of yours good for nothing but spewing filth?”
The knight captain could hold back no longer and drew his sword. Why were arms even permitted at a parley?
“Viscount Johan!”
“Your Grace! That damned savage forgets his place! Let me take his head and offer it to you!”
“Enough nonsense! More fighting here only swells our losses! Even if we muster the full imperial might to drive them off, will our neighbors—Burlban, Leighton, and the rest—just sit by while we’re weakened?”
The duke had a point. The empire shared borders with far too many powers. In the end, the knight captain sheathed his blade.
The hapless interpreter caught in the middle rolled his eyes, agonizing over whether to translate or not.
“No tribute.”
“Then we’ve nothing left to discuss.”
“In exchange, we’ll withdraw, convene an imperial council, and dispatch an official envoy. You can’t take my word alone here, so how about we hash out truce terms properly then?”
The elf captain stroked his chin thoughtfully—no beard to speak of.
“Hmm... an official envoy...”
The duke’s offer was sound, giving the elf pause. He wasn’t the emperor, after all; hasty pledges couldn’t bind the realm. It was simply the strongest concession available on the spot.
“How do we know you’ll keep your word?”
Trust was the sticking point. By the elves’ account, the empire had swindled them and stoked intertribal wars to sow division. No cause to swallow their words whole.
“I stake my honor on it.”
The duke wagered his honor. From what I’d seen of imperial nobles, it was the most valuable stake he could offer right then. The catch? These were elves, who might not give a whit for such things.
And so the talks dragged on for five or six hours, yielding this:
1. The empire dispatches the emperor’s envoy at the earliest.
2. Both sides withdraw immediately, no ambushes.
.
.
In essence: no backstabbing on the march home. Negotiations barely concluded before the imperial army scrambled to withdraw. True to form, the elves wheeled their mounts and vanished the way they’d come, flaunting their adherence to the deal.
“Withdraw!”
“Homeward bound!”
Soldiers whooped and hurled their helmets at the order. Survival trumped any gripes over lopsided terms.
The mercenary guild in the imperial city. Not every town or fortress had one, but they were vital hubs for sellswords. Clients posted jobs there; mercs snatched them up.
Lately, though, something felt off. Requests pouring in had dwindled to half the usual.
“Why’s work dried up lately?”
Loban, a veteran merc with just over a year under his belt, grumbled as he rifled through the paltry stack of postings. The guild clerk shook his head.
“Others are snatching them up these days.”
“Others?”
“Lanzknecht... or whatever. No branch in the capital yet, but they’ve popped up in nearby cities.”
Loban stared in disbelief.
“You’re just letting that slide? What about the rest of us mercs?”
The guild looked far emptier than usual. Come to think of it, the taverns had seemed quieter too.
“They’ve jumped ship there. Big draw: they hold your gear so you can stroll right into the city.”
As he said, Kyle’s Lanzknecht was expanding like wildfire. Backed by nobles Kyle and Lenia, they never folded in a fight. Fleeing mercs causing losses? They covered it themselves.
In these lawless times, merchants escorting caravans would pay extra for that reliability. Nor was that the only reason for their boom.
“Hold your weapons for city access... and toss in beds and meals? Are they nuts? It’s not a charity.”
Ask any merc their worst hardship, and most named sleeping rough or choking down slop. Even tough ones hated spreading a cloak on bare ground night after night or gnawing garbage-tier grub.
Yet Lanzknecht offices offered hot meals and proper beds at bargain rates. By now, every merc’s dream was signing on with them.
“Word is, they’ll open a capital branch soon. Might jump over then myself.”
Kyle’s scheme for cheap elite muscle had exploded under Gringem and Cutter’s command, far beyond his hopes.
“The capital!”
“We’re back!”
The capital loomed in the distance. The withdrawal had taken about two weeks. Every hardship imaginable, abandoning the severely wounded midway—but the elves kept their word, letting us return unscathed.
That sight of the city walls. Even I felt my chest swell with the realization it was finally over; no need to guess the soldiers’ uproar.
Dong—dong—
Meanwhile, the capital had spotted us, bells clamoring wildly. But entry wasn’t immediate; we pitched camp right before the gates and waited.
“The subjugation force is back!”
“Father!”
“Do you know where my son might be? Brown hair and...”
As tents rose and rest prep wrapped up, crowds surged from the city, mingling with the troops. A few would slip inside amid the chaos. I watched them idly before turning to Rahil.
Or rather, Hillia, the duke’s daughter. Our time together ended here—the contract ran till return from the campaign.
“Rahil.”
“Yes... Viscount.”
“Contract’s done today. You did well.”
“No, sir. Following you... I... learned so much.”
I’d taught her nothing, but she dipped her head slightly, hesitating as if words lingered on her tongue.
“Head home now. Take my share of ears if you need them.”
The ears I meant were trophies from the elf clashes—scouts’ and battlefield hauls alike. She’d become a merc for merits; those would earn ample ducal recognition.
Even with the ears offered, though, she dithered, mumbling before speaking softly.
“I... want to... keep following... you, Viscount.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
What was this out of nowhere? She’d piled up merits as wished—time to go home.
“In this war... following you... I feel I gained... valuable experience. So...”
“You want to follow me?”
Her plodding speech made me cut in midway, but she showed no offense. She simply nodded.
“Sorry, but I won’t need more mercs. And I’m heading back to my lands now. Peaceful place.”
“I see...”
She looked utterly crestfallen. After such a firm refusal, she’d head home on her own... or so I figured.