The Merlyn's Game
Ahentar Merlyn.
What about him had gotten under Father's skin?
He seems like a decent enough guy.
I sorted through the mountain of demon cores Ahentar had left behind in the workshop, lost in thought for a moment.
Only a moment, though.
"Eh, it's probably nothing."
"As if it would be nothing," Arch said.
"Pardon?"
"Merlyn… I have heard their succession is yet unsettled."
"Is that so?"
I hadn't known that.
True to form for an ancestor who loved roaming about, he seemed to pick up all sorts of gossip wherever he went.
But what did that have to do with anything?
"What reason would he have to come while the succession remains undecided? This goes beyond simple friendship — there is a political purpose behind it."
"Ah."
"And not only did the heir himself come — he brought a knight order with him."
From our perspective, that was considerable discourtesy.
And with good reason: a procession like that could well imply a willingness to resort to force if things went sideways.
But still.
Surely it wouldn't come to actual force?
They'd just brought the knights because the times were unsettled. The idea that a good man who'd freely handed over hundreds of demon cores would draw steel the moment something rubbed him the wrong way was hard to imagine.
Of course…
"That's… quite a lot."
"Yes, it really is."
"Truly a remarkable man. Yes, remarkable… hah."
To the James brothers, who'd been plunged right back into purification hell, he probably didn't seem like such a good man at all.
At any rate, I left Brother James to his work — face already dark with exhaustion — and returned to my own.
"I shall go see how things stand and return."
"Yes, sir."
Right, then. Let's see.
What I needed to do with the demon cores was simple enough.
Make unmediated skeletons.
Of the remaining small cores, three hundred eighty-one had already been purified — not counting the ones used to strengthen Brother Myuhan. Add the ones still awaiting purification and the cores Ahentar had provided, and the total came to roughly eight hundred.
On top of that, there were three medium cores — about the size of a Shadow Demon's.
I'll save the medium ones for later.
Even the small cores alone were a considerable stockpile. First order of business was turning all of them into skeletons.
I picked up a purified small core — an ordinary one, not yet filled with holy power — and poured my mana into it.
"Heave-ho."
I focused the same way I had when building Brother Myuhan's body.
A sharp crack of power.
…The attempt was a success.
"The army of Valhalla draws near."
"But Young Master Khtun — what is this Valhalla of which you speak?"
I did not answer Myuhan's question.
Father summoned me that evening.
In a single day I had produced a total of thirty-four Valhalla Warrior Mark I units. I could have forced out a few more, but for now I made my way to Father's study.
Maybe I should cap Mark I production at thirty a day.
The mana drain was heavier than expected. Even now, my power was being spent maintaining the Goltic Duo in training and Brother Myuhan, who was helping with my work.
"There will come a time when you must push yourself to the limit," Arch said. "No training method serves better than hammering against one's own boundaries."
Yes, sir.
But why had Father called me at this late hour?
Hoping he might know something, I glanced at Arch — but my ancestor, who had gone out to assess the situation and returned, simply dismissed me with, "Hear it from your father yourself."
Fair enough. Nothing more tedious than hearing the same story twice.
So I arrived at the study.
"You've come. Sit."
"…"
Waiting for me were Father and Vilheim. Vilheim wore his usual blank expression, but Father's face was shadowed in a way I couldn't quite place.
What on earth was going on?
I waited quietly, reading the room, for Father to speak. He did not keep me long.
"You already know Ahentar, the heir of Merlyn, has come. You saw him yourself earlier."
"Yes."
"He came demanding a firm answer on the political marriage. So I could put it off no longer, and I gave him one."
Surely not?
Had he broken his word and sold off this son of his?
Fortunately, no.
"The wedding will proceed as previously discussed — Vilheim will be the one to marry."
"Ah. I see."
"I'm sorry. Our territory simply lacks the strength."
"…Pardon?"
I tilted my head. We'd already settled this ages ago — what was there to be sorry about?
Father tilted his head right back at me.
"Are you all right?"
"Why wouldn't I be? I never had any interest in the succession to begin with."
"I know that, but… were you not building a relationship with the young lady of Merlyn?"
"Pardon?"
What was he talking about now? This was the first I'd heard of it.
Ancestor, how exactly is this situation unfolding?
"It would seem," Arch said, "that your earlier conversation with the young lady of Merlyn was taken for some sort of lovers' tryst."
Oh, for the love of —
What a nightmare. A chill ran through me at the thought of how close I'd come to being sold off without even knowing it — and then I exhaled in relief.
At least it had worked out in the end.
But still.
"Is… that all?"
If that were everything, Father wouldn't look this grave.
"No. That is not all."
"Then what else?"
"They demanded a token of goodwill until the wedding."
"A token?"
"Yes."
What was that supposed to mean?
Do they want us to draw up a contract or something?
No — that would be settled by the betrothal itself.
I cocked my head, and Father let out a long sigh.
"They want me to send you to Merlyn."
"Pardon? Me?"
"Yes. On the surface, they claim they need a goodwill envoy to represent and coordinate Falaon's position until the marriage is finalized… but in the end, it means they mean to take you as a hostage."
"Ah."
I could understand Father's cool reception of Ahentar earlier — as Arch had said, it was about their discourtesy. But I hadn't been able to grasp why he looked so serious now…
…So this was it.
Then what was I supposed to do?
Simple enough. If they said jump, I'd jump.
"When should I leave?"
I wasn't thrilled about a sudden trip to Merlyn, but with the family entangled in the matter, there was nothing to be done. I'd just have to accept it.
Besides.
Merlyn is supposed to be the most developed city in the south, isn't it?
I'd heard it rivaled the capital. Honestly, I hadn't seen a proper city in this world yet, so I was curious. It would be a long trip as far as journeys went, but I'd treat it lightly and come back.
Father shook his head.
"You need not go. I refused the proposal."
"Pardon?"
He refused?
"We may have fallen low for now, but we are still House Falaon. Descendants of the proud Dragon Slayer, Arch Falaon — those who guard this land with greatsword and holy power."
Father spoke with quiet force.
"A humiliation of this sort need not be endured — and must not be."
A thin current of anger ran through his voice.
Naturally, refusing a political proposal meant weathering the consequences.
And what were those consequences?
Simple enough.
"A pleasure to meet you. I am Miller, captain of Merlyn's Third Knight Order. We will be supporting Falaon for the time being."
Father gathered the retainers and introduced Merlyn's people. Needless to say, the looks they received were far from warm.
Support, they call it…
It was no different from stationing an army in Falaon. Their numbers were a mere ten — but considering each one was a knight of excellent caliber, the intent to pressure us by force was plain. And the duration of their stay was indefinite.
"They say they will leave once the demon unrest settles," Arch observed. "But who can say? Once the unrest ends, what face will they show then?"
Truly underhanded, petty bastards.
Why were they harassing our quiet little territory like this? Heat boiled up inside me, but I held it down. Father had given me instructions.
—Since it's come to this, I intend to use them for all they're worth. It's true we've been feeling the shortage of military strength.
If not for that, I'd have given them a taste of Valhalla on the spot.
I'm holding back.
"…Are you, truly?"
Yes. Of course I am.
At any rate, extra mouths to feed in the territory or not, my daily routine did not change. I set the Goltic Duo loose on the training grounds for automated drills, and in the workshop I mass-produced Valhalla Warrior Mark I units.
Oh — and for the record, Brother Myuhan was now training alongside Golgol as well.
By the time the Mark I count broke two hundred and climbed toward three hundred, an unwelcome visitor came calling at my workshop.
"Oho, so this is the place. First time I've set foot in a necromancer's workshop… cleaner than I expected."
Young Lord Ahentar, who had decided to stay in the territory a few more days. Our eyes met, and he grinned with easy good humor.
"Am I interrupting? If so, my apologies. But I simply couldn't contain my curiosity. You subdued the Mouth of Targis, I hear? A remarkable feat at such a young age."
"Ah — I didn't really do much of anything."
"Haha. Modest, aren't you?"
He smiled broadly and said,
"So… what do you say? Care to join me on a demon hunt?"
"A demon hunt?"
"That's right."
What was this bastard scheming?
Surely he didn't think a few demon cores had bought the favor of this once-in-a-generation genius, Khtun?
I eyed him with open suspicion. He smirked.
"Don't tell me you're scared?"
Oh, that I could not let stand.
"Let's go."
"Yes! A man of Falaon does not turn aside a challenge laid before him!"
Today, I would show Merlyn's lackeys the greatness of House Falaon.
That was the spirit I carried with me.
I strode boldly out of the workshop — and found everything already prepared.
"You've come out, my lord."
"Mm. Yes."
Waiting for us were the knights of Merlyn.
Miller, was it?
The captain of the Third Knight Order and two nameless knights. They dipped their heads at the sight of me, but offered no further courtesy.
"I've already spoken with the Baron," Ahentar said. "Told him we'd be off on a bit of demon hunting. He agreed readily enough. Though… your elder brother didn't seem particularly pleased."
"Is that so."
"Shall we, then? It'll be a light outing — no need to be tense."
And so we mounted up.
But then.
These bastards' horses are way too good.
Falaon's horses weren't exactly nags, but standing next to deliberately bred warhorses… they looked a little shabby, somehow.
Perhaps he felt my gaze. Ahentar spoke.
"If you'd like, I could give you one."
"Then I'll gratefully accept."
"…You're more shameless than I expected."
"…?"
Why? He'd offered, so I'd accepted. That was all.
"Well, fine. Miller — go fetch a horse. One of the spares we brought will do."
"Yes, my lord."
A short while later, I set out again astride a warhorse gifted by my brother-in-law-to-be.
Truly, you never could judge a man by appearances alone.
He's got a rather generous streak, doesn't he?
But as we rode on without any clear destination, a question suddenly occurred to me.
"Brother-in-law."
"Say, Khtun —"
We spoke over each other.
"Please, go first, Brother-in-law."
"Brother-in-law, is it… A fresh form of address. You first, little brother-in-law."
He didn't refuse the title.
"Demons aren't as common as deer or wild boar. How do you find them? Even with the unrest, they're not so plentiful that you can just ride out at random and expect to run into one."
"Ah, there's a method for that. See this?"
"That's…"
"A holy artifact. Something like a compass that points toward demons. Rather expensive — but worth every coin."
"I see."
So things like that existed. How convenient.
Any chance I could get my hands on one?
I'd even steal it, honestly.
"By the way, little brother-in-law. There's something I've been meaning to ask."
"What is it…?"
"Have you no desire for the seat of House Falaon?"
Hm?
What kind of question was that?
I turned at the abrupt inquiry and took him in. Ahentar, sensing my gaze, looked back at me — and smiled as he spoke.
"I mean, have you no thought of pushing aside your half-brother and claiming the seat for yourself? If you wish it, I could serve as your political backer."
"You fucking bastard?"
"What?"
Ah. Mistake.
In an instant, the warm camaraderie of the ride froze solid.
Among the Thirty-Six Stratagems of warfare, there was one ranked supreme for unfavorable battles.
And what was it called?
None other than… the Thirty-Sixth Stratagem: Run Away.
"Hyah!"
I spurred my horse and fled — from those utterly ruthless murderers.