The Magic Stone Vein
A clattering crash rang out as Father’s voice thundered through the air.
Moments later a lump came tumbling out—of course, that lump was Purbil, his face swollen black and blue.
“B-Baron! Please listen to what I have to say properly—!”
“You dog! Listen to what? What?! Hand over the land? Is that truly your master’s will?!”
“Aigoo, do you think I’d be crazy enough to come here alone and say something like that to you, Baron?!”
“Right, so the crazy one isn’t you—it’s Viscount Hardion! Then what to do… Fine. Come here. Taking your head should be enough to snap your mad master back to his senses.”
“A-Aigoo!”
Father strode forward and drew his sword. The fat administrator Purbil yelped and scrambled across the floor.
“Y-You’ll regret this!”
“You’ll only regret it after you’re dead!”
“Y-You—!”
Purbil—was that his name?—rolled across the ground like a bear, then sprang up into a stance.
Oh? Was he about to fight?
…No.
“I—I delivered the message properly. You’ll truly regret this!”
With that he flung open the castle gate and bolted. The man fled at a speed his bulk should never have allowed, then skidded to a halt and flipped us the middle finger.
“Fucking bastard! You savage bastard! You’re fucked now, you son of a bitch!”
“That—that son of a bitch!”
Father made to charge after the cowardly display, but our reliable knight, Sir Valt, held him back.
“My lord, please calm yourself.”
“Calm myself?! Your liege has been insulted like this and you feel no anger?!”
“I am angry. Of course I am, but…”
Valt trailed off and glanced toward the gate. Purbil, who had slipped out moments earlier, was already far down in the lower village.
Only then did Father speak again.
“Is he gone?”
“Yes, my lord. Just to be safe, you might add one more line.”
“Hmm, that would be best, wouldn’t it?”
Wait—had he not been angry at all?
Father walked to the gate with his usual composure and bellowed,
“What are you all doing?! Bring me that bastard’s head! You there! Soldiers! …Hmm, that should be enough.”
“Yes, more than enough.”
“Good. Tch. Haven’t raised my voice like that in ages—my throat hurts.”
“You’ve worked hard, my lord.”
I could not make sense of what was happening. Only moments ago Father had seemed ready to explode, yet now he acted as if the entire outburst had been a performance.
And the surprises did not end there.
“My lord, shall we start moving soon?”
“Ah, Herben.”
“Just give the order and this humble one will quietly take care of it.”
The old soldier who usually loafed in a corner of the training grounds was suddenly at Father’s side. The sight of him felt strangely unfamiliar—like a battle-hardened mercenary who had seen every kind of hell.
“You lot alone will have a hard time. That man didn’t come by himself. He’ll have brought a knight or two… Sir Valt, how many knights remain in the castle?”
“Low, Khan, and Halo are still here.”
“Then send those three.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Finish it before they cross into Hardion territory. Herben, lend a hand as well.”
“Aye.”
Valt left to summon the three knights—Low, Khan, and Halo—while the old soldier Herben and the men withdrew.
I still could not grasp the situation.
What is going on?
Everything felt alien. Father… well, fine, but were these the same soldiers who always greeted me with those kindly smiles?
The only one who seemed unchanged was Sir Valt.
Perhaps he noticed my stare. Valt offered a rare smile.
“You seem quite startled.”
“Yes, a little.”
“Understandable. Still, you can more or less guess how things stand, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
From the look of it, Viscount Hardion had demanded we hand over our land.
I don’t know what pretext he’s using, but coming at us like this means he wants a fight.
In other words, a territory war might break out.
“Do not worry. Falaon is not especially strong, yet no one in these parts has ever touched us and walked away unscathed.”
“Uh… yes.”
Normally I would have asked, “Really?” But after witnessing the change just now, a thought crept in: Maybe…?
“Sir Valt, let us go inside. We will need to discuss this.”
“Yes, Baron.”
That was when Father called me.
“Khtun, you come as well. Now that you have completed the Blood Awakening Ceremony, you too have a duty to protect the territory.”
“…Yes.”
Ancestor, who ever called our father weak?
[No one ever said that…….]
Gah!
Someone must have. But I swear I never doubted him. Even if the whole world doubted Father’s courage, I alone never did.
Inside the castle, a map was spread across the large table where we usually took our meals.
“First, let me explain the situation. You’re sharp enough to have noticed already—that worthless bastard made an absurd demand.”
“Yes. He wants land.”
“Exactly. This land here.”
Father pointed to a region bordering the Hardion Viscounty.
“No villages, no real use for it, so we’ve simply left it alone. But look here, and here. See them?”
“Yes—two villages.”
“The right to collect taxes from those two villages has belonged to Falaon for generations. Ownership changed hands many times throughout history, yet for the past two hundred years they have unquestionably been ours. Now draw a straight line between those two villages. What do you notice?”
“Hmm… the land Viscount Hardion is demanding falls inside that line.”
“Precisely. It’s neglected land, but when you look at it this way, it is clearly ours.”
“Yes, it is.”
“They know this as well as we do. Yet they still demanded it. Why?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Simple. There’s something to extract from that land.”
“Something to extract?”
“Yes.”
On the map, the land Viscount Hardion wanted was nothing but empty mountains. What could possibly be worth extracting?
“You look lost.”
“I am.”
“Of course you are. I was shocked myself when I first heard it from my father.”
“Pardon?”
Father’s father would be the previous Baron of Falaon—my grandfather.
“Did Grandfather hide something there?”
“He didn’t hide it. It was already buried in that land. He simply judged it too dangerous to touch and left it alone. Hmm, even Sir Valt has never heard this part.”
“My lord, if the matter is delicate, I need not listen.”
Valt made to withdraw discreetly, but Father shook his head.
“Nonsense. If I cannot trust you, whom can I trust?”
He drew a steadying breath, then continued.
“Just as I went to war to raise our house, my father roamed the territory searching for ways to revive it. That was when he found it.”
“Found what?”
“A magic stone vein.”
Valt sucked in a sharp breath, then asked in a trembling voice,
“A… magic stone vein, my lord?”
“Indeed. What my father discovered was unmistakably a magic stone vein. I confirmed it myself as a boy when I accompanied him.”
“H-How large… what is the volume?”
“I never recorded the exact figures, so I cannot recall, but the mage who located the vein said the quantity was considerable—enough to revitalize a small territory like ours overnight.”
“….”
Valt pressed his lips shut. Only now did he grasp how grave the situation truly was.
Even for a “small territory,” the wealth that could decide a domain’s rise or fall was never a trivial sum.
Hearing that, I finally understood the phrase “too dangerous to handle.” Treasure, after all, often calls for blood.
“In any case, the fact that they specifically demanded this land means they have learned of the magic stone vein. A territory war is probably unavoidable.”
“Hmm, so that was why that worthless viscount had the gall… something that would drive a man mad with greed.”
“Exactly.”
“Then… this may not be an easy fight.”
“It may not.”
“….”
Valt fell silent for a moment, then spoke.
“If you command it, I will summon my old comrades. I may still be able to reach one or two of them.”
“No. I will not impose such a burden on them.”
“I will ask in my own name so that no trouble falls upon you, my lord. They are my comrades as well.”
“Do not waste the effort. This is our fight.”
“But—”
“Listen to me.”
Father’s firm tone finally made Valt yield.
“…Understood.”
“As you say, it will not be an easy fight. Even with you here, they would not have started this unless they had some confidence of their own. Still, we will do our utmost—as we always have.”
“I will fight with my life.”
“Reassuring words.”
I watched Father and Valt compose their heroic tale, then a sudden question rose.
“Father, then the intruder from last time…”
“Intruder?”
“Yes—the one who broke into the estate on the day of the Blood Awakening Ceremony. Could he have been Viscount Hardion’s agent as well?”
I was ready to pour out the rage I had bottled inside.
Father’s answer, however, was nothing like what I expected.
“That intruder is a separate matter. Your elder brother will handle it, so you need not worry.”
“Ah… yes.”
So it wasn’t him.
The awkwardness of a wrong guess lasted only a moment. I turned my gaze out the window.
A line from some comic I had read in my previous life drifted through my mind.
War with Hardion was now all but certain.
Then what can I do?
What could a necromancer with only a single skeleton possibly accomplish?
For the record, I had tried to create more skeletons after Golgol, but for some reason it had proven impossible.
[What do you mean, what can you do? I am here, Golgol is here, and the shield Kracion is here. Follow me to the training grounds. There is much to be done.]
…Yes.
I have never been a greedy man; I do not want much.
Fine clothes? A fine car? A fine house?
What of them?
Clothes only need to be comfortable. A car would be nice, but buses, the metro, and walking cover everything. A house only needs to be large enough for one body to rest.
In my previous life all I wanted was a modest yet unhurried existence—not financial ease, but ease of the heart.
Though in that life I was toyed with by the silver tongue of a bourgeois capitalist and collapsed coughing blood…
This life, without fail.
I will seize a life where I can tilt a glass of beer against a crimson sunset.
I will live that life.
In five years at the earliest, by twenty-five at the latest, I will spend my evenings with the red evening sky.
So I will endure.
[Too slow, you brat! Faster, faster! A sword has no eyes! Golgol, what are you doing?! Going easy because he’s your master?! That’s it—just like that—!]
Golgolgolgol!
This too shall pass.
…But is it just me, or is that bastard Golgol putting real feeling into those swings?