Chapter 44
Chapter 44
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 044
Chapter Title: The Enemy is Behind Us (1)
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Mid-April brought melting snow and sprouting buds.
Around that time, the orcs' movements—which had been quiet all winter—were finally spotted.
"Kiter Valley outpost report. Orc horde sighted to the northeast. Estimated between 100 and 200 strong."
Nil, brushing his hair back, added,
"Heading toward Mirror Mount Fortress and Bear Village."
"Settling in again, are they."
Arun smirked as Landiv shook his head.
"Humans or orcs, they all crave the same prime real estate. Sunny spots with clean water."
"And there's only so many of those. Hence the mess."
Benjamin had pierced right to the heart of the waves, but no one in the room was in a mood to praise his logical insight.
"Predictable makes it convenient, in a way."
"Can't argue there."
Ray nodded, sprawled across the table like an eager pup.
"We ended up stopping the Winter Wave after all."
"Looks like we held winter at bay, at least."
Arun rose from his chair and stretched.
"Hmmm. So next is the Spring Wave?"
"Would love to shove that onto Springgarden."
"Heh. Since we pulled the northern border in 30 kilometers, orc sightings are starting to trickle in."
"Just one month gone?"
Nil Carpenter shrugged under Arun's gaze.
"Northeast's deep in their territory, west's practically abandoned—so they're spreading along the Strow River banks."
"Strow River headwaters are the Stulin Mountains, right?"
Arun glanced up at the wall map. Sherwood Forest—now held by Springgarden—was part of those very mountains.
"Yes. As you said, left entirely to their instincts."
"Wonder if we kicked off something we shouldn't have."
Landiv, of all people, soothed his concern.
"I think it was the right call. Widening the front line cuts down on battle fatigue."
"Exactly. Why should we block the waves alone? Taking blows to the back of the head and all."
"Hard to disagree on that point."
Yains, who had collapsed while holding the eastern front, pitched in.
"Old wisdom: share the risks, monopolize the rewards."
"That so? Well, peace after a long while, anyway."
The warm spring breeze slipping through the window carried a sweet, fragrant allure that lulled the command staff into languor.
Pendersen bustled about, personally wielding the teapot.
But the peace didn't last.
A servant set down cookies, then whispered to Pendersen. He glanced toward the door before reporting to Arun.
"Moheni Lorn requests an audience."
"Yeah? Send him right in."
Moments later, Moheni Lorn entered with two strapping men in tow.
"Moheni Lorn, Second Clerk of the Loyton Merchant Company, greets the Master."
"Come on in. But how long you planning to stay Second Clerk? No path upward?"
"Thanks to Master's grace last year, sales are up—looks like good news ahead."
"Oh? You've got me on edge. Those two behind you bodyguards?"
Moheni gestured to Philip and Ron standing at his rear.
"You two, step forward and introduce yourselves."
"Philip Casamir. Twelve years in the tournaments. Record: 85 wins, 194 losses."
"Ron Mayer. Two years in the tournaments: 23 wins, 7 losses."
"Oho."
"Tournaments—you mean the one-on-ones?"
"Yeah. Always dreamed of watching one live."
Benjamin whispered in Arun's ear as his gaze sharpened.
"Twelve years in the tournaments is one hell of a career."
"That right? Pleased to lay eyes on you."
Arun voiced his welcome in a dry tone.
"I'll give you time to mull it over. Take a look around—see what kind of food you'll eat, who you'll share quarters with. Once you've decided, we'll draw up the contract."
"Deeply grateful for your consideration."
"Thank you for the grace."
Their faces brightened at the unexpectedly flexible reception.
"Landiv, mind showing the guests around?"
"I'll lend a hand."
"Me too..."
Arun frowned as Nil and Ray half-rose from their seats.
"They're guests. Not sure if they'll be comrades yet—show some decorum."
"Yes, my lord."
"Got it."
Landiv led Philip and Ron out, with Nil and Ray trailing behind.
"Pendersen, top off the tea? Pull up a chair, you too."
"Thank you."
Moheni bowed to Benjamin, who had pulled out a chair for him. It was rare for a knight to show kindness to a lowly merchant.
"Anyone helping my lord is a comrade. Don't feel out of place."
"Heh. They look pretty capable, at any rate."
"Both have solid reps. Confirmed no incidents."
"Kinda disappointing."
"...?"
Westguard teemed with ex-convicts, so they needed rough types. But they weren't in a position to be picky.
"Nah, forget it. What's the mood in the capital?"
"Afraid it doesn't look good."
"Tch. Even corrupt as it is, they can't even judge the facts? Tell me what you know."
"Well, it's like this..."
Corruption infested the capital.
Taxes were a given, but bribes plagued everything from trade to marriages, births, and deaths. Even the city guards shook down protection money on the side.
But the power players weren't as sloppy as one might think. Politics was no easy game.
Spring sunlight draped shadows across the colonnade.
The marble floor gleamed so purely where light met dark that the boundary seemed transparent. Only the imperial palace would flaunt such precious stone on outdoor walkways.
Soon, the pristine corridor grew noisy.
Ministers in fine robes clustered around one man, seeing him off.
"Elder, you must be weary. Rest well and join us later for the fine-tuning."
"My thanks for your consideration."
The tall man with a broad forehead urged his attendant onward.
"To the reception hall."
"Yes, Your Excellency. Honored guest, this way."
Once the other party vanished down the opposite colonnade, he turned.
"Good work, everyone. One headache down."
"Your Excellency Count worked hardest on the persuasion. Soon we'll have the Desert Federation by the throat."
The empire's south brimmed with holdouts refusing subjugation.
They prowled borders shielded by desert, raiding at will. Now they'd agreed to fold the gray buffer zone between into the duchy outright. In short, the empire's south gained a shield.
The catch: it demanded vast sums.
"Funds are the last hurdle. Can't look good if I push—handle it on your end and secure the budget."
"We'll table it at tomorrow's assembly."
"Good. As always, I'll provide the final nudge."
On big decisions, the emperor always consulted the Court Count. A way to shift blame if things soured. Rewards scaled accordingly, of course.
Corruption didn't mean total collapse.
Elites fought tooth and nail to hold their turf, so the throne might wobble but the system endured. The empire crumbling from within was unlikely.
Court Count Bailun von Aimborg clapped his aides' shoulders.
"Fine day out. Let's have tea."
"A garden in spring—ambiance like no other."
"Hahaha."
The count called back one subtly retreating.
"Where you off to?"
"Forgive me. Duties piling up."
"......"
The palace's master was the emperor, naturally. But he merely approved; the royals ran the empire in practice.
Among them, the Court Count held sway beyond question. Only Foreign Ministry's Baron Millen Gafner dared turn away from him. Low rank or not, his loyalty and talent commanded respect.
Envy dogged him always.
"What a rude prick."
"He skip that report because he didn't like it?"
The aides piled on Baron Millen. Infighting irked, but the count paid it no mind. Proper checks kept organizations healthy.
"Waves? Hah, if real, they'd have overrun Brennenton by now."
"Indeed. Winter's end means Westguard held it off solo."
The count eyed his trusted Baron Ivan Sergei.
"Your thoughts?"
"Northguard fell—warrants a closer look, no?"
"Heard that, but intel says his remarried wife grabbed shares and fled home."
The ministers weren't blindly bashing Millen. They collated plenty via branch merchant lines.
"Family infighting. Reckless remarriage to blame."
"Tsk tsk, poor heir."
The count glanced at Millen's detractors.
Court Count wasn't a post for the incompetent. Bailun von Aimborg's reputation for upright, impartial judgment proved it.
Yet mounting stress had him finding more solace in sweet talk than frank advice.
'Orc pelts double last year's—some credibility there. But waves? Premature. Troop mobilization costs astronomical. North's claims irresponsible. Punish any profiting off this.'
'Time to warn Millen too.'
The intent was just such a mild caution.
"Tea smells richer today."
"Hm, doesn't that always segue to liquor?"
"Hahaha, you got me."
Toasty sunlight bathed the palace garden, mingling floral scents with tea aromas. A yellow butterfly fluttered skyward.
Mid-tea time, the count beckoned a servant.
"Contact the Cardinal."
The servant bowed wordlessly and vanished.
Construction sprang up out of nowhere at Westguard's outer camp.
"On three, lift. One, two, three. Heave."
A log thick as a grown man's thigh shot up.
"Next. One, two, three."
"Who's stumbling up front? What'd you get up to last night?"
"Hahaha, guy's never even married. With stamina like that, who'd have him?"
"Damn it, feels unfair. Base end's twice as heavy."
Teasing and griping alike lacked real bite; the work was straightforward. Long logs fixed atop posts formed a straight 100-meter fence line.
Soon Ray Schumacher dusted his hands.
"Length and level look about right. How's that?"
"Good work. Damn fast."
"Hahaha, no shortage of muscle around here."
Nil Carpenter arrived next, leading a horse.
Clop, clop.
"Picked the tamest one available."
Philip Casamir's eyes sparked at the smaller-than-expected mount.
"Senior, this one's..."
"Battle-hardened, by the looks."
Whinny, whinny.
Scars on the nosebridge and tattered mane told tales of campaigns past.
Philip stroked the neck. Ron hugged a foreleg and began massaging. The horse bucked at first but gradually settled under their expert touch.
"This might actually be fun."
"You're awfully relaxed. Question is, can we impress them."
Ron Mayer, rubbing a hind leg, glanced at the men encircling him. Then at the soldiers gathering one by one.
'Curiosity hooked, at least.'
Whether it bloomed into fondness remained to be seen.
"Hahaha, no need to stress. Total backwater—no entertainment to speak of."
"Nah. Takes an audience to build real excitement."
Landiv arrived right on cue, urging a cart forward.
"Practice gear, but will this do?"
"Immaculate condition. No issues."
"Battle-ready, even."
Ron Mayer inspected a lance and nodded approval. He flashed his teeth at Philip Casamir.
"Shall we get started, then? Senior."
Moments later, fully armored knights squared off at either end of the 100-meter fence.
Whinny, whinny.
"Distance too short for top speed."
"Not a bad safety measure?"
"Yeah, hay bales alone looked flimsy."
Nil and Ray conferred, arms crossed, as soldiers swarmed like clouds.
"Ooh, here we go."
"Someone win already."
Bets were already changing hands in spots as the crowd's fervor built.
Clank.
Ron Mayer dropped his visor and spurred hard.
Neighhh.
The upright lance swung forward past the horse's head.
The charge began.
Thud thud thud thud.