Soaring Wolves (5)
"What!?"
"I want to come along too."
"Come where?"
"I know what you're doing. You're gathering your old companions to hunt monsters. I want to see the ogre myself."
Roy's sudden declaration made Geren and Ibaldo, standing beside him, freeze. Their faces hardened at once. The two of them had been in the middle of a meeting about the mansion's defenses while the baron was away.
The baron's own expression turned even darker. It looked as though fireballs might erupt from his eyes at any second.
"Absolutely not!"
"I'm going."
"Do you even know where that is!?"
"The Wolf Forest."
"Haa... And where did you hear something like that!?"
"That's a secret."
The baron showed not the slightest intention of taking him. Of course he didn't. The place he was heading was the region with the heaviest monster activity in the entire territory. Even without the ogre, orcs and orc giants, monstrous wolves, and terrors like trolls appeared there as a matter of course.
"You've already received reports on the performance of the weapons I made. It's true I had help from Geren and Marek, but right now I'm the only one who can perform the enchantments. You've heard how much the battlefield changed because of what one person—me—could do."
"Yes, I heard. They say the weapons' performance is extraordinary. But this is completely different. Enchanting magic in the safety of the mansion and standing in a death trap where monsters could charge you at any moment are not the same thing at all. What could a child like you even do there!? You'd only get in the way of the adults!"
"Then I'll simply show you my skill."
"What?"
"Once you see what I can do right now, you'll change your mind."
The baron felt a headache coming on. The son he had praised to the skies as gifted and brilliant was clearly determined to dig in his heels this time. But there was nothing for it. He could not take his precious boy into that savage land and put him in danger. The boy would be disappointed for a while, but that sort of thing was quickly forgotten with age. He would either talk him around or, if that failed, simply leave him behind by force.
Still, a sliver of curiosity remained. Just what did this little brat think he was going to show him?
"What exactly are you planning to show me?"
"I can't say yet. But if I can prove that what I have to offer is superior to the companions you'll be traveling with, promise you'll take me."
"......"
The baron's gaze slid toward Ibaldo. The look said, Was it you who told him about the ogre? Ibaldo hurriedly waved both hands in frantic denial.
"I'll listen, then decide. So what are you going to show me?"
"Nothing much. I was born with some talent for magic, wasn't I? I don't know how strong your companions are, but there must be at least one among them who falls short of me."
"You want to face my companions in a match?"
"If that's what you want."
He did not mean actual combat. Even so, a seven-year-old Roy would be crushed in an instant if he tried to go hand-to-hand against adults. The baron knew that as well. And unlike his magical talent, Roy's swordsmanship was so abysmal that no one in the mansion was unaware of it. He had even been lazy about practice, letting a precious gift go to waste—something that had long fretted the baron. For now he simply told himself the boy's magic talent was far superior and left it at that.
"Please allow it! I'm going no matter what."
The baron let out a long, helpless sigh and finally nodded, saying he understood. Roy looked supremely confident, but the baron's thoughts ran in the opposite direction. This was the perfect chance to thoroughly break the boy's stubbornness.
I'll use this opportunity to teach him how frightening the world really is.
Every one of his companions was someone who could more than hold their own wherever they went. If any of them actually lost to a seven-year-old child, that person deserved to be left out of the expedition entirely.
Just like Roy, the baron steeled his resolve.
The wolves were summoned.
The first to arrive was Fabre Greenhilt, the minor lord who managed the wheat fields in the northern reaches of the territory.
"I present myself before the lord."
"Is this the first time we've met since spring?"
"Since Lady Anna's birthday party, yes."
"Right. Have you been well?"
"Me? Well enough... More importantly, I hear the monsters have been swarming and causing you no end of worry. I assume this summons is related? On our side there's no forest nearby, so we haven't had any real trouble."
"Something like that."
Fabre was the father of Theo, the boy Roy had met at the baptism ceremony. Like his son, he was built as large as a bear.
"The others should be here soon. They said they'd gather and come together. I had some business, so I stopped elsewhere on the way."
"Good. We'll begin once everyone's here. Care for some tea first?"
"Gladly. By the way, I've seen faces coming and going, but it's been truly ages since I was summoned as a member of the wolves."
"Everyone's busy. Still, your sons are all grown, so you must have fewer worries."
"Don't even start. You called so suddenly I left the territory's affairs to the boys for now, but I'm still fretting."
The Soaring Wolves. Originally named the Soaring Wolves, people had simply come to call them the wolves. As the baron recalled it, that had started after they brought down the ogre. Without every single member of the party, they never would have achieved such a feat.
"I wonder if everyone is properly raising the people who will inherit after them."
"Exactly. Raising children is harder than raising wheat. Haha."
That roughly half the party came from collateral branches of House Greenhilt was something even the baron could not help. He himself had been the second son rather than the eldest, which had made gathering talent even more difficult. Yet Cliv had achieved one miracle after another, including the ogre subjugation, and had risen to the lord's seat by stepping over his already-dead brother Billy.
Most of the wolves who had fought beside him had likewise claimed the minor lordships within the territory despite not being eldest sons—an unprecedented upheaval in the history of the Greenhilt lands. Of course, a few had handed their minor lordships over to other brothers and gone off to pursue different work or simply live free.
"Hm?"
Around the time Fabre finished his cup of tea, a commotion rose outside. The other wolves had arrived.
"Sounds like the rest are here. Shall we go out?"
"Yes, Captain! Though calling you Captain again after all this time feels strange. Heh heh."
When they stepped out through the mansion's front entrance, a noisy cluster of men stood gathered outside. Seeing one another after so long, and all of them dressed as though ready to set out on a hunt that very moment, they were lost in old reminiscences and chatter. The moment the baron appeared, every gaze snapped to him.
"Captain!"
Hearing the title after so many years—not as lord, but as captain of a party—something dug deep into the baron's chest.
"Yes. It's been a long time since we all gathered like this."
He had told them to bring their weapons, so they looked ready to march off after the ogre at once. Departure, however, was three days away. There was something that had to be done first.
Whatever it is, it all ties back to that boy Roy.
The baron let out a heavy sigh. From now on he would have to have magic enchanted onto these men's weapons. He had ordered the materials prepared in advance and finished the approvals five days earlier. If he simply collected their weapons and handed them to his son, everything would be finished before the day was out.
There was just one problem. Before any enchanting could begin, he had to pit that child against one of the men standing in front of him. The baron could not quite convince himself he had made the right choice.
This is going to drive me mad.
A few hundred meters north of the lord's mansion, rather than toward the city of Parolas, a small mountain rose. At its foot lay a broad clearing, and there the Soaring Wolves had taken their places.
On one side, the reins of the horses they had ridden were tied neatly to the trees. Beside them stood two figures who had nothing to do with the wolves: a foreigner from the northern continent and a young boy, both looking awkward. They were none other than Geren and Roy.
Fabre, still completely at a loss, turned to the baron.
"Just what are we doing out here, Captain?"
"Just keep quiet and watch. I'm not sure this is right either."
"And why aren't Lady Anna or the sister-in-law here when all the wolves are gathered? I can understand the witch being her usual self, but—"
"I told them not to come. They're not joining this expedition anyway."
"Then why bring your son? And a child who only just had his baptism ceremony, no less."
"Have you gotten old too? You sure talk a lot these days!"
"Hahaha, what's the matter? It's not as if I'm the only one getting older."
Ordinarily, addressing the baron's wife as "sister-in-law" would have been improper. Young as he was, Roy should also have been called "Young Master Roy." He was the child of the lord who ruled this land, a noble before anything else. But they had gathered here as the wolves, so there was no need for aristocratic formality. Everyone was behaving as they had in the days when their names had once shaken the land. They were all comrades and brothers.
"Fabre. Who among us is the best at magic?"
This time the baron directed the question at Fabre, raising his voice so every wolf could hear.
"Getting old and hungry for compliments? That would of course be you, Captain."
"Not mana—magic!"
"Why are you getting angry? And you already know the answer. It's the witch, obviously."
Fabre's face said he could not believe anyone would ask something so obvious. But that was not the answer the baron wanted. The witch was not present. Dissatisfied, the baron exploded.
"Why are you bringing up someone who isn't even here!?"
"Ah... was I not supposed to mention the witch's name? Fine, fine. I'll pick from the people here."
As Fabre scanned the faces around them, exactly two of the wolves glared at him with looks that promised murder if he failed to choose them. One was Shepard, the young village chief of a large settlement in the south of the territory. The other was Megan, deputy commander of the Parolas city guard. Shepard was a commoner; Megan was the illegitimate child of a noble house, born of mixed commoner and noble blood.
Caught between those two sharp stares, Fabre first called Megan's name—still active and proving herself in the field—then Shepard's. Megan nodded as if it were only natural. Shepard's face twisted with fury.
"For all his looks, Fabre always did have a sharp eye for people."
"That big oaf must have gone blind with age."
"Quiet!"
At the baron's roar, the chatter cut off at once. Every gaze gathered on him. Standing in the lord's place made it natural enough, yet Roy, watching his father, felt for the first time an inexplicable charisma.
The baron now began to speak the true purpose of this summons—something he had kept silent about until this very moment—using the gathering as his stage.
It's about to start.
And Roy, thinking of revealing a portion of the skill he had kept hidden, felt more excited than usual.