Chapter 50
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 50
The key question now was whether there was enough food to last until winter.
Of course, there wasn’t.
Harvest season had been just around the corner, which meant the granaries were at their lowest. The lush crops that had been awaiting harvest had all been turned to black ash, and the hearts of the villagers were in much the same state.
While everyone was wandering in despair, a wealthy commoner couple stepped forward.
The couple possessed a significant amount of food and distributed their supplies without regard for social status. Even the residents of the back alleys found themselves indebted to them. Rallying around the couple, the people began to cry out that they had to unite to survive.
And the very next day…
“Both were found mutilated in their home.”
It was as predictable a story as they come.
The food the couple had shared was nowhere near enough to last the winter. At most, it would have run out in less than a week. So, someone who needed more simply killed them. Just as the smell of rotting corpses filled the house, the food that had once filled their storehouse vanished without a trace.
“No one trusts anyone else. Because they don’t trust each other, they can’t unite. In this atmosphere of suspicion, everyone has locked themselves in their homes to keep from being robbed.”
Toth tentatively studied Swallow’s expression. Swallow’s face remained unchanged, as if he were listening to a trivial story.
“Fortunately, not every single field was burned. There were some areas the fire didn’t touch, but after rumors spread that the grain was contaminated, no one dared to touch it.”
That was also why the people in the back alleys hadn’t starved to death yet. The remaining grain, deemed contaminated, became their sole property. They had clung stubbornly to life by eating those discarded crops.
Because they were destitute, because they had nothing left to lose, and because they were already riddled with countless diseases, it was a choice they could afford to make.
“They ate it, but they’re fine despite the rumors?”
“…So far, yes.”
Swallow rested his chin on his hand, sitting in a chair in the ransacked living room.
There’s no way the grain was contaminated.
Anything that touched Swallow’s true body turned black, but that only applied to things he physically came into contact with. An ancient monster was not a creature that governed pestilence. How could something he hadn't even touched be contaminated?
A malicious rumor, then?
He certainly couldn’t rule out the possibility.
Meanwhile, Toth, who had been searching the living room, let out a sigh and called to Swallow. He had searched the house thoroughly, but there was nothing worth taking. He hadn’t expected much, given the clear traces that someone had already been there.
“Should we look around some more?”
“…There’s no need.”
The situation wouldn't be any different in the next house. At most, the location of a shriveled corpse might change.
After confirming that the neighboring house was indeed no different, Swallow and Toth moved on.
Their next destination was the outskirts near the city walls. The walls of Hastin, so steeped in peace that moss grew thick in the shaded areas, greeted them.
As they walked, Toth handed Swallow a handkerchief. It was dirty and crude—little more than a scrap of cloth—but he pulled out an identical one for himself and covered his nose.
“It’s better than nothing,” Toth suggested, his voice muffled.
The further they walked, the thicker the stench became. A smell this intense would surely make a human dizzy, but Swallow walked on without any reaction.
They arrived at a massive pit, overflowing with a pile of corpses.
“At first, most of the villagers believed the disaster’s aftermath wouldn’t last long,” Toth explained. “They intended to hold proper funerals for the bodies piled in Hastin Square, even if they couldn’t do it right away.”
But hardship had fallen upon the survivors as well. It was impossible to hold funerals when they could barely look after themselves.
“So, this pit was created to temporarily hold the bodies. If corpses are left in the streets, the city becomes infested with insects, so they began moving all the bodies here.”
Swallow looked up. A mountain of corpses rose high above his head, and its shadow fell over them both. The number of people who died in Hastin Square couldn’t possibly be this high. This was a mountain of those who had starved to death or died from other causes since.
“Aren’t you going to burn them?”
“…The bodies are so tangled together it’s difficult to even identify them. Many families and relatives likely still harbor lingering attachments. Well, the biggest problem is that with no unity, no one is willing to step forward and do it.”
Toth fell silent. The buzzing of insects, swarming like black clouds, was deafening.
Only after Swallow, who had been staring at the mountain of corpses for a long time, began to walk away did Toth follow and continue his explanation.
“I didn’t mention this earlier, but that murdered commoner couple had a daughter.”
Despite the serious nature of the story, Swallow gave a small yawn, as if unable to overcome his lethargy. Toth continued regardless.
“…It means Rosalina’s parents are also buried at the bottom of that pit.”
“How tragic.”
His sentiment was brief.
As if there were still a few more places to see, Toth led the way, and Swallow followed in silence.
Walking along the city walls, they saw guards protecting the West Gate. As Swallow looked at them absentmindedly, his eyes met theirs.
The guards looked haggard. Standing all day in light armor had to be an ordeal in itself. Still, the fact that they were guarding the gate meant they were receiving proper compensation. It meant they weren't being starved.
Not being starved… I see.
In other words, there was food in the Lord’s Castle.
The words Patrick had repeated until his ears bled came to mind.
「The Lord of Hastin committed suicide.」
「It seems he took his own life before the Imperial Family could hold him accountable. They say he was found dangling from the ceiling of his room like a fruit just before harvest.」
So who is the Lord now?
Swallow, who had been thinking while glancing at the guards, suddenly stopped in his tracks. Toth, walking ahead, also stopped.
Facing a puzzled Toth, Swallow asked in a low voice, “…Are people still trying to escape the village?”
“I heard the guards are blocking them.”
“That would be the Lord’s order, right?”
“Most likely.”
“I see.”
When they had first stayed at the tavern in Hastin, Patrick had left his seat to go see the Lord. It was certainly suspicious.
“The Lord is definitely suspicious,” Swallow muttered quietly.
*
“The Lord is definitely suspicious.”
He had been a figure shrouded in doubt from the beginning.
In a case like this, there’s no clearer answer than meeting them in person, is there?
Several hours had passed since his conversation with the leader of the back-alley dwellers. Patrick, standing still in a vacant lot, muttered to himself.
There were countless ways to meet the Lord, from staging a coincidental encounter to the infiltration he’d attempted last night. Since he had already confirmed the presence of internal security, he was confident he could see the Lord if he simply slipped through a window during the night.
But even if I do that, it won't mean much, will it?
You couldn’t uncover someone’s schemes just by staring at their sleeping face. A tremor in the voice, a subtle glance, a nervous habit, their entire demeanor—to learn anything meaningful, he needed a direct conversation.
In short, he had to go before the Lord and speak with them face-to-face.
The problem was how. There was no need to overthink it. Patrick gave a small, thoughtful cough.
If he needed to see the Lord, he just had to create a situation where the Lord had to see him. He just needed to cause a major incident within the territory, whether for good or for ill.
Either commit a grave crime or perform a great service.
Patrick chose the latter.
Committing a crime carried a high probability of being dragged straight to a dungeon without ever meeting the Lord. Considering the hassle of cleaning up afterward, gaining an audience by performing a feat was a much better choice.
And to perform a feat, a corresponding crisis was necessary.
No need to overthink these things.
He could just create the crisis himself.
It was a time-honored method nobles had used since ancient times to capture a woman's heart—the classic ‘prince on a white horse’ routine. It was common and childish, but its effectiveness was guaranteed.
Intentionally create a crisis, resolve it himself, and gain fame.
A wicked smile spread across Patrick’s face. In his hands, he carefully held a Harpy egg, cradling it as if it might break. The process of smuggling it in from outside Hastin hadn't been easy.
He had actually wanted a Wyvern egg, but since there were no Wyvern nests near Hastin, he’d settled for a Harpy egg instead. From sneaking out of Hastin to venturing into the forest, stealing the egg, and returning—even at a full sprint, he had wasted half a day.
Harpies have an excellent sense of smell. They also emit a terrible stench, a unique odor that clung to their eggs as well. On the path he took back into Hastin, he had planted items smeared with the Harpy scent in various spots.
Before long, the Harpies would catch the scent of their stolen egg and come swarming. Since they were creatures that lived in family units, he expected three or four of them to flock here. In the village's current state, the guards would never be able to stop a Harpy raid.
The plan was for Patrick to intervene then, drive away all the Harpies, and take the credit.
“I came up with it myself, but what a brilliantly perfect plan. Hah, sometimes my own talent scares me.”
Of course, a knight suddenly appearing to deal with a sudden Harpy attack would be extremely suspicious. But you couldn't execute a plan without taking a few risks. Besides, the only goal was to meet the Lord.
Having finished his self-justification, Patrick looked up. As if on cue, the sound of distant, loud screeching grew louder.
“They’re already here.”
Patrick hid the egg and picked up a thick tree branch to use as a makeshift sword. It was a crude weapon for a savior, but what did it matter?
I really think I’m a genius.
Lost in self-admiration, Patrick began to count the approaching Harpy flock. The swarming mass seemed a little larger than he’d expected.
One, two, three, four, five…
“That’s quite a few.”
No, was it more than ‘a few’?
A swarm of Harpies, numbering dozens by a rough estimate, was descending upon them.
He ran out of fingers on one hand, then the other. Only then did Patrick mutter to himself in a small voice.
“Damn it.”
I didn’t realize they were such a large family.
Phase. 5
Lara.
You, at least, must live.
It was the same nightmare that had haunted her for days.
Judging by the stiff, clammy sensation clinging to her body, she must have fallen asleep curled up under the covers again. Her entire body was drenched in sweat.
“My Lord.”
At the maid’s call, the Lord of Hastin, Lara Cinebier Etarque, barely managed to open her heavy eyelids.
“Did you have a nightmare again?”
“…I am fine.”
Lara stood, her voice cracking as if the nightmare still lingered. Her movements were unstable. Just as the anxious maid had feared, Lara immediately stumbled.
“I can do it on my own,” Lara said, pressing her temples as if fighting a severe headache.
She coldly brushed away the maid’s helping hand and took a precarious step.
The girl headed for the window. Had she overslept? The sun was already high in the sky. The ornate windowpanes obscured the view, so Lara struggled to push them open with her slender hands. A chilly wind blew in.
Lara, soaked in sweat, shivered at the cold. Her clothes were so thin they were nearly translucent, leaving her all but
naked.
The maid standing nearby asked with a worried expression, “Shall I bring some warm tea and warmed clothes?”
“…I only need the clothes.”
She sent the maid away and looked out at the view beyond the castle.
The Hastin visible from the window was nothing short of desolate. An unusually fierce sandstorm blew through streets where not a single person could be seen. What had settled over the town was not the silence of peace, but the void of empty streets.
Every time she looked at the village, complex emotions flooded Lara’s mind.
Lara.
You, at least, must live.
The last line of the suicide note and the words her older brother spoke in her dreams echoed in her head.
Lara slowly raised her head and looked at the ceiling.
That ceiling, visible just by turning her head slightly from the bed. It was there. Her brother—the previous Lord of Hastin—had hanged himself. In this very room, right there.
Her dead brother visited her in her dreams every night.
Sometimes he was dangling from the ceiling, sometimes his neck was gripped by branches that looked like human hands. Most of the nightmares began like that and ended with her having a conversation with her hanging brother.