Building Merits (3)
The chirping of insects rang out like quiet music through the stillness.
Even in the deep darkness, Lediche could not sleep. She sat blankly on her cot and took a slow sip of water.
There was no shortage of things to worry about.
Riel. The Rueshatia family. The sudden silence of victory reports. The movements of the barbarians…
“…Rubiru.”
Rubiru was frail.
From the very beginning she had possessed so little mana that she could not even learn magic at the academy. Magic was no miracle. It was nothing like the divine blessings the priests used to heal others.
With almost no mana of her own, Rubiru had staked her life to cast recovery magic—for Riel’s sake, for the dying soldiers. Because she had no mana, she had burned her own life force as fuel to save them all.
Would time alone restore her beyond this?
Perhaps.
No—it would certainly be difficult.
She might not even have a few years left.
A Saintess might be able to restore Rubiru… but what chance was there of a noble Saintess appearing on a battlefield like this? Even if one did take the field, Lediche knew it would be the eastern front, not here.
Rubiru had been assigned to the Special Task Force. In three months she would have to march into battle.
This was… nothing less than an order to die if she refused to obey them.
“…Hic—”
Her father was dead. Her friend stood on the brink of death. Her benefactor had made an enemy of the nobility for her sake.
In the three months since Riel had stepped forward, the barracks had changed and they had gained a voice, yet the fundamental problems remained unsolved. The nobles still behaved as if the world belonged to them. The knights, wary of Riel, refused to assign him proper soldiers. And now word had come that the barbarians were preparing an advance.
She was the young family head, the one who had walked onto this battlefield as the representative of Rueshatia—yet fear still gripped her.
Death itself was terrifying, but the thought of being left alone after every person she cherished had vanished was far worse.
In the night thick with settling darkness, Lediche, pitiful as it was, tried to forget one fear by summoning another.
She remembered the days when Rueshatia had clung to survival against plague and famine with the money Lauren had lent them. She remembered the day she had been sold to Lauren under the weight of impossible interest. She remembered the room filled with nauseating red light and those spine-chilling screams. And she remembered the boy who had smiled as he saved her.
Even standing against the light, his eyes had been clear, his smile warm.
If angels exist, even though I don’t believe in gods… wouldn’t they look like that?
She recalled how she had stared like a fool and asked him at least for his name.
And then, as if the fear had never existed, a smile rose to her lips.
Lediche smiled bashfully, pitifully, and breathed the anxiety out with a long exhale. She simply held the image of the boy who had appeared like a splendid knight from a fairy tale.
“…Riel.”
Strangely, when she was with Riel, the fear never came.
Even though the loss of her father still hurt, his presence brought comfort.
Have I fallen in love?
The thought drifted in and made her smile for a moment before she shook her head and banished it. Lediche carefully rose and walked toward the neighboring tent.
“…Riel, are you there?”
Her trembling voice called for him, but no answer came.
Riel always left for training before dawn, so she had never once heard a reply no matter how many times she called. And truthfully, Lediche was not calling in hopes of hearing his voice.
She called hoping he would be gone.
Every single day.
Because there was something she could only do when Riel was absent.
“…I’m coming in, Riel.”
Only after calling once more did Lediche step inside the tent. She moved naturally through the darkness and walked to Rubiru’s bedside.
Even in sleep Rubiru’s face was twisted. Her brown hair was plastered to her skin with sweat.
…I’ll make you comfortable soon, Rubiru.
She had seen Rubiru and Riel embrace. She had seen them hold hands, seen him smile as he taught her dagger techniques. The thought that the two of them might feel more than simple fondness was not hers alone.
…Because Riel will suffer.
Three months remained until Rubiru’s assignment to the Special Task Force. Lediche still had no idea how to extract her, but she simply wanted to do what she could right now.
Feeling a measure of jealousy, yet also pity and envy for the girl who had sacrificed herself for Riel, Lediche reached out.
She laid her hand between Rubiru’s breasts and closed her eyes.
Soon a blue haze rose, gently stirring Lediche’s hair and the hem of her clothes. Using life force would only give Riel more people to worry about, so she poured in mana instead. No—she used mana to cast a healing spell.
Rubiru’s complexion improved while Lediche’s own face grew pale. Even so, she gently smoothed her sleeping friend’s hair and murmured softly.
“…For Riel’s sake as well, Rubiru. I’ll protect you.”
Then she returned to her own tent.
Scratch, scratch.
She wrote a letter.
She knew the Rueshatia territory, stripped of every blood relative of the family, could not be whole. Still, she wanted to force the issue and learn about Riel’s family. She wanted to use that family as leverage if necessary, anything to keep Riel from walking into death again and again.
And so, in the early dawn, Lediche left the tent with the letter in hand and walked toward the quiet outer edge of the camp. Supplies arrived at dawn; she should not have been there, but she needed to ask the returning men to deliver the letter.
Outside, several soldiers were already training. On her way back after sending the letter, Lediche suddenly stopped and searched for Riel.
No matter how hard she looked, he was nowhere to be seen.
Even when she stopped a passing soldier and asked, the only answer she received was, “Wonder why we haven’t seen him today?”
Special Task Force.
The ominous words brushed through her mind.
Discovering that the barbarians were preparing an advance had come at a cost.
Conscription soldiers sent on reconnaissance had died. Sometimes the mercenaries or knights who accompanied them never returned either. When more troops were dispatched to the same scouting sites where barbarians had been found, more than half were killed, and half of those who remained wasted away and died soon after.
Even the knights and nobles had grown afraid.
The claim that even “I,” who had so easily crushed knights, had fled in terror of the barbarians… that claim was beginning to feel true.
There were a few knights who could handle mana, and some who were strong enough that subduing them had taken time. Yet every one of them preferred to spout fine-sounding words about protecting their lords rather than leave on reconnaissance. When the conscripts went out in their place, they wept like children.
That I, who had smashed knights one after another, had fled from barbarians.
That even though I was the weakest among the soldiers of Cologne and Rueshatia, I had still failed to stop every barbarian.
The handful of lies I had spoken, combined with the fact that knights were dying to barbarians, had dragged the army’s morale into the dirt.
Looked at another way, however, it could be considered a good thing.
Because no one could be allowed to defy Lediche’s words.
If I returned with barbarian heads, hope would be born.
And at the center of that hope would stand “me”—and “Lediche.”
I had no intention of charging in recklessly.
The ones I had last seen had raised flames along their blades. I did not imagine I could kill those who had been beyond even Baron Cologne’s ability to handle.
I only needed enough merit to pull Rubiru out of the Special Task Force.
At least that much.
So I was not hunting those flame-wielders. I was hunting scouting parties.
There would be no mana users among scouts.
I walked a little, ran a little, crouched to observe, then pressed deeper inward.
Once I entered the dense forest, darkness filled the space more thoroughly than any firelight.
Rustle—
The sound of undergrowth moving reached me.
The dagger techniques I had learned at the guild proved invaluable. The foundation of dagger work was avoiding close combat—ambush.
I hid my presence, carefully took position behind a tree, and waited.
Footsteps—roughly six.
Five barbarians and one who looked like a squad leader.
They carefully pushed through the brush, advancing toward our camp.
I waited, and waited again.
When they had drawn close enough, I picked up a stone from the ground and threw it far away.
Clack, clack.
The moment their eyes were stolen by the stone, I launched myself forward with everything I had.
I slit the throat of the nearest barbarian with my dagger. The one standing directly ahead, startled by the spraying blood, received my sword straight through the chest.
Two dead in a single breath. The remaining four quickly spread out and raised their guard.
Piiiiii—!
One of them blew a whistle.
From far off came the sound of running feet, the shouts of barbarians. It might have been my imagination, but those sounds truly seemed to reach my eardrums.
Clang! Clang!
Blade met blade.
Unlike the two I had finished with the ambush, I could not cut down the remaining four in a single stroke. True to the name “barbarian,” this was clearly not their first life-or-death fight. They even let themselves be cut if it meant pushing me into a position where their comrades could strike more easily.
Thump.
I had sparred with knights, watched their swordsmanship, sometimes imitated it, added what was necessary, and grown stronger. Yet the poor visibility of the dark, the many-against-one odds—fighting under such disadvantages was never easy.
Physique. Numbers. Psychological pressure.
I held the advantage in none of them.
Thump.
I twisted my head just enough to dodge a barbarian’s axe, drove in, and thrust my sword into his chest—then pulled it free while spinning, batting aside a greatsword that came from the side.
Clang—
Sparks flew as iron struck iron.
In that fleeting flash, the blade shone.
My own reflection appeared on the steel.
My black eyes were trembling slightly.
Thump—!
I killed two more, but the squad leader and one other remained.
I had no idea how long until the other scouting parties joined them.
My only path to survival was to kill these two before the others arrived and then hide.
Yet they refused to fight me properly.
When I closed in they widened the distance; when I finally narrowed it they parried and fled again. When I tried to leave, they chased and hurled daggers.
They had grown afraid because I had killed four so easily.
Afraid—yet still calculating how best to bring me down.
Thump, thump, thump, thump—!
My heart hammered madly.
The shouts of the approaching scouts, which had been faint before, now seemed loud enough to burst my eardrums.
I felt as though I could see the future.
I had been wrong to assume every barbarian would simply stand and fight. Instead of trying to kill them all in one ambush, I should have lured a few at a time and faced them two or three at once.
This was the worst possible situation.
Could I kill every one of those who joined?
I could not even grasp how to break free. The time felt endless and hopeless—
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump—
My heart raced as if it would explode.
Emotions I had tried so hard to forget seemed to rise again.
In the midst of the chaos I forced myself to recall the things that held me together.
Rhea. Ceria. Claudia.
The childhood friends I loved, my family.
Rubiru. Lediche.
People I cherished beyond measure.
The soldiers of Cologne and Rueshatia.
Comrades who had looked out for one another.
Drip—
The moment I thought of them, the pounding somehow began to settle.
It was not that I suddenly understood the flames I had once seen on a sword, or the nature of mana. It was only a strange sense of familiarity, as though I had lived through this exact situation many times before.
Without realizing it I adjusted my grip on the sword.
It almost felt as if someone else were moving my body.
The way I reset my hold, the steps I took, the way my eyes swept the surroundings—everything felt awkward, yet strangely familiar.
Foolishly, in a way I myself could not understand, I charged toward the other scouting party.
Somehow it simply felt like the thing I had to do.
The scouts who rushed me did not try to flee.
They outnumbered me heavily, and more importantly they had not watched the others die.
I cut. I pierced.
I ducked slightly to dodge, then knocked aside the blades that flew at me.
And all the while, so they would not run, so they would still cling to the hope of revenge, I deliberately carved shallow wounds into my own body and pressed even deeper.
Pain sharpened my mind. That sharpened mind chewed the breath rising to my throat into pure fear and swallowed it.
I had no idea how much time passed.
When I finally came to myself, the only living barbarians left were two men slumped on the ground.
The relief of having survived made my hands tremble and my legs threaten to give out. Sweat poured down. Blood welled from the large and small cuts on my arms, shoulders, stomach, thighs, and calves. My once-warm body temperature plummeted; a chill wrapped around me.
“Haa—haaaah—!”
When I stepped forward to finish the remaining two, those barbarians who had looked so strong only moments ago covered their faces with both hands and curled up.
Was it because for the past few months I had spoken of honor in front of nobles?
Or was I simply not cold-hearted enough to kill men already drowning in terror?
I turned my back on them and walked toward a barbarian who still lay with his eyes open in death. Unlike the others, those who appeared to be squad leaders bore markings on their clothing.
I did not know what they meant, but the noble bastards would.
I set my sword against the mark—
Grind, grind—
and severed the head.
“Guh—guh-huk— S-Squad leader— h-hic—”
The barbarians sobbed, yet they did not charge me.
Afraid they might attack if I staggered, I tied the two heads together with cord, hung them from my belt, and walked as straight as I could toward the camp.
When I finally emerged from the dense forest, dawn was breaking.
Soldiers gathered in alarm and raised their swords, then recognized me and lowered them again.
Beyond them, my eyes met Lediche’s as she stood frozen.
She ran to me, wordlessly tearful, and pulled me into a tight embrace.
Lediche herself delivered the report of the merits.
Just as Riel had expected, hope took root in the camp.
The conscripts began to believe they might not die pointlessly after all. The knights felt the same.
Naturally, Lediche and Riel stood at the center of that hope.
Even though the camp contained several knights who could handle mana, the conscripts followed Riel and followed Lediche. A few knights even set their pride aside and asked to be taught.
The nobles, however, were different.
If Riel had single-handedly faced two scouting parties and returned with the heads of their squad leaders—if he was truly that strong—then did that not mean the knights who had claimed to be better than that young upstart could handle even greater numbers?
Wherever the fear that had gripped them until recently had gone, Lois Kellingan—the youngest of Marquis Kellingan’s house, or rather the bastard the family had cast out and abandoned on the battlefield—smiled.
Even a simple calculation showed more than ten knights standing at his side alone. Counting every knight belonging to the nobles, the number approached a hundred.
He had watched a boy younger than himself, a mere commoner, accomplish something and felt jealousy—then arrived at the thought, Ah… so it was never anything special to begin with.
Another month passed.
By the time Riel had fully recovered and soldiers buoyed by hope occasionally brought back victory reports against barbarian scouts—while still no reward for the “merits” had been given and Lediche’s treatment remained unchanged—the moment arrived when Lois was officially recognized as the highest-ranking noble on the battlefield.
“Is there any reason you gentlemen cannot do what that young boy managed? Accomplish something and your standing within your families will change. Besides, we ourselves are not the ones who will die, are we?”
Lois persuaded the other nobles and commanders and ordered the recapture of the foremost outpost.
He abandoned the places they only needed to hold and ordered an advance.
Following the commanders’ orders, the conscripts poured out after the knights in great numbers, expanding the lines and securing the advance route.
Meanwhile, the reply to the letter Lediche had sent arrived.
Rhea. Ceria. Claudia.
How the three girls were faring.
A letter written without omission or embellishment by the retainers of Rueshatia who had gone to confirm it.