Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: #8 Trip to the Capital (1)
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That day was one where Elric tossed and turned in a vicious nightmare.
Alternatively, it was the day Tilia's fever finally broke completely, allowing her to return to the office.
In another sense, it was the day fresh news arrived from the Western Front—and all told, the end of the year was drawing near.
“Three more kingdoms have fallen.”
Tilia remarked as she read the Western monthly report.
Just as she said, three additional kingdoms had already set off down the path to ruin in that brief span of days.
Each one lacked a spot among the Continent's Seven Strongest, and now the battlefield had narrowed to a standoff between five kingdoms and a single empire.
“Won’t the lines start to solidify soon?”
To Tilia's question, Elric replied sharply.
“It’ll only get fiercer.”
“Pardon?”
“Ah….”
Only then did Elric snap out of it.
The nightmare must have rattled him—his nerves were on edge.
He’d thought they’d eased up lately, but here they were again, messing with his head and routine.
Elric gave an awkward smile and elaborated.
“Sorry about that. What I meant is, the easy wars are over. From here on, it’ll be a bloodier dogfight.”
“Easy… wars?”
“That’s right. The kingdoms that fell so far didn’t have any of the strong ones, did they? With those out of the way, what’s left is a clash of the titans—so the battlefield’s bound to heat up.”
“You’re saying individuals can sway a war that much?”
“Just look at the Knights of Blazing Flower Igret. In the end, battlefields bend to the whims of a handful of powerhouses.”
It was absurd, but true.
Scholars had declared, amid the invention and refinement of gunpowder and steam, that individual might could no longer sway the field of battle.
But what had the Western War shown?
The battlefield was still ruled by a single spell etched on a staff or a single swing from a superhuman blade.
So yes, this had been the “easy” phase.
Battles against nations without powerhouses were better described as one-sided slaughters.
Tilia looked unconvinced at Elric’s words.
Her response carried the same doubt.
“Even if that’s true, wouldn’t fights between powerhouses make everyone more cautious? I can’t picture things getting more frantic than they already are.”
It was a reasonable question.
Though miles from the truth.
“It’s down to their matchups.”
On this point, Elric understood better than anyone.
After all, he himself held one of those Seven Strongest seats.
“Blazing Flower can’t pierce Heavenly Wing. Heavenly Wing can’t pierce the Demon King. The Demon King can’t pierce the Saint, and the Saint can’t pierce the Golden Duke.”
The moment he mentioned Golden Duke, Elric rubbed his knee.
A wry smile accompanied it.
“It’s like dominoes. If one upsets the balance in the current setup, the whole battlefield collapses into irreversible chaos in an instant.”
Say two powerhouses formed a temporary alliance and took out one rival—the war would end right there.
The rest wouldn’t last a single season before tipping decisively one way or the other.
There’d be no ceasefire.
The battlefield wouldn’t stop until only one nation remained on Western soil.
Two decades of enmity had carved grudges too deep for any accord.
Having finished his explanation, Elric cleared his throat.
‘Hmm, did I come off too know-it-all?’
The thought hit him late. He glanced at Tilia.
She was lost in thought for a moment before posing a question.
“What about Sword Ghost Kasha, then?”
Elric flinched, his fingertips trembling.
“Th-the Sword Ghost?”
“Yes. If matchups are what you say, then he must have one too.”
“Haha….”
No matter how he spun it, it’d sound like self-praise.
Feeling embarrassment flood to the tips of his hair, Elric replied.
“…He doesn’t.”
“Pardon?”
“The Sword Ghost has no matchup. He reads the situation. The gap in army strength, the weather and terrain at the time, all those factors—it’s those that decide victory. Get it?”
Even his knee injury had stemmed from such a scenario.
A brutally lopsided force.
He’d had to hold off thousands alone, and their armor was forged in the Golden Duke’s domain.
Enemies charging from the hilltops, no less, with the wind at their backs that day—how could he have emerged unscathed?
Surviving at all was a miracle.
Even if he went back, Elric doubted he could defend better than he had.
“Anyway, it’s moot. The Sword Ghost won’t show on any battlefield again.”
As he tried to change the subject, Elric realized Tilia’s gaze was piercing him intensely, as if seeing right through.
His heart sank.
Had he given her grounds for suspicion?
No—jumping to doubt just because he mentioned Kasha’s disappearance would mean she was the paranoid one.
And to Elric, Tilia seemed far from that.
“Wh-what’s wrong…?”
He asked cautiously, and Tilia answered.
“You didn’t mention his situation at all. And he’s one of the Seven Strongest.”
“Ah, aha!”
Elric exhaled in relief.
“You can’t know a situation matchup! He went silent after sparking the war twenty years ago, didn’t he? No clashes with the other powerhouses, so no rushing to judgment!”
The previous emperor of the empire, the war’s instigator.
He’d pulled back from the front not three months after it began and hadn’t shown his face publicly since.
So Elric couldn’t know.
He’d only started operating on the battlefield a decade ago, and risen as a powerhouse less than five years back.
“Ah, anyway!”
Elric cut himself short.
“What do powerhouse matchups have to do with us? That’s the other side of the continent, isn’t it?”
“…True enough. The trade rails are done anyway.”
Tilia nodded readily in agreement.
Only then could Elric fully relax.
‘Whew, gotta watch this mouth of mine.’
Spouting off just because he knew something—slip up, and he’d plant seeds of doubt.
He chided himself to be careful, ever more careful.
*
They were enjoying such a peaceful interlude.
In Weibin, where the biggest gossip—barring debates on front-line news—was some house’s cow birthing five calves at once, things stayed serene.
Elric and Tilia’s dynamic was much the same.
They faced each other handling affairs, but whenever silence fell, an itchy awkwardness lingered, stifling conversation.
It was an uncomfortable quiet that somehow didn’t feel bad—and it filled the office where the two sat today.
“A letter from the royal capital.”
Aldio broke the hush, bearing a letter.
The white envelope bore the royal seal, and Aldio proffered it with utmost deference.
Elric tilted his head.
“From the capital?”
“Oh, it must be about the New Year’s gala.”
At Tilia’s response, Elric turned to her.
“Gala?”
“The new year’s almost here. It’s the kickoff event for the year, so all nobles are strongly encouraged to attend.”
Elric nodded, some understanding dawning.
But doubts lingered.
“Do we have to go?”
He felt zero urge.
Ferdin lay far from the Western Front, a backwater kingdom—so no immediate worry of recognition.
Still, with every noble gathered, petty squabbles could drag him in, and if he lost his temper, eyes would turn.
Someone might dig into his past and link to Kasha.
He’d skip if possible.
But…
“No can do. It’s phrased as a strong suggestion, but it’s basically an order.”
Tilia was firm.
“It’s dressed up as a gala, but really, it’s a basic loyalty check. Skip it, and you’ll catch the crown’s ire.”
“Mm….”
“If you truly hate it, I suppose I’ll have to go alone.”
Elric’s shoulders twitched.
Come to think of it, yes.
“…How’d you handle last year?”
“I went alone. It was the first gala after the previous Family Head’s passing, so I drew eyes.”
Why did it feel like pressure?
No, Elric knew the answer.
More than that, the thought of her heading to the capital solo stirred an inexplicable aversion.
Even setting guilt aside, he didn’t like the attention she’d draw.
He couldn’t say why.
“…Fine, I’ll go.”
He blurted in a surge of feeling.
Tilia nodded at once.
“Wise choice. Then I’ll ready the carriage. And pack our things.”
“Hm? Not taking the train?”
“Pardon?”
Their puzzled gazes met.
Elric cocked his head, and Tilia explained.
“…Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”
Her worry plain, Elric sighed.
He recalled Elbus Graham once mentioning her kind.
—Ever met someone with technophobia? The type uneasy about every modern contrivance? I swear I saw one just like that lately. What was it—trains are too fast, can’t jump off in an emergency?
‘So it’s real.’
To think someone who saw analog as the only safe truth sat so close—gazing at her oddly, Elric mused.
“We’ll take the carriage. What if trouble hits on a train and we can’t react? Plus, you can’t bring many guards on one. Harder to stay safe.”
Was she such a country bumpkin?
She spoke measuredly, but it came off as sheer fright.
Living in old-fashioned Weibin had masked it—until now, unveiling this to Elric.
A whole new side of her.