Chapter 6
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Northway (3)
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The Seven Great Lords.
They not only held vast farmlands promised complete tax exemption by the Emperor but were also permitted to command large numbers of serfs.
They were the ultimate privileged class, possessing both wealth and power—the true Lords who remained even after the era of Rebel King Kelkard had faded, along with their direct kin.
And the powerful families led by them were directly or indirectly involved in all sorts of profitable ventures across the Empire.
As a result, over the twenty years since the Emperor unified the Empire, all prominent families except a few with deep, ancient roots had repeatedly merged and split, inevitably sparking disputes and conflicts among themselves.
The Emperor turned a blind eye to most of these quarrels.
Yet they could no longer wage large-scale territorial wars akin to full-blown conflicts, as they had before Kelkard's time.
The Empire was a powerfully centralized state centered around the Emperor and his formidable army.
No matter how great the lords, they could not defy the edict forbidding them from assembling more than 99 cavalry and 999 armed soldiers under a single banner.
For this reason, the Great Lords could maintain only around a thousand troops at most, prompting them to devise ways to maximize effectiveness with minimal numbers.
And the solution lay in creating elite units of a select few.
Thus dawned the age of Knight Orders and Swordsmen Corps.
And thanks to them... the Empire's public order issues were largely resolved.
'Hmm. A rare Northern Army veteran, so he could probably lead a small Swordsmen Corps. Maybe even join a Great Lord's personal Knight Order... Nah. His background's unclear, so he'll probably end up in a mercenary band?'
A soldier who had served in the Imperial Army, enduring over a decade in the hellish Northern Great Mountains—someone like Blake would be welcomed with open arms anywhere.
'Anyway, his skills are solid, so he won't starve. But he's gotta be strong, right? Stronger than me, maybe?'
A subtle spark of rivalry ignited in Lindelmann as he slyly slowed his horse and glanced at Blake.
Soon, brimming with his own confidence, he began imagining a matchup between Blake's and his own prowess.
'Well, I'll see for myself someday.'
Lost in such thoughts, Lindelmann chuckled lightly and surged back to the lead.
At this point, he had no inkling how unfounded his confidence was—or how few in the world could smile upon seeing Blake like he did.
The gloomy landscape, filled solely with grayish-black earth and sky, was no more.
Hills just beginning to thaw into bluish hues were dotted with tawny rocks covered in moss, where white foxes and field mice unique to the region occasionally scurried for food.
At last, the group had reached an environment where both beasts and men could truly thrive.
"We're almost there, sir."
"Mm."
Blake nodded silently from behind the wagon at Guard's words, a Headgates guardsman.
During the journey, he'd grown somewhat close to Lindelmann and his guardsmen, gleaning several crucial pieces of information from them.
His pay and severance from Luther upon leaving the fortress were far more substantial than expected, enough to cover the trip without issue. And the destination was about a month and a half away.
He'd roughly anticipated as much, so it was no surprise.
What truly mattered to Blake was something else.
Among those they'd encounter en route, it was best to avoid picking fights with anyone bearing distinctive crests on their sword sheaths or clothing.
They were members of the Knight Orders and Swordsmen Corps.
When Blake suggested just killing any who came at them, Lindelmann and Guard gaped in shock before frantically shaking their heads in disgust.
There were too many strong ones to kill them all, and if you slew one, the rest would swarm for revenge.
Even as Blake pondered slaughtering them as they came, Lindelmann warned especially about those titled "elites" or "masters."
They all knew how to infuse their bodies and weapons with aura—what they called mana.
Blake was mildly surprised at that.
In Northernrocks, fewer than ten could "properly" wield aura, including himself.
Anyway, among these elites and masters were those trained in secret techniques and ultimate arts not shared with outsiders.
They wielded swift, powerful, and bizarre swordsmanship or martial arts, capable of felling dozens in the time it took to eat a meal.
Yet Blake himself had once unleashed aura to cut down dozens of savage tribal warriors in similar time.
'Hmm. Still, info's scarce, so best stay cautious?'
As that thought crossed his mind, Blake's gaze settled on one person.
'Not the most reliable gauge, but it'll do.'
Eyeing Lindelmann's back, Blake spoke up.
"Sir Zaroph."
"Hm? What is it?"
Growing friendly over the past few days, Lindelmann reined in his horse to slow down.
"How strong are you, Sir Zaroph?"
"Me? Me?!"
Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Lindelmann stammered, but Blake nodded casually.
"Ahem! Hm-hmm!"
Clearing his throat awkwardly a few times, Lindelmann straightened up abruptly and replied.
"Well... We've never crossed blades, so it's hard to say for sure, but at my level, I could probably hold my own against a proper knight from a first-rate Knight Order... not quite an elite, mind you."
With a modicum of conscience—and unable to wield aura yet—Lindelmann tweaked his words under Guard's subtle gaze.
"Got it. Sir Zaroph, proper knight level."
"No, wait—with a stretch, maybe even elite knight..."
Lindelmann's puffed-up pride deflated at Blake's utterly unimpressed reaction as he tried to correct himself.
But Blake had already lost interest, turning a cool gaze toward Headgates.
Lindelmann smacked his lips briefly before turning away nonchalantly and raising his voice.
"Let's go! Time for a hot bath and a proper meal after so long!"
"Yes, sir! Aye!"
The guardsmen quickened their pace with eager anticipation.
But their excitement wouldn't last.
At Headgates' entrance, Brownstone Gate, they were greeted by utterly unexpected visitors.
"Huh?"
Guard narrowed his eyes at Brownstone Gate, the gateway to Headgates.
There stood over a dozen well-equipped men in thin breastplates—not fortress guards like themselves.
Before them rode a knight in half-armor protecting his upper body, astride a black horse clad in silver light cavalry barding.
His long, thick Northern-style cloak and the knight's longsword by his saddle marked him as the leader.
"Know them?"
As Lindelmann glanced back, Guard replied with a stiffened expression.
"Credo Swordsmen Corps, sir. See the banner behind them."
"Credo? Hmm."
Lindelmann peered closely at the flag fluttering in the wind.
A large red circle enclosing two white roses facing each other.
"Ah, so that's the Credo crest."
He vaguely recalled it from his brief stop in Headgates while escorting prisoners.
But something felt off.
There was no obvious reason for the Credo family's Swordsmen Corps—rather than city guards—to be holding Brownstone Gate.
They wielded considerable influence here, but not enough to brazenly dominate Headgates.
"Something happen?"
"How should I know? First time in Headgates or Northway for me."
Lindelmann snapped curtly at Guard's worried query.
With their ordeal nearly over, the appearance of unidentified troops soured his mood.
They wouldn't dare harm imperial servants returning from duty, but the ominous vibe irked him.
Besides, right now...
'No way?'
Lindelmann's eyes flicked to the wagon.
'Nah, impossible. No one knows a Northernrocks dischargee is traveling with me. And what would Credo have to do with that?'
Dismissing it as overthinking, he shook his head.
As the gate drew nearer, Lindelmann straightened and lifted his chin.
But tension built inside him.
'Hmm...'
The Credo Swordsmen staring them down felt unnervingly off.
Now just twenty meters away, Lindelmann's tension peaked.
Suddenly, the mounted knight raised a hand, and the clustered swordsmen charged forward swiftly.
'Wh-what?'
Before he could react, they surrounded Lindelmann and the wagon.
No swords drawn, but zero goodwill either.
"What the hell is this?"
Unable to hold back, Lindelmann shouted. The black horse's rider stepped forward with a grin.
"My apologies. I'm Jude Hamilton, knight in the service of the Credo family."
Up close, Jude appeared a few years older than Lindelmann—a young knight with thin lips curved softly in a smile that wasn't unpleasant.
"Lindelmann Zaroph, third son of the Zaroph family. Returning from escorting reinforcements to Northernrocks by His Imperial Majesty's command. Mind explaining why you're blocking the road?"
Lindelmann emphasized certain words deliberately.
But Jude seemed oblivious to the stress.
"Ah, Sir Lindelmann Zaroph. Hmm, Northernrocks, eh..."
Jude's eyes sharpened briefly.
Then he smiled again.
"Anyway, that's beside the point. Haven't seen any suspicious folk on your way here? A wagon with two girls, maybe?"
"Girls? Wagon? Suspicious? No idea who you mean—we saw no one but our group."
"Hmm. Is that so?"
"Yes. Now, if you'd clear the way?"
"Hold on. Then we'll need to search that supply wagon."
"What?"
Lindelmann gawked incredulously at the still-smiling Jude.
He'd invoked the Emperor and answered their questions, yet they wanted to search the wagon?
Did they not know these were Headgates guardsmen with him?
"Listen, Sir Hamilton. Maybe I misspoke—let me repeat: We saw no one on the way here. I'm returning to Alteria after fulfilling His Majesty's orders, accompanied by these Headgates guards who aided my mission. And now the Credo Swordsmen Corps wants to search us? In broad daylight?"
Lindelmann stressed the Emperor and mission again.
But Jude's demeanor didn't shift.
"As expected of someone from Alteria—quick on the uptake. Exactly that."
"..."
Now he got it.
This smug bastard wasn't dense—he'd planned to ignore it from the start.
"You..."
Lindelmann's face flushed with anger.
"Take that as permission. Search thoroughly. And you lot, cooperate."
Cutting off any retort, Jude ordered his men and addressed the guards.
The swordsmen headed for the wagon; one climbed aboard. The guards stepped aside without resistance.
Lindelmann glared daggers at them.
"What the hell? Just step aside?! Are you sane?"
"Can't be helped, Sir Zaroph. Inside the city, maybe, but outside Brownstone Gate, clashing with Credo... Better play nice. Looks like they've cleared it with the magistrate anyway."
Guard, down from the driver's seat, explained while gauging his mood amid Lindelmann's fury.
"Ha!"
Lindelmann's features twisted again.
He knew full well the sway of the Seven Great Lords and their vassals beyond direct imperial territory, having experienced it leaving Alteria.
But this was different.
A minor local family's Swordsmen Corps harassing him and his guards—imperial soldiers on official duty—in daylight?
For Lindelmann, dreaming of becoming an imperial knight loyal to the Emperor, it was intolerable.
"Just a moment, si..."
As he gripped his sword hilt to speak—
Thwack!
"Gaaack!"
A grotesque screech, inhuman from a human throat, erupted as the swordsman who'd just entered the wagon flew out several meters.
"Huh?!"
"What?!"
He tumbled three or four rolls on the ground before sprawling limp, limbs splayed.
The swordsmen drew blades.
"Gah!"
One helping up his fallen comrade gaped wide-eyed.
The nose and upper lip that should protrude were caved deep into his face, most upper teeth gone, dangling amid bloody pulp.
"Who the hell?!"
Enraged swordsmen leveled blades at the wagon.
In that instant, a figure flashed in Lindelmann's and the guards' minds.
'Discharged soldier!'
'Blake!'
The moment they pictured him—
Bam!
He kicked away the dangling rear flap of the jostling wagon and slowly emerged.
(To be continued)