II. Where Sword and Embers Are Headed (2)
II. Where Sword and Embers Are Headed (2)
According to Jorgen, it would take another two hours on foot to reach Schaffendorf.
Keldric kept his horse alongside Jorgen, matching the mercenary captain's pace.
"You're built like a damn fortress."
"But why are you traveling alone? Don't your sort usually bring servants along?"
"Shut your mouth and watch your eyes, you bastard. Worry about your own life for a change."
A few mercenaries glanced sidelong at Keldric and muttered among themselves, but they dropped their gazes before their eyes could meet his.
Mounted on his horse with a helm that hid his face entirely, Keldric was a chilling sight just to behold.
The nightmare from several months ago—the large-scale territorial war at the Battle of Robernst—still tormented them.
The knights who had been thrown into the chaotic fray, where mercenaries tangled and churned together, like a bolt of lightning, and who had butchered the mercenaries indiscriminately.
The mercenaries had been utterly helpless against the knights who drove into their formation in wedge-shaped charges.
Not that there hadn't been some who tried to stand their ground, but not even a minute after they resolved to fight to the death, they had all thrown down their weapons, pissed themselves, and fled.
In truth, only the size of their frames had differed; the armament of those knights was largely the same as the attire of Keldric, who rode beside them now.
And that made it all the more terrifying.
The fear that the knight riding at their side might abruptly swing his sword and cut them down in a single stroke.
"Did something like that happen?"
"Yes. The battle was so chaotic that enemies got confused by the formations and crossed into our side."
"That must have been more than a little alarming."
Meanwhile, Keldric, wholly unaware of any of that, was chatting about various things with Jorgen.
Coincidentally, the topic of their conversation was the territorial war at Robernst.
"Baron Robernst did win, but the expenses must have been enormous. There were hundreds of mercenaries gathered on that field alone."
"The Lord of Robernst must have been deeply aggrieved."
"A lowly man like myself wouldn't know for certain, but secretly poaching a deer from another lord's hunting ground is a very serious matter, is it not?"
"Mm. Yes, it is. A dishonorable act."
Ever since receiving a few silver coins from Keldric, Jorgen's tongue had truly been flowing like a stream in spring.
He eagerly fetched all manner of news even when not asked, and bits of his own recent experiences or intelligence about the territorial war occasionally surfaced.
Keldric gave appropriate replies to Jorgen's words while filing away his experiences and assorted information in his mind.
From what he heard, a territorial war had broken out not long ago between Baron Robernst and Baron Raibach, and the cause had been Baron Raibach stealing a deer.
Newly impressed that this was a world where territorial wars erupted over such trifling matters, Keldric absorbed every other scrap of knowledge Jorgen let drop.
It was all information that Keldric, who had lived only in the remote corner of Carlton Village, could not easily have obtained.
"What sort of city is Bellam?"
"Is this your first time going to Bellam?"
"Ah, that's right. I'd always wanted to visit before, but circumstances prevented it."
Keldric refrained from making any dignity-damaging remarks, such as this being his first time visiting a city, or indeed his first time venturing past the backwoods at all.
If he told the truth, Jorgen likely wouldn't mock him to his face, but if such a story spread among the mercenaries and he earned a disgraceful epithet like "Bumpkin Knight," it would be a grand humiliation.
'He must have come from somewhat far away!'
Unaware of that fact, Jorgen assumed Keldric was not a knight from any local house in this region.
Keldric's appearance, his attire, and the distinctive accent that surfaced little by little in his speech all clearly marked him as a northerner.
The North was vast and the snowfields were endless, so it was not unreasonable for Jorgen to guess that Keldric had come from somewhere far off in the northern reaches.
"Bellam is a fine city. Baron Yaven actively encourages trade, so many different peddlers stop there."
Keldric listened intently to Jorgen's explanation.
According to Jorgen, the power that currently governed Bellam was split into two main factions.
They were Sir Herman of House Kassel, whom Baron Yaven had appointed as castellan, and the City Council made up of the city's influential figures.
"Sir Herman is a wise man. He doesn't have any particular friction with the City Council and simply devotes himself to maintaining public order."
"What about the City Council, then?"
"Well, that's, mm..."
Keldric smelled something fishy in Jorgen's hesitation.
And Keldric's instincts tended to prove correct in most situations.
"The Bellam City Council is where the city's influential figures—that is, the people with a great deal of money—gather. The more money you have, the stronger your voice becomes, and that's how they grab themselves a seat on the council."
"People with a lot of money?"
"Yes. Most are members of trading companies or the Artisans' Guild."
"I understand the general picture, but is there some problem with these people?"
"It's less a problem and more, how shall I say it..."
By the nature of Baron Yaven's governance, which actively encouraged commerce, the wealthy inevitably gained greater influence in Bellam, where diverse trade and large sums of money passed through.
They banded together to form the City Council and, so long as they did not cross Sir Herman, managed the city among themselves as they saw fit—that was Jorgen's account.
In short, the City Council was a gathering of gold-plated plutocrats.
"Sounds rotten behind the scenes."
And Keldric knew well that wherever the flow of money was large, dirty money multiplied as well.
Jorgen could not openly agree with Keldric's words.
After all, he too was currently under the City Council's employ, if only briefly, so that was only natural.
"My apologies. I feel as if I've asked you an awkward question."
"Ah, not at all. I merely hesitated over whether a man like me could dare to agree with your words, Sir Keldric."
"You have no particular need to agree with me. I don't claim to know everything, either."
Jorgen was inwardly impressed by Keldric's nonchalant reply.
From conversing with a mercenary, a man of a profession generally deemed low, as if it were nothing, to a mindset that respected the other person's opinion.
'How can he be so courteous!'
The knights Jorgen had encountered up to now had all been lacking in some way.
Whether they were drunkards who, come night in the chaos of war, sought out drink, or men who, merely because someone fell back a step, would shout at them not to retreat and cut off their heads.
In a word, the knights Jorgen had seen were the absolute worst scum in terms of basic humanity.
Not that mercenaries were much different, but at least mercenaries, knowing their own lowly station, understood when to grovel according to the situation.
Knights had no such understanding. The only people they ever bowed their heads to were nobles who held fiefs.
By contrast, Keldric was calm beyond his years and spoke with clarity.
When he had briefly removed his helm, Keldric's face had appeared around the age of twenty at most.
He was far younger than Jorgen, but that hardly mattered at all.
Throwing your age around was a thing you did situationally; if someone was a member of a noble house, even if they were a newborn, Jorgen would have to flatten himself on the ground.
Nothing outweighed the yardstick of status.
And yet, the giant of a knight before him gave the distinct impression, even as they talked, that he respected Jorgen's experience.
"The mounted bandit gang we're tasked with handling now, the truth is they're the remnants of mercenaries who lost at the Battle of Robernst."
"Is that so? If they're all mounted, they must have been fairly skilled mercenaries."
"They're mercenaries from the Duchy of Rhees, over in the east. Fellows who peculiarly wear metal lamellar armor."
"Their armor must be tough. Isn't it dangerous?"
"It is dangerous, but the reward the City Council posted is high in equal measure. And my lads are well-seasoned when it comes to dealing with cavalry."
Perhaps that was why Jorgen found himself telling Keldric an unusually large amount.
He was pleased that a man of high status was listening carefully to his words.
For Keldric, it was little more than fishing for information, but Jorgen could not possibly have known that.
"By the way, is that wizard ordinarily a person of few words?"
Keldric gestured ahead and murmured quietly.
Jorgen, who likewise glanced at the wizard walking ahead, spoke in turn.
"About the Wizard... we don't know very much ourselves."
The wizard's personality, as Jorgen described it, was, in a word, charmless.
However eccentric wizards were said to be, refusing to even give one's name to the mercenaries who had become one's traveling companions, even temporarily, did not reflect very well.
"We don't know which Academia she graduated from, nor her honored name. All we know is that the Wizard can handle fire."
"Fire?"
"Yes. Two days ago, we encountered a few bandits, and the Wizard roasted them all."
Keldric had never seen magic with his own eyes. At most, he had encountered it indirectly when Sir Volfen or Hilmer spoke of it.
'How does she wield the fire? Does she spray fireballs, or something of the sort?'
It was easy to imagine a wizard conjuring flames, but how she applied them was difficult to picture.
"How much do you know about magic?"
"Magic, you mean? I know nothing at all. I've occasionally seen what wizards can do in territorial wars, but it was simply a curiosity to me."
Keldric had been growing interested in magic.
But imagining it only took him so far. Besides, fire-manipulating magic—he was curious about how that might work.
Keldric studied the wizard walking ahead with freshly wondering eyes.
Her fine blonde hair swayed this way and that. Now that he looked, the robe she wore seemed quite high-quality as well.
"Is she from some noble house?"
"Even that, I don't really... Judging by the grace in her bearing and speech, I suspect she might be."
"Hm..."
Hearing it from the person herself would be much faster than hearing it from others, so Keldric urged his horse forward a little and drew up alongside the wizard.
The wizard, who had been walking in silence, turned her eyes sidelong and looked at Keldric.
Keldric couldn't read the emotion in her eyes at all.
"Good day to you."
"...Yes. Good day."
Keldric had offered a courteous greeting, but the wizard acknowledged it with a curt nod and an ambiguous expression.
And that was it.
The conversation cut off abruptly, and Keldric, who had spoken first, found himself feeling awkward.
He didn't rashly ask about her house or homeland. Still, exchanging names at least seemed proper.
"God be with you. I am Keldric of House Bellaf."
"You may lower your speech. My house fell long ago."
But when the wizard pushed the conversation forward in a way he hadn't expected, Keldric found himself at a loss for words.
"Ah, er."
From a fallen house, she said.
Not asking about her house had been the right call, but now asking her name had become awkward too.
As Keldric stood tongue-tied and couldn't readily speak, the wizard let out a small laugh and said,
"It would be discourteous of me not to give my name. I am Alisa, of the School of Purifying Flame. I studied at Firenza Academia."
Keldric didn't let it show, but sure enough, Alisa's Imperial speech carried a peculiar accent here and there.
The Principality of Firenza was a state on a peninsula much farther south—a place far distant from the blizzard-swept north of the Empire.
Still, Keldric refrained from asking pointless questions.
He simply figured there must be some circumstances behind it.
"In any case, as I said, my house is fallen. What I meant is that you may lower your speech, Sir."
"I shall, if that's more comfortable for you."
"That's nice."
The way her manner flipped over like a playing card might have been offensive, but Alisa truly didn't mind.
'What in the world?'
She felt rather curious instead.
Usually, when she revealed she was from a fallen noble house, knights invariably looked down on her with utter contempt.
There were many reasons nobles fell, but most of them were not honorable.
In the eyes of knights, that was either galling or laughable.
But Keldric was different. Even after hearing Alisa's words, he seemed to let it pass without judgment.
Alisa had expected the sort of shit-headed personality common among knights, so she was able to carry on the conversation much more comfortably thanks to that.
"At any rate, about that school you mentioned."
"Ah, you mean the School of Purifying Flame."
"Yes. I've never seen magic from that school, you see. And I've been curious about magic in general."
In Alisa's view, Keldric was thoroughly an oddity.
Knights wanted only strength and glorious charges; they didn't take private time to show interest in the sly powers of wizards.
Not many knights even acknowledged magical power to begin with, and those who were curious about magic itself were even fewer.
"The direction of magic pursued by the School of Purifying Flame, to put it simply, is 'a purifying flame under complete control.'"
"Complete control?"
"Yes. Fire possesses the power to burn everything away. The School of Purifying Flame is a place that observes that nature of fire and studies how to bring it under perfect control. We believe that what lies at the apex of that pursuit is the purifying flame itself."
"That can't be easy."
"Of course it isn't. Fire is a power with an uncertainty that can leap anywhere, you see."
Alisa realized that somewhere along the way, she had begun explaining with real passion. She didn't quite know the reason.
Perhaps it was because of Keldric, whose eyes shone with curiosity, or perhaps it was because she had unexpectedly met a knight who didn't dismiss her.
"What exactly is magic, as a power?"
"That's a difficult question."
"Just answer as best you know."
"At Academia, they explain it as a power originating from the foundation of the world, brought to completion when three elements come together. It may vary slightly from one Academia to the next, but they generally think along similar lines."
Alisa's explanation flowed without hesitation.
But apart from that, it took Keldric a little time to make sense of what she was saying.
"What are the three elements?"
"Environment, catalyst, and imagination. These three are the origins of magic."
The environment was drawn from nature, the catalyst was a product of the divine source granted by God, and imagination was the wisdom that flashed within the human mind.
When these three gathered and achieved harmony, and when that harmony became refined, one at last took a step closer to the world's foundation.
The ultimate aim of wizards was the pursuit of truth toward that foundation.
"Oh..."
Keldric was genuinely impressed.
Magic was a deeper field of study than he had thought, and its goal was clear.
Keldric, who had imagined magic that simply consumed some sort of mana, put aside his earlier thought of trying to learn it early on.
It was complex beyond all reason; he was better off making the most of the power he already possessed.
Besides, he had no idea to begin with how powerful magic could even be.
"I'd like to see it once."
"My magic, you mean? Mm... If a situation for it arises, you'll be able to see it. Though the mounted bandit gang we're searching for hasn't shown so much as the tip of its nose."
Just as Alisa said, the mounted bandit gang from the Duchy of Rhees that she and the mercenaries were hunting hadn't shown even a shadow.
Keldric hoped to avoid dangerous situations if possible, but part of him also wanted to see Alisa's magic.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
About two hours after they had begun traveling with the Ram Mercenary Company, Keldric spotted smoke rising far in the distance.
"It seems we're nearly at Schaffendorf."
"That's right. We are just about there now."
Jorgen, who had avoided sleeping outdoors thanks to Keldric, looked quite pleased.
And with good reason—Jorgen and the other mercenaries were giving off a decidedly foul odor.
Keldric understood their circumstances, having gone four days without washing, but even so, the smell was hard to endure.
"I've heard Schaffendorf is a fairly large village. Is there a decent inn?"
"There's an inn called 'The Sheep Drive.' It's a humble place for you to stay, Sir Keldric, but still quite decent."
Before they knew it, the village of Schaffendorf had drawn near.
Keldric removed his helmet and looked toward the village entrance visible far ahead.
Thick black smoke billowing upward, a palisade gate strewn in disarray at the village entrance, and there, villagers standing off against mounted soldiers dashing about...
'...Huh?'
The atmosphere was wrong. Screams faintly rang out from the distance.
"Hm? Something..."
Keldric was not the only one who sensed that something was off.
Jorgen, and also the veteran mercenary Anton, were staring toward the village entrance with faces gone pale.
The horsemen visible in the distance each carried a long spear. By rough count, there were around fifteen of them.
Their metal armor glinted under the sunlight. It was peculiar armor, as if patched together from multiple iron plates.
"Those—those bastards!"
Jorgen shouted in alarm. Alisa, who had been trudging along, was also staring at the horsemen with wide, startled eyes.
The mounted bandit gang they had been chasing was right there.
"What are you all doing! Those are the ones you've been looking for!"
Keldric hastily donned his helmet and rode Boreas forward at a charge as he shouted.
The mercenaries and Alisa, belatedly coming to their senses, scrambled after him.
He couldn't ignore them and ride on past.
The Ram Mercenary Company's and Alisa's objective was to subjugate those men, and Keldric's provisions were just about running low.
He had to get into that village safely, one way or another.
"Damn it!"
Keldric spat out a curse, facing mounted soldiers yet again after only a few days.
Just when he thought he might finally take a comfortable bath and rest, mayhem had erupted on cue as always.