VIII. A Knight Craves Battle (7)
VIII. A Knight Craves Battle (7)
The crisis that had nearly brought the inner castle down from its foundations seemed to have ended well, thanks to Keldric's timely ingenuity.
That said, a few minor problems still remained in Bogenberg.
"So... you're saying you don't know why?"
"Yes. I can't determine the exact cause either..."
First, Jacober—the man Keldric had risked his life to capture—had become an imbecile.
More precisely, he became an imbecile during the day and returned to normal at night. Even Niccolò, who had taken charge of Sir Ortvin’s treatment, could make no sense of the strange condition.
For the first time in his life, that left Keldric feeling a faint trace of fear.
Having urine poured over him was humiliating, certainly, but how had it reduced him to a complete fool?
Could wizards turn even urine into a deadly weapon?
He could hardly ask Alisa such an insulting question, so Keldric kept his mouth shut.
Jacober’s interrogation therefore had to be conducted at night. There was no helping it.
The second problem was that Sir Ortvin showed no sign of waking.
While Keldric was away at Spitzenberg, Niccolò visited Sir Ortvin’s bedchamber every day and tended him devotedly.
There had been clear improvement. His complexion looked better, and so few Erosion Larvae remained in his body that his bloodstream would carry them away and kill them naturally.
Regaining consciousness, however, appeared to be another matter.
Keldric could do nothing about that. He could only pray that Niccolò’s skill would prevail or that Sir Ortvin would overcome the illness himself.
The third and final problem might have been Keldric’s greatest ordeal of all.
"...Alisa. I’m truly sorry."
No answer came. Keldric bowed his head before the door that refused to open.
In all eighteen years of his life in this world, Keldric had never sincerely regretted an action or blamed himself for it.
This time was different. He sighed as he pictured Alisa beyond the tightly shut door.
'I was out of my damn mind.'
When he calmly reconsidered it with a clear head, what he had done was utterly insane.
He had poured urine over a person—not cold water, but warm piss produced barely ten minutes earlier.
It had unquestionably been necessary, though.
Keldric did not regret pouring it over Jacober.
What troubled him was that he had dumped the warm, bright-yellow fluid over a man right in front of the person who had produced it. He could only imagine Alisa’s humiliation.
It felt as though the world was testing Keldric.
Why, of all things, had the condition been 'fresh urine from a young maiden'? And why the hell had it worked so well?
Jacober had ended up half-witted, so “worked well” was debatable. Even so, preventing that absurdly catastrophic explosion far outweighed the drawback.
Even Count Bogenberg praised Keldric for it.
Apparently shaken by how close the castle had come to being half destroyed, the count moved Jacober’s interrogation to a hut on the outskirts of the city.
It was an obvious precaution. Another unexpected incident might occur.
That was one matter. Personal humiliation was another.
"..."
Keldric waited outside Alisa’s room for a long time, but she never answered.
He could clearly sense someone inside, though all he heard was muffled rustling.
She had probably pulled the blanket over her head. Keldric decided it would be best not to disturb her further.
'Damn it.'
Keldric had also rolled around on his bed when mortifying childhood memories suddenly resurfaced.
Alisa probably felt something similar, but her particular humiliation was not something he could casually presume to understand.
They both needed time to think—Alisa and Keldric alike.
Alisa needed time for the humiliating memory to fade, while Keldric needed to find a way to cheer her up and turn his attention back to his real duty.
"Sir Keldric. His Excellency is asking for you."
The territorial war.
It had drawn too close for him to avoid or reject any longer.
"I’m coming."
Not that Keldric had any intention of avoiding it.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
A territorial war was not necessarily a bloody war.
If the lords reached an amicable agreement, their forces might disband without a single battle. Often, a few dozen or a few hundred men merely skirmished until the conflict ended almost before anyone noticed.
The fighting might not be fierce, but the struggle over gains and losses certainly was.
Whether blood was spilled or not, one side’s defeat ultimately meant taking a loss.
The victor took the spoils; the loser surrendered them. That principle underlay the world itself.
One might assume nobles would never strip one another of everything, but there were no guarantees.
Whatever the details, defeat never ended well for a lord.
In extreme cases, a ruined lord failed to pay his mercenaries, and the furious soldiers plundered the entire domain.
Most of those mercenaries were later executed, but the important point was that it had happened.
Conversely, noble sons and knights could hardly ask for a better chance to advance themselves.
A defeat for their lord would hurt, but they had already been paid. They could simply leave afterward.
If they distinguished themselves in battle, their rising fame sent their value soaring.
"There is something I need you to do."
This would be Keldric’s first territorial war—the first stage on which he would formally serve as a knight.
He had performed knightly duties before, such as aiding Sir Herman of House Kassel, Bellam’s ruling family, in a trial by combat.
Participating in a territorial war was another matter entirely.
All the more so when his first one was being fought between influential nobles of the Empire.
"I’m listening."
Keldric listened closely. Count Bogenberg smiled in satisfaction and pointed to the map spread across the table.
"A mountain range runs west of Bogenberg. As long as Spitzenberg holds, that flank is secure."
Keldric still found the map difficult to read.
The count pointed to a jagged, winding shape resembling a set of dentures and called it a mountain range. Even Keldric, accustomed to such maps by now, had to look twice.
"...Yes. I see."
"That leaves the north as our main concern. We must protect Yaven."
Two place names were written where Count Bogenberg pointed.
Salzhoff lay at the lower left and Yaven at the upper right.
"I intend to send a declaration to Lord Gofrit through Lord Yaven soon. That Rasau brat will read it as well, though I doubt he’ll understand it."
The Barony of Gofrit and the Barony of Yaven bordered each other so closely that they looked like two halves of a single territory.
That might have favored an invader, but it did not favor them now.
"I’ve already hired several mercenary companies, but they may not be enough. I will levy troops as well."
In other words, serfs and other residents of the domain would be conscripted.
"Lord Bogenberg, this is the planting season."
They would levy troops in late April and early May.
Unfortunately, that was precisely when serfs and free peasants needed to sow and plow their fields.
Keldric remembered what he had glimpsed while returning from Spitzenberg.
South of Bogenberg, broad grain fields stretched into the distance. He could still picture the people sowing and plowing with baskets tied at their waists.
There was no need to ask how well serfs whose only fighting experience came from drunken brawls would perform.
Once conscripted, they would stand in the foremost infantry ranks. Who, then, would work the fields?
The answer was obvious.
"We’ll have to hire free peasants and laborers. I’m already searching for them."
In the end, it all came down to money. Territorial wars devoured enormous sums.
Over time, however, those expenses became increasingly worthwhile as domains grew more profitable. That was why territorial wars plagued every corner of the Empire.
Count Bogenberg could bear the expense without much difficulty.
The recent tournament had also been conducted frugally under the pretext of Lent. The money saved there would now fund the territorial war.
"Lent will soon end, and the Holy Triduum will begin."
Lent concluded with the Holy Triduum. After the Easter Vigil and the evening Mass on Easter Sunday, their next move had already been decided.
"Sir Keldric, I will give you forty well-trained soldiers. Before the Easter Vigil ends, take them straight to Bellam."
"Understood."
"If that is not enough, I’ll provide funds for you to hire mercenaries locally. I have Rasau’s ass to kick myself."
Count Bogenberg would lead his own troops in person, accompanied by his vassal knights and the Advisory Council’s retainers.
Their exact destination remained uncertain.
They might reinforce themselves at Salzhoff and crush the Barony of Gofrit, or circle around Spitzenberg and strike Count Rasau’s territory directly.
Whatever happened, Keldric only needed to carry out his assigned mission.
"I trust you."
"I won’t betray that trust."
Keldric still knew little about honor.
He had merely avoided conduct that would earn public scorn. As far as he knew, the only truly knightly way to uphold and elevate one’s honor was to fight.
This time would be no different. He only needed to fight well.
Perhaps this war would teach him what a knight’s honor and glory meant—and why knights fought.
And perhaps, just perhaps...
'A barony.'
Keldric studied the land in the northwest corner of the map.
Mountains sealed it off to the east. Salzhoff and Count Rasau’s territory lay to the south, and the archbishopric was only a short distance beyond them.
The name 'Gofrit' was written there in elegant script.
Keldric's eyes gleamed.
Any man would find it difficult to ignore an opportunity like this.
Keldric had no intention of letting this chance slip away.
An opportunity was something a man seized with his own hands.
☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩ ☩
Thoughts of becoming a true hereditary noble and founding his own house kept him awake that night.
He eventually drifted off, expecting to wake beneath the morning sun. Instead, Keldric found himself in the demon’s lair again.
Hissss—
Black smoke drifted through the cavern and oozed between the stone statues. Keldric watched it with calm, heavy-lidded eyes.
The smoke gathered into a writhing mass and formed the same strange black-furred wolf.
[ Ke-ke-ke! I thought you wise, yet you are a fool! ]
"...What do you mean?"
[ Did I tell you to pour a maiden’s urine over the apostate? You only had to scatter it around him like salt! Your ignorance truly befits a warrior! Ke-ke-ke! ]
"..."
Keldric’s hand moved to his waist. This time, it found his mace instead of the meteoric-iron longsword.
Crash!!
No more questions. Keldric swung the mace straight into the wolf’s snout.
The impact blasted chips of stone from the floor, and the solid sensation of striking something ran up Keldric’s arm.
[ GRAAAH—!! ]
The wolf shrieked and thrashed on the floor after the mace struck it.
White smoke curled from the mace in Keldric’s hand.
'May it be done unto me according to Thy will.'
The words engraved on the mace were producing it.
'His Holiness blessed seven weapons in total. That also means seven passages of Scripture were engraved upon them.'
Keldric recalled Alisa’s explanation.
The Pope himself had blessed the weapon. No wonder the demon suffered.
It probably would not die, but merely being able to hurt it was good news for Keldric.
He gripped the mace hard enough to threaten its haft and strode toward the wolf.
[ You! What are you doing...?! What is that vile thing?! ]
"Clench your teeth."
[ W-wait! Wait! ]
A physical exorcism had never been in his plans, but the impact felt unexpectedly satisfying.
There really was no such thing as a good demon.
Keldric felt that truth in his bones as he beat the wolf’s hide like a drum.