Episode 47 - Repaying with Steel
Belenca's words about "repaying with her body" didn't mean anything sordid like that. With no money to her name, it simply meant she'd work off her debt through labor. This was incredibly common among medieval knights.
Knights, who had nothing but their martial prowess, wandered the world and, when funds ran low, sold their swords to make ends meet. Belenca owed Ian a massive debt. Unlike modern folks who just yap endlessly about debts without ever paying them up, people in this medieval fantasy world viewed true debts as something that had to be settled physically. It was doctrine from the Church of Heaven's Will.
If you borrowed 100, you repaid exactly 100 in coin or services. Note that demanding 120 or 130 was a sin—usury was strictly forbidden. So Belenca had offered to provide services equivalent to the value of Ian saving her life plus forgiving her past.
And the service a knight could offer? Obviously, her sword.
"Until the debt is fully repaid, my sword is yours, Ian."
That was why Belenca had knelt. Until the debt was cleared, she would serve Ian as her lord.
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"You know what kind of person I am, right?"
"What kind of obvious question is that? You're a mage, aren't you?"
"Then you know where I'm headed?"
"I couldn't care less. Wherever you go, I'll be with you until the debt is paid."
Belenca said it matter-of-factly. Ian could tell she was genuinely indifferent to his destination.
Not bad at all.
Ian, who had briefly traveled the continent solo, knew he needed a frontliner. Mages sucked in close combat. On a chaotic battlefield swarming with foes, a mage was like a god. But if some lunatic charged at you with a blade, prying them off took forever.
But if another sword-wielding maniac held the line in front, Ian's burden lightened dramatically.
With Belenca's skill, she won't get pushed around anywhere.
To Ian, who had considered hiring a mercenary or gladiator slave, a wandering knight was a godsend.
"Looking forward to working with you."
Belenca gave a curt nod in place of words, treating Ian not as a mere employer... but as her lord.
"Daylight's breaking. Let's round up the scattered soldiers first."
Ian sent Oberon to scout the mercenaries and knights' positions, instructing him to bring any nearby ones here.
"Oh, by the way, Belenca. Is it okay for you to stick around here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well... until yesterday, you were on Graeme's side."
Just a day ago, she'd been slicing through the count's soldiers like butter. If she now claimed to be on their side, the soldiers who'd lost comrades to her wouldn't take it well.
Belenca nodded as if she understood.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"...?"
"I just arrived here today."
What the hell?
Ian stared at her in disbelief, but Belenca continued calmly.
"Didn't we agree yesterday to forget my past?"
"..."
"So, I'm a newcomer here today."
Ian's mind reeled at Belenca's ironclad logic...! Sure, he'd promised to forget her past. But he thought that meant just the cross-dressing bit, right? Fuck, she'd edited the whole damn thing out!
"Belenca..."
"Yes?"
"Do you think that excuse will fly with everyone else?"
No matter what Ian had agreed to, he hadn't hypnotized the world. No one would fail to recognize her—especially in that eye-catching black armor!
But Belenca was shameless.
"It's not about whether it flies. If I say it, they'll have no choice but to believe me."
Ian shook his head in disbelief. He didn't get it, but if she insisted... whatever. She'd handle it.
He worried a bit about Belenca, but it turned out to be unfounded. By lunchtime, soldiers trailing Ian's raven began gathering around him, one by one.
In this era's wars, reassembling a defeated army was no easy feat. Once beaten, armies usually scattered to fend for themselves. They fled on their own, regrouped on their own, decided their future on their own. With commanders and knights dead or missing, what chain of command was left?
Oh, we lost? Guess I'll head home for dinner. Soldiers like that were a dime a dozen. From a modern perspective, ditching mid-battle for chow was insane. But what could a defeated commander do? If they didn't want to fight, you couldn't drag them back by force.
Sure, if they lived near the commander, you could hunt them down mid-meal. Same neighborhood made it easy. But those guys wouldn't desert in the first place. Deserters were the ones confident they wouldn't get caught.
A defeated army disintegrating was everyday life in a medieval fantasy world where administrative power was worth less than an ant's eyelash.
The count's army was no different. When the center line broke yesterday and the count came under attack, morale plummeted. Why were they bleeding in the first place? For the count's coin! But the boss croaked! No boss, no reason for employees to stick around.
So they ditched a battle they were even winning. Mercenaries scattered, most knights got captured, survivors confirmed the count's corpse and bolted. No wonder chess ends when the king falls—the king was the reason for war.
The surviving mercenaries and knights scattered to survive on their own. Some headed back to the count's domain for final pay. Others turned bandit to rob villages. Some joined Graeme. Others just went home for mom's cooking.
But today, Ian's raven found the stragglers. Soldiers tormented by the mage's familiar the whole march recognized Oberon instantly.
That's the mage's bird, right?
So?
Shouldn't we check it out?
Fuck, what if we don't and something happens?
Curse incoming?
... Fuck. Scary as shit.
They'd ignore a noble's call, but a mage's? Too risky. Mages were unpredictable—who knew what weird revenge they'd unleash? Thanks to that, Ian gathered a solid number of stragglers. All told, about 300. An unbelievably successful rally.
"You!"
And naturally, the knights and mercenaries recognized Belenca. They weren't gag comic characters with passive facial blindness; they were real, breathing humans. And there was only one knight in black armor.
"The Black Knight!"
"The Black Knight's a woman?!"
"Why the hell are you here?"
Some impulsively drew weapons, out for revenge.
Belenca spoke up.
"Black Knight? Who's that?"
"...?"
"I'm Belenca of Winz."
Someone objected.
"Bullshit! You're the Black Knight!"
"I'm Belenca."
"You were with Graeme yesterday, killing our guys!"
"I'm Belenca."
"... Fuck!"
At Belenca's responses, tempers flared, and Ian was genuinely impressed. Damn, she's brazen!
"Was that Black Knight a woman?"
"..."
"I'm a woman, and that guy was a man. Explanation over. Keep yapping, and I'll take it as an insult to my honor and challenge you to a duel."
Everyone shut up at her airtight logic... except one knight who stepped forward, unable to stomach her shameless denial.
"I'm Greg, son of Haldun! Belenca of Winz! I challenge you to a duel!"
"Terms?"
"If I win, admit cleanly that you're the Black Knight!"
"If I win, admit I'm not. Deal?"
"Fine!"
Fine my ass, you lunatics...
Ian watched the impromptu trial-by-combat with a bored chin-rest. Voices didn't win arguments here. Sword skill decided truth. Made sense? Medieval logic.
But if they said so, Ian just spectated. Break the opponent's face first, and your word's law? Now that's romance. Weak modern keyboard warriors—why bother with logic debates? No opponent, no argument!
Even Lucy, noblest blood there, refereed. When Belenca swung her sword, everyone thought the same.
That's the Black Knight.
Black Knight for sure.
Definitely her...
Of course—Belenca's swordplay was identical to yesterday's: sharp, precise, lethal. The righteous knight surrendered before five exchanges.
"Enough! I yield..."
"Greg of Haldun. Who am I?"
Sign it, Greg!
Greg muttered like a defeated nation's rep signing surrender papers.
"Belenca... is not... the Black Knight..."
Lucy closed the trial-by-combat.
"Belenca of Winz is a wandering knight Mage Ian rescued from the river yesterday! They just met—no way she's the Black Knight! Thus, no blame from yesterday's battle!"
Belenca proved her innocence the upright (physical) way once more. Ah! What a noble knight! The epitome of flawless knighthood.
"That settle it?"
"Sir Dikeido!"
Ian spotted a familiar face and stood.
The count's knight, Sir Dikeido.
"Sir... the count..."
"...I know."
Sir Dikeido muttered. Ian felt like he'd asked the unaskable. Dikeido's face hardened.
"What now, lads?"
"And you, Sir Knight?"
Dikeido glanced at Lucy.
"I'd love to hit Graeme again, but..."
Dikeido had three reasons to crush Graeme. First, it was the original plan. Returning empty-handed made them utter losers. At least Graeme's head let them say, "We [won], but the count fell..."
Second, seizing Talian domain meant pay for mercenaries. Heading back now? They'd whine for backpay from the next count (whoever that was). Lost the fight? That's your problem—this is contractual. Even bankrupt companies pay deposits. Refusing was sucker shit.
But the heir would stiff them: "Mercs want money? Ask my dead dad~" Count's dead? "Die and collect in hell~"
Mercs would hate it, but without chopping noble heads, they'd just curse and move on. The powerful always stiff the weak.
Then mercs would turn bandit per medieval tradition, robbing the count's coffers (peasants). Who catches them? Dikeido, of course~
But take Talian, squeeze Lucy for cash? Talian peasants suffer—not the count's. Not Dikeido's problem.
And third, the biggest yet pettiest: Dikeido just hated Graeme's guts. Only sending him to hell would let the late count rest smiling.
"Baroness Talian."
Dikeido addressed Lucy; she flinched. She'd sung her baroness song before, but real deference startled her.
"We have enough men and supplies left. If you command it, we can fight again..."
War was nobles' business. No will from Lucy? Dikeido would swallow tears and retreat to the count's lands.
Lucy calmly surveyed them: Dikeido and the count's knights. Their soldiers. Black Knight Belenca. Mage Ian.
All awaited her order.
"Ian."
The Baroness of Talian called the mage. Ian grinned.
"Do what you want, Baroness. You haven't forgotten what you truly desire, have you?"
Lucy nodded. Right. The reason she'd fled Talian. Never forget.
"I want to drive out the usurper Graeme and take back my land!"
Ian bellowed!
"The Baroness demands warrrrrr!"