Chapter 16
Chapter 16
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Demon Baron (2)
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High stone walls rose tall over the verdant plains, with spring sunlight draping over them as softly as a freshly aired blanket. It was light that coaxed new life from the earth.
But the soldiers couldn't welcome it one bit. Up on those battlements without a shred of shade, the sun was nothing but an insensitive spotlight stoking their thirst. To snag even a hint of moisture, each man had a pebble in his mouth.
A veteran soldier with two stones crammed in his mouth kicked his rookie's leg. Then he mumbled through pursed lips.
"Hah, hwelun. Gwe'stillnothin'butwaitin'awoundout'ere. IfthoseAdlenbastardsattack,justswallow'nrun. Y'knowtheysuckifyoudie."
Four months of nothing, and what the hell kind of attack...?
Grousing inwardly, the rookie sluggishly hauled himself up and scanned beyond the walls.
Nothing had changed out there. The Adlen family's banners fluttered in the breeze. Four hundred soldiers were scattered around the castle in a loose encirclement. They looked slouched like sloths, but the moment the gates cracked open, they'd swarm like demons.
Four months into being besieged by Viscount Adlen's forces. There was no sign of the situation at Molden changing.
Early on, there'd been something like a siege battle. But soon enough, Viscount Adlen shifted to just encircling and starving them out. With their forces so outnumbered, they couldn't launch an offensive—stalemate was inevitable.
Molden was gradually falling behind. Winter stores had run dry ages ago. A stretch of clear weather had left them short on water too. And with planting season in full swing, the future looked even grimmer.
If not for their lord, the soldiers' morale would've tanked and they'd have surrendered long ago.
As the rookie peered out, he glanced inside the walls too—and froze in shock. He spat out his pebble and shook his sergeant's shoulder wildly.
"Ptoo! Sergeant Delton, Sergeant Delton! Spit out those rocks and get up quick!"
"Wha... Whyallthefuss...?"
"The Baron! The Baron's climbing up to the walls!"
"Ptoo, ptoo! What?!"
The lounging soldiers scrambled up, snapping into alert formation. Soon, a middle-aged man with a finely groomed mustache poked his head over the stairs. Delton, the nominal top man on duty, saluted sharply.
"Loyalty! All clear on watch! No enemy movement! We'll report any anomalies immediately, my lord!"
"Ah, yes, yes, hahaha! You've become a fine soldier in the meantime, Delton. Your parents would be proud. Oh, I didn't come for anything big—just brought this for you to sip on while you take it easy..."
Baron Molden plunked down a leather waterskin he'd hauled himself. The soldiers' eyes bulged.
"My lord, you could've sent one of the others..."
"Ugh, don't they deserve a break too? And what's so hard about carrying a waterskin? Staying on high alert all day, not knowing when they'll strike—that's the real grind. Right? Hahaha!"
Delton and the men averted their eyes, faces flushing. But the Baron just smiled kindly, unperturbed.
"I'm truly sorry to you all. Making you suffer like this over me. If a man without your respect wasn't lord here, this wouldn't be happening..."
"N-no, my lord! It's those scheming Adlen scum who're at fault—not a single thing on your head! It's our honor to follow you!"
"Haha... Thank you for saying that. But I can't keep putting young men like you through this. As the one who caused it, I have to take responsibility."
"Pardon? What do you...?"
No answer—just a gentle smile.
The Baron moved on, encouraging each soldier one by one before departing. Watching his retreating back, Delton muttered in bewilderment.
"...What're you thinking, my lord? Skelton, you got any idea?"
"Beats me..."
"Sigh. Hope it's nothing weird... Where else in the world do you find a lord like him?"
"No kidding, Sergeant. How the hell can those damned Adlens slander a guy that good as the 'Demon Baron'?"
The rookie glared daggers at the Adlen banners, wishing lightning would strike them.
While scanning the horizon, he lifted his drooping eyelids.
A massive brute and a scrawny man with a bag.
They were heading toward Molden.
"Uh... Sergeant Delton? You see that?"
"Huh? The Adlens slacking off?"
"N-no, beyond them. Someone's coming this way..."
"Ignore 'em. Probably a vagrant or clueless traveler. They'll see the troops and steer clear. Unless they're suicidal..."
Sure enough, spotting the lines, they turned aside. Circling wide around the castle. Delton figured they'd head off into the rear.
But instead of leaving, they looped right back.
"...What the? What's their game?"
Delton scratched his head, utterly baffled.
*
Baroness Molden's room was stark beyond belief for a noblewoman's quarters.
Charitably, rustic; uncharitably, threadbare old furniture and a bed. Styles long out of fashion in castles or cities. The rough brick walls bore no decorations. It looked less like a lady's chamber and more like an abandoned ruin.
Knock, knock, knock.
Regular knocks echoed in the tidy desolation.
'May I come in?'
Uninvited, the guest entered anyway.
After lugging waterskins around, Baron Molden was drenched in sweat. Forgetting decorum, he fanned himself vigorously and slumped into a creaky chair.
"Phew, the weather's warming up. At least we won't worry about firewood anymore."
His wife, gaunt from recent months, shot him a sidelong glance.
"...What brings you here? Not to chat about the weather, surely."
"Oh, nothing much. Remember those tulip bulbs you bought and planted last year?"
Tulips, out of nowhere, while the whole domain starved? Ignoring her incredulous look, he pressed on.
"You said the inner grounds looked too bare, so you ordered twenty each of different colors from that alliance merchant, right?"
"...Yes."
"They would've bloomed gorgeous. I always thought the place felt empty—can't believe I didn't think of it. Your taste is impeccable. If you'd lived in a big city, you'd have a palace-worthy garden. Hahaha!"
"..."
"Let me think... You got red, purple, yellow, and what else? Blue? All blooming would’ve been a riot of color. Too bad, hahaha..."
"...Something happen to them?"
Her gaze darkened with gloom. He hesitated, then spilled the truth.
"...On my way back, I saw the castle kids yanking buds and digging up bulbs to eat."
"..."
"Skinny little hands, no shovel—just clawing the dirt till their nails split."
"..."
"When they saw me, they startled but crammed the clumps in their mouths anyway. Figured they'd get scolded later, but needed to fill their bellies now."
"So you scolded them?"
A sad smile tugged his lips.
"How could I? It's my fault they're suffering. I called Meldin to check if they'd be okay."
"Good call. But Meldin's..."
"I know. He's a quack. But what choice? Our only real doctor, Borhen, died last month."
"..."
Frail old Borhen had starved, passing his meager bread ration to his grandkids time and again. He wasn't alone—countless parents and elders were withering away right now, yielding food to their young.
Worse: some parents snatching their kids' shares to sate their own hunger.
Even caught red-handed, punishment was impossible. The Baron drew a deep breath, exhaled, rubbed his dry face, and finally broached the point.
"Wife. I have a confession."
"..."
"I've always wondered where to plant my grave. But today, it hit me: a glorious spot right here, saving countless lives."
"..."
"Listen well. Today, I'll end it all honorably and die."
Her eyes snapped up. He smiled faintly.
"Once I'm gone, Viscount Adlen loses any pretext to besiege us. Kids'll eat soft bread instead of dirt bulbs; young men'll wield plows, not spears. This dragged-out fight ends with the 'Demon Baron's' death."
"But their real reason for attacking isn't that. You're no demon..."
"..."
His cheek twitched briefly. He smoothed it away.
"Truth doesn't matter. Profit and pretext do. If they cared about truth, they'd have called the church knights ages ago."
"..."
"If Adlen doesn't withdraw after I die, send a rider to His Majesty and spread the word. If he still ignores it, switch to the alliance for aid."
"..."
"Molden's future is yours, wife. It won't be easy, but lead it wiser than this foolish bumpkin."
Her lips quivered. Too much to say, she said nothing. He shook his head—no words needed—and left.
A declaration needing no reply. The back of a man walking to his death. The uninvited guest gone, the room held only cold brick chill and echoing silence.
The Baroness stared blankly for a time.
Then, resigned, she opened the wardrobe and pulled out a faded burial shroud.
*
"M-my lord? What now?"
"..."
Kadim bit his lip.
The troops were spread thin around the castle. He'd scanned from afar for infiltration spots—nothing. Makes sense; it'd have fallen already if there were.
No choice but a drastic fix.
"Merchant, scout a safe hideout nearby."
"Y-yes?"
"I'll handle Molden solo. Grab the map treasure and bail."
Duncan gaped again, though he should've been used to it. That meant punching through the army head-on?
"B-but, my lord... Even you can't take on hundreds alone..."
"Not killing 'em all. Sneak through at night, thin the sentries—that's enough. But dragging you over the walls? Nah, you wait nearby..."
...grrr rumble...
A faint tremor. Kadim cut off, whipping his head around. Duncan followed. An unbelievable sight met them.
The portcullis was rising. Molden's central gate creaking open.
"Wha? Why's the gate opening now...?"
"..."
"Could the Baron be launching a full assault, my lord?"
Kadim had no answer. Unlike the merchant frozen in confusion, the barbarian decided fast.
No way he'd miss this chance.
He chugged the last blood from his canteen. Loosened his muscles with cracks. Hoisted Duncan.
"Grip tight, merchant. It'll be dizzying."
"...Pardon?"
Duncan under one arm, Mosquito raised in the other.
Boom!
Kadim exploded forward like a gale toward the gate.
Whoooosh—
No steed could match the sprint. Wind lashed his ears raw. Scenery blurred like smeared paint. Each stride closed the gap massively.
"Uwaaaaaah!"
Duncan's scream announced them. Eyes turned from the gate. Every soldier gawked blankly at the charging savage.
Splat—thunk!!
The blade, carrying full momentum, pierced a soldier's helm. It crumpled like tin; his skull pulped. Shake it free—blood sucked clean into the sword.
Crunch—slash!!
Another in the way—sliced. Sticky impact; arm and torso severed. Gory chunks tumbled, trailing red.
Thud!
The next? Shoulder-checked. Bones shattered like siege-ram struck; body flew far.
"..."
Unmerciful charge whipped up a bloody gale. No stopping it. Corpses piled like trash in his wake—torn, mangled.
Yet oddly, soldiers didn't yield.
No dodge, no screams—just vacant stares fixed on him.
Kadim felt an eerie wrongness.
'Colleagues dying right in front of them, and zero reaction?'
No time to analyze. Gate might shut anytime; Duncan was thrashing like mad under his arm.
"Uwahhh, urk, gulp!"
Kadim cleared a path through blockers and blew past the camp.
Soon, Molden's central gate loomed.
"..."
"..."
No battle-ready troops awaited. Just one middle-aged man in chainmail, mustache primped.
Gore-soaked savage: the man paled, staring dumbly. Kadim grimaced.
"Who're you."
"Uh, um... Lord of this place, Baron Molden..."
"Ah, you're the 'Demon Baron'?"
"Er, regretfully... rumors of demon ties are false. There's context..."
"Figured. Details inside. Bad spot for talk."
"N-no, haha, wait... Don't know who you are, but I'm here to die for Molden. Can't just go back..."
"Die later."
No choice for the Baron.
The savage snatched his armor's back, hoisting him like a kitten by the scruff. Duncan, already nabbed, waved awkwardly.
"Uh... Greetings, my lord...?"
"Hahaha, awkward... Ah, hello. And you are?"
"D-Duncan Wheeled, my lord..."
"Fine name. Not local—alliance?"
Duncan thought: Never dreamed he'd chat with a suicidal lord while baggage for a barbarian.
Life: stick around long enough, you see it all.