38. The Golden Quagmire (8)
“Hnngh.”
A woman was wrestling with a set of armor in a spacious room.
Her name was Dionea Aneh. She was the wife of Baron Mallory and the mistress of Longville.
The armor she was struggling with was a scale harness draped with a mantle of gray fur.
“Haah.”
It's far too heavy.
The densely interlocked steel lamellae and the fur, treated with lye and oil, were almost comically massive. For Dionea, who was small and slight even for a woman, it was more than she could bear.
“Shall I help you, my lady?”
At the sudden voice, Dionea spun around. When she saw the tall knight standing in the doorway, she let out a long breath.
“Sir Phoenix.”
“You startled again, just like last time. You really are easily surprised.”
“……I suppose I am.”
Dionea's expression darkened.
“I shouldn't be jumping at things like this.”
As she murmured to herself, Phoenix stepped forward and took the armor from her.
“Why are you struggling with this alone? Where are the servants?”
“I sent them to the gate. One of the soldiers is in a bad way.”
“And the maids as well?”
“All but a few of the young ones. They can't fight, but they can manage the menial work.”
“……I see.”
He glanced over the armor, then gave it a couple of shakes. The motion was as light as shaking out a blanket.
“It's enormous and heavy. Is this yours, my lady?”
“……No. It's the armor the Baron used to wear.”
Her voice grew damp.
“He never wore it once after marrying me.”
“Why not?”
“The wars took a great toll on him. His health…… it never really recovered.”
“Ah.”
After scratching his brow for a moment, Phoenix spoke up.
“Leave the mercenaries to Chester. He's an experienced soldier; he'll handle it.”
“I can't do that. As the Lord's Deputy, it's my duty to deal with this myself—”
“Even so, there's no reason for you to take up arms, my lady.”
“……And why is that?”
Phoenix shrugged.
“Because it wouldn't help at all.”
“Because I'm a woman?”
At the question, tinged with a strange defiance, the knight gave a small smile and shook his head.
“Your sex has nothing to do with it. The problem is that you aren't a warrior.”
At those flatly blunt words, Dionea pressed her lips together. Then, steeling her resolve, she looked up at Phoenix.
“If only warriors may bear arms, then today I shall become a warrior.”
“Being a warrior isn't something you achieve by declaring it.”
“If all you intend to say is that, then please leave, Sir. I'll prepare on my own.”
With that, she snatched the armor out of Phoenix's hands.
“Oof—”
And promptly toppled over sideways, unable to overcome the armor's weight.
“Oh no—”
Fortunately, Phoenix's swift reflexes caught her, and Dionea came to no harm. But the hem of her skirt had been caught in the armor's steel lamellae and torn into a long ragged strip.
“Are you all right, my lady?”
“……Ah. Um.”
The Baroness, still cradled in the knight's arms, fumbled for words for a moment before righting herself.
“Yes. Forgive my impropriety.”
“Not at all. The impropriety was mine.”
A brief silence settled over the room.
Dionea trembled with shame.
She had made such a fuss about taking up arms, yet here she was in a white cotte and velvet vest, and the sight of herself struck her as ridiculous.
And more than that—it had been barely two weeks since her husband had vanished, and here she was, blushing in another man's arms. The thought of it disgusted her.
Phoenix, who had been watching her quietly, spoke at last.
“You feel a sense of responsibility.”
“……Of course I do. It is the duty of a noblewoman.”
“It worries me that I don't think that's all there is to it, my lady.”
Dark eyes gazed steadily down into viridian ones.
Dionea, intoxicated by that dark, deep, alluring color, found her mouth opening before she could stop it.
“……Why did you come to my aid?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why you helped me. Helped Longville. Was it because of the Third Prince's command—to protect the weak?”
Phoenix nodded with a somewhat dissatisfied expression.
“Mm. That is part of it.”
“……Is there another reason?”
He considered for a moment, then answered while scratching his brow.
“Because of a friend of mine.”
“A friend?”
“There's someone who wants to live in Longville. I couldn't very well let this place be torn apart by Anupad or those mercenaries.”
“Ah.”
Dionea nodded slowly. Then she pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a hollow laugh.
“I see. For your friend's sake.”
“My lady?”
She looked up at the man, unblinking.
“It seems I was the only one at fault, after all.”
“……What are you saying all of a sudden?”
“I'm being punished.”
The woman continued, her smile forlorn.
“The Lord has seen fit to punish me. The Baron died because of me.”
When Dionea's eyes quickly grew moist, Phoenix's expression turned rueful.
“Punished? The Baron fell to Anupad. It had nothing whatsoever to do with you—”
“No. It was because he was saddled with a wife who lacked in virtue.”
“……The Lord does not kill a man over a single kiss, my lady.”
“It wasn't just one kiss! I—”
Dionea's voice flared up, then quickly faltered as she lowered her head.
“……I'm sorry, Sir.”
“I understand how you feel. But there is no need for you to feel guilty.”
At the man's gentle murmur, the woman fell silent for a while.
Then, after a time, she looked up at Phoenix with a dazed expression and spoke.
“You are a devil.”
“……My lady.”
“Don't.”
Her expression was still glazed over.
“Every time I hear your voice, a wicked spirit seeps into my heart.”
“Sending Beldin to summon you was also because of my own filthy expectations.”
Phoenix looked down at her quietly.
“Don't look at me like that.”
The woman squeezed her eyes shut.
“When I close my eyes, the sensation from that moment comes back with perfect clarity. That memory I can't forget—and don't want to—it visits me every single night.”
Her pale face contorted.
“When the incubus comes to me in my dreams, I welcome it gladly and commit a terrible betrayal. And every morning, I weep through my prayers.”
As Dionea wept, a large hand rose and patted her shoulder.
“Don't. Please—I can't breathe.”
“Dionea.”
“Please……”
“Dionea.”
At that gaze full of pity, at that warm voice, the woman collapsed entirely.
“……Hold me. Please.”
“Move aside.”
“Uh—Sir Phoenix?”
As I pushed through Amias's crowd and stepped forward, Utekwai, leaning on his dolmen stone, gave me a sidelong glance.
“Late.”
“Had some business to talk over.”
Looking around, I saw roughly a hundred soldiers arrayed before the manor house under the command of three or four sergeants.
“Why'd you even come out? You're not well.”
“Ugh, you reek. Hard to rest around you.”
Along the road on the opposite side, the mercenaries were milling about in a restless crowd. Gathered around their five leaders, they easily numbered over a hundred at a glance.
“What's with the armor?”
“This? Mm, just borrowing it for a bit.”
Chester, the drillmaster standing nearby, tilted his head at me, then let out a cry of recognition.
“……Rufus!”
“Yes?”
When I made a puzzled face, Chester grinned warmly.
“The armor, sir. That's Rufus—treasure of Agne.”
“……Ah. Is it?”
I looked down at what I was wearing, as if seeing it for the first time.
A hardened leather harness studded thick with lamellae, its shoulders, throat, and waist wrapped in the fur of a gray wolf.
Dionea had lent it to me so readily that I'd assumed it was nothing special—had it really been a treasured heirloom? I'd never seen it in the game.
“Yes. The Baron wore it often in his younger days. Did the Baroness lend it to you? I never thought I'd see it again.”
The middle-aged man swept his gaze over the surroundings, then asked with a bewildered look.
“By the way—where is the Baroness? I was told she would appear in person.”
“……Mm. She's sleeping.”
“Sleeping? Right now?”
When Chester asked back, flustered, I wet my lips and answered.
“Well…… she hasn't been able to sleep properly for some time. She didn't look well at all, so I used blood arts to put her to sleep. That's why I'm here in her place.”
The one who reacted to my words wasn't Chester, but the mercenary across the way—Randall.
“She's sleeping at a time like this? Ha!”
The man looked around at the other mercenaries and roared his indignation.
“Too irresponsible to be the Lord's Deputy! Can't even pay her hired mercenaries properly, and she's off napping in the middle of the day!”
As Randall, one of the five leaders, bellowed, the mercenaries began to seethe with angry murmurs.
“Why, you—”
As the drillmaster Chester began to spit out a curse, I hurriedly restrained him and stepped forward.
The mercenaries looked too busy clamoring among themselves to notice. I bellowed at them at the top of my lungs.
“HEY!”
As I strode forward shouting, every mercenary's gaze converged on me.
“The blood-soaked swordsman.”
A groan, followed by a low murmur.
“So the savage really is the Red Bear.”
“How d'you know?”
“The Decapitator and the Smasher. Heard they're a pair.”
“No sign of the Fire Witch. Small mercies……”
A few familiar nicknames brushed past my ears. Hm. Time to earn my bounty, was it?
“Hey, Randall!”
“……Are you calling me?”
“Yeah. You, you bastard.”
At my words, Randall's face twisted viciously.
“Insolent.”
“The insolent one is you. Who gave a hired sword the right to bare his teeth at a knight?”
Whether stunned by my sheer shamelessness or struck speechless by the unexpected situation, Randall shut his mouth.
“And what business is it of yours whether the Baroness sleeps or not?”
“……Can't you see the mercenaries gathered here!”
“So what? You gather in a crowd and the Baroness is supposed to come out and handle you personally? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Why, you—”
The instant Randall's face flushed scarlet and he opened his mouth to rage, I cut him off with a roar.
“Shut up and listen!”
The full-throated bellow struck the mountain ridges that ringed the fief and echoed back, faint and thin.
“The Baroness has given her answer!”
The murmuring mercenaries shot me curious looks. Even the other leaders, seemingly deciding it was worth hearing out, reined in the seething Randall.
“The Hunt is over, effective today!”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than the mercenaries began clamoring again, several of them shouting.
“Then what about the bounty!”
“Hand out the bounty first! Right now!”
Geez, these mercenaries. Why are they so damn impatient?
“The bounty will be distributed shortly! But—if you lot keep tearing up the fief like this, that distribution is only going to get delayed!”
“Jimmy, when did we ever tear anything up!”
“Yeah! We never caused any trouble!”
I swallowed a hollow laugh and roared back.
“THIS is what causing trouble looks like, you idiots! Can't you see how scared the townsfolk are?!”
It went without saying: hundreds of armed men facing off in front of the lord's manor of all places was a source of grave terror.
Even though it was broad daylight, not a single villager was to be seen. They were all hiding in their homes, peeking out anxiously.
“That's why the Baroness set her terms! Every mercenary except those actually entitled to the bounty—leave the fief. Immediately!”
At my words, the five mercenary leaders contorted their faces in perfect unison, as if choreographed. Well, naturally—order your men to walk away and leave only five of you behind, and of course you'd be terrified.
One of the five, a mercenary with a long flowing beard, stepped forward and voiced his objection.
“The points earned in the Hunt belong to my entire company, not me alone! And you'd have me claim the reward by myself?!”
“That's your problem! The only name posted on the Hunt board is yours. What do your men have to do with it?”
“Bullshit!”
The other leaders made their displeasure unmistakably clear—spitting on the ground, cursing outright. Following their lead, the other mercenaries began snarling savagely.
The reason the mercenaries were behaving so brazenly was, of course, their confidence in a fight.
Every mercenary gathered before the manor was a seasoned veteran. Without exception they wore scale or chainmail, and their weapons and shields were all of considerable quality.
Polearms, crossbows, and longbows were nowhere in sight—perhaps entrusted to the garrison at the gate—but even armed with shields and one-handed weapons alone, they were threatening enough.
Besides, they were mercenaries—rich in experience. Against them, the conscripted soldiers of an ordinary fief wouldn't stand a chance of comparison.
There were even a couple of men who looked to be mages mixed in among them. Mercenary mages—rare sights indeed. Our side had similar numbers, but my conscripts, equipped with nothing but gambesons, iron caps, and long spears, could never stand against such veterans.
A battle was to be avoided at all costs, naturally. And yet I drew my sword as if I meant to charge them this very instant.
Shing!
The moment Hrunting's milk-white blade emerged, the chaotic atmosphere froze over, cold and sharp.
In that tension, a smile crept onto my face without my willing it.
“You came here fully prepared to cut every last one of us down, didn't you?”
The snarling that followed was half sincere.
“Come try it, you bastards.”
I strolled along the razor-thin line drawn between the mercenaries and the soldiers.
“I guarantee it—half of you die by my hand.”
It wasn't a loud voice, but the deathly silence meant not a single man missed it.
“The other half die to the Red Bear.”
The mercenaries glanced past my shoulder.
Utekwai stood motionless, leaning on his dolmen stone—but that was enough. Anyone with functioning eyes could feel the pressure.
“And whoever's lucky enough to survive both of us burns to death.”
They still remembered the pillars of fire that had dyed the night sky red two days ago, it seemed. From mouth to mouth, a current of dread began to flow.
Then, to flip that ominous current on its head, someone bellowed.
“Fucking hell, you've got a loud mouth!”
I turned to see one of the five leaders spitting and striding forward.
He stood about as tall as my nose. Thick scale armor, an iron helm, a brutish-looking falchion, and a huge round shield—he made a rather intimidating figure.
“……Who the hell is this?”
As if answering my mutter, someone among the mercenaries shouted.
“Sorgil has stepped forth!”
“Sorgil the Ironjaw!”
“Ooooh!”
Seemingly stoked by his comrades' cheers, Sorgil rolled his shoulders as he glared at me.
“What was your nickname again? Crimson Beacon? The Black Knight of the Silver Prince?”
And then he grinned, baring yellowed teeth.
“Stuff your rumors up your ass! I don't believe a word of them—!”
“Uwaaah—!”
The cheers erupted again. The mercenaries' morale was rising.
Hssssss…
Sssso long… sssince I've fed…
Truthfully, I could understand the mercenaries' position to a degree, which was why I'd hoped to avoid casualties where possible—but that looked like it might be difficult now.
Really? You've been starving for ages.
“……Uh. What the hell.”
Something unpleasant had just brushed across my mind.
Anyway, I realized this was a pivotal moment. So I immediately drew my blood energy up.
“Haah—”
As I exhaled hot breath, my vision flooded crimson. Every hair on my body stood on end, and a savory taste lingered on my tongue.
When I smiled, Sorgil rapped his shield with his falchion.
“Drop the fucking posturing and come at me, you son of a bit—”
There was no reason to stand there and listen to him bark, so I slammed my foot into the ground.
“Hnnh.”
In the slowed world, I alone moved at my own speed.
Seeing me upon him in an instant, Sorgil raised his shield.
I wrenched the shield downward with my left hand, brutally dragging it aside. Almost in the same motion, I thrust out Hrunting.
The milk-white blade and the crude falchion collided between us.
Scraaape—!
The shriek of grinding steel stretched out long. I twisted my wrist, laying the blade flat.
Clang!
With a bright ring, the falchion entangled on Hrunting's edge went soaring into the sky.
Sorgil's eyes went wide. The point of my blade bored into his throat.
Thk!
“Gghk—”
Blood fountained from his neck and poured out through his mouth in ribbons. His hand, loosed from the falchion, clawed meaninglessly at my shoulder.
I took his head. Thanks to a blade that cut exquisitely and everything I'd learned since arriving here, the work was over in a flash.
“Haaah.”
I swept my gaze across the mercenaries.
Disappointingly, not a single one would meet my eyes.
Then what shall I do with this merchandise?
“Huuuuuh—”
I raised what I held in my hand at an angle. And then—
KWA-BOOM.
A burst of crimson fireworks.
“GYAAAAH—!”
“You f—fucking lunatic—”
As the Cloud of Blood that had shot skyward came raining down like a storm, the mercenaries shrieked in a piercing chorus.
“Heheh.”
From somewhere, a voice like a whisper at my ear—a deeply unsettling sound.
……Please, just a little more. Let me leap into their midst. They're nothing but insects anyway.
Shuddering at the sudden chill, I flung the grisly head away.
The head I'd tossed without aim rolled and rolled somewhere out of sight—then came to a stop right at the feet of the remaining leaders, Randall among them.
I was frowning at the filthy, churning feeling in my gut when my eyes met theirs.
“What.”
The mercenaries' faces drained white.
“Re—retreat—”
With the chattering-jawed Randall at their head, the mercenaries fell back.