42. The Yoke (4)
Once the conversation in the hall was over, Dionea invited me up to her bedchamber. Seated across a small tea table from me, she wore an expression heavy with worry.
"Tell me about your liege, Sir."
"……You mean Prince Ulkar?"
"Yes. Is he a man who can be trusted?"
Her question was so direct that my face soured.
"To be honest, I've only been in the Prince's service for barely a month."
"But you received your title from him. Surely you know him better than I do — I've never even laid eyes on the Third Prince."
This was a headache.
I couldn't exactly come clean and say I only accepted because I got swept up in the moment. Not in a hundred years. That kind of pathetic excuse was something I'd die before saying aloud.
"……Well, for one thing, the Prince is a man of great valor."
So I set about unpacking the impressions Ulkar had left on me.
"For someone of his station, he never once spared himself. When he let out that roaring laugh in front of the Crouching Dragon, frankly, I half thought the man had lost his mind."
Dionea, who had been holding her face rigid, burst into a soft laugh.
"I see."
"And…… he treasures his men dearly. He put the knights and soldiers up in fine lodgings, yet the Prince himself lived in a tent."
"A tent?"
"Yes. There's a large square in Southharbor, and that's where he pitched camp."
When Dionea made a face that said she couldn't fathom it, I hurried to elaborate.
"Apparently, if he settles somewhere comfortable, he loses the will to leave. That was the reason, anyway."
"Ah."
The official post the King had granted Ulkar was that of Inspector.
It was no grand office — not a commissioner charged with the security of the realm, nor a warden commanding the border patrols against external threats. Just an inspector, carrying his whole life on a single horse and wandering the kingdom.
Those drawn by a prince's renown had gathered around him and formed something like a warband, but whatever its size, officially Ulkar was nothing more than a lone inspector of the crown.
Dionea seemed well aware of this fact. She nodded slowly, then spoke.
"It's a harsh thing. For a prince to bear such a toilsome, trifling office."
"Toilsome, certainly. But I wouldn't call it trifling."
"No?"
"The Prince holds that duty as an honor. He's a man who fights to protect the weak — not for land, not for gold."
"Ah……"
"What Sir Ariad said earlier meant the same thing, I think. The Prince I've seen isn't the sort to help others in expectation of some grand reward. So———"
Somehow I'd ended up playing the prince's defense counsel, and catching sight of Dionea's face, I let my words trail off. At some point, a faint smile had settled there.
"……Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You respect your liege, don't you."
"Pardon?"
"The Third Prince is fortunate indeed — to have a knight as loyal as you."
For a heartbeat I wondered if she was being sarcastic, but there was something genuinely, purely wistful in the way Dionea envied him.
……Well, that's a strange feeling.
Thinking back on Kim Seung-soo's life — his life in the Republic of Korea — talk of loyalty had almost never meant anything good. Even those who were loyal to their country got scoffed at as suckers and pointed at behind their backs. And if some company or middle manager started demanding loyalty, everyone treated it as frankly unhinged.
But in this world, people looked at loyalty through a completely different lens. Swearing fealty to a king, a lord, or some other noble soul was the most natural thing imaginable.
Hm. It's been quite a while since I felt this kind of dissonance.
Still, I had adapted to this world well enough that I didn't go spouting lines like 'I was Ulkar's knight, yes, but I don't owe him my loyalty.' I merely scratched at my brow in silence.
The smile didn't last long; Dionea was still visibly anxious.
"The truth is, neither House Bennet nor House Anig is on particularly good terms with the Third Prince. And everything that's happened to me is still so sudden, and now on top of it all I have to make a decision this weighty……"
As I listened and tried to soothe her, part of me kept turning over that strange feeling of dissonance.
Kim Seung-soo, thirty years a man of Korea, had swallowed Phoinix, twenty years a man of Iland. Could this completed self truly melt into this world without a seam?
That particular worry didn't drag on for long — thanks to Dionea, who had climbed into my lap.
Her pale white hands, newly scarred here and there from gripping an unfamiliar sword, traced their way up my neck and chest.
Skin pressed against skin, fevered breath tickled my ear, short words broke off against my lips — and by the time her insistent fingertips dug into the hollow beneath my shoulder blades, the dissonance and the worries alike had been banished to some distant shore.
……Hm?
I was seeing Dionea to sleep and stepping out of the bedchamber when I heard it — a faint swish, from somewhere nearby. The sound of fabric brushing past fabric. Almost imperceptibly soft.
My current character sheet listed my Agility at 27.
Factor in the bonuses from the Seal of the Dragonslayer and the Scale Belt of the Corpse King, and it came to a full 31. Any intruder would have been hopelessly outclassed.
Thanks to that, my senses had sharpened to the point of near-supernatural perception. Movement within a seven- or eight-meter radius registered not through my eyes or ears, but through my skin.
I put that sense to full use and swept my surroundings in silence — but there was nothing. No presence, no trace.
……Did I imagine it?
Feeling foolish alone in the corridor, I scratched my head and made my way downstairs. My next destination was the room where Ulkar's knights were lodged.
"Sir Phoinix."
Sir Rangvolt, seated at the table beside Sir Ariad, waved his quill in greeting.
"Perfect timing. We were just about finished, as it happens."
He had changed his clothes at some point, wearing nothing but a thin shirt. With his rugged musculature on full display and his fingers stained with ink, the sight was oddly incongruous.
"What are you working on?"
"Letters, as you can see."
"To the Prince?"
"That one's already done. This is a letter to Lady Clarissa. Ah — dictate the closing for me, would you, Sir?"
Sir Ariad, catching Rangvolt's gaze, gave a wry smile.
"'I humbly beg that measures be taken before too much time slips by, and with that I close this letter.' That should do nicely."
"Good. I humbly beg that———"
I stole a glance at the parchment Rangvolt was holding. The flowing hand was strikingly elegant.
"……You write beautifully, you know."
"Naturally. Basic refinement for any noble, wouldn't you say?"
At his joke, Sir Ariad shook his head with a dry laugh.
"Sir Rangvolt's penmanship goes well beyond basic refinement. Elegant, yet with a graceful touch of the old ways about it — the tradition-minded nobles adore it."
"So they press you into service as a scribe, then?"
"A scribe, he says."
When Ariad pulled a pained expression, Rangvolt threw his head back and chuckled.
"He's right, though. I've gotten quite used to it by now. Even in the middle of training, they're forever calling for me to write something."
"It is not that often, Sir Rangvolt."
"Well — can't be helped." He rolled up the parchment, produced his seal, and pressed it into red wax. "Ariad's hand is a crime against paper, Ankir carries on that holding a quill makes his stomach turn, and Riam — the boy's letters read like they were carved in stone. When Sir Huelter was still with us, I could at least put the work off for a while."
Sir Huelter? That was a name I'd never heard before.
In the very moment I moved to ask about him, Sir Ariad, letter in hand, approached the fireplace. He drew a thin sliver of wood from his coat, dropped it into the flames, and murmured under his breath:
"Ex ignis, ut aqua."
Whatever manner of spell it was, the crackling sparks drew themselves into a perfect circle. Within the circle lay nothing but pitch-black darkness.
Sir Ariad slid the letter into that dark space, then, with practiced ease, pulled the cover across to shut the fireplace.
Pop!
A faint bursting sound rang out, and Ariad cracked the cover open again to peer inside. The fire that had been blazing mere moments before was gone without a trace; only black ash lay scattered in every direction.
"The maids will have their work cut out for them."
As Rangvolt clicked his tongue, I turned to Ariad in open surprise.
"Sir Ariad — you were a mage?"
"Hardly. I merely mimic a handful of spells, that's all."
"Then what was that spell just now?"
"A brief opening into the sub-space of Multingham's head mage."
"Sub… space?"
It was knowledge foreign to both Kim Seung-soo's memories and Phoinix's alike. When I made a baffled face, Sir Ariad sat back down at the table and explained.
"Among mages of truly exceptional caliber, there are those who handle what is called a sub-space. Some also call it a 'pocket dimension.'"
A pocket dimension? That rang a bell.
There had been a rare field that occasionally appeared while playing Expedition. What was it called again — the Pocket Plane of Underget?
"It's a simple spell that allows another person to open someone's sub-space. It requires a medium crafted by the space's owner, of course, and you can only place things inside — never take them out — but it's quite a useful bit of magic."
"Ah, I see…"
As I nodded along, Rangvolt gestured me to a seat and bombarded me with questions about everything that had happened lately.
"Word reaches me secondhand, but nothing beats hearing it straight from the man himself."
I gave them a suitably edited account of my recent doings, and both knights listened with evident interest.
Well, "recent doings" mostly amounted to carving up bandits and monsters, so I suppose it made for good entertainment among soldiers.
Once my story wound down, I got to hear news of Ulkar in return.
About a month after Prince Ulkar's army had taken up garrison in Southharbor, a royal decree came down from the King.
Inspector Ulkhar Lionelsson of Zeore shall depart Southharbor at once and resume his appointed duties.
The situation had been foreseen, and the army was already prepared to march. Two days after the decree arrived, Prince Ulkar turned his back on the flower petals and tears the townsfolk scattered in his wake and left Southharbor behind.
And so the inspector's journey seemed destined to wander on with no destination in sight — until Prince Ulkar received an unexpected letter. Margrave Landry, guardian of the west, was begging for aid.
Ulkar led his army straight for the High Plains. It was the very place where, eight years earlier, he had fought his first battle at the age of seventeen.
What had invaded the High Plains were two Prince-Electors of Mittergerland.
Duke Avilambus Strom, Count of Topal and a powerful candidate for the next imperial throne, had drawn Burkard Alzenberg — the Duke Emeritus of House Alzenberg — into raising a host numbering over six thousand.
Prince Ulkar's army, though it had swollen its ranks while garrisoned in Southharbor, still amounted to a mere five hundred.
The forces under Margrave Landry, stripped to the bone from his own domain, could barely scrape together two thousand.
Outmatched in numbers and quality alike, Ulkar and Margrave Landry were quickly driven onto the defensive.
Then Prince Ulkar led his infantry alone across a stretch of sheer cliff, swinging wide in a flanking march — and by a stroke of fortune, the timing landed, and the engagement ended in a great victory.
Afterward, the two Electors' armies lost their momentum and pulled back for a time, and the two forces settled into a standoff.
It was then that the unexpected occurred: the two Electors proposed a truce.
Prince Ulkar hesitated, sensing something amiss, but on the Margrave's counsel he accepted the ceasefire.
And the moment the imperial armies withdrew, Prince Ulkar began to hear a peculiar rumor.
"……The King of Death?"
At my murmur, Sir Ariad nodded gravely.
"That is the man's epithet."
An epithet like 'King of Death'? That's chuunibyou if I've ever seen it.
"So what exactly does this fellow do?"
"Almost nothing is known for certain. At most, we know he's an extraordinarily powerful necromancer?"
"A necromancer?"
"Yes. Word has it he commands legendary monsters — headless knights, death wraiths, creatures that belong only in folklore — as though they were his own kin."
Dullahans and ghouls are actually fairly high-level undead, though.
Sir Rangvolt, who had been stroking his beard at my side, picked up the thread.
"They say Avilambus and Burkard withdrew precisely because of that King of Death. With an army of the dead raiding their lands night after night, there was simply no way to keep the war going."
"……An army of the dead?"
"That's right. Unlike any run-of-the-mill necromancer, the fellow commands a number of the dead beyond all reckoning."
He lowered his voice meaningfully.
"Nothing's been confirmed, but his host is said to be so vast it blankets five whole hills. Seen at night, it looks like a single black wave — which is why they've taken to calling it the 'Wave of Death.'"
He commands Dullahans and ghouls, and countless zombies besides?
……Uh. That's ominous.
"……Do you happen to know what the man looks like?"
"No one does. Hiding as he is among ten thousand dead, with death wraiths standing guard around him — who's going to get a look at his face?"
Ah. Fair enough……
I let out a sigh at that odd tangle of disappointment and relief, and Sir Ariad hesitated a moment before adding:
"There was a witness, apparently."
"Truly? I hadn't heard that."
"The witness lost his mind, so no proper testimony ever came of it." Rangvolt raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Mad, you say?"
"Yes. He was a gravekeeper tending some noble house's cemetery. He survived by hiding inside a coffin, they say."
"The poor wretch."
"In any case, according to him, he saw Arnetso wearing a crown."
"Arnetso? You mean the Arnetso from the scriptures?"
"The very same."
Ah — I remember that one.
I'd once stopped by a church in Riedburn and seen a tapestry embroidered with images. Among them was a man who had served as teacher to the three prophets before betraying them — and according to Ellen, that man's name had been Arnetso.
Rangvolt leaned back against his chair, his expression gone flat.
"Nonsense, then. Seeing a man who burned to death six hundred years ago."
"Nonsense, surely — but there is an inference to be drawn, isn't there. This King of Death will resemble Arnetso. Strictly speaking, he'll resemble the Arnetso of his own imagination, but all the same……"
And then, suddenly, the image from the tapestry surfaced in my mind.
A white-haired old man, without a beard.
The crowned Arnetso the gravekeeper had seen.
The crowned white-haired elder in my own memory. The omen was clicking into place, piece by piece.
"F——k."
"What was that?"
"……Hm? Nothing." When Rangvolt gave me a puzzled look, I hurriedly snatched up a different question.
"So — what business brings you two to Longville?"
"Ah, that."
Rangvolt gave a cough and squared his shoulders.
"We're on our way to ask my father for help."
"……Your father, you say———"
I recalled the name I'd caught wind of back in the hall.
"Count Litton Earlshore? The lord of the Southern Shore?"
"Right, that's the one. I need his fleet."
"Why on earth a fleet———"
Rangvolt heaved a deep sigh.
"That Wave of Death is actually trying to cross the sea."
"……I'm sorry — what?"
"The King of Death who swept through the Empire is crossing the Blade Bay into the Abiden region. Bypassing the army stationed on the High Plains entirely."
"Hold on — how do undead even———"
As I gaped in disbelief, Sir Ariad supplied the answer.
"The merfolk are aiding them."
"……The merfolk?"
"A tenacious connection, that one. The very creatures who ravaged Southharbor have surfaced in the Blade Bay."
"What did you say?"
My jaw dropped open, and Rangvolt clicked his tongue as he carried on.
"Thanks to them, Abiden's a disaster zone and the coastal waters are pure chaos besides. And word has it the young serpent of Iland is gathering a fleet of his own."
……The young serpent of Iland.
Wait — is he talking about my cousin?
"Which is why I intend to borrow Father's fleet. The Iron Fleet of the Southern Shore should be able to smother the chaos in the Blade Bay."
"It is hardly an optimistic picture, though."
Sir Ariad's expression had turned grave.
"Marquess Ival, guardian of the east, was assassinated, and with the succession forced through so abruptly, the east is in turmoil of its own. Count Litton will no doubt feel considerable reluctance about moving the Iron Fleet under the circumstances."
"……Guess we'll find out when we get there."
Half-listening to the two knights, I was cursing steadily under my breath.
My sub-character — the one who had very nearly killed Ellen — 'Corpse-Etiquette Bastard' Porphaluc Catalas.
And the boss monster we'd missed back in Chapter 2 — the Priest of the Deep.
Those two had joined hands.
……Goddammit.