117. The Nose-Picking Dwarf
The subjugation force, having received the lord's hospitality and taken a day's rest, pressed straight into the gorge.
As one of the continent's many forbidden zones, the group was on edge, and monsters began greeting the intruders one by one.
Kroooaaar—
"Block it!"
"Raise the barrier!"
"It's poison!"
It couldn't be called easy, even as an empty compliment. But to Berge, the number of monsters seemed sparse.
'Compared to back then, they've thinned out quite a bit.'
There was a clear difference from when he'd come hunting for Byelif.
Berge knew this was a sign that things were proceeding according to plan.
'Doing well, I see.'
They were likely gathering some of the gorge's monsters on his advice and turning them into undead.
As the number of undead grew, the magic points would spread thin and quality would drop, but it was still better than letting the monsters get picked off individually without meaning.
'Wonder what preparations they've made.'
The third prince had taken Hillun Kargil's advice and prepared something. But even as the day arrived and they entered the gorge, nothing special had shown itself.
'A last resort, maybe?'
Either way, as long as it succeeded, it didn't matter. There was a certain pleasure in anticipating what it might be.
Heading to subjugate a black mage, the mood might loosen a touch, but they never fully dropped their guard.
That said, Berge was annoyed by the pest clinging to his side.
Trista Jespain.
From the first moment he'd laid eyes on him, he'd shown open awe toward Hillun Kargil. Now, the instant they entered the gorge, he stuck right by him, chattering away.
"Lord Hillun, I'd love to hear more about the Beast Tower."
"The Beast Tower was akin to a jungle or rainforest. Some floors were humid and sticky with swamps, while others welcomed us with dense woodlands."
"I wish I could have seen it myself. Why wasn't I born a hero? Such a pity. Ah, were the demonic beasts truly beastly?"
"Of course."
"What was it like slaying the Demon King?"
"The Beast Demon King was cunning. He exploited our knowledge of their rules, leaving minimal beasts on the lower floors and concentrating all his forces at the summit."
"Good lord, and then?"
"We lost."
"...Pardon?"
"We were utterly crushed, losing half our forces, and barely escaped. The wounds I took from that Demon King are still etched into my body."
Trista blinked.
"...But the Beast Tower didn't fall, did it?"
"We toppled it on the second attempt."
"Ah, right. The Akan bunch pulled some ruthless stunt—no, the kingdom's forces moved in and pulled off a second heroics run in a flash."
"Yes, perfect timing. A Demon King's tower doesn't recover immediately. The first run failed, but it dealt massive damage..."
Trista, about to curse Akan, caught Rozel's glance and switched his words. Hillun continued, while Rozel snorted, avoiding the prince's eyes.
"Anyone'd think that punk did it all himself. Who was it that botched it?"
"It wasn't Hillun's fault."
"Defending your own side?"
"Just stating facts, probably."
Hillun had screwed up. If he'd held out better against Drakson, it wouldn't have been such a humiliating defeat.
But so what? Stating facts was less infuriating than watching Rozel Charnt strut around smugly.
"Halt."
That was when it happened.
The vanguard stopped. A flag rose.
"What is it?"
"Something up ahead?"
Murmurs grew. At the gorge's narrow pass ahead stood something blocking the way.
It was knights.
A knight order.
Over a hundred strong.
But these knights bore no house crests as they should. They'd been deliberately removed.
"......"
The third prince swallowed a groan.
He wasn't alone. Behind the knight order, hundreds of soldiers blocked the gorge path.
They all wore attire unlike the empire's uniforms, faces fully covered.
"Recognize anyone?"
"Hard to say. Honestly, all the other imperial siblings are suspects."
The first prince, second prince, and even the first imperial princess were all capable of this.
"Step up if needed. The third prince must claim the greatest glory. We can't afford delays here."
"They're no pushovers."
"After feeding you two Demon Kings, you still whine about being weak?"
"I took care of one myself..."
"No way you handled it solo. Who'd you sacrifice?"
"......"
As Berge and Hillun whispered chit-chat, the third prince's army didn't stop.
As distance closed, the knights formed a shield wall. Archers nocked arrows.
"Who are you?"
The third prince halted his forces. From the enemy side emerged a knight whose face was fully obscured by his visor.
"A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness."
"First time, eh? Voice altered too, so if it's your first, it is. Do you not know how grave an insult it is to hide your face before imperial blood?"
"Circumstances leave me no choice. I beg your understanding."
"Understood. So stand aside."
"Circumstances prevent that as well. I beg your understanding."
The third prince glared. The knight calmly spread his fingers.
"We harbor no intent to harm Your Highness. Merely... three days. Spend three days here with us."
"You want me to call off the subjugation?"
"Simply grant us a little leeway."
Utter nonsense.
The gorge was vast and sprawling, with complex branching paths.
But this group was no ordinary lot.
Imperial blood, their loyal retainers, elites from great houses. Three days was more than enough for them to pull far ahead of trailing rivals.
"You think I'll comply meekly?"
"Then we must force the issue to ensure you do."
"Attacking imperial blood is treason. And since we're on His Imperial Majesty's orders, clan extermination wouldn't suffice."
"Here, there are only monsters."
"Who. Are. You."
"I don't follow."
"My eldest brother? Second brother? Or dear sister?"
"Still don't follow."
"Fine, I'll rip that helmet off myself and check."
"I'd rather you didn't. It benefits neither of us."
"We'll see about that."
Martin wheeled his mount back to his lines and immediately called a council.
"Whose backing do you suspect?"
"Too skilled for mercenaries. Regular army, well-trained."
"Then first brother or sister."
Martin frowned. The second prince would have been preferable. He preferred proxies like mercenaries over direct action.
And while no slight to mercenaries, they were easier prey than noble armies.
"Any detours?"
"Possible, but it'd delay us considerably."
"A choke point."
Perfectly positioned to block the route. Push through or waste three days—it was that simple.
"We need to identify them for sure..."
"Likely one of the Lion Knight Orders."
The lion was House Osrian's symbol. The White Lion, Black Lion, and Red Lion Orders embodied it.
"Why so?"
"I can't gauge that knight's limit—the one who parleyed with Your Highness."
All groaned at Baron Byelif's words.
Outstripping the baron who commanded House Ainteil's finest? Only the Lion Orders remained.
"We push through regardless."
Hillun raised his hand to speak.
"Wasting three days means forfeiting the competition."
"And the casualties?"
"Black mage subjugation demands sacrifices."
"A mere black mage..."
"Baron Otto. This isn't some 'mere' black mage. I'd have swept it solo otherwise—no need to report to His Highness."
"...Ahem."
"He's right."
Rozel Charnt nodded in agreement. The baron's face crumpled further.
"Lord Hillun."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Can you defeat that knight?"
"I am Hillun Kargil."
"I trust you."
"I trusted you like that once and got wrecked. Remember?"
Rozel whispered with a sly grin. Fortunately, only Hillun heard.
"Please mind the occasion."
"Of course. I hate those bastards too. Blocking our path."
She shouted toward Martin.
"Your Highness? If you wish, my flames can melt them all."
"Appreciated."
Martin pondered briefly, then summoned a noble.
"Viscount Cromwell."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Time to deploy what we prepared."
"Your Highness?"
Viscount Cromwell's eyes widened.
"Wasn't that for the undead?"
A secret prep Martin had ordered as a contingency.
"Ma-beasts have you and Lady Rozel. Better to assign undead and the black mage to heroes than humans. Wasting strength on them would be the real loss."
"...Understood."
"Your Highness, what have you prepared?"
Hillun asked Trista, with whom he'd grown somewhat friendly. Trista smiled thinly.
"You'll see. I can't wait to watch them panic."
The third prince's soldiers sprang into bustling action.
"...Good lord. Never dreamed I'd see that here."
Berge was genuinely impressed.
"Wasn't this Lord Fail's intent?"
"No relation. And I feel nothing toward it anyway. I'm not the lunatic obsessed with that stuff."
"Fair enough."
Granada nodded.
The third prince positioned knights up front to block sightlines while hauling something massive from the rear.
Cannons. Mana cannons firing processed mana shells. A hundred of them.
"Impressive, no? Lord Hillun. A hundred mana cannons should sweep their front lines."
"Indeed, but Your Highness—why mana cannons?"
"On your advice, my brother pondered and prepared them. One of the surest ways to counter undead, right?"
"True enough."
Three surefire ways to handle undead:
Erase magic points with dimensional interference.
Burn them all to ash.
Shatter them so thoroughly no revival's possible.
Mana cannons excelled at the latter—massive blasts incinerated while shrapnel ensured no traces remained.
Regrettably, this time they targeted fellow imperials, not the intended undead.
Hillun rushed to Martin's side.
"Is this wise?"
"What?"
"They're surely a ducal knight order."
"You're worrying enough for both of us."
"How else can we claim the Erjest Demon King if Your Highness falls?"
"True. And rescue Kaede."
Martin chuckled dryly.
"It's fine. They're bandits hiding even their house. Traitors attempting imperial assassination. No one's mourning their deaths."
Hiding identities sealed it—no one could protest.
"My brother isn't that sloppy."
"There's a line, even so. Fellow imperials?"
Even with the emperor's tacit approval, this crossed it. Everyone would agree.
"Years back, we joined a monster subjugation in Arcaz. Brothers and sister too."
Same pretext: noblesse oblige. Naturally competitive.
"Guess how that went?"
"Success, I assume."
"Subjugation succeeded. But I lost over half my Ainteil allies aiding me. To my eldest brother's schemes."
No glory for him—all merits and fame went to the trio.
That marked when the third prince began falling behind.
"I thought I'd keep the line too. Fellow imperials and all."
But no. The emperor met the returned siblings privately and mocked Martin.
"Said my resolve was weak, that I was a fool who couldn't fight harder."
He'd thought it mere lack of merit. Wrong.
"Later I understood. His Majesty was using succession as pretext to check the nobles."
"......"
The curse 'insane' barely stayed unspoken.
"All nations have it, but the empire's always seen emperor-noble power struggles."
"...Even so."
"Don't forget: His Majesty killed all his siblings to claim the throne. He guards against retainers' power more than anyone."
"Nobles won't just take it lying down."
"I thought so too, but no issues so far— they've found some compromise."
Between themselves, anyway.
"Hm."
Hillun swallowed hard. Watching his children slaughter each other to curb retainers, and nobles accepting it?
'What a utterly mad country?'
How had it become an empire and held its power?
"Anyway, back to it: Blast their front with cannons, then charge and mop up. Shouldn't strain you much?"
"...Of course not."
"I count on you."
"I'll meet Your Highness's expectations."
Hillun gripped his sword resolutely.
Calroom, captain of the White Lion Knights, stared gravely at the third prince's lines.
They showed no sign of backing down easily.
"Prepare for battle."
"They'll attack?"
"Would you retreat if you were him?"
"No."
The third prince already lagged behind siblings. No gains here, and the emperor's favor might vanish.
Whether scrambled eggs or toast, he had to break through. Their mission: delay at any cost, regardless of his reaction.
"White Eagle Knights, Blue Eagle Mages, Hillun Kargil, Rozel Charnt."
"No chance in a frontal clash."
White and Blue Eagles held no terror—House Ainteil elites. But the two heroes and their assault team demanded caution.
Rozel Charnt's wide-area flames had a fierce reputation, and Hillun Kargil, slayer of two Demon Kings, was an enigma.
"I'll take Hillun Kargil. When they charge, defend lightly then withdraw. Remember, our goal is time."
"Yes."
Calroom itched for action. Born a knight, battles with the strong set his heart racing.
'Few in history have slain two Demon Kings. When else to face such a foe?'
He slowly drew his sword, eyes fixed on their formation.
That instant.
"They're moving."
"Brace."
He expected a charge.
But no. Vanguard knights and soldiers spaced out, revealing something massive between.
"...Insane."
"Good lord."
Cannon barrels. Massive artillery.
"...They guess who we are and still plan to cannon-sweep us?"
Countless muzzles gaped at the White Lions and ducal forces.
This meant no mercy. Unlike the third prince's usual mildness.
No time for deep thought.
"Mages! Shields up now! We withdraw immediately!"
Calroom bellowed urgently. But before his cry reached all—
Boom-boom-boom-boom—
The cannons roared. Mana cannons spat fire.
"Martin, you mad bast—!"
A rain of shells engulfed the ducal private troops.
Mana cannons were magitech marvels.
Powdered by mana stones, ignited, firing condensed mana shells.
With secondary acceleration and mana bursts, their destructive power was undeniable.
Yet rarely used due to poor utility.
Hearing "mana cannon" evoked heavenly weapons, but dwarves—master craftsmen—first invented them.
Their metallurgy, smelting, rune-engraving surpassed humans utterly.
To dwarves, mana cannons were everyday arms; to humans, unpredictable bombs liable to backfire.
And here were a hundred such.
A hundred muzzles belched flames at the foe.
Boom-boom-boom—
Explosions rang.
Earth upheaved.
Horses screamed.
Soldiers pulped, leaving no corpses.
Amid the brutal symphony of destruction, Berge offered curt critique.
"Leagues below Roger's make."
Reload speed, power, shell velocity—all inferior.
"Roger's among the dwarf kingdom's top artisans."
Granada corrected him.
"That so?"
"It is."
Then—
Kwaaaang—
Kraaaah—
"Save me!"
Another blast. Not from enemies—from allies. Screams of cannon crews.
A mana cannon had failed to withstand recoil and detonated.
"Well, now. What a mess."
Berge snorted.
"Still, that's excessive, no? Never happened with the nose-picker dwarf's."
"Well, that's..."
Granada sighed, giving up the explanation.
Honestly, even to him, Roger's tower antics screamed "mad dwarf."
< 117. The Nose-Picking Dwarf >