Alder Duchy 4
His eyes snapped open to the bustling presences around him. Yesterday, Licht had leaned against the inn wall and dozed off in a sitting position, the Ascension Sword—wrapped in cloth—tucked securely against his chest.
It was a three-person room with only three beds, so someone had to sleep on the floor. Millein, Jack, and Ranin had taken the beds, while Del, Jamel, and Licht had crashed on the floor for a solid rest. If anything, Millein had been the pesky one, insisting he was fine and offering up his bed. Jack and Ranin hadn't said much. Over the two days of camping, they'd learned Licht never truly lay down for a deep sleep.
I've gotten sloppy.
Licht never slept lying down. It was a habit, you could say. Lying relaxed the body and dulled the senses. Back in his mercenary days, he'd always taken shallow naps sitting up whenever possible—ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice. In hindsight, lounging around so lazily in El Sion had been the anomaly.
"...You're awake, sir?"
Del, Millein's knight, was the first to stir. Jamel, Jack, and Ranin followed one by one. Last up was none other than Millein himself—he seemed to have a bit of a sleeping-in problem.
The six men threw on their clothes, packed their gear, and headed downstairs.
"Lord Licht, I apologize for my rudeness yesterday."
It was midway through the simple breakfast the innkeeper had laid out. Del, having already polished off his bowls, bowed his head in apology.
"Water under the bridge."
"Still..."
"I understand completely. You were in a rush."
They'd exchanged names and heard the full story last night. On the way back, they'd been ambushed. Nine assassins in total. There'd been a Sword Expert knight and a high-circle mage among them, which was the only reason they'd survived—but then misfortune piled on. A sudden downpour hit. Seeking shelter from the untimely storm late at night, they'd ended up at this inn. Exhausted and on edge, hearing there were no rooms left had naturally made Del snap harder than usual.
Since then, Del had been apologizing nonstop. After the umpteenth one, Licht pulled a sub-space pouch from his bosom.
"Do you have any swords left?"
"That's..."
"It won't be perfect, but use it for now."
A long sword emerged from the small bundle. Millein and Jamel's eyes went wide at the sight.
"A... a sub-space pouch?"
"L-Lord, what in the..."
"Caught me off guard at first, too."
"It's definitely a ridiculously valuable item."
Jack and Ranin chuckled at their reactions. Del, taking the long sword in a daze, muttered hesitantly.
"You use two swords? And this quality... you sure about giving it to me?"
"It's a spare. I've got a few more, so use it freely."
He meant it literally. Besides food and sundries, the sub-space pouch held several more swords.
I'd planned to use them as remote blades.
He'd bought a few off-the-shelf from El Sion's forges. With over ten thousand gold ready to deploy, there was no reason to skimp. Infusing each with mana to wield them like extra limbs—what potential. He hadn't tested it yet, but with practice, it could be impressive.
The clinking of utensils filled the air as breakfast dragged on. Once plates started emptying, Ranin spoke up.
"Looks like everyone's finished, so how about we discuss today's plans?"
The guide clapped his hands and unfolded a map on the table. Unlike last night's crowd, the first floor now held only a handful, including Licht's group.
"As you can see, the rain hasn't let up."
Ranin pointed toward the door. The sky hung heavy and gray. Through the small window, the downpour was lighter than yesterday but still relentless.
"We were supposed to leave at dawn and reach Bailen by late evening."
"We're late."
"...Two days, or worst case, three to arrive."
Ranin picked up Jack's interjection. From Montiya on the Alder Duchy's outermost edge to the capital Bailen—it was a two-day nonstop ride under normal conditions. Ranin had shaved off a day thanks to Licht's Haste magic exceeding expectations. But in this rain? No chance.
"Rain turns the ground to mud, makes riding hell. Fine on paved roads, but getting there..."
Ranin glanced at Millein.
"How many ambushes so far?"
"...Two. Once leaving Marquis Najari's estate, and yesterday."
"That's enough to..."
"No."
Millein shook his head firmly.
"My brother is extremely cautious. He's prepared for every contingency. Especially since..."
"No Sword Expert among the attackers. If I'm right, one more strike's coming."
"Mm..."
Del's assertion drew a groan from Ranin. He pondered the map, tracing it with a finger.
"Plenty of routes from Montiya to Bailen. Shortcuts too. Problem is, they all funnel into this main highway near the capital."
Tap, tap. Ranin pointed to a spot.
"No matter the path, you have to cross this stretch to Bailen. Especially this midpoint—far enough from the city, nothing around."
"Prime ambush spot."
"Likely."
"Settled, then."
Screech. Licht shoved his chair back. He dropped a gold coin on the bar table; the innkeeper, emerging from the kitchen, snatched it with eager hands.
"Fastest to that midpoint?"
"Dusk at latest. Sunset by arrival."
Licht nodded slightly, pulled up his hood, and stepped out. The rest exchanged glances before following.
The small stable outside held horses just waking, munching hay. Licht patted one's back a few times and mounted up; it shivered from the three-day forced march.
"I'll take point."
Neigh! Ranin tugged the reins and led the way. With only two horses of their own, Millein rode in front of Del.
Clop, clop. Soon, the six men and five horses plunged into the torrent amid the drumming of hooves.
***
"You think he's still alive?"
"Doubt it."
"That's not the point. Dead's good; if he shows, we kill him here."
Near the entrance to the highway leading to Bailen. A sword-bearing man answered the high priest's question curtly.
The priest muttered as if he hadn't expected much.
"Who doesn't know that? Just making conversation. Sitting here all day's bad enough—now this rain."
They'd been lying in wait nearly a week. Rangers and knights hid their presences amid the brush. Only the priest beside him griped—naturally, since these were the family's elite, specially trained.
"Hurry up, finish, and grab a drink back home."
"Priest, you drink?"
"Problem?"
"A high priest, of all people..."
"I drink, but my faith in Lady Isteria remains unshaken."
"Sophistry?"
Unlike the stoic waiting man, the priest wouldn't shut up. His main interlocutor was the young man stuck next to him.
"Don't worry. I'll handle anything before it touches you, Priest."
"Haha, an Expert knight saying that? Feels secure."
"Just three at most. What could go wrong..."
Then—
"Shh. Quiet."
The man raised a hand; priest and youth clamped their mouths shut. A forward ranger signaled.
"...They're here."
"How many?"
The man stared ahead silently, then faintly furrowed his brow.
"...Six."
"Six? Thought three."
"Hired mercenaries?"
"Doesn't matter. Ready up."
His hand signals drew nods from rangers and knights. Twilight had nearly fallen; distant hoofbeats approached slowly. The presences revealed themselves.
The lead rider was a stranger to Alder Duchy—slender build, longbow slung across his back. He scanned the surroundings, then halted. The five trailing him rode four horses total.
Guide.
Judging by his look, a skilled ranger-guide. Three unknowns; the other three he recognized. Spotting target Millein, the man stepped from the brush.
Millein's eyes trembled fiercely at the sight of the man, the youth, and the priest behind him.
"You made it, Second Young Master. I'd hoped I wouldn't have to lift a finger."
"Sir Werner..."
"Hired mercenaries? Pointless."
The man clicked his tongue softly. The six figures dismounted warily, eyes scanning.
Millein spat in a quavering voice.
"Is this... your brother's will?"
"No. The family's."
"I haven't done anything!"
"You asking knowing the answer? Or playing dumb?"
The man glared at Millein with dead eyes.
"Second Young Master, your very existence is the problem."
"...!"
"Enough, Sir Werner. He's doomed anyway."
"Gott...?"
The priest stepped forward. Recognition dawned on Millein's face, laced with deep betrayal.
"Long time, Second Young Master."
"Why..."
"You know why."
"No."
The priest sneered. Despair flooded Millein's features.
"Afraid so."
"Since when?"
"The beginning. Didn't you know? The ambushes on the way, dying here today—all scripted from the start."
"Archbishop Sernos..."
"No more words. Today's your last, Second Young Master."
Tension choked the air. The man glanced around once.
"Don't hate us too much."
"......"
"No idea how you swayed those mercenaries... but dragging them to death. Foolish."
"Werner..."
"Ah, you too?"
Del growled a glare; the man smirked mockingly.
"Ignorance is a sin."
He raised his hand slowly.
"Like picking the wrong master."
The hand dropped.
Twang! Six arrows loosed. Deadly precise, vital spots only. Del drew late; Jamel raised his staff. But both froze in bewilderment mid-motion.
All arrows hung midair, caught in invisible force.
Grind! They twisted grotesquely, shattered, and rained down.
"What..."
Faces twisted in every direction at the impossible sight. Thud. The man, priest, and youth whipped their gazes forward.
A lone youth had stepped ahead.
Blocked all arrows? Magic?
All eyes turned to Licht. As the man narrowed his—
Boom!
"Gaaah!"
A scream pierced from the brush. Wind tendrils lashed out, spraying crimson with the cry.
"Wind magic!"
"Damn."
Shing! The priest yelped in panic. The youth drew reflexively. In the powder-keg standoff—
"Eight left."
Licht extended his right hand slightly.
"Die."
Clang! Four swords unbound from the saddles floated into the air.
Whoosh! Pure white flames erupted along the silver blades.