A Comrade's Fist

"You were right. It actually worked."

Ramang came out of the room looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Turns out I'm a better actor than I thought. If I ever hang up my sword, I might just join a theater troupe. Haha."

As if a man who couldn't tell a lie to save his life had any business on a stage.

The original script hadn't been, This meal didn't come from me — it had been, The Young Master asked me to bring this to you in secret. But Ramang, a knight to his very marrow, had refused to make his lord's son the subject of a lie even if it killed him, and had demanded a rewrite as if he were some leading man.

What could one do in the face of a star's demands? Messi had put his mind to it, and they'd settled, then and there, on a compromise: imply it. Don't say it.

And there had been one more complication.

"What about the magic circles carved into the armor? Can you remove them?"

Since Ramang couldn't lie, Messi had started by lying to him. He'd fabricated the story that delayed-blast magic circles had been inscribed inside their armor. There was an old saying: to deceive your enemy, first deceive your own. It should be safe to tell him the truth now.

"It's fine. That was a lie."

"Wh-what?"

Ramang flared up at having been deceived, but Messi calmed him down.

"The whole point was to deceive them. I'll just tell them I erased the circles."

"And if they get suspicious?"

"Half of what I said is true, half is a lie. There really is a delayed-blast circle — but only on one set of armor. We show them that."

"Whose?"

"Sir Roud's."

The First Young Master had never intended to give Roud a barony in the first place. Even a count's privilege of recommending titles wasn't something you could exercise at will. By custom, such petitions were submitted once every three years — and they weren't even guaranteed to be approved. Would he really spend such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a precious opportunity on the likes of Roud?

"Heavens... How many people does that First Young Master have to toy with before he's satisfied..."

It was a lamentable affair, as far as Ramang was concerned. From Messi's perspective, though, the fool in this story was Roud.

"If the First Young Master inherits the family headship and becomes count, he inherits every cartel the previous head commanded. That means he'd have to line up the heirs of his vassal houses and treat them accordingly. Elevating a talented man like Roud to baron and giving him a seat at that table? The promise never made sense to begin with."

"So what you're saying is... Roud was used from start to finish, and then he died."

"That's right. Greed blinded him to reality. Or perhaps he saw it clearly enough... and decided he had no other choice."

Ramang let out a long sigh.

"Sometimes knowing things is the problem... Being around you, I keep learning I'd be better off not knowing."

"My people have a saying for that. Ignorance is bliss."

"That's the truth. I miss the days when I didn't know a thing. Back then, all we had to do was stand together and fight the enemy outside..."

It was a thoroughly Ramang thing to say — a man with zero political instinct. Messi wanted to correct that attitude, at least a little.

"You do realize you bear a share of the responsibility for what happened, Sir Ramang?"

"...I know. I was deceived by Roud, and the Sky Castle records—"

"That's not the mistake I mean."

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about the uncertainty of your position."

Ramang looked puzzled.

"How long do you intend to serve the Young Master as if you were a guest in his house?"

Ramang was only following Ereb on the family head's orders, and so he did not think of the Young Master as his true lord. Ereb, for his part, did not trust Ramang either. Messi considered that the greatest problem of all.

"This whole affair started because Young Master Ereb suspected you. If the two of you had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a relationship of trust, it would have ended with a single question: Where did those Sky Castle records come from? How? Who got them for you? Roud would have been a suspect from the start."

"...I serve the Young Master by the family head's command. Of course I'm only a guest retainer."

"Sir Ramang. I understand you don't want to be dragged into the family's political infighting. But that infighting is about to become my problem, so allow me a word."

Messi began as courteously as he could, taking care not to wound Ramang's pride.

"Why do you think the family head assigned you — one of his own men — to Young Master Ereb?"

"Well, that's..."

"This is only a guess, but the First Young Master already has someone in a position similar to yours, doesn't he?"

"He does..."

"Willing or not, you've already ridden into the heart of a battlefield — as the senior knight assigned to support an heir. Once you've mounted a warhorse, you and that horse are one body until the war is over. How can you tell it to go on alone?"

The analogy landed like a blow against bare ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠skin. Ramang's eyes trembled.

"You intend to serve whoever becomes family head, the First Young Master or this one — is that it? But do you really think the First Young Master will find a use for a man who served as his brother's right hand? You'll be lucky if he doesn't send you to your death."

"A weapon... does not choose its master."

"Of course a weapon goes to whoever holds it. But you are not a weapon — you are a man. After seeing what he did to Sir Roud, you still mean to sit back and watch the First Young Master?"

"I... I hate political infighting. Why must people of the same house shed each other's blood?"

"Because if you don't fight, the only thing left is to be trampled."

Ramang's face went rigid. He had lived a long life as a knight; he knew exactly what it meant to be trampled. Misery. Poverty. Death and slavery. Sexual exploitation. All of it.

"If you are a knight, then fight as a knight fights. Annihilate the enemy in war! Tell yourself this battlefield is simply more vicious than the rest. That's the only way there won't be more victims like Sir Roud. Don't you want to save a house that's drowning in its own politics?"

"...!"

"All you have to do is win the battle. I've mounted the horse now too — so fight as one with the man who saved your life. Sir Ramang."

Messi held out a loosely clenched fist. After a moment's hesitation, Ramang raised his own and bumped it, lightly.

"What was that just now?"

"A greeting among other-races. We usually do it with comrades."

"...Looks like I've been made a comrade whether I like it or not."

Ramang smiled, a little bitterly.

They climbed the stairs together. At the twenty-eighth floor they parted ways — Ramang toward Ereb's chambers, Messi toward the office on the thirtieth.

With this, the internal foundation of the Young Master's faction is laid... Ereb's reputation is abysmal, so we'll have to draw people in with Sir Ramang's — a man who has served the house with stubborn loyalty for years. And once he chooses a master, he will never change. For a man as poorly regarded as Ereb, he's the perfect appointment. Perhaps the head of House Ahental is fonder of this son than I thought...

Messi continued turning the thought over as he climbed, step by measured step.

The next day, the hour of judgment arrived for the six traitors.

Before every knight in the order, they knelt, pressed their foreheads to the floor, and wept. The only words that left their mouths were apologies, over and over. What had sealed it was Messi showing them the inside of Roud's armor before they were dragged out here.

"We're sorry, Young Master! We'll take any punishment! We were too weak — we brought shame upon you! We were deceived by that treacherous First Young Master!"

Ereb's first instinct was to have them cut down on the spot. He had to force himself still, recalling the written note he had exchanged with Messi.

Ereb let out a small sigh, then began his lines in a voice laced with performance.

Every knight in the hall stared at Ereb in shock. Those were words they had never expected to hear from the master they thought they knew.

"My brother is treacherous, filthy, and petty. He used you, and he meant to kill every last one of you. Look at this armor! A mage need only set the timer, and it explodes whenever he pleases! This is the true face of the First Young Master you thought you knew! You were simply... deceived... by that filthy man..."

Cursing his own brother came out in a fluent torrent. Covering for his men's crimes, though, was another matter — he dragged every word. Before it became even more obvious, Messi stepped in.

"Then, Young Master — are you granting them your pardon?"

"...I am! These men have been my companions for seventeen years. I know them better than anyone. They simply lost their heads, caught in my brother's schemes. Knights of Ahental — I vouch for them! So I ask you: can you let this matter rest? I know you're furious at a comrade's betrayal, but for my sake, overlook it this once. I'm asking you!"

A murmur ran through the hall. The knights looked startled — Ereb had never in his life uttered the word please. But there was no denying that the sight of it struck them as something new.

From there, it went like clockwork. The six knights clung to Ereb, sobbing, and the sight of their lord smiling as he patted their shoulders moved everyone present. The knights watched, awkward at first, then began falling into step with one another, a consensus forming that the whole affair should be treated as if it had never happened. A knightly order was a tightly bound group; once a mood like that took hold, it was nearly impossible to break.

Once the knights had withdrawn, Ereb asked,

"Is that it, then?"

"It was a success. Even if a knight is tempted by the First Young Master's offers, he'll remember this and think twice."

"And the ones who've already betrayed me once? They say betrayal is a habit."

"That's why we humiliated them in front of everyone, then granted them pardon. With that many witnesses, would they dare betray you again? A second betrayal would cost them far more than the first. And they've lost their faith in the First Young Master besides — which means they have only one lord left."

"Even so, this feels like complete shit. Having to let those traitorous bastards live... If we weren't in the Forest of Resentment, I'd have run over and taken their heads myself."

At that, Messi's expression turned grave.

"Young Master!"

"...?"

"You bear an enormous share of the responsibility for this as well."

"What?"

Ramang, listening nearby, went pale. Straight talk directed at him yesterday was one thing. Dressing down the Young Master was another matter entirely.

"Every companion who spent seventeen years at your side abandoned you. Does that not tell you something?"

"...You little shit. You trying to insult me?"

"If that sounds like an insult to you, then that is the limit of what you currently are. Surpass that limit, and you may become a man truly fit to be family head."

"A man fit to be family head?"

Those were magic words to Ereb. The moment family head was mentioned, his ears pricked up again.

"A family head is not merely the leader of a house, in the literal sense. He is the man who stands at the center of every political force and every interest that house can bring to bear."

"...Go on."

"Until now, you've lived exactly as you pleased. The results are as you see them. Why would your men do what they did? Because your rival — the First Young Master — is formidable, and because their own lord never treated them as they deserved."

The Young Master's face darkened. He was probably thinking of Roud.

"Set aside how powerful your rival is — you still have to treat your people well. These are men who have entrusted their lives to you. You should at least speak to them kindly. And even before you become family head, you need to start writing checks you can't yet cash."

"Why should I have to go that far? Subordinates have a duty to serve their lord. Are you telling me the lord should serve his subordinates instead?"

"Nothing in this world is a given. Everything is a result of give and take. Promise them proper treatment, and they will become a solid foundation at your back. You must think of them not as subordinates, but as political companions."

"Not subordinates... but my companions..."

Ereb had never given much thought to needing political companions in order to become family head. Every decision, after all, rested with his father. Win the old man's favor, earn his support, and the headship would follow.

His father had changed a great deal of late, but he had originally been something close to a gentle, easygoing man. Ereb had assumed that if his second son explored ruins even the Woodcutters couldn't handle and came back with treasure, that would be more than enough to please him.

Messi's view of the matter was different.

"There are only two ways for you to become family head."

"Tell me."

"The first is to approach the current head's cartel and persuade them that you are a better candidate than the First Young Master."

"Those people...?"

Ereb thought of the many retainers clustered around his father. Men who cared only for money. Greedy. Nauseating creatures who thought of nothing but their own skins.

"That look on your face says you don't care for the idea."

"What's the other way?"

"The second is for you to build a new cartel of your own — and overwhelm them with it."

"That sounds better."

"I thought as much. For you, this is the only real option."

"...I didn't even say anything."

"Because the first method is the direction the First Young Master is already pouring his energy into."

Ramang and Ereb both wore strange expressions. Fair enough — Messi spoke as if he knew the First Young Master, despite never having met him.

"What, can you read minds? Did you pull my brother's face out of my head or something?"

"Nothing of the sort. Listening to the two of you, I noticed you and your brother have been moving in completely opposite directions."

"...?"

"One of you chose the 8 Kingdoms Grand War — a stage that could raise the entire house's prestige. The other chose the ruins ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the Forest of Resentment — something that could turn your father's attention. That alone tells you the two of you are aiming at different things."

"Huh..."

Ramang let out a short, incredulous breath. To draw that from a single small clue — the man was a little monstrous.

"So my brother raised the whole house's standing to suit the retainers' tastes."

"They are men who swagger in the clothes of 'Ahental.' If those clothes become more luxurious, nothing could please them more."

"The more I listen to you, the worse this sounds. Who am I supposed to pull in to build a political faction...? My wife's family would back me if I asked, of course, but the gap would still be enormous."

He's actually starting to think. Messi smiled at the progress. Until now, Ereb had only ever used his head to suspect other people. Now he was starting to put it to useful work. Give him a little direction, and he might prove surprisingly progressive.

"Do you think Sir Roud was the only one of his kind?"

"...Meaning?"

"There are bound to be people dissatisfied with the entrenched cartel. This is a house riddled with factions and pecking orders. The idea that everyone is smiling and content is absurd."

"...You're probably right."

"The knights just now are a perfect example. Men who can see no path upward. Men who have to rebuild fallen houses. Promise them wealth and titles without restraint. Throw them blank checks. Pull them in however you can, and grow your numbers."

"So that's why you asked me to show clemency. But what happens later, when I owe them more than I can pay?"

"By then you'll already be family head — what does it matter? Our greatest assets are the future and possibility. Bluff as much as you like. Give freely. It's a well that never runs dry. Haha!"

Messi burst out laughing, thoroughly pleased with himself. Watching him, Ereb thought:

I didn't find a treasure in the ruins. I found one outside them.

Strangely enough, it already felt as if the excavation were over and the treasure already in hand. With a treasure like that, he would never have to fear his brother again.

He wanted to put the two of them face to face as soon as possible.

And for that, only one thing remained.

It was time to enter the ruins.