The Viscount's Wager
Viscount Ahental had once trained among the ranks of the Ahental Knights himself. Though he had been named heir upon reaching the threshold of Lavish and had long since ceased to draw a sword, he was still a man who understood the path to strength.
From the moment Messi's conditions all pointed toward a single common demand—power—the viscount had considered every avenue by which the young man might achieve it.
Throw him into the Ahental Knights even now?
If they inducted him into the order and taught him the Ahental Mana Cultivation Method and Ahental Swordsmanship, he would certainly grow stronger. So long as he didn't give up before forty, people would at least say he could handle a blade. But for Messi, still in his early-to-mid twenties, that road was far too late.
The viscount knew well why the higher mana cultivation methods were taught from childhood. You had to accumulate mana constantly to expand the mana hole. Only then did your realm rise.
Sir Messi was already behind. So what other options were there? He summoned the man whose circumstances most resembled Messi's—Ramang—and asked his counsel.
The answer that came back was unexpected.
"Sir Messi, you mean? His talent is probably the finest there is."
"What are you talking about?"
"Ah, well..."
To explain that, Ramang would have to mention Laud's betrayal, and that would mean undermining Ereb. He had no desire to do so. In the old days, perhaps—but he was Ereb's man now.
The viscount, sensing the hesitation, asked for a simplified account with the inconvenient parts stripped away.
"His talent is at least on par with the late Laud's, if not greater. He awakened his mana on his own, and he copied Ahental Swordsmanship after watching it only a few times."
Laud!
The name still left a bitter taste in the viscount's mouth. He had known the boy possessed exceptional potential, but among the tangled interests of House Ahental, it had been a talent they could not afford to spare.
Messi, however, was different. There was justification to raise him. And if his talent surpassed even Laud's... that changed everything.
At least it wouldn't be pouring water into a leaking bucket. Not bad. We haven't had a Sword Master of our own in quite some time, have we?
Sword Master.
A realm reachable only after surpassing Brillant and Ablaze—the domains of a Sword Expert. A living weapon capable of facing an army alone. Across every nation of the central continent, there were barely more than a hundred of them. Beyond that, perhaps only the Lumberjack Alliance.
Those who entered that rank were classified as one-man armies—strategic weapons capable of winning wars even without a single tactical victory.
Viscount Ahental resolved to make Messi one of them within ten years at most. The man's ambitions, it seemed, knew no bounds.
The day after the banquet, having finished his meal, Viscount Ahental dropped a bombshell right there at the table. Messi was present as well.
He said it in the same tone one might use to remark that the soup was a bit salty.
Everyone was stunned. Even Ayres couldn't keep his mask in place.
"Father, what do you mean..."
"I intend to give every one of my children a fair chance. Erena, are you interested?"
"No. I'm barely practicing how to walk, and you want me sitting in an office all day like you, Father?"
"Haha! Fair enough. Being head of the house isn't all it's cracked up to be."
With Erena's refusal, two remained. Their gazes collided in the empty air between them.
"I don't need to ask. Ayres, Ereb. I will consider the two of you official candidates in the succession contest. Each of you, bring me an achievement I can recognize. Anything will do."
"Father, a succession contest with my beloved younger brother? The household will be in an uproar."
"Ayres. Are you thinking of withdrawing?"
"..."
Ayres's mouth snapped shut.
Why is he doing this all of a sudden? Having me gradually take over the lord's duties—wasn't that a sign he saw me as the heir?
Just as Messi said. We can't go on the way we used to.
Both candidates' minds raced.
The viscount wasn't finished.
"Treasurer. What is House Ahental's annual fiscal revenue?"
The treasurer, who had been summoned to the dining table out of nowhere and hadn't known what to do with himself, was now on the verge of losing his mind with talk of succession piled on top of it. The moment a topic in his own field came up, he hurried to answer.
"The family's primary revenue streams number approximately five: farmland, markets, moneylending, trade, and mining. Then there are the taxes—tolls, military exemption tax, sales tax, property tax, marriage tax, water tax, and so on. All told, it exceeds twelve thousand gold a year."
That was enough to feed roughly 1.2 million commoners for a month. At that staggering sum, both Ayres and Ereb swallowed hard.
"Good. After spending everything that needs spending, what's left?"
"If we subtract estimated average operating costs... the surplus comes to a little under two-tenths. Money sitting idle is money wasted, so we typically keep five percent of that and invest the rest in merchant companies, or prospect for new veins. Or we issue short-term private loans to nobles in need of emergency funds."
"I intend to invest half of that in a single person for the time being."
"...Half of the five percent, my lord?"
"No. Half of the surplus."
Even calling it surplus, that was about 2,400 gold. Half of which was 1,200 gold. To pour that enormous sum into a single person...
"H-have you found a merchant captain who caught your fancy, my lord?"
"No."
"Does this person perhaps own a tremendous ore vein?"
"He does not."
"Or is he the descendant of a fallen great house...?"
"This is an investment in an individual, not a house."
"An individual... is this person a Sword Master?"
The treasurer found his own words so absurd he nearly laughed. Twelve hundred gold would exceed the annual income of the frontier Tallen County. Even if you were backing a Sword Master, dumping that kind of money was an act of sheer ignorance.
But the viscount nodded.
"I beg your pardon?"
Messi, who had been sitting quietly listening, finally realized who that person was.
"Sir Messi said he wanted to grow stronger. I intend to support that as fully as I can."
Even Ereb looked stunned at the viscount's declaration.
"M-my lord, no matter how great the debt of gratitude... that's 1,200 gold!"
The treasurer shot to his feet and cried out. That kind of sum could found and maintain two entirely new knight orders—and they were going to spend it on that other-race? He couldn't follow the lord's reasoning at all.
"Father, why are you doing this? The succession talk, and now this... are you trying to make a fool of me?"
"Ro-Roan. You're joking, aren't you?"
Ayres and the viscountess were no different. It felt as though a conversation they alone had been left out of had been taking place somewhere.
"Ayres. My lady. Do I look like a man with that much time on his hands? I am simply doing my utmost to fulfill a request from this family's benefactor."
"Count Krombell will laugh us out of the room! No matter how great a favor that man has done... how is this any different from feeding an earthworm?!"
Earthworms had a digestive tract that ran in a straight line from mouth to anus, so whatever they ate came out as waste immediately. It was a metaphor for pouring water into a cracked jar.
Harsh as the comparison was, the viscount shook his head.
"Think of the money I poured into the Church to treat Erena. That was truly feeding an earthworm."
"..."
He had a point. They had dumped a fortune on the Church. There was a reason people said House Ahental had funded a fifth of the Papal Palace. Messi, by contrast, had healed Erena in a single stroke. Looked at that way, 1,200 gold was a bargain.
"And according to Ramang, Sir Messi's talent is quite exceptional. I judged that to be worth the investment."
Erena looked at Messi with startled eyes, as though she'd heard something she hadn't expected.
"Haha... so you're saying he could even become a Sword Master?"
"He might."
This was insane. Ayres felt a headache coming on.
"You can't make an expenditure this large based on Sir Ramang's word alone."
"You're right. That's why I asked the Knight Commander to evaluate Sir Messi's talent today."
The Knight Commander of House Ahental. Currently the knight in the family closest to Sword Master, he had reached the realm of Ablaze. If he rated Messi highly, it would prove this investment was not simply madness.
"The meal is finished... and he should have finished his preparations as well. It's been a while. Let's go to the training grounds as a family, shall we?"
The viscount spoke as as leisurely as if they were heading out on a picnic.
Baccilus von Hawire, Knight Commander of the Ahental Knights, had not expected the day he would meet this rumored other-race to arrive so suddenly.
He'd heard about him until his ears rang from his subordinate and knight captain, Ramang, but in truth he hadn't given it much thought. He was busy enough focusing on his own training. Why would he spare attention for some other-race?
He had dismissed it all without a second thought—until one day the fellow went and got Lady Erena on her feet. And the very next morning, he received a bizarre request from the lord...
Tiresome. Utterly tiresome. I could have swung my sword one more time at this hour.
As if sensing his mood, the viscount didn't ask anything unreasonable.
"Keep it simple. Sir Ramang has been singing his praises, you see."
Ramang, you bastard!
Baccilus cursed his subordinate inwardly and tamped down the anger rising in his chest. The culprit himself was off in a far corner of the training grounds, chatting and laughing with the young master.
He's smiling?
The man who'd caused this whole mess was grinning as if he had something to rely on. It was infuriating.
Fine. He'd take a look. Baccilus was starting to get curious himself.
"A pleasure to meet you."
"Baccilus. You're the lord's benefactor, not mine, so I'll speak plainly."
Upon this first meeting with the other-race, Baccilus could find no distinguishing strengths. If anything, he saw only shortcomings.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
Far too late to begin learning a high-level sword art...
He was reasonably tall, but looking at him over the iron armor, his frame wasn't particularly large either. If this evaluation could have been done by eye alone, he would have been eliminated on the spot.
Still, it's the lord's request. I should at least go through the motions.
It was simple enough. Every two years, the Ahental Knights regularly selected Squires, and the talent evaluation went through several stages. The events themselves were quite basic, but looking back ten or twenty years later, it was rare for anyone to exceed the assessment recorded on those sheets. If he reported those results, the lord would understand as well.
"Right. Stand over there. See the line drawn on the ground? You'll run laps around the training grounds from there. With the active knights, of course. Mana use is forbidden."
The reason knights joined in the Squire talent evaluations was simple. It was, in essence, a hazing ritual.
You think you can stand with us doing it like that?!
Your mother came to see me last night, asking me to take good care of you!
My house dog could outrun you!
They hurled every filthy insult they could while testing stamina, talent, endurance, and temperament. This time, he'd been particularly careful to assemble the ones with the foulest mouths, so it should be quite a show.
After confirming Messi had gone to stand at the starting line, Baccilus approached a knight he had personally selected.
"Heh heh. Go give him a proper earful. This is the moment your filthy mouth truly shines."
He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and called his name.
"...Hulan!"
Hulan's face was a little pale.
At the starting line, Messi loosened up and thought it over.
Nothing much has happened since I fought Enzo Muete...
It couldn't be helped. Who would pick a fight when he was with the Ahental knights and Ereb? Even the bandit gang they'd encountered on the way from Tallen County to Ahental Territory had been wiped out by the knights before he could lift a finger.
It had been even worse since arriving at House Ahental. Even when he went to the training grounds at dawn to work out, he had no way of measuring how strong he actually was. There was no one to compare himself against.
Still, I should be above average at least...
A tenth of Enzo Muete—who had torn knights apart with his bare hands—had been poured into his body. He expected he'd at least be above the mean.
He was still working his joints and muscles when Ereb, Ramang, and Erena in her wheelchair approached.
"Sir Messi! I hope you'll show us something impressive!"
"Sir Ramang, just talk the way you always do. Why the sudden formality..."
"I-is that so? I suppose that would be better with you. Haha!"
Ramang laughed awkwardly. He was a man who took hierarchy seriously, so speaking casually to the family's benefactor didn't come easily.
Ereb offered some advice.
"Just keep running as long as you can. You lived in the forest, so you should be a good runner. Just close your ears and run. That's all this is."
He was acting like some senior of the Ahental Knights. Messi didn't understand why he should close his ears, but he nodded anyway.
"Do your best, Sir Messi."
"Thank you for the encouragement, Lady Erena."
When Erena offered her shy support, Messi smiled and accepted it. Watching this, Ereb hurriedly wheeled Erena away. Ramang gestured for him to do well and followed after them.
The active knights who would be running alongside him came crowding in. Most were unfamiliar faces. Even accounting for the fact that only some of them had gone to the Forest of Resentment with Ereb, seeing so few familiar ones...
Maybe they're uncomfortable running with me?
That seemed possible. For a test, it was better to have no prior relationship.
But there was one familiar face. Hulan, with his history of betrayal. Messi considered greeting him, but found it odd how the man was pointedly avoiding his gaze.
"Everyone, take your positions at the starting line!"
At Baccilus's shout, they all found their places. Under the knights' subtle jostling, Messi was forced to the outside lane. That meant he would have to run the farthest. Messi caught on to why the knights were participating in the test.
He told me to close my ears, so I guess they're going to start cursing.
Messi found the whole situation rather amusing.
"Start!"
The signal dropped, and he kicked off the ground.