The Red Scroll
Alanaster von Crombell.
The sword of House Krombell, known as the Dissolute Sword Master.
True to the epithet, Alanaster was a man of poor conduct. Every vice in Krombell Territory — wine, women, gambling — passed through his hands. There was even a tale of an old knight who had devoted his entire life to the blade yet never reached Sword Master: mid-spar, the man had coughed up blood and died crying out, "How could the gods grant such talent to a wretch like that?!"
The only one who could keep him in line was his elder brother, the head of House Krombell. His presence here as an envoy to House Ahental would never have come to pass without that brother's word.
The Count of Krombell had decided to field the Sword Master who represented the family's martial might, hoping to restore the prestige Rowin had so thoroughly tarnished. Alanaster considered himself unlucky to have been dragged into it.
That worthless nephew of mine. When I get my hands on him, I'll fold him in half.
He ground his teeth at the thought of Rowin, the architect of this entire mess. But the anger didn't last. He yawned, looking thoroughly bored.
I should've played around a little longer before coming...
Everything Viscount Ahental had taken for a calculated deception was, in truth, nothing more than a farce born of Alanaster's temperament. He hadn't wanted to travel with the diplomatic party. He'd wanted to have fun. So he had sent the envoys ahead, then hidden himself in the territory to carouse to his heart's content before catching up later.
Ah... if my brother finds out, he'll be furious, won't he?
Alanaster pondered a plausible excuse for the head of House Krombell, then hit upon a scheme.
In truth, all of this was my design!
His brother would have been speechless if he'd heard it — but by a stroke of dumb luck, it had turned out to be a rather fine play. From Krombell's perspective, taking Ahental down a peg before the negotiations would only improve their odds of a meaningful result.
He listened to his returning subordinate's report and roared with laughter from horseback.
"Haha! What a complete mess they've made of it!"
"Yes, my lord. They were thoroughly rattled — a picture of confusion."
"Heh. Consider it the price of interfering with Krombell's business."
Alanaster shrugged his shoulders as if he were a master strategist whose scheme had landed to perfection.
"Well? How do you like my masterstroke? An envoy must secure advantageous ground before negotiations begin. You all understand that, don't you?"
"Yes, Sir Alanaster!"
He was delighted at the thought of having restored his prestige before his men for the first time in a long while. Watching this display, one of the nobles let out a sigh.
"This move is not entirely without its flaws. We must, by any means, obtain the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method from House Ahental... and yet here we are, looking like common intimidators. Even a rat will bite a cat when it's cornered."
"Viscount Poild. You really are a cowardly, incompetent man."
"I beg your pardon?"
Poild looked startled, as if he hadn't expected to hear such words from that particular man.
"If you had a better idea than that grousing, you should have proposed it before I did. Complaining is easy. What, exactly, have you contributed to this mission?"
"Requesting a private audience with Viscount Ahental was my plan, I'll have you know..."
"And you think that would have been possible on your thinking alone? It only works because I'm here."
Poild soothed himself by muttering inwardly, This too shall pass.
"And a rat that bites a cat is still just a rat. You think a house without a single Sword Master would dare contemplate war with us?"
At that, the knights of the diplomatic party riding behind them all laughed. They were laughs made possible by the proud Sword Master of Krombell — Alanaster himself. He laughed, flushed with triumph.
Hahaha!
That laughter cut off a few hours later, the moment he came face to face with Viscount Ahental. Or more precisely — because of the aura radiating from the knight standing behind him.
Viscount Ahental smiled generously and introduced Baccilus.
"I believe you two are already acquainted. This is Sir Baccilus von Hawire, who has recently attained the realm of Sword Master in our house. Do greet one another."
"...What?"
A crack ran through Alanaster's smiling face.
A few hours earlier, the knight of House Krombell had withdrawn.
Viscount Ahental concealed his troubled heart and asked his retainers for their thoughts.
"If any of you have a sound proposal, speak."
The retainers sat as mute as if their mouths had been sealed. Baron Hugo, who had already committed a blunder, was the one who finally spoke.
"What if we simply ignore them and march out with our full forces?"
"...Lead our entire army against a handful of envoys? Do you mean to make this house the laughingstock of the kingdom?"
Someone else chimed in belatedly.
"What about killing Alanaster while we have the chance? Without him, House Krombell would..."
"House Krombell has sent a blood-kin envoy. Kill an envoy? Is that even a suggestion? And what war? Nothing has happened yet!"
Bang! The viscount slammed his fist down on the office desk. He had asked for ideas and received nothing but absurd nonsense.
And how, exactly, does one kill a Sword Master? He could punch through an encirclement and escape on his own with room to spare!
That his own retainers would offer such detached-from-reality drivel... it was nothing but suffocating.
I've tripped over my own feet. I culled and cast down far too many people for the sake of the family's vested interests.
The viscount let out a deep sigh. Watching the scene, Frox found himself puzzled.
"Roan. You don't actually think they'd harm you, do you? As you said yourself, there's been no war. Everyone seems to be worrying too much."
"Hah... Frox, think it through. Envoy or not, the man is a Sword Master. What do you suppose it means for the head of House Ahental to walk out before him without a single proper defense?"
"...Well. They'd take it to mean House Ahental has no answer to a Sword Master. Or that you're that close with Krombell."
Given public perception, the latter was impossible. There was only one answer.
"Once this story spreads, everyone will think the same: House Ahental is no match for Krombell. What more conclusive proof could there be than placing the head of the house, defenseless, before a Sword Master? It would look as if we were begging for their mercy. Krombell would swagger about as if they'd spared my life."
"You think I became a Great Magician for nothing? I can handle him just fine. Take me with you."
"Frox, I trust you. But the world's eyes don't. Even a three-year-old knows a Sword Master's terror lies in close combat. Even if I brought a Great Magician, no one would consider that a proper countermeasure."
"Nngh."
That was a consideration Frox hadn't reached. He was freshly appalled by the shadowy struggles of the nobility.
As if he had been waiting for his cue, Ayres opened his mouth.
"Father. They've sent a blood-kin envoy. If one of our own kin steps forward to negotiate, the formalities would be properly observed — no issue of justification at all."
"And who in this house, exactly, would stand in my place as kin?"
The viscount looked puzzled, but the retainers who followed Ayres seemed to grasp his meaning at once.
"My lord, you have a grown eldest son right here. What is there to worry about?"
"Indeed. As for the succession, we need only confirm it here and now and throw our weight behind him."
"So what you're saying is... use this opening to settle the heir question and send him in my place?"
The viscount was speechless. He had asked for a solution to the problem, and they were nimbly slipping out of it while lining their own pockets.
"Father, it looks better to outsiders if the heir steps forward rather than the lord himself. And I'm not saying we should finalize the succession — merely appoint someone provisionally, to put out the immediate fire."
"Brother, that's absurd. Appointing someone provisionally to resolve this, then changing it later — wouldn't that look even more ridiculous?"
"Little brother. So you'd insist on sending Father to face a Sword Master? How do you think the world would look at us then?"
"Why follow their proposal at all? Block the envoys from entering the city and negotiate by letter!"
"That would just look like we ran from Krombell. What's more, they sent a blood-kin envoy, and we'd become the pathetic house that wouldn't even show its face."
The retainers' opinions splintered into a noisy quarrel. It was a house divided against itself. If this had been Krombell's aim, it had struck home magnificently.
The viscount clutched his head and looked around the room — then stopped in front of one man.
Why is Sir Messi so composed?
It was no longer possible to think of this as someone else's problem. Messi was now deeply bound to Ahental. The viscount knew what Messi sought from the house, and he did not believe the man would stand by and let Ahental take a loss.
"Sir Messi. If you have any insight to offer, I would hear it."
Messi had been watching for the right moment to step in.
He had become a benefactor of the house, and he had been invited into this very office meeting — so it wasn't as if he lacked the right to speak. But still.
I'm an outsider, in the end.
Speaking up first would be useless. He needed them to come looking for him. And considering what he was about to say, it was nothing he could volunteer unprompted.
At last, the viscount put the question to him.
As if a man like that would have any kind of plan.
Does he even grasp the situation?
Every gaze in the room converged. They all looked at Messi with suspicion. He opened his mouth.
"I believe House Ahental has already fallen into their trap."
"Trap?"
"You can see it just by looking at yourselves. We are the injured party — the ones who should be receiving an apology. And yet here we are, squabbling over how to respond to their intimidation."
At that, several retainers stepped forward, looking displeased.
"We can hardly ignore that intimidation, can we? If we fail to respond at all, we'll only look ridiculous!"
"Our house's benefactor seems to have a fine idea, then?"
"I do have a good idea. I simply don't have the means to carry it out."
Then who does? The room fell silent at Messi's words. The viscount, who needed that good idea regardless, hurried him along.
"Fortunately, the person who can reverse this situation is in this room."
"And who would that be, Sir Messi?"
"The First Young Master, Ayres."
Every gaze in the room stabbed toward the First Young Master. Even Ayres looked startled.
Has that mongrel lost his mind?
"...Me?"
"If we look at this problem simply, it arose because we do not possess a Sword Master, did it not?"
"...That's so, but?"
"But the First Young Master has a means of possessing a Sword Master, if only for a short while, does he not?"
"What kind of bullshit is—"
Ayres was about to snap back at once when something flashed through his mind.
The Red Scroll!
Ayres possessed a black-magic scroll that raised a warrior's realm by one full stage for a set duration. He understood what Messi was talking about.
This son of a bitch — he was going to expose me right here!
Ereb, too, realized what Messi was driving at. A sly smile on his face, he turned to Ayres.
"Ah, that's right. Brother has magicians helping him, doesn't he? You must have received a scroll from them!"
With Ereb playing along as well, everyone present looked astonished.
"Possess a Sword Master, even temporarily... what on earth does that mean?"
"Magicians aiding the First Young Master? There were people like that?"
Even the retainers began murmuring, looking as if this was the first they'd heard of it. Ayres's mind was in turmoil.
"This is... this is nonsense. Sir Messi. If there were a way to raise one's realm through magic, who in the world would bother with bitter training?"
"Haha. First Young Master, there's no need to hide it. I heard from the late Sir Laud... that you packed a scroll for your little brother, worried about him going so far from home?"
"I did no such thing. No."
The situation was turning strange. Messi, relentlessly hounding Ayres with pointed questions. Ayres, denying it with everything he had. And Ereb, smiling, joining in.
"Brother! There's no need to hide it that thoroughly. Even if you used black magic, no one would question your true intentions!"
"...Black magic?"
"S-surely not... the Red Cross?"
Dismay rose on the retainers' faces. The viscount of Ahental was no exception. At the mention of black magic, Frox's eyes went cold.
"I did no such thing. Little brother, and Sir Messi. Both of you have taken this joke too far. This is neither the place nor the time for games!"
Ayres's face went stern. Messi's expression hardened to match.
"You're right. The house's prestige hangs in the balance, does it not? This is no time to deny it."
"Brother, who would condemn you in a situation like this? If it can protect the family's honor, you'd grab at a straw! Black magic or otherwise — is this the time to be picky?!"
The two of them came at him as if they'd planned it, gleefully laying everything bare.
No. This is insane...
Ayres could not hide his dismay at how suddenly things had turned.
I expected this moment would come — but now?!
He had foreseen it from the moment Laud, Ken, and Vlado had failed to return alive. He had been prepared to play ignorant. But he hadn't expected that time to be now.
I must not admit it. The Red Cross is shunned by everyone at the center of power... If they learn I'm entangled with them, even the retainers who follow me will waver. And besides... how would Father look at me?
Even if the house's prestige and honor were stripped away, this was something he could never admit.
"I know nothing of this. Sir Messi, one shouldn't go around accusing the innocent, should one?"
"For a man who knows nothing, how is it you understand the scroll's function? I only spoke of 'a means of possessing a Sword Master.' And yet the First Young Master took it to mean 'a method of raising one's realm,' did he not?"
Some of the retainers had already found something odd in the First Young Master's words, and one by one they turned suspicious eyes on him.
"It was merely a guess. Naturally."
Ayres played ignorant to the end. The problem was Viscount Ahental. He had already heard from Messi that Ayres had tried to have Ereb disposed of in the Forest of Resentment.
That boy didn't just send his own brother into a deathtrap — he even incited Laud to betray him. And on top of that, he's laid hands on black magic...
No matter how much Ayres denied it, it was useless once Viscount Ahental was certain. His eyes flew open, savage.
"...Bring it."
"What?"
The viscount was a man who had rarely raised his voice at his children in his life. At his shout, every face in the room went rigid.
"Father, no. I have no such thing!"
"I'll overlook this incident and let it go. Bring it!"
"I know nothing about this!"
Ayres clung to his denial to the last. The viscount of Ahental was about to explode in fury when Messi drew a Red Scroll from his own pocket and tossed it onto the floor.
Thud. It rolled across the floor...
"First Young Master. You really ought to have kept something like this more carefully."
The red they had scarcely dared to believe in had appeared. Everyone in the office fell silent, stunned.