House Ahental Prepares for War

That rumor began circulating among the merchants the moment Alan Aster withdrew.

It was inevitable. Two days before Alan Aster's departure, the viscounty had already begun stockpiling war supplies through its contracted merchant companies.

Beans, grain flour, jerky, powdered meat, Bioda Fruit — a salt substitute — weapons, armor, warhorses, fodder, tack and harness, tallow, oilcloth, drinking water, firewood, blacksmiths… The instant the hoarding started, prices began to swing wildly, and what that meant was unmistakable.

Alan Aster had turned back without so much as laying eyes on House Ahental. Far from mending, relations had clearly taken a turn for the worse.

The Viscount of Ahental knew that Alan Aster's consideration had bought him a month. At this rate, though, the rumors would spread far enough to render that grace period meaningless.

It was the Huang Merchant Group that eased his worries. Gilbert, manager of the auction house that had burned down, came to call.

"My lord, the Huang Merchant Group would like to take a share in this war as well."

"I'd heard you were in negotiations with Count Krombell."

"Hmph. I've heard plenty about that grease-bellied swine looking down on our company. Negotiations, though? That's news to me."

Insulting a noble in front of another noble — yet Gilbert didn't so much as flinch. They were heading into a war; the Viscount of Ahental was hardly going to scold him over a little slander.

"We've already suppressed the merchants' rumors. They won't reach Krombell for several weeks at least."

"You have my thanks. That had been weighing on me."

"Purchase your war supplies through the Huang Merchant Group, my lord. It will draw far less attention than buying through Ahental's own contracted companies."

"Everyone knows Huang's relations with Krombell are poor as well. If you start hoarding, it'll show."

"Haha. We have mid-sized and smaller companies set up as fronts. We'll buy through those — quietly. In particular, I intend to siphon up the war supplies around Krombell Territory little by little."

This was the kind of problem you created when you made an enemy of a major merchant house. By the time House Krombell grasped the wartime situation and began to move, the price of every war supply in the vicinity would already have soared through the roof.

Gilbert smiled as though he'd already won. The viscount, however, was not so easily reassured.

Krombell is a clan that thinks of nothing but war, day in and day out. Their stores are likely already secured. And didn't Sir Alan Aster warn me? The moment a war envoy is sent, they'll move. Meaning they're ready.

They would have a hard time purchasing additional supplies. He would content himself with that much.

The viscount decided to handle matters such as the hiring of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mercenaries through the Huang Merchant Group as well, the better to keep rumors from spreading. The Huang Merchant Group was about to become very busy.

In the end, though, victory or defeat will rest on the knights… I wonder what Sir Messi is planning.

The moment war was decided upon, Messi went straight to the viscount and requested to join the Ahental Knights.

A healer, volunteering for the battlefield… The viscount had intended to keep their family's benefactor in the rear. He tried to talk him out of it, but on what grounds could he stop a healer who had already ascended to the realm of Lavish? And when the man added that he had a means of strengthening the knight order, the viscount couldn't help but listen.

A way to strengthen the knight order… I wonder what that could be.

The Ahental Knights numbered some three hundred and fifty — a large order by any measure.

Knights were notorious for devouring a huge portion of a noble's annual revenue. That the order numbered three hundred and fifty was staggering. They were training mounted knights separately besides — taken ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠together, the number comfortably exceeded seven hundred. To maintain that strength at all times, even outside of wartime, was absurd.

The wealth of House Ahental made the absurd possible.

What's more, the knights of Ahental had lately been receiving training supplies every single day. What used to be issued once every two months was now being handed out daily, and their mana was stacking higher with each passing sunrise.

"At this rate, we'll hit Lavish in no time."

"Commander, we're going to reach Brillant any day now. What are we supposed to do then?" one knight snickered, the jab aimed squarely at Ramang.

"Someone drag that idiot in front of me."

The knight who'd been teasing Ramang found himself planted face-first in the dirt, still in full armor.

Even in the middle of drills, whenever someone was called, they would slip away and head off somewhere. Messi was waiting for them there.

This time, it was Hulan's turn.

"Messi, Heal again today?"

"I know it's tedious. Sit still and take it. It will help — I promise you that."

"It's not like I'm even injured…"

Now that they'd grown somewhat close, Hulan had taken to speaking casually — and to grumbling. He pulled off his helmet, shook the sweat from his hair, and sat down promptly in front of Messi.

Still, it does feel like the fatigue eases, somehow.

A golden halo flared from Messi's body. The sacred Heal settled over Hulan.

An ordinary Heal would have been over in an instant. Messi's lasted nearly ten minutes. Small wonder Hulan found it tedious. This had been going on for days now.

Still, the Ahental Knights could hardly complain. Their family's benefactor was doing this with the viscount's blessing — what was there to say?

Besides…

Messi made a low sound in his throat, eyes closed, sweat beading on his brow as he continued the treatment.

"Is it hard?"

There was no answer. He didn't have the spare attention to reply. It was the same as when he treated Erena.

Hulan had no idea what Messi was doing, but the man was working hard enough to sweat. There was no room left to complain.

After a set span of time, Messi let the sacred Heal fade.

"Hah… that's done. Please call the next one."

"That's it? Thanks."

The knights had no idea what Messi had actually done, but they thanked him all the same.

If they ever learned the truth, even planting their heads in the dirt and kowtowing wouldn't have been enough.

Thirty a day, rotating, five hours… this is going to kill me.

The one doing the grumbling was Messi. Even so, he endured it, treating the ordeal as training for his mental fortitude.

What he was doing was improving their bodies.

He had learned it while treating Erena: the physical information he had absorbed could be transplanted into someone else. The problem was the enormous time and labor it demanded. Erena had only needed part of her nervous system rewritten. These men required intervention across the entire body.

I'd wanted to remake every last knight of Ahental to Loud-class before the war… At this rate, even 0.3 Loud is going to be a stretch.

Of course, aptitude varied from man to man. The gifted ones finished quickly.

The prime example was Knight Commander Bacillus.

"What, I don't have to come anymore?"

"Yes. Sir Bacillus, you've received all the necessary procedures."

"…Procedures? Understood. You have my thanks."

He was uncharacteristically tractable with Messi.

Bacillus had been driving his training harder of late. It had sat ill with him, but he had used a Red Scroll and played at being a Sword Master for a time. Even if it had been a counterfeit, having set foot in that realm, he felt as though he'd grasped a thread.

He had heard that Messi had been a great help in the matter. It was Messi who had found Adol's Red Scrolls and handed them over to the viscount — so even that taste of Sword Master was thanks to him.

Bacillus offered his thanks and withdrew. The next one was the problem.

Here was a man Messi truly wanted to strengthen with care — and a man whose aptitude simply would not keep up.

"Messi. I'm here."

It was Ramang.

If ever two men defined opposite poles, it was these two. If Bacillus possessed the finest aptitude in the knight order, Ramang possessed the worst.

How did this man even make it to Brillant…

He was that type — a genius of pure, stubborn effort, the kind you'd find in a certain Japanese manga.

Messi let out a breath.

"Don't tell me you just sighed at the sight of me."

"Not at all. A sad thought just occurred to me, that's all."

"Is that so? And why would looking at me bring a sad thought to mind?"

"I wonder."

Messi sat him down and sent a surge of sacred Heal through him. It was, as expected, a talent that made one want to sigh.

Even so, he could not give up on Ramang — both for the trust that this man would never betray them, and because the stronger he became, the more useful he would be.

Before this war begins, I will make this man Loud-class. No matter what.

If he had his way, he would have upgraded Ramang to Alan Aster-class — the same as himself. He couldn't even begin to guess how long that would take.

The maximum goal was 1 Loud. The minimum was 0.2 Loud.

"Does receiving this over and over actually improve one's aptitude?"

To Ramang, and Ramang alone, Messi had told about half the truth: that receiving sacred Heal improved the body, and that a better body meant a better sword. That was the logic.

"It's called holy power for a reason."

"True enough. You're right."

Messi was beginning to understand why priests attributed everything to the grace of the gods. A single phrase — holy power — and everyone accepted it without a fuss.

Thirty minutes passed, and Ramang's procedure came to an end. The others received ten minutes of his time. Ramang was receiving three times that.

Once the procedure was over, the knights were usually so worn from sitting still for so long that they left at once. Today, Ramang stayed where he was.

"You look like you have something to say."

"Well, you see… I don't believe I've ever properly thanked you."

"Haha. That's a bit out of nowhere."

"You've done so much for me. You saved my life — and when I was wavering, you took hold of me and made me look properly upon the young master. What's more, had I not gained those new experiences sparring with you, reaching Brillant would never have happened in my lifetime."

Messi said nothing.

"And it's the same with this. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠know the other knights only receive ten minutes of your time. You're giving me thirty."

That's because Sir Ramang's aptitude is abysmal…

"You have my sincere thanks."

Ramang bowed his head. For a knight to do such a thing to someone who was not his liege was truly rare.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Treating you was something I had to do to get us out of the Ant Tunnels alive. Bringing you together with the young master was something I did for the one I serve. And as for reaching Brillant… that wasn't because of me. It was because of the blood and sweat you've poured into it all these years. So please — don't feel indebted."

"No. Because of you, a great many things have changed. The young master included… Thank you."

Receiving so much gratitude, even Messi started to feel embarrassed.

And then—

A silence fell between them.

"…With you, Sir Ramang?"

"What are you talking about?! Have you lost your mind? I'm speaking of my daughter!"

Thank goodness. For a moment, a cold sweat had broken out.

Messi looked at Ramang with no small relief. He could see the man's determination to make him a son-in-law.

From the perspective of this world's people, Messi was of another race. Offering one's daughter to a man of another race was not something done with ordinary resolve. And even as an Unlanded Noble, Ramang was still nobility — in effect, the head of House Stradimus.

The words had clearly been spoken after a great deal of thought. Messi could not readily refuse.

"…Is she pretty?"

"So you are a man, after all. She takes after my wife more than me, so yes — she's a fair one."

"War is at our doorstep. This hardly seems like something to decide on the spot. Marriage is no small matter."

"War is at our doorstep, which is exactly why it must be decided. I don't even know what will become of me, if I'm honest…"

Ah. So that was it.

He seemed to have considered that they might lose the war — or that he himself might die.

Even if Messi joined the fighting, Ramang had apparently assumed a healer wouldn't stand on the front lines. High odds of survival, miraculous healing arts — his daughter would never go hungry. And on a personal level, he was fond of Messi besides.

"I'll give it some thought."

"I was thinking we might hold a modest betrothal, at least — so do decide quickly. Haha!"

Ramang clapped Messi on the shoulder and left the room.

Marriage, huh… I've never even thought about it.

Life had been so hectic since coming to this world that he'd never had the chance to imagine such a thing.

Messi was twenty-three. In this world, that was an age by which one ought to have been married already — and then some. The thought gave him a slight pause.

But…

No. Not until my master's affairs are settled, at least. Even if I built a family, I wouldn't be able to give them my full attention.

He set the thought aside and began considering how best to refuse.

Beside him, a servant's eyes glittered. It was the attendant who had been staying close, running Messi's odd jobs.

Dark silhouettes took shape in the gloom. Two figures — one seated in a wheelchair, the other pushing it from behind.

A third shadow approached.

"Sir Ramang has proposed a marriage to Sir Messi."

"…How old is Sir Ramang's daughter?"

"The youngest is unmarried. She's fourteen."

"Thank you. That's useful. Here's your fee."

"Th-thank you, young la—"

"Shh. Keep your voice down. I'll be counting on you next time as well."

One shadow withdrew. The figure pushing the wheelchair let out a long, deep sigh.

A few days later, Messi — who had been about to refuse Ramang — heard something so absurd from Ohens that he could only stare.

"…Sir Ramang's youngest daughter is getting betrothed in two days?"

"That's what I've been saying. Do you know how many events there are just this week? Everyone's going crazy with a war right around the corner."

"Does Sir Ramang have any other unmarried daughters besides the youngest?"

"What kind of question is that? Not that I know of."

Was it even possible to be jilted like this? While he was still reeling at the absurdity of it, a letter arrived for him.

What a ridiculous turn of events. Messi laughed it off. He'd received an apology and an explanation besides. He'd been planning to refuse anyway, so it had worked out well.

What Messi never once imagined, however, was that a formidable mastermind had been moving behind the scenes.