Lured into the Valley
The Denver Baron Territory was small, but it was a commercial town. It did not prosper on anything like the scale of the City of Ahental, yet as a stopover on the road there, it served well enough.
A comfortable week's journey, and from Denver onward the ranges that spilled down from the Tollid Mountains cut across the route — reason enough for any traveler to halt there once. On top of that, by the Viscount of Ahental's consideration, certain goods sold at prices no different from the City of Ahental's own markets, which made them easy to offload in a hurry. For a mere barony, it had more than a few conditions for prosperity.
But living under Ahental's protection had bred a bad habit: they took the possibility of war too lightly. Wartime preparations had suffered for it.
One look at Denver's fortress told the whole story. The walls stood far lower than those of an ordinary lord's castle, and they were not thick besides. There was no moat, which made even defending the gates a struggle.
And in that state of affairs...
Why isn't there a single sentry?
In the dark of early dawn, a scout clung to Denver's walls and looked them over from every angle. Even laying watch-fires above and below the ramparts and keeping a proper guard would have been barely adequate — and the enemy was doing none of that.
The scout returned to Count Crombell and reported exactly what he had found.
The Count summoned Viscount Hiwork at once.
"What are they playing at?"
"It could be a trap. If they draw us inside Denver Castle and then set it ablaze, the damage would be considerable."
"Send a search party over the walls and have them look."
The Count gave the order immediately.
And when the results came back, Count Crombell let out a cold, incredulous laugh.
A trap? There was no such thing.
What had happened was simply something that, from a central noble's point of view, should have been impossible.
"Unbelievable. A lord, abandoning his territory and running away?"
Even if the Viscount of Ahental could afford to fall back, Baron Denver should have remained. A noble's honor was to hold his land to the last and die upon it. He had withdrawn without the slightest regard for any of that.
In this world, a noble house's power came from its territory. To walk away from it was to throw a noble's pride itself into the dirt.
And Ahental keeps a pathetic creature like that as a vassal. That tells me all I need to know.
Count Crombell led his soldiers into Denver without the slightest difficulty. The streets were full of signs that the territory's people had fled in a desperate hurry.
They had not even managed to take their belongings. The search party that had gone in ahead was already deep into a hearty round of looting.
However it had happened, a flight this frantic meant intelligence of the surprise attack had leaked.
"This is strange."
Hiwork muttered as he surveyed Denver's interior. He had had nothing particular to say about the complete absence of sentries — but looking at a Denver abandoned in such haste, he called it strange.
"What's strange about it?"
"The enemy has a Sword Master. So why run? And in this much of a hurry, no less..."
"Hrm."
"If word of our surprise attack leaked to that degree... they would also have known that we don't have Sir Alan Aster with us, and that we have only three Ablaze knights. That is not a force a Sword Master retreats from."
For a hypothetical, Hiwork's tone carried real conviction.
"It's possible that Ahental... may not have a Sword Master at all."
Count Crombell's face lit up.
"Do you mean that?"
"Or something has gone wrong with the Sword Master, or with the Viscount himself... Either way, this situation doesn't add up. The only explanation is that Viscount Poild, who went as a negotiation envoy, or Sir Alan Aster, was mistaken about something..."
"Bring Poild here at once!"
At the Count's harsh command, Poild was dragged forward without the faintest idea why.
"You were the one who personally went on about a Sword Master appearing in Ahental. On what grounds? Did they slip you a purse and ask you to say it?"
"W-what kind of thing is that to say!! No, my lord — I was certain because I'd never seen Sir Alan Aster so meek in my life!"
At the time, in Poild's eyes, Alan Aster had been facing a Sword Master and a Great Magician at once, and so had seemed to be yielding a step. Alan Aster had even been excessively deferential in front of the Viscount of Ahental.
"A Sword Master recognized a Sword Master. What was I supposed to put in my report? I had to say it was so."
In other words, he had believed it was genuine because Alan Aster had confirmed the enemy's Sword Master for him.
If Hiwork's hypothesis were true, it would mean Alan Aster had deliberately deceived Poild.
Or... that even Alan Aster had been taken in by Ahental's ruse.
But that made no sense. No one had senses as keen as a Sword Master's. To fool one of them into believing you were a Sword Master?
It was far more plausible that Alan Aster had put on an act to deceive House Crombell.
And he had motive enough besides.
"I... my lord. It's a little late to mention this, but. Sir Alan despised the envoy assignment."
Poild brought up how Alan Aster had idled behind after the mission had already departed, and only joined them late. If Alan found even an envoy's duties a nuisance, he might well have lied to head off in advance the things that would happen in a war.
On top of that, a fact known only to the Count and Hiwork amplified the suspicion.
If House Adrian's poison had affected his brain, not wanting his pleasures interrupted would be motive enough.
The Count's heart tilted toward the conclusion that Alan Aster had deceived him.
"So that's the background to that filthy bastard spouting nonsense about me begging. He needed Ahental to have a Sword Master so his own value would go up!"
Is that really what happened?
Hiwork harbored his doubts. The worried look on Alan's face before he had gone to prison had not seemed like a lie.
But every circumstance clicked into place, one after another. His heart said no; his head said yes.
If Alan Aster had truly done that...
Hiwork wrestled with it for a long while, then finally made his decision.
"My lord. This is an opportunity. If my hypothesis is correct, we should pursue."
"Pursue?"
"They can't have gone far. A night flight with the territory's people in tow — how far could they possibly have gotten? Looking at how the people left without even packing their belongings, it must have been a truly desperate situation. And on the other hand, they would have wanted us to spend time here looting."
"Indeed — you're right!"
Count Crombell laughed at Hiwork's words. Listening to the explanation, victory seemed to shimmer right before his eyes.
"Good. An empty territory can be occupied whenever we please. Hear me, all of you! We hunt down the Viscount of Ahental, who ran like a coward! You can loot all you want after the Viscount is dead — now follow me, and quickly!"
Count Crombell's army passed through Denver Castle and entered the Tollid Mountain Range.
It was mountain country, but the House of Ahental had worked hard paving the roads, so the route was nothing more than a somewhat densely wooded stretch of rises and descents. The Count's army had not the slightest difficulty moving through it.
That could be called good news for Crombell's side — but it was equally good news for Ahental. It meant they could flee that much faster.
Growing impatient, the Count took his knights and drove ahead of the rest. Whether that haste bore fruit or not, they soon found people of the territory fleeing with torches in their hands.
"Halt! Halt or I'll kill you!"
"P-please, just spare us!"
"What are you?"
"People of Denver, my lord..."
"Then why are you running?"
"The lord of Denver ordered us to follow... He said if we stayed put we'd all be slaughtered... We had no choice but to come along, but we have elderly among us, so we fell behind."
"Where is the Viscount of Ahental's main force?"
"J-just a little farther, my lord. We haven't been straggling for very long."
Apparently deciding they had squeezed out everything worth squeezing, a Crombell knight behind the Count drew his sword. Everyone flinched — but the Count waved a hand, forbidding it.
"That's exactly what the Viscount of Ahental wants! Killing these people and wasting precious time! Our goal is to get our hands around Ahental's throat. Don't forget that. Move!"
The Count ignored the countless territory folk they kept encountering and drove his horse on. Before long, only knights remained around him.
Even so, the Count showed no sign of stopping. With three knights of the Ablaze realm, he was confident that no number of enemy soldiers would be a problem.
At last, the Count and his knights entered the valley.
That was where things changed.
BOOM!!!
Magic, perhaps? The mouth of the valley erupted in a roaring blast of fire; stone and earth came pouring down, and their way in was sealed.
"Huh. Would you look at that."
"My lord! It's an enemy trap!"
"Don't panic, Hiwork. At best they'll block the entrance and think to draw their bows from above."
The words had barely left his mouth when arrows rained down from the top of the valley. But arrows were useless from the start against a knight's plate. The warhorses, whose bodies were not fully covered, were the ones at risk. Count Crombell, a man who had fought more than his share of battles, had a solution at once.
"Put the horses against the cliff, cover them with shields, and everyone dismount!"
The horses' heads were fitted with steel guards. They pressed the animals against the cliff to shield one flank of the body, and covered the other with great shields. The dismounted knights swatted the arrows aside with ease and began their counterattack, a living demonstration of why knights were the core fighting power of the age.
Two knights of Ablaze rank drew their swords and ran straight up the cliff. The Brillant knights came after them — and the difference was stark. Those men had to drive several daggers into the cliff face and use them as footholds to climb.
When two knights came racing up the cliff as if it were level ground, alarm flickered across the faces of the soldiers feeding their bowstrings.
Someone on Ahental's side shouted.
"Hit them with the magic!!"
The soldiers who had been drawing their bows flung the weapons aside and pulled out gems. They were Gem Scrolls, crafted by Frox. The men poured their will into their fists; the gems shattered, and spheres of fierce flame formed and shot forward in straight lines.
"Hmph. Just a Fireball?"
It was a spectacle — hundreds of soldiers burning through magic scrolls like coin — but it left Obert, an Ablaze knight, distinctly unimpressed. Blazing mana spread from his sword as if the blade itself had caught fire: the aura that was the mark of Ablaze.
He drew a short breath and swung a few times. The hundreds of fireballs streaking toward him split apart and scattered like sparks.
Doubt filled Obert's eyes. He had expected them to split in half and gutter out. That was not what happened. He realized these were no ordinary Fireballs.
The remnant fireballs, still carrying power even after being cut, struck the cliff face here and there as if ricocheting, and exploded. With every blast, more rubble poured down, and the knights below had a miserable time of dodging and cutting. Many of the warhorses, pinned beneath the stone, could not escape death.
"Obert, Rickray! Can't you do it properly?!"
At Count Crombell's roar, the two of them changed their approach. The fireballs came without end, and they were heavier to cut than expected — a nuisance.
Better a different method than cutting them down.
They began to turn even magic aside with their swords.
Hanging in midair, they deflected the incoming fireballs and sent them toward enemies in other directions. It was a feat possible only because of minute mana control, and because their weapons were as much a part of their bodies as their own limbs. They came on as if they were magic swordsmen themselves, wielding sorcery with their blades, and the soldiers' courage withered.
At last they stood upon the clifftop. There was no one left who could stop them.
They seemed to swing their swords almost carelessly — and yet in Obert and Rickray's wake there was nothing but screams and a storm of blood. A single stroke split twenty bodies apart; a single blow erased a squad of ten. In the soldiers' eyes, they were no different from monsters.
They thought boxing us in on a cliff and beating on us would rattle us? Idiots.
Rickray sneered at Ahental's foolishness and slaughtered his way forward without restraint.
He had been at it for some time when Hiwork's panicked shout rose from the valley floor.
"Sir Obert!! Sir Rickray!! Hurry!! Hurry back this instant!!"
What?
It was hardly the first or second time Viscount Hiwork had made a fuss — but he had never sounded like this, his voice packed with raw horror.
Rickray moved to return at once. But the cliff beneath his feet shuddered.
A mass of stone mixed with earth wound around both his ankles like a giant's hands.
"What is this...!"
"Heh heh. And where do you think you're going? Do you have any idea how much of a slog it was getting all this in place?"
Rickray turned toward the deep, mature voice. A mage stood there, at a distance of at least a hundred paces.
He spoke from that far away — as if he were whispering in my ear?
Obert and Rickray landed safely atop the cliff. The Brillant knights following them would reach the top soon enough.
Watching them, the Count smiled faintly.
Did they really think a scheme like this would work on Crombell's knights?
As expected, a massacre unfolded on the clifftop. Heads, hands, arms and the like pattered down the cliff face.
Eson, the taciturn Ablaze knight who stood guard at the Count's side, batted the falling pieces away so the blood would not touch him.
"Roan―!! Where are you? Come out!! You think running will save your life!!"
The Count's voice was large to begin with; riding the valley's shape, it rolled and echoed far.
Soon, from the far end of the long valley path, the Viscount of Ahental appeared on horseback. Knights pressed in behind him.
"Were you looking for me, Albaraen?"
"A mere viscount, daring to speak a count's name as he pleases — have you lost your mind?!"
"We're trying to kill each other. What words aren't allowed, Albaraen?"
The Viscount attached the name on purpose. Count Crombell's temper flared for a moment — then he burst out laughing.
"Kahahaha! Maybe that's how a man talks when he's about to die. I'll grant you, you've got nerve. If you're so bold, you should have met me at Denver. To pull an ugly stunt like this, and you a noble..."
"I couldn't have lured you at Denver, you see. Albaraen."
"Stop saying my name, you fucking bastard! A viscount brat, how dare you—"
The Count's temper snapped and he flew off the handle. In the midst of it, Hiwork alone seized on the word lured, and his expression hardened.
He lured us? Meaning he still has something to rely on?
"Eson. Bring me that insolent bastard's head!"
"Yes."
"Sir Eson... one of the Ablaze trio, I believe."
The Viscount did not so much as bat an eye. That composure only made Hiwork more uneasy.
Ignorant of his subordinate's dread, the Count laughed.
"Heh. That's right. And it won't be only Eson — Obert and Rickray will be coming down soon enough. A house without a single Sword Master has no business mixing it up with us."
"Heh heh... No Sword Master, you say. Haven't you heard the rumors, Albaraen?"
There was something meaningful in the Viscount's laugh.
Surely not. It can't be.
Hiwork broke into a cold sweat. The Count, certain it was impossible, did not so much as waver.
"You have one? Hahaha! This really is a masterpiece. Pride, even on the verge of death. Fine — call him out, then. Let's have a look at this Sword Master of yours!"
No... something is wrong!
At the same moment Hiwork moved to stop the Count, the Viscount of Ahental gave a signal with his hand.
A man walked out from behind him.
Baccilus von Hawire.
And floating upon his sword, an aura of crimson light.
...
...
Meeting that wild gaze head-on, Eson looked back at the Count with uneasy eyes.
The Count's mouth was already hanging open, his face steeped in shock.
Hiwork screamed as if tearing his throat.
"Sir Obert!! Sir Rickray!! Hurry!! Hurry back this instant―!!!"