A Nine-Day Victory

The war between Ahental and Crombell was over — a mere nine days after it had been declared.

Viscount Ahental and Count Crombell sat across from each other and pressed their seals and thumbprints to the ceasefire agreement.

Mediation had been conducted by the Church at Ahental's proposal, with Benedict serving as representative.

This war, finished with such ruthless speed, had a victor no one could dispute. The raven that illuminates jewels — House Ahental — had won.

One look at the faces gathered in the tent was enough to tell which side had prevailed.

"Count Crombell, you've had a hard time of it."

Viscount Ahental smiled and offered a handshake, but Count Crombell only frowned at the outstretched hand and did not take it.

"Well. This is rather awkward for my hand."

"...Did you bring the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method?"

Skipping even a greeting, his first words were about the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method. The viscount laughed inwardly.

The count's lingering attachment was so thick you could feel it on your skin. Had he not been surrounded by Ahental and Alan Aster, his life hanging by a thread, he would never have surrendered the monopoly.

"The Church's priests are authenticating them now."

The Church spent its days studying ancient texts, and so had naturally developed the art of telling genuine articles from forgeries. That was what had made a negotiation like this possible at all.

A few priests entered and nodded toward Benedict.

"Both are genuine, they say. I understand Ahental will conduct the research first. Is that correct?"

"It is, Sir Benedict. Please proceed as we discussed."

"......"

Count Crombell did not even reply, but Benedict took one of the three copies of the ceasefire agreement and withdrew.

The count collected his own copy and rose from his seat. As he did, the viscount spoke to his retreating back.

"How about apologizing to Sir Alan Aster? Even when he was addled by poison, he still obeyed his brother's word, did he not?"

At that advice, Count Crombell gave a short, dry laugh.

"I'll handle my own brother's affairs, Roan."

"Is that so! My apologies, Albarayen."

They each crossed a line, just slightly, then parted ways. Watching Count Crombell's receding back, Viscount Ahental called for Baron Hugo.

"Hugo, we still have leftover provisions and weapons, don't we? Divert all of it to Alan Aster's side. Make sure he has plenty of military funds as well. Hire some Gold Plate Mercenaries and send them along."

"Have no worry. We've already been working on it through the Huang Merchant Group, on Sir Messi's advice."

"Don't give him too much. I feel for Sir Alan, but the rebels mustn't be strong enough to overwhelm the count, nor weak enough to be crushed. We need the fighting to drag on until Crombell is in ruins. Of course, it would be best if Sir Alan claimed the final victory."

I have to grind Crombell down so thoroughly that they can never again be spoken of in the same breath as Ahental.

Viscount Ahental felt the collapse of his rival house drawing near. The feeling was a strange one.

He had studied Crombell since childhood. He had known more about House Crombell than even his own family, if you could believe it. After becoming head of the house, it was a family he had always had to keep in mind.

But now the end had come. The next generation of Ahental ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would never have to deal with this. It was a relief, and it was a little sad.

"Ah — has Sir Messi arrived?"

"Yes. The moment the seals were pressed to the ceasefire, he came straight over. Watching the Crombell people go pale was quite something."

"Haha. That's Sir Messi for you!"

Viscount Ahental laughed. He could almost hear it — like an echo — the shout of Count Crombell, who would have learned the truth only belatedly, still shut inside the tent.

"From today, for three days, food, drink, and lodging are all free!"

"Drink up, drink up! The wine never runs out!"

"This bastard — you were the one saying we should pack up and run for it, and now look at you enjoying the festival!"

A festival had opened in the City of Ahental. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠commemorated three things.

The first was House Ahental's victory over the mighty Crombell.

The second was the war's end itself — that someone's son, someone's husband, someone's friend had come home safely into his family's arms.

Wars typically lasted six months, and the long ones stretched to a year or two. This one had ended in a hollow nine days, so the casualties had been unusually few. The month spent preparing for war had actually been longer. That meant less pain, and less pain made the festival all the more joyful, all the more alive.

The third thing the festival commemorated was praise and tribute for the commander who had made it all possible.

"Long live the great commander, Ereb von Ahental!"

"Great commander! May the shining House of Ahental endure forever!"

Suddenly, Ereb's reputation had soared.

It was only natural. Messi's strategies had come from Ereb's mouth and been executed through Ereb's authority and command. The soldiers who had followed him naturally spread word of the Second Young Master's genius tactics, and as the army returned to Ahental, the stories reached the townspeople as well.

He had inflicted the greatest damage in the history of the Crombell Knight Order, burned the enemy's territory to the ground, and taken Melta Castle with barely a scratch. All of it in nine days of war. It was nothing short of the emergence of a tremendous military talent. From a certain point on, no one called Ereb a wastrel anymore.

Ayres's reputation, meanwhile, had plummeted.

Like a stock in a crashing market, the talk about Ayres was far from kind. The First Army under his command had taken the heaviest losses in this brief nine-day war. On top of that, strange rumors about the First Young Master had been circulating of late, which did not help.

"I heard the First Young Master is in league with a black magician... did you hear?"

"Come on, no way. That knight — Adol, or whatever his name was — probably did it on his own."

"But it's weird, isn't it? What would he even gain from contacting a black magician?"

"If you put it that way, the First Young Master wouldn't gain anything either. What's he lacking that he'd..."

"You idiot. To become the head of the house, he has to get rid of the Second Young Master!"

The whispers swelled and rolled.

The sounds the wind spirit carried to Messi's ears were crystal clear.

Kkyu, perched on Messi's shoulder, listened along and puffed herself up as if she were the one in charge.

"......"

Messi had no idea how she understood the spirit, but he ignored Kkyu's bickering with it.

Looks like Uncle Leto handled things well.

Festivals were when the crowds gathered most densely. Everyone put down their work to celebrate together, which meant rumors spread all the faster.

Before the war, Messi had asked Leto to slowly circulate rumors about Ayres. Spread them too quickly, and it would look like a planted job.

Then Ayres had failed to distinguish himself on the battlefield, and the rumors had caught like a fuse. By now, no one would be able to trace where they had started.

Someone came up beside Messi, who had been listening and watching all of this from atop the inner castle walls, and asked:

"Doesn't it bother you, Sir Messi?"

"Ah. Lady Erena."

In the time since he had last seen her, she must have practiced a great deal. Erena still could not walk on her own, but with crutches she could manage a slow pace.

The problem was that these inner castle walls were quite high. They had been built for emergencies, and he could not imagine how she had climbed all the way up here. How many steps were there?

"Bother me? Ahental's victory means something to me as well. Ahental growing stronger means I grow stronger."

It was not a polite formality. Messi may not have been of Ahental blood, but his foundation was here.

However Erena interpreted those words, she seemed quite pleased with them.

"But how did you get up here, Lady Erena...?"

"I-I didn't come to see you, Sir Messi. The walls have lots of stairs, so they're good for training."

"Ah. I see."

Messi looked at the endless stairs below the wall, then at her forehead. Beads of sweat had gathered there.

When he answered a little awkwardly, Erena hurriedly changed the subject.

"I'm using the crutches well. Thank you for making them."

"I never thought you'd be using them this soon when I made them. Your recovery is going well."

The crutches were something Messi had made himself for Erena, who had been struggling with her rehabilitation. Living in the forest with his master, he had had to make all sorts of things, so crutches had been no trouble.

"Isn't it because you use Heal on me so often, Sir Messi?"

"That may be. Heal imbued with Holy Fire has the effect of bringing Lady Erena's body to its optimal state."

"Thank you. That means you've been 'looking after me' that much, doesn't it?"

"......"

A sudden feeling that answering yes would be dangerous made Messi clamp his mouth shut.

Erena's cheeks puffed out, as if she did not like that at all.

"Oh — Father is looking for you. He's probably gathered the retainers for a meeting right now, so you can just go in."

He was likely going to reward Messi in front of everyone, commensurate with his contributions in the war. The viscount was a man who was clear about rewards and punishments.

Even if the people of Ahental Territory did not know of Messi's exploits, those gathered there certainly would.

Messi was about to take his leave when Erena's voice caught him by the ankle.

"W-wait!"

"Yes?"

"This afternoon, Sir Ramang's youngest daughter's wedding is... would you like to go together? We could, um, look around the festival too."

Of all people, it had to be Ramang's youngest daughter.

It was a wedding Ramang himself had not even been able to send an invitation to, out of guilt. Messi was about to refuse — then he saw Erena's hand, clenched into a small fist and trembling, and changed his mind.

"All right. Let's go together."

At Messi's words, Erena broke into a bright smile.

When Messi entered the office, the retainers burst into applause as if they had been waiting for him.

"The first-class meritorious subject has arrived!"

"Congratulations, Sir Messi."

"Haha, I knew Sir Messi would pull off another one!"

Most of the retainers leaned toward Ayres's faction. There was a reason they were laying on the praise so thick.

They had originally opposed the war out of fear of massive losses, and out of the worry that Ahental would lose to Crombell.

But if they won the war without taking any damage?

Nothing could be better. When Ahental's prestige soared, the retainers' own standing and power rose with it.

On top of that, merchant groups and nobles who had been under Crombell were flocking into Ahental's sphere of influence, in order of proximity — bearing oaths of loyalty and armfuls of money.

They could not meet Viscount Ahental to swear fealty without a letter of introduction, so they would first ply the surrounding retainers with wealth. Faces and bellies were about to grow sleek with fat. They were overjoyed.

Messi knew this well enough, and so he deflected it moderately.

"Sir Messi, I have called you here because... you and Ereb achieved first-class military merit. I shall omit a detailed account of your accomplishments. You would know them better than I."

"Thank you for your consideration, my lord."

Listing Messi's merits one by one would only waste time. There was no one present who did not know them, so Viscount Ahental first drew two books from his robes.

At last......

Messi's eyes lit up at the sight.

"Haha. Seeing Sir Messi's face brighten like that puts my heart at ease. It seems I chose a fitting gift."

"I'm embarrassed."

"As before, I shall grant you the first opportunity to view the lower volume of the Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method."

"Shouldn't you look at it first, my lord?"

"Hmm. I already attempted the cultivation through the upper volume, but... this is a mana cultivation method that truly does not suit Ahental Swordsmanship. The nature of it is such that I do not think learning the lower volume would change much."

Ahental Swordsmanship pursued speed through simplicity and clarity, then added variation and illusion — feints — from there.

The exceedingly slow and heavy Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method would never mesh with it.

The viscount seemed to regret it as well. Then he added:

"I am to be granted a count's title, and will be going up to the kingdom's capital. I originally thought the territorial war would prevent me from going, but it ended sooner than expected. I wish to have you accompany me, Sir Messi. What do you say?"

"...What do you mean by that?"

Thanks to the merits Ayres had earned in the 8 Kingdoms Grand War, Ahental was already scheduled to receive a count's title.

Taking Messi along to meet the king could mean only one thing.

"Once I become a count, I intend to petition His Majesty to grant you a title. A count has the right to propose titles, so such a petition is possible."

"......!"

This time, Messi was the one who was surprised.

In a world that held other-races in contempt, even attempting to grant a noble title was an extraordinary thing.

The retainers must have already known, for they said nothing and remained still.

"It will be my first title proposal as a count, so His Majesty will find it difficult to refuse. I believe it has a nine-in-ten chance of passing, so from now on, conduct yourself as if you were already a noble. Of course, you are of royal blood, but... you tend to take the lead in combat a bit too readily, which is why I mention it."

"I will take it to heart."

If he — treated as an other-race — became a noble, his name would spread not only through the Asiris Kingdom but across all of the 8 Kingdoms.

It's come at last.

An other-race from the Forest of Resentment had received a title. That news would reach even those who had driven his master to despair.

Did they even remember what had happened in the Forest of Resentment? That his master had fought to the end for his younger brother and the woodcutters who had died unjustly?

I'll find out for myself.

The capital... Marquis Vascas's territory lay near it. And currently he was serving as Minister of Military Affairs of the Asiris Kingdom, so he would be staying in the capital.

As the one who had poisoned his master, he would be directly connected to the faction Messi was targeting.

He intended to use that greatest of weapons to uncover the truth.

"Strange. I distinctly remember authorizing the killing of Ahental's Second Young Master, but I have no memory of authorizing participation in Crombell's civil war. Am I the mad one, or are you?"

In a space packed with undulating masses of flesh, like the inside of a belly, a man in a red robe stood.

The father of every black magician alive, and the leader who steered the Red Cross Magic College — Ascaron.

"Lord Ascaron! Please quell your wrath. The order has merely been slightly disrupted. There will not be the slightest irregularity in the grand design you desire."

"Strange. If the order is disrupted, how can the result be the same?"

"The original plan of seizing Ahental and Crombell in our grasp, and seizing Crombell and Ahental in our grasp, are not different at all. Please wait just a little longer."

"......"

It was the sort of argument that amounted to three in the morning or four in the evening — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the same sum either way. But the man called Ascaron closed his eyes, hiding the red gleam within them.

The "Strange" litany that marked Ascaron's towering rage had ceased. It meant he had been persuaded, and the kneeling man exhaled in relief.

He was the black magician in charge of Ayres.

"Frunon. I hear the boy called Ayres is quite disappointed in us."

"Who could have known the war between Ahental and Crombell would end so hollowly? But what irritates me is that the brat only cares about his own losses. We are the ones who have suffered far greater damage... The Einhartz Mana Cultivation Method..."

"Heh heh... We only thought a bigger bait would start a war, and failed to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠consider what came after. That was our mistake. I shall give you a gift — tell the boy to be a little more patient."

"He too will be moved by Lord Ascaron's grace, deep as the darkness of the abyss."

"And yet he is quite useless. The Second Young Master of Ahental had considerable military talent — had I known, I should have chosen that child instead."

"I hear it was not the Second Young Master, but the Forest Tribe who follows him that devised the strategies. A fellow called Messi... they say the Second Young Master brought him from the Forest of Resentment."

"...From the Forest of Resentment?"

Ascaron's closed eyes suddenly opened again.

After a brief silence, he spoke.