Hunting is Waiting
“Baron, no—Sir Isaac! That bastard is my brother Beltran. The traitor who killed our father and massacred the household—the usurper!”
Bruno shouted, veins bulging in his neck.
“Answer my question first. Did you see it with your own eyes?”
“……”
“Can you swear to it? Bruno, on the honor of the Buehittner family. Hagen, on the honor of a knight.”
“That’s not all. He tried to murder a cleric and escaped the Inquisition to crawl all the way here.”
Hagen spoke, barely holding onto his composure.
“Sir Isaac, Hagen’s younger sister was a maid at the Buehittner estate. She was killed during the rebellion. We’re exercising more patience than we can bear right now.”
Bruno’s voice trembled with rage.
“You’re dodging my question and spouting nonsense. Hmm, isn’t this all a misunderstanding?”
“Are you saying I’m talking rubbish!?”
Finally, Bruno yelled, infusing mana into his voice.
Krrrng—
The hellhounds, which had been lying quietly in the corner, immediately surrounded Bruno and Hagen. They’d sensed the hostility toward Isaac.
The massive wolves, each the size of a decent tent, flashed red eyes and bared their fangs.
“……”
Beltran just froze, staring at the vomit he’d spewed on the dirt floor. He almost wished he could just die right there.
“Strange. This guy’s name is Belon, you know. Hey, Belon. Hey.”
Isaac tapped the cheeks of Beltran, who was slumped and rigid with fear.
Beltran’s unfocused eyes turned to Isaac. His expression was the same as back then—when he’d pulled him out of the Pope’s Domain in a carriage. The same indifferent face telling him to head to Binvelt. As if it was no big deal.
Exactly the same.
“Is it true?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb. I asked if you’re Bruno’s brother and if you killed Baron Buehittner.”
His blue eyes stared straight at Beltran.
“If you’re really Beltran, I’d have no choice but to hand you over to Bruno. But if you’re Belon, my logistics officer, then you’re a soldier under my command. Answer me.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
Hagen growled.
Krrrng!
The hellhounds growled even more ferociously. Hagen had no choice but to flare his aura—a reflexive self-defense.
“You couldn’t answer that you saw it yourselves, right? So I ask the man himself. Belon, speak.”
“Y-Yes……”
“No, he’s not.”
“……?”
Isaac cut off Beltran just as he was about to confess.
“He says no. So you’re pointing swords at me over something you didn’t even witness?”
“What kind of ridiculous……”
“Belon is my soldier. Brandishing a blade at my soldier is the same as challenging me.”
“That scum is……”
“He’s Belon. I’m not done talking, Bruno. Forgot? You’re incorporated into my army. Under my command. If you won’t obey, go avenge Boatmer alone. Or how about a duel right here?”
Isaac adjusted his grip on his sword.
“Cool your heads, all of you.”
Isaac scanned the Buehittner soldiers who had gathered to protect Hagen and Bruno. Golden light lingered in his blue eyes.
“Unless you want to die like dogs.”
“……”
Bruno ground his teeth. But he couldn’t do a thing right then.
“Even if Belon is your brother and killed Baron Buehittner like you say, killing him now solves nothing. You know that.”
“……”
“You’re aware Boatmer manipulated your brother. As the eldest son, you took all the Buehittner privileges, so they approached him instead. No way you didn’t know.”
“……”
Bruno averted his gaze from Isaac. He’d hit the nail on the head.
“What are you trying to prove, Bruno? Just need someone to vent on? An innocent soldier of mine? One of the men I feed, clothe, and shelter by the hundreds?”
“……”
“Don’t get it twisted.”
Isaac took a step toward Bruno.
“The moment you came under me, you handed your rage to me. It means you’ll become my sword.”
“……”
“If you’re going to let emotions run wild and mess up my camp, then handle your revenge yourself. Don’t strut around at me with just twenty half-baked soldiers and one middling knight, kid. I don’t need trash like that in my army.”
“……”
Bruno bit his lip until it bled. He bowed his head and said nothing.
He was Beltran’s brother, sure—but he was only seventeen.
“If you get it, stop sulking and go rest in your quarters. Master Buehittner.”
“……My apologies.”
Bruno muttered in a heavily suppressed voice and hurried away. Hagen’s face openly showed his displeasure, but he said nothing and followed. His hand trembled faintly as he sheathed his sword. He tried to hide it, but the shock from clashing blades with Isaac hadn’t faded. Arguing more here would gain them nothing.
The Buehittner soldiers shuffled after them hesitantly.
“Get up, Belon. Don’t be so pathetic.”
Isaac grabbed Beltran’s arm and hauled him up. As he did, he whispered low to him.
“Don’t break. No one’s going to prop you up. Don’t break anyway.”
“……”
Beltran looked up at Isaac in surprise.
“Bill told me. Said logistics won’t run without you. Keep up the good work.”
Isaac patted Beltran’s shoulder a couple times and left.
The central clearing fell silent for a moment. Soldiers unclenched their grips on sword hilts and axe hafts. Tensions eased from shoulders one by one.
“Fuck, thought we’d have a brawl after chow.”
A red-nosed veteran grumbled.
“He ain’t the kid we knew anymore.”
“Sometimes scares me, not knowing what the lord’s thinking.”
“But he looks after his own, at least.”
Other soldiers chimed in.
“Wasn’t that pushing them too hard?”
Carlson approached Isaac from where he’d watched from afar. Isaac had just grabbed a mug of ale and was heading into the command tent.
“Grab one for yourself, yeah?”
“I’m good.”
“Suit yourself.”
Isaac shrugged and sat inside the tent.
“I was gonna kill them if they didn’t back down.”
“Pardon?”
“Bruno and his crew.”
“Aren’t we short on men?”
“True. But one or ten, if they disrupt discipline, you make an example. Perfect timing, too.”
Isaac took a swig of ale.
“Doubt one logistics guy’s worth more than Bruno’s whole unit.”
“He is. To me.”
Isaac stared into his mug as he replied. Looking at Beltran didn’t feel like someone else’s business. He’d already heard the full story from Raphael.
Beltran was just a boy caught in massive political strife. But the guilt, the self-loathing—it was beyond words. It reminded him of his past self.
Trapped in the thought that his family, his house, his retainers might have crumbled because of him. He might live his whole life that way.
Isaac got a second chance. Whether Beltran would get such a miracle—who knew? Unless some god or cosmic fluke intervened.
“What value?”
“The kind that matters.”
Of course, it wasn’t purely emotional. Isaac wasn’t eyeing the war with Boatmer. He was looking beyond—to post-war Goethe, post-war Binvelt.
He’d build a magic tower in Binvelt. And it would need talented mages. Beltran was one. Even if he couldn’t show it yet.
“Can’t figure why you care so much about that soldier. Even giving orders to Gunther and Bill.”
“Just a boring reason. No need to dig. Though yeah, some grudge against Bruno played a part.”
“Grudge?”
Carlson looked puzzled. Bruno had arrived in Binvelt just three days ago, drawn by word of Isaac recruiting mercenaries in Bernsi. No real cause for grudges.
“Asked Benders for info. Turns out Buehittner’s no different from the other vassals. Bruno got into the Academy on Boatmer coin. If he knows that and still wants to judge Beltran, he’s trash. If not, he’s an idiot.”
“You dug deep.”
“This comms gear didn’t just go to my folks.”
Isaac tapped the long-range comms device. Made in the blue tower under Reihi’s oversight, several units existed. One had gone to Bernsi’s merchant guild hall. Benders, with ties to merchants everywhere, knew the local houses inside out. It proved useful—like Boatmer’s five thousand struggling through blizzards.
Freeze-locked supply routes, wagons breaking in the snow. Half their horses and mules dead to frostbite. Forced to camp, march slowed drastically. Commanders losing trust in the harsh cold, vassals and branches feuding.
“How do you learn all this?”
“Five thousand men? Logistics are king for that many. They lean on nearby cities or big caravans. City’s only Bernsi. And Benders’d know any major merchant house.”
“Then shouldn’t we move now? Eat at their forces with our mobility.”
“Eh.”
Isaac swirled his mug. His eyes went to the blank map on the command tent table—no marks, no pieces. But he saw it. Info from Benders, from his parents via comms. Weather, hellhound senses. Boatmer’s army movements. What was coming—it was crystal clear.
“Ever hunted?”
“Pardon?”
“Back in the day, there was this magic beast in Baylden—a black-horned deer. Too big for a deer, slithered through mud like nothing. Gored plenty to death or injury. Didn’t eat people, but loved killing and toying with them.”
Isaac recounted a tale from a book.
“No one caught it. Not mages, not aura users. Too fast, too clever. But an old hunter did. No magic, no aura.”
“……How?”
“He went into the swamp alone. No fire, no traps. Dug a pit in a mud mound and sat.”
Carlson usually cut to the chase, but this piqued his interest. He waited patiently.
“Impatient village head asked, ‘What’re you doing, old man Cher?’ Hunter said, ‘Waiting for soup. Don’t rush me—go wait.’ All he had was a kettle: oyster shells, berry juice, bit of meat broth. Waited three days and nights. No moving, no talking, barely breathing.”
“Caught it?”
“Third dawn, before fog cleared. Odd breathing from across the mud pit. Black-horn deer, drawn by hunger and curiosity. Approached the still hunter. He just pulled a tripwire. Pit floor collapsed—pine resin, gravel, mana mix ignited. Mud boiled. Beast couldn’t escape. Cooked it fully.”
“Boatmer’s the beast?”
“Winterband’ll be their mud pit. I don’t want Goethe holding Boatmer back. I want to smash them. So we wait. Till the prey hits the trap. Hunting is waiting.”
Isaac drained his ale. Even now, Boatmer’s army pushed toward Winterband’s swamp. Deeper, inescapable.
All Isaac had to do was wait calmly, keep his soldiers in top shape.
The next day, a comms came from Count Goethe.
— Comms from Count Goethe —
Boatmer has arrived. They’re starting to set up camp five hundred paces outside Winterband.
Time to pull the tripwire, hunter.
Isaac ordered mobilization.