For the Golden Landscape
Throughout the supervision of unloading the supplies, Schrader's mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Normally, he would have meticulously checked every arrow and every handful of grain flour, but this time he settled for a rough estimate. For all his emphasis on dignity, his steps toward Isaac's tent were practically a run.
"Carlson, Hans. Clear out for a bit."
Schrader double-checked that no one was around the tent and then unleashed his gravelly roar.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner!?"
"Whoa." Isaac, who had been sharpening his sword blade with a whetstone, turned to look at him.
"I nearly used magic in front of the soldiers here. If I had, it would've sparked a mutiny."
The steward's face was genuinely furious.
"But you didn't use it, right?"
"It was one spark away from disaster. Couldn't you have given me a heads-up?"
"There was a reason to keep it quiet."
"What reason?"
"Schrader and Hans had to make such a fuss for Bessimer to buy it. And I figured you'd notice anyway."
"……."
Schrader clamped his mouth shut for a moment. His face was still displeased, but after a few deep breaths, he quelled his anger. As steward, he had things to grasp right now rather than let emotions lead.
"Since when?"
"What?"
"Don't play coy now."
"Since the last mana rampage."
There was no subject or object, but Isaac understood Schrader's question.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"You know. My unique constitution—it matches someone from a century ago. It's a bloodline manifestation."
"……!"
A crack appeared in Schrader's expression.
"You weren't permitted to see the ancestors' records."
"In this state, you think I'd quibble? I sneaked a look."
"……."
"Why so shocked? You knew."
Isaac resumed sharpening his blade with the whetstone.
"If word got out that I can use magic, no one in the kingdom would be happy. It'd be like the seed of calamity sprouting."
"What do you plan to do?"
"Keep it under wraps."
"……."
Schrader was momentarily speechless at Isaac's calm words. This was a fact that could sway the fate of the house. Yet Isaac was utterly nonchalant. Schrader had watched both Isaac and Yonas from the moment they were born until now—their entire growth. He knew these little Goetes as well as their nanny or attendants, perhaps even better. Over the past few months, he'd chalked up Isaac's eccentricities and unexpected feats to the whims of mana rampage. But the duel with Bessimer had confirmed it. Isaac had changed. In a way that exceeded Schrader's understanding.
Isaac's transformation wasn't the usual growth or maturation of a child. No one could predict what it would bring to House Goethe.
"Young master, what…… are you thinking? Has anything else noteworthy happened besides gaining magic?"
"Why?"
"You've become someone else without me knowing."
"……."
Isaac's hand paused mid-sharpening.
"Maybe. Schrader, I have a favor to ask."
The next dawn.
"Form up! Anyone who lags runs an extra lap!"
The eighty-odd soldiers on night watch, patrol, and tending the wounded ran the camp's perimeter with deeply furrowed brows.
"Fuck, what kinda bullshit is this?"
"That little shit thinks he's a real commander now, huh? Huff, we should've, huff, crushed him, huff, from the start."
"Then quit, huff, your bitching, huff, and do it, huff. All talk."
"Fuck, if it weren't, huff, for that demon bastard, we'd, huff, have done it already."
Curses flew among the soldiers, but none dared stop running or rebel. One reason was the brutal violence that had begun before the sun even peeked over the ridge. Carlson's fists and kicks flew unerringly at those who disobeyed or lagged. A few soldiers had rushed him, but now they lay sprawled in the tent, unable to rise. Teeth had flown, hair yanked out, and in severe cases, arms or legs broken. In a camp where most agreements were sealed with force, it was an effective way to communicate. Everyone was cowed by Carlson, who not only laid low men twice his size but beat a tearfully begging soldier until he passed out.
Another strong reason was that Bessimer—the camp's strongest soldier, practically the unofficial captain—had joined the run without complaint. With him obeying, the mood was to play it safe for now. And yet another was that Carlson had mercilessly kicked the lagging Hans.
"You stubborn fuck, clinging to stay here over that? You're hopeless from the root! Give up and go back to the manor, yeah? You're broken from the start! Give up!"
Hans, screaming defiance, only intimidated the soldiers more.
"I, huff, huff, won't, huff, give up!"
"Won't give up? Then you'll die! Suffocate or die by my hand."
"Still, huff, won't give up!"
Already three laps behind, Hans was puking with a beet-red face, drool and snot streaming, yet grappling with Carlson. He wasn't walking anymore—practically crawling. Even soldiers who'd seen every sight in Binvelt camp were left speechless.
And so dawn broke over Binvelt. An uproarious morning without beast attacks felt utterly alien to the troops.
"You really gonna stay here?"
Schrader, preparations for return to the manor complete, asked.
"……Yes. My, place is, by the young master's side. Urk—"
Hans, just finishing his run, dry-heaved.
"Tsk tsk. If it's as the young master says, we'll be here quite a while."
"Doesn't, urp, matter."
"Your family will worry."
"Yes. And, ugh, they'll be proud. I'll, huff, make it so."
Hans wiped the drool to his chin with his sleeve.
"Whew. That stubbornness is just like your master's."
"Like master, like servant."
"Insulting me to my face?"
Isaac cut into Schrader and Hans's banter.
"Stay well, young master. Carlson, I left a few manor guards, but you're the key. Protect him."
"Yes."
Carlson nodded at Schrader's words.
"Schrader, take care."
"It'll take time, but I'll manage."
"Make good use of Bill. I briefed him."
"Understood. Then."
Schrader bowed to Isaac. As he moved to board the carriage, he glanced back.
"It was just bad luck."
"What?"
"Not your fault, young master."
Before Isaac could reply, Schrader nodded again and climbed aboard.
"……."
Isaac smiled faintly, a touch bitter. He understood Schrader's meaning. It alluded to being born with Zeke von Goethe's mana rampage. To the old steward, Isaac must seem quite pitiable.
He meant well, in his way.
Not refusing Schrader's farewell, showing the duel with Bessimer. Revealing magic only he would recognize, sharing some plans. All to earn his trust. It had worked as intended. Of course, the old steward's fleeting pity wasn't entirely comfortable.
"What'd you talk about with Master Schrader so long last night?"
Carlson asked, watching the supply wagons depart.
"You heard it all."
"Doze off when it got boring."
"You'll know soon enough. Bring a soldier who knows the lay."
"What for?"
"Time for an inspection. First day as lord of Binvelt, after all?"
Isaac stretched.
"Oh, and Hans."
"Yes?"
"Bessimer's discarded axe. Keep it."
"Why?"
"Got a use for it."
"D-did you call, sir?"
The soldier wore a supply gambeson, but his shaved head save for a topknot braided to his shoulders screamed tribal origins. Like most, he eyed Isaac warily.
"You grew up here. You know the terrain."
"Not like I don't."
"Heard there's villages of minor tribes nearby. How many?"
"Not counting the hidden ones, three that scrape by."
"Guide me."
"Why me……."
Isaac was lord of Binvelt, commander of the camp. Obeying orders was natural. But here, nothing was. Dragged reluctantly by fear of Carlson, the soldier's reluctance showed.
If Carlson had violence, Isaac had his own persuasion.
Ding—
Isaac flicked a silver coin with his thumb. The soldier caught it reflexively.
"Please."
"……Fine."
The soldier nodded grudgingly. Three horses left the camp, galloping across the wasteland. Hans held the reins for Isaac, who couldn't ride yet; the soldier and Carlson rode their own.
"Dismount here."
"Here?"
Hans pulled the reins, puzzled. Nothing but barren, dark red hills rolling out. No animals, no plants—just scattered dry black brush and scattered bones.
"What're you doing?"
Carlson asked as Isaac suddenly dismounted.
"Checking something."
Isaac dug into the dark red soil. It looked frozen and parched, but crumbled easily under pressure, revealing damp earth beneath. He scooped some moist dirt and tasted it.
"Why eat dirt?"
Hans rushed over in horror. Carlson and the soldier just watched curiously—Isaac's quirks weren't shocking anymore.
"Gotta check the soil first. Ptui."
Isaac spat out the grit and savored the aftertaste. Slight sourness, earthy tang.
Just like the books said.
Isaac smiled in satisfaction. Hills and plains to the horizon, up to the edge of the distant Black Forest—all the same hue.
"Baking cookies from dirt?"
"Not impossible. See it, Hans?"
"What?"
"From here to there. A landscape drenched in gold."
"Pardon?"
Hans looked baffled, then felt Isaac's forehead.
"You okay?"
Before mana rampages, Isaac often spouted nonsense. No explosions for months—maybe due. Or invisible wounds from yesterday's duel.
"Not crazy, don't worry."
Isaac chuckled at Hans's shadowed face. His concern was natural. No one in House Goethe, no one in the kingdom, could see what Isaac saw. But soon, they all would. The kingdom's greatest breadbasket, sown with wheat, barley, sunflowers. Absent in his past life, but existing now. The foundation for Goethe's independence.
Before that, secure the land's safety.
Isaac brushed the dirt from his hands.
"Let's go."