The Siege of Andrassy (1)

From behind the marquis, a silver-haired boy with curls stepped out hesitantly. When he saw me, his green eyes lit up with delight.

"Lord Iden."

"Good to see you, Silva."

Silva was clad in armor that covered him from head to toe. Perhaps that was why his boyish face looked a touch more grown-up than I remembered.

"They say you rescued Duke Esterzy from the very heart of the Demon Realm. How is such a thing even possible... I can hardly imagine it."

"I had help. Alone, it would have been impossible."

"The ones who helped you — that was the Sword Duke, Kalman, and the Black Dragon Ulkaard, wasn't it?"

"It was."

So one of the knights had a loose tongue, apparently. How on earth had the rumor already spread to a boy who'd only just arrived by carriage?

"I— I believe the whole world should know of your deeds, my lord. I believe you will be the one to strike down the Demon Duke!"

I understood now why Silva's eyes were shining. And why his cheeks were flushed red as he stumbled over his words.

It seemed he saw me as some hero out of a storybook. That was a novel experience, this kind of treatment. Perhaps because I was so used to being hated for no reason at all.

"Well, you've had your wish granted — you've seen Iden for yourself. Now run along back to your quarters and rest."

"Yes, Father. My lord, I'll see you again tomorrow!"

Silva bowed his head briskly and withdrew. Marquis Legdar raked a rough hand through his gray hair with his one remaining arm.

"He whined and begged until I brought him along, and now I can't stop worrying myself sick over it."

"That much is plain to see."

I smiled faintly. Silva knew nothing of war. He was twisting the world's cruelty into something gentler with a child's innocent misreading of it all.

"Aren't you younger than Silva? What the hell have you been eating to age on the outside like that?"

the marquis asked with a dissatisfied frown.

"Perhaps our temperaments simply differ, my lord."

Or perhaps it's because I'm living my second life.

"Well, never mind that."

Legdar dropped heavily onto the sofa.

"I hear you threw your brother in prison?"

His hooded eyes bored into me with fierce intensity. These were the eyes of a grizzled old commander, tempered on countless battlefields. Whether he decided to cooperate with me would depend entirely on my answer. I thought it over carefully and chose my words.

"Yes. Some fifty knights gave matching testimony: that Kris deliberately kept the fortress gates shut in order to spring a trap on my father, and afterward abandoned the fortress ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without so much as raising a blade. I witnessed his misconduct as fortress commander with my own eyes as well. Given the state of war, I passed sentence as acting lord without a formal trial... though."

I confessed honestly,

"I believe burning his legs off was a rather emotional act on my part."

"That's what they call being human, boy. If you didn't have even that much in you, I'd have taken you for one of Drek's machines."

I gave a wry smile ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at his absurd remark.

"Thank you for your generous assessment."

"And that Drek of ours, honestly... trouble never stops brewing in that household."

Legdar clicked his tongue. I neither agreed nor disagreed.

"Do you know why I dropped everything the moment I heard Stormrock had fallen, and came running with every soldier I could scrape together?"

"Because of my father?"

The letter requesting reinforcements from Legdar was still sitting neatly on my desk. I hadn't even sent it yet, and here he was, coming to my aid faster than anyone. Given the distance between the marquisate and the duchy, he must have started moving the very instant the news reached him.

"Right you are. I owe Drek a debt."

Legdar gestured with a nod toward his empty right sleeve.

"Back in our younger days, we always fought back to back. Then one careless moment, and this happened. Thanks to that, I got to lounge about in the rear raising a brat until my belly went soft — while that fool lived so frantically busy he never even noticed his own son had crawled into bed with the demons."

If only every noble in the Empire were half the man Legdar was. Then in a few days' time, we'd be watching the duchy burst at the seams with reinforcements.

"How do things stand on the front? Is Count Andrassy pulling his weight?"

"Yes. According to this afternoon's report, they're holding firm."

These were people who had clawed their way to survival in the barren northern wastes. No monster, however superior its specs, could take them lightly.

Old nightmares played their part too. Some fifteen years ago, the demons had overrun Lester — Thalia's hometown — and massacred every human there, man, woman, and child.

As a result, I was told that in sheer numbers and fighting spirit, the defenders actually overwhelmed the attackers. They had quite literally formed a deadly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠determination formation.

"However, the demon nobles have yet to show themselves on the front lines... and we lack a proper answer to the siege corps made up of giants."

"And your own assessment?"

"I have nothing as grand as a strategy to offer."

I was a man of the Dao, not the Art of War. While the strategists were poring over the Six Secret Teachings and Three Strategies, I'd been learning the Five Elements and the arts of longevity. My judgment was simple: the moment some Daoist hack picked up the commander's baton and started ordering this and that, our army was finished.

"Strategy belongs to the generals. I intend to focus only on what I myself can do."

"Which is?"

"As acting lord, gathering as many troops as I possibly can. And as the Duke's son, fighting in a way that won't shame him."

"...Tch."

Legdar clicked his tongue again. I wondered if I'd given the wrong answer somehow.

"Have I said something that displeases you, my lord?"

"It's just that I find myself suddenly regretting that Silva is my son and not yours."

"...I beg your pardon? What do you mean by—"

"It's late. I'll be off. You rest too."

Legdar rose from the sofa. I turned the marquis's parting words over in my mind — regretting that Silva was his son — but the remark was so far out of left field that all it left me was baffled.

From the following day onward, reinforcements began to arrive, first from the territories nearest the capital. I went out to the gates myself to receive them. Nor was that all — I threw open the storehouses and scattered our hoarded mana crystals without stinting a single one. I wanted to make absolutely clear what it meant to stand on my side in a crisis like this.

While the main force was being assembled in the front courtyard, dispatches flew in from the front lines at least fifty times a day.

Sporadic battles were breaking out without pause. Just reading the words conjured the urgency so vividly I could almost grab it with my hands. I felt the itch to sprint to the front lines and do something, anything, myself.

The only reason I couldn't let myself get antsy was that the defense commander stood calmly at her post, as if none of it amounted to anything worth fussing over.

Defense Commander Varga.

A broad-shouldered woman with a short brown crop — she was the one in charge of my 'strategy.'

Not every awakened aspired to knighthood. Among the awakened, those with special abilities suited to commanding crowds of thousands threw themselves into the army and became officers instead.

And only the very finest handful of them all ever rose to her position.

"By this evening, the troops will be ready to march."

Varga said.

"Thirty thousand men gathered from sixteen territories. Including one thousand knights."

Reinforcements ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were still streaming in even now. Most of the central nobility had refused to send aid, but participation from the northern lords ran very high indeed.

"A fortress can only hold out so long. You should march tomorrow."

"...Understood."

I had made up my mind.

"We leave at first light. See to it the soldiers eat well tonight."

"By your order, my lord."

The day of departure was finally set. At dawn tomorrow, I would drive an army of thirty thousand northward.

Our opponent: the Demon Duke Ragnor.

Only twice in the Empire's history had a demon of duke-level power marched south, they said — and thanks to my fantastic luck, I'd managed to win a spot in one of those two rounds.

Is this really the job of an acting lord? I couldn't help wondering. If the chance ever came, I wanted to ask Kris and Mabel: why were you all so desperate to claim a seat that came loaded to the brim with nothing but responsibility?

Ah — unless what you actually wanted was to enjoy the privileges while skipping the duties?

It was late afternoon when Kalman came to the gate.

"A reply has come from the capital."

He handed me a single sheet of paper.

I looked at the letter, then at Kalman, then back at the letter.

"And what exactly is this dire situation that leaves them unable to spare a single soldier?"

"No idea."

"Since when does His Majesty have faith in my capabilities?"

"Take it with a grain of salt. It's the sort of phrase bureaucrats love to slip in."

If even the Sword Duke, the Emperor's own right hand, couldn't name the situation, then the situation simply didn't exist. I hadn't expected help in the first place, so perhaps I should be grateful they'd at least thrown Kalman my way.

"Fine. Let's work together smoothly, like we did with the floating castles."

"They should not have brushed off your request so lightly."

Kalman said, his voice cold.

"If Esterzy falls, they will realize far too late that the future of the Empire passed back and forth across this single sheet of paper."

I found myself curious whether the 'they' in Kalman's statement included the Emperor himself. I wondered how the pettiness of the royal house must look through the eyes of the man who served as the Emperor's right hand.

Once Kalman departed, darkness fell fast. It was time for me to return to the ducal residence and prepare for departure as well.

Just then, I spotted a force of some two hundred soldiers marching in perfect order across the drawbridge.

At their head rode a young man on horseback. And for some reason, his face looked familiar. The moment I recognized him, a smile spread across my face by pure reflex.

He noticed me too. He spurred his horse forward at a hurry, then threw himself from the saddle before me and dropped to one knee with a shout that seemed to tumble out of him.

"Kaldrik Fairchild, my lord, at your service!"

That booming voice, unchanged. I laughed out loud and raised the kneeling man to his feet.

"Well met, Kaldrik."

He was, as far as I knew, the bravest man alive. I would never forget the sight of him galloping with a raised torch, baiting a fire giant's gaze away from me.

Kaldrik's men came thronging up behind him. Among them, one figure stood out to me at once. He had the look of a younger Kaldrik, aged and seasoned by hard experience.

"This is my father. He wished to offer his thanks to you in person, my lord."

Kaldrik whispered the introduction.

"Ah."

A memory I'd half forgotten surfaced unbidden.

"...They call him the giant-hunting expert, don't they."