Chapter 116: The Way of the Desert (1)
Chapter 116: The Way of the Desert (1)
The Black Hand Tribe warriors Eugene had commanded moved with a combination of strength and fluidity, like ballet dancers.
Dark elves were not born naturally flexible. Their muscles were elastic and their reflexes excellent, but the range of motion in their limbs was only somewhat better than a human's.
Their bodily flexibility was forged through tear-soaked effort from early childhood.
"Aaaagh..."
"Ngh!"
"Ghh..."
Dark-skinned boys and girls who looked barely ten groaned through tearful expressions. They sat on the floor at regular intervals, training to do the splits.
While inspecting the castle interior with Homi, Eugene had happened to observe this flexibility training.
"Bear it."
"Flexible limbs and a tolerance for pain. Both are essential to becoming a fine warrior."
Those speaking with a measure of dignity and sternness were adolescents who looked to be in their mid to late teens.
Their attempt to put on a solemn air looked cute to Eugene, though to the younger children they must have been terrifying.
Older brothers and sisters were holding the feet of their junior trainees from both sides, keeping them fixed in place.
"Haaauugh."
The restrained children had eyes brimming with tears from the pain, yet they did not wail aloud.
Tears from pain were no stranger than blood from a wound. These children had been taught that what mattered was refusing to give in to it.
"To give up because it hurts is to insult the training methods our ancestors developed with their blood and sweat."
The only adult woman among those supervising the flexibility training, the instructor, spoke sternly.
"The Castle Lord is watching. You wouldn't shame our clan, would you?"
"Yeees!"
With a chorus of lisping voices, the children's gazes all converged on Eugene.
"..."
Every pair of eyes was wet with tears, and the sight pained him, but he could not interfere.
Even if Eugene was their employer and the sovereign fate had sent them, he could not trample on customs and traditions unique to the Clan.
'Is this what it means to come from different stock?'
Though tears hung in their eyes, every single child faced the training with fierce stubbornness and fighting spirit.
This was an age when child labor was taken for granted and child soldiers, slavery, and even forced castration were commonplace. Training to do the splits barely registered by comparison.
"Nnngh!"
"Keep it down. You can groan, but no screaming."
"Do you mean to disgrace the Clan in front of the Castle Lord?"
One girl who cried out in pain was scolded by her older siblings and clamped her own mouth shut.
"Hic! Hic..."
"What do you think? They're all training hard as one. In time, these children will become the Castle Lord's sword and bow and lay the heads of his enemies at his feet."
'This is driving me crazy.'
The instructor spoke with deference and pride, but Eugene felt as though he were sitting on a bed of thorns.
Everywhere, children were shedding silent tears, gritting their teeth. He would rather be swinging a sword against monsters on the battlefield.
Tap, tap.
Homi, standing beside him, tapped Eugene on the wrist. Her eyes asked whether he could at least give them a short break.
"I understand how you feel, but I can't. I've already interfered with a lot of their way of life."
Before meeting Eugene, the Black Hand Tribe had first sent its youths into the field at sixteen. They had not fought directly, serving instead in support roles such as transport and scouting, but they had still gone to war.
No matter how much he considered the era, Eugene could not permit the deployment of child soldiers. Through careful dialogue and compromise, he had raised it to eighteen.
He had also abolished the practice of whipping young trainees like adults when they made mistakes.
-Could you not, please, put a stop to it? These scars will last a lifetime.
Varda had pleaded earnestly as she applied salve to a boy's bloodied back.
-I was planning to change that even without Varda-nim saying anything.
Corporal punishment for young trainees had been changed to strikes on the palms or soles with a standardized cane.
Beyond that, he increased sleeping hours and mandated that meat be included in every meal without fail.
-Sir Knight. I respect your mercy, but we have our own ways. If children grow accustomed to comfort and pleasure, they become weak and lazy warriors. The instructors have been complaining quite a bit lately.
Naturally, resistance arose within the tribe, and Rex had come to cautiously convey their opinion as their representative.
-It's not about comfort or pleasure. It's an investment in bigger bodies and stronger muscles. Children need to eat well and sleep plenty if they're going to grow.
Martial matters were far from the only parts of their culture Eugene had changed.
True to a warrior people who lived a nomadic life, the tribe's women were put back to their tasks immediately after childbirth.
Of course, having to work without rest even after bearing a child was common to all women living in this age. But Eugene could not tolerate it under his rule.
-Castle Lord. Pregnancy and childbirth left us sluggish. We have to move even more afterward to make ourselves strong again.
When the middle-aged and older women of the tribe had gathered to argue with him, his head had throbbed.
-Exactly. If you lie around doing nothing, a weakened womb will just stay loose.
-What the... What do you mean, stay loose?!
The bizarre logic combining pseudo-science and sheer willpower had made his head spin.
-Think of childbirth as an injury. If an arrow hits you or a sword cuts you, you rest until the wound heals, don't you? Moving the injured area only tears it open again.
-An injury? Our clan is nothing like those frail humans—
-Sister! Sister!
-Ahem!
The older woman belatedly recalled that Eugene's ears were rounded and gave a dry cough.
-Look at us. Every one of us fought for days with arrows stuck in our bodies or our chests split open.
The women each revealed their own scars from their active days to refute him.
Everyone in this tribe was muscular, from girls running about to young women in training to middle-aged and older adults at work.
Mothers who could subdue a green human mercenary with a single punch had swarmed in, their intense gazes fixed on him.
Their voices were gentle, but their attitude was tough as rope—a different kind of force from the male warriors. Eugene was a born soldier, but this kind of pressure left him helpless.
-No matter how strong you are, childbirth is childbirth. After being in pain all day, of course your body takes damage.
-Hohoho. It seems the Castle Lord is judging us by ordinary human women. I gave birth after just three pushes.
-...Is that also a trait of dark elves?
-That is the body of someone who has trained.
With that, the older woman speaking for the group lifted the hem of her top to reveal armor-like abdominal muscles crossed by two thick sword scars.
-Hup!
With a short exhalation, she contracted her muscles until her ribs stood out sharply and her stomach hollowed like that of someone who had starved for months. It was an astonishing vacuum pose.
-We may be retired now, but we once walked the battlefield too. We still never skip our training.
-Either way, women who have just given birth need to rest.
-But from the time of our mothers, our grandmothers, our great-grandmothers, it has been passed down—
-Enough! This is an order from the Castle Lord. Combat training and labor are forbidden after childbirth.
-Castle Lord!
Eugene had wanted to set a generous rest period of four weeks, but the resistance was so fierce that he had to compromise at a fortnight.
"That's the situation, Homi."
"..."
Homi knew Eugene had been changing various parts of the tribe's culture. She had not realized how much exhausting compromise and argument lay behind it.
"I'm their leader, not their chieftain. I have to respect their traditions too. I've already pushed the line on quite a few things, and there are plenty more I want to change. I can't interfere with everything."
Eugene himself was merely one soldier. He did not know much about science or medicine.
But the common sense of the world he knew gave him enough knowledge to cut away harmful customs rooted in pseudoscience.
Cutting out long-entrenched practices that ate away at the Black Hand Tribe was exhausting, but it still had to be done.
Homi nodded.
Homi, though grieved by the sight of the children in pain, quietly withdrew.
Unlike Homi, who was merely a warrior, her lord Eugene had to concern himself with and negotiate all manner of things. She could not make his position harder over her personal sympathy.
The mercenaries' life cycle was simple. When money ran out, they took contracts and fought; when they had money, they idled and caroused until it was all spent.
Their work already put their lives on the line, so diligence was not necessarily a virtue. The more often they went to war, the more chances they had to die.
But under Eugene's command, circumstances were different. They won wherever they marched and gathered ample plunder, so neither fear nor indolence could easily take root.
"Where do you think we'll go next?"
"Word is there are a few easy free cities nearby."
"I'd rather go raid some more slavers. Now I understand why the dark elves said hitting slavers was so profitable."
"It's been quite a while since we left North Fork—am I the only one who misses it?"
Above all, there were no grueling marches or meager meals. Debating their next destination was in itself a pleasant pastime.
Eugene made the final decision, but anyone could freely offer suggestions. As a result, a hardworking habit had taken root: after finishing one job and resting briefly, they looked for the next.
Most of all, each journey added something new, large or small, to adorn the castle, and that filled them with pride.
Some took that pride a step further and became even more proactive.
"There are those who worship the Goddess Vanas? Already?"
While taking tea with Varda, Eugene heard that some of the mercenaries had gone to the sanctuary to pray.
It had only been a few days since the golden goddess statue was enshrined—this was unexpected.
"It seems the blessing of immortality left quite an impression."
"But that has side effects—it's not something you can just use recklessly, is it?"
"Mercenaries like insurance. How reassuring must it be to have somewhere to pin your hopes in your final moment?"
"They live on a knife's edge, so I can understand it."
"You can pray and donate at the temples of famous gods forever and never get a response. A weak, fading god like Vanas might actually feel more approachable to a mercenary."
A god's power was proportional to the number of believers, the strength of their faith, and the offerings they gave.
But there existed a kind of efficiency ceiling. Paradoxically, the popular gods who received much faith and tribute became distant from each individual believer.
Conversely, a god receiving only a handful of faith and offerings—though its total power might be weak—bestowed blessings fervently upon its followers.
Whether an ordinary human body and soul could wholly receive such blessings was a separate issue, however.
"Mercenaries are prone to superstition, so normally they would have feared Vanas as a heretical god. But once you enshrined her in the sanctuary, they seem to have decided she wasn't an evil god."
Marbas, who had been taking tea with them, added a word as well.
"They believe the magic castle will stop Vanas if she tries anything wicked."
"Though this tower is not exactly a being that protects them."
"Mercenaries' beliefs tend to be freewheeling. So what will you do? Are you going to control them?"
"That would only breed resentment. This is faith we're talking about. Besides, as a mage, I'm interested myself."
Eugene was of the mind to make use of everything that could be used.
For people of this age, severing all ties with the gods was impossible. If so, worshiping a god they could cooperate with under Eugene's own supervision was not a bad choice.
People, goods, culture, even spiritual beings—the castle changed a little with every journey. While Eugene was tending to it, their next destination was decided.
"Castle Lord. Armed men have arrived at the gate requesting an audience. They appear to be recruiting officers from a nearby city."
The guard captain on watch reported to Eugene.
In an age without the concept of a standing army, when military force was needed, armies were cobbled together on the spot.
They hired mercenaries who came to the castles and cities, and if that was insufficient, they went around the villages gathering young men with desire for advancement and adventure.
When the situation was urgent, men above a certain age could be forcibly conscripted by the lord's command.
Though methods and authority differed by region, those who undertook such duties were collectively called recruiting officers.
"You are certain they came looking for me, and not because they lost their way?"
Eugene was perplexed.
Given the Wandering Castle's nature of descending upon places devoid of human souls, its surroundings were mostly uncharted territories.
It was no place for recruiting officers, who needed to travel where people were plentiful.
He went to the nearest balcony and looked down. Dozens of men were gathered outside.
A well-dressed middle-aged man of apparent status, a small armed escort, and young men looking around with equal parts curiosity and fear—it was the classic retinue of a recruiting officer.
"They truly came looking for me."
Given the nature of their work, recruiting officers and their escorts were all haughty. Partly because dealing mostly with village commoners gave them a sense of superiority, and partly because intimidation made conscription and control easier.
But the middle-aged man waiting before the castle now was trembling with nerves and sweating constantly.
"He seems to know where he is."
"Whether he knows or not, if a mere recruiting officer strutted about before a castle like this, he'd be a madman."
Eugene nodded at Marbas's words and gave the order to open the gate.