Chapter 148: A Monster Among Hungry Wolves (5)
Chapter 148: A Monster Among Hungry Wolves (5)
The island of Sicily and the Apen Peninsula were close. At its narrowest point, the Messana Strait, the distance was less than four kilometers. A strong swimmer could even swim across it.
Because of that, every detail of the Apostolic Council's war preparations reached them. Count Sicily's fury was only natural.
"Excommunication! And they say I consorted with heretics and even worshipped them? My family has ruled this land for over five hundred years! That very fact is a sacred right granted by God!"
Much like the divine right of kings, nobles also believed their bloodlines and destinies were bestowed by God.
The orders upheld that belief as well. They had no choice but to maintain close ties with nobles who held secular power.
Putting a good gloss on the nobility's prestige while preaching to the common folk was something they could do as a matter of course, a sort of free service.
And then, when circumstances changed, they turned on him as easily as flipping a hand.
"Indeed, my lord. By what right do those servants of God brand Your Excellency a heretic? Their very actions are blasphemy."
"Exactly what I'm saying!"
The mage's flattery allowed Count Sicily to rein in his rage, if only a little.
With so many dead, a surge of undead was only natural. To use that as a pretext to frame him as a heretic worshipper was beyond absurd.
The fact that he had colluded with pirates to bleed the peninsula dry was true, but he glossed over that.
"Baron Sheffield and Baron Bernstein have arrived."
"What of the Godok Toad Mercenary Corps?"
"They will arrive by sea sometime next week."
Count Sicily nodded at his chief of staff's report.
Greed aside, the count was no incompetent man.
"This is a war the Apostolic Council started alongside the declaration of excommunication. A truce is impossible."
Either House Sicily would be destroyed, or they would repel the Apostolic Council. Only one of those two endings awaited.
Treating this like a squabble between nobles—'We'll fight and if we lose, we'll just pay reparations'—was nothing short of madness. There were more than a few precedents of families being utterly ruined by such complacency.
"What of the envoy sent to the Emperor?"
"My apologies. He said he simply has no capacity to spare attention beyond the sea..."
Count Sicily had also requested help from Emperor Roman. An ally was desperately needed in his isolated position, so the Emperor had received the count's envoy with lavish hospitality.
However, the Emperor was already struggling to fight the Noble Faction right in front of him. He had no capacity to send reinforcements to such a distant island.
He had dressed it up in diplomatic phrasing, but in the end it amounted to a message of no rescue.
"Hmph! He's a fool who kicks away a blessing that rolled right into his lap. Roman's end is plain to see."
"My lord, should we not hire more mercenaries?"
"No."
At the count's firm refusal, the chief of staff pleaded once more.
"This crusade is different from the last one that ended in failure. Dark elves and dwarves are swarming in by the scores. Rumor even has it that a knight chosen as master by the legendary Wandering Castle has joined the fray."
"Do you actually believe that preposterous rumor? A castle built of stone moving about—honestly. Not even children's storybooks spout such deranged nonsense."
It was hardly strange for Count Sicily to be bewildered. This was an era when information traveled slowly and was riddled with all manner of speculation and exaggeration.
The eastern nobles of Gord near Bonyard; Roman, which claimed to be the successor of the Ancient Kingdom; and the Apostolic Council leadership, with its deep knowledge of the mystic.
Outside of those with such special circumstances, most people dismissed the Wandering Castle as a baseless rumor. For Sicily, an island nation at the southernmost edge of the continent, there was nothing more to say.
"But is it not certain that a great warrior leads a crack force? He's said to have cut down renowned knights with a single stroke and slain hundreds of monsters in subjugation. A knight who has never once been defeated to this day."
The chief of staff clasped his hands together as if in prayer.
"I beg you, please authorize the hiring of additional mercenaries."
"Look. The reason I said no is not because I look down on the peninsula scum. It's because I have no more capacity to hire them."
"What? Whatever do you mean...?"
He was the count, the hegemon of Sicily, famed for its wealth. He had certainly hired many mercenary corps, but there was no way his coffers were empty already.
The count pulled out a letter and handed it to his chief of staff.
"This is a personal letter from the Caliph, stating he will send reinforcements by sea."
"...!"
The Caliph was the name for the head of the great empire in the East. Unlike the kings of the continent, he wielded both the royal authority of a secular monarch and the religious authority of a spiritual leader.
Nowadays, his vassals' checks were strong, so he no longer held the absolute power of the past. Yet he still exercised far greater authority than the kings of the continent.
"We already have enough mercenary companies to fill out the numbers. It is better to receive the East's elite troops as reinforcements."
"But my lord, accepting their aid would mean..."
It would mean Count Sicily officially falling under the Caliph's sphere of influence.
There was no way an empire sending an army across the sea would be satisfied with mere riches. They would surely be aiming to secure a bridgehead to exert influence over the continent.
"What choice do I have? Even if we win this time, the Apostolic Council will keep coming for me. I have no choice but to join hands with someone."
Having enjoyed unlimited freedom for so long, the sting of anyone's interference was bitter.
Still, it was far better than living under the stigma of heretic worship, worrying every moment about when his family might be destroyed.
'This might not be so bad, acting as the Eastern Empire's bridgehead and properly sucking the peninsula dry.'
The ability to always think positively was one of Count Sicily's virtues.
"This emblem..."
His chief of staff's eyes widened as he saw the mark at the bottom of the letter.
"The Caliph—no, the Caliph himself has decided to send the Immortals."
"The Immortals!"
They were an order of knights from the East, famed for their formidable combat power. The news that they would join as allies drew a sigh of both shock and relief from the chief of staff.
* * *
While Sicily was gripped by tension, New Canaan was a cauldron of excitement day after day.
The majesty of the armies and fleets arriving one after another made the hearts of the people race simply by its presence.
Various trading companies and neighboring republics also sent supplies and ships, hoping to get a piece of the action.
The knights, nobles, and captains of the major mercenary corps gradually set aside their wariness and began to foster goodwill. With war right before them, it was time to unite.
Naturally, Eugene was invited to many banquets and was showered with questions at each one.
"Just how did you forge ties with those savage, pointed-eared—ah, those fierce dark elves?"
"During the subjugation of the Bonyard bandits, I had occasion to fight with one of their sub-chieftains under my command. We got along surprisingly well. Neither of us had ever met someone whose physical training methods and combat doctrine suited our tastes so perfectly."
Eugene's face was warm as he spoke while smiling. A sincere affection for the dark elves brimmed over.
For those nobles who had ever dealt with them even once in the past, it was utterly incomprehensible.
"The Black Hand Mercenary Company is not a docile lot."
"Certainly. For all that I am their employer, when we meet, they barely offer proper military courtesy."
That was nothing. A morbidly obese noble wiped his sweat with a handkerchief and interjected.
"And that's not all. Once, one passed right by me and waved their hand in front of their nose as if I stank. I barely restrained myself from tying them to a post and flogging them."
The others made a conscious effort to control their expressions at the fat nobleman's impassioned tirade.
'Of course they did. You're exactly the kind of person those pointy-ears loathe most.'
'If you'd tried flogging, they would have turned into wild beasts on the spot. They'd swarm your little fief in a horde and burn it to the ground.'
The bond the Black Hand Tribe held for one another was absurdly strong. On top of that, their skill and strength were exceptional.
Because of that, insolence that would have gotten any other mercenary corps ruthlessly crushed had to be let slide with a shrug.
"Please understand, Sir. Since those fellows are all rather lean, they get jealous when they see a person of generous build."
Eugene put it in a reasonably good light.
"The Forest Mage is accompanying you on this campaign, is she not?"
A noblewoman asked.
"Yes. I am always grateful for her friendship."
"Is friendship truly all there is?"
The noblewoman's eyes, her lower face concealed by a fan, sparkled with curiosity.
"She is a person whom not only great nobles but even the kings of nations endlessly sought to invite. Yet every one of them failed. But still..."
The noblewoman left the rest unsaid.
'A mere knight without a single title. A man whose entire domain is one village. There must be another reason she follows him.'
She could not say that to his face, after all.
"Conversation is important in any relationship."
"Well, of course."
The noblewoman, who had been married off in a political match and was already a mismatch in many ways, nodded.
"Varda-nim and I talk about many things. Nature, chess, politics, magic, internal affairs, Homi... ah! Homi is my squire."
"I know. My daughter talks about her so much. She still keeps those wilted flowers in her room, you know."
The noblewoman before him was the mother of the young lady to whom Homi had presented flowers after consecutively defeating the knights.
"We harvest herbs together and hold discussions about newly crossbred crops as well."
"Is that not something unbefitting a noble?"
"I enjoy getting my hands in the soil and touching grass."
The noblewoman, and the nobles listening in around them, wore expressions of genuine surprise.
Of course, no one dared to say anything like, 'For a knight to do such lowly work.'
"Sampling beverages Varda-nim has developed and evaluating the fragrance of scented candles is a joy. Conversely, she is also the first to taste the new dishes I create."
"Good heavens! You even cook?"
Here, the reactions split.
While the knights' faces said, 'What kind of man...', the noblewomen's eyes curved with favor.
"Dishes from my homeland. By now, they are being forgotten..."
The food culture of this world was not inferior. Varda, in particular, had been invited to many banquets and her palate had grown refined.
But the stimulating dishes Eugene pulled from his memory were of a wholly different order from anything Varda had ever tasted.
It was a flavor as if your endocrine system drew out dopamine the moment it touched your tongue and violently slammed it down.
-Eugene.
-Yes?
-Your ferocious bearing on the battlefield is splendid, but the sight of your back while you cook is also a treasure to me.
-So you're asking me to add more bacon, is that it? Understood.
-...And chili sauce as well.
-That I shall do!
Eugene's fingers in the kitchen had long since kneaded and captured Varda's tongue.
At a distance, Berati, who had been watching the crowd surrounding Eugene, let out a sigh. He was the eldest knight among the nobles who had led troops here.
"What meaning could such social gatherings possibly hold?"
"Why do you say that, Sir Berati?"
asked a young nobleman who was the second son of a powerful house and had thus received support in knights and mercenary corps.
"Because it's patently obvious that those who will receive the rewards even after we win against Sicily are already decided."
"Naturally, there are more than a few who maintain close ties with the Apostolic Council. Did we not all come knowing there were pre-selected candidates?"
Expecting a fair distribution was the sweet dream of fools. But even excluding the pre-selected candidates, there remained enough land to be had.
"Is it not human nature to be envious when you see it with your own eyes, even if you know? It irks me that the one who'll claim the choicest portions is all too obvious."
"Are you referring to Sir Eugene?"
The young noble turned his gaze toward Eugene, who was now in cheerful conversation with the merchants.
As summer waned, the military forces gathering around Eugene had become so overwhelming that no one dared oppose him anymore.
On the contrary, merchants and even mercenary captains of lesser standing greeted Eugene with ease.
"I felt I should at least exchange greetings by now."
"But how to address him? We must use honorifics, surely?"
On the other hand, the nobles who possessed even a modicum of power were at a loss as to how they ought to treat Eugene.
This was because forming relationships in noble society was sensitive down to the very speech and etiquette one used.
If one used honorifics toward someone who should be addressed casually, it was easy to be looked down upon, and if one spoke as an equal to someone who commanded respect, repercussions could follow.
In that regard, Eugene was an opponent so unprecedented that they could not gauge how to deal with him.
"I am, after all, from a collateral branch of a count's family. Using deferential speech toward a knight with no title seems a bit... speaking to him politely as an equal should be enough, should it not?"
"Indeed. I do acknowledge that the army he commands is formidable, but they are not direct house troops—they are all mercenaries."
They could not get a sense of exactly what rank Eugene should be regarded as and treated accordingly.
Meanwhile, the free knights acknowledged that they stood below Eugene and approached him.
"Sir. If it pleases you, might I be permitted to follow your army on this expedition?"
"I shall gratefully accept the sentiment alone. I already have my hands full with those I lead."
Eugene politely declined the requests of knights or lesser nobles who wished to fight alongside him.
'Even if they act courteously now, on the battlefield they will inevitably assert individual command and run wild.'
For Eugene, who devoutly believed in a thoroughgoing unified command structure, the mere thought made his blood pressure rise.
"Then how about at least sharing a ship with us?"
One of the assembled mercenary company commanders made a respectful petition.
Victory was already being treated as a near foregone conclusion by everyone. What mattered now was securing as many allies as possible who would side with them when the spoils were divided.
And Eugene was the one they most wished to keep close among all the formidable warlords gathered there.
"My army will cross the sea separately."
"Do you have a separately arranged fleet?"
"No. I have no need of ships, you see."
"...? What do you mean?"
Unlike the mercenary commander who seemed not to understand for a moment, those sensitive to rumors drew near.
"The rumors of the Wandering Castle were true, then."
"Would it be possible for us to accompany you? Grant us the honor of setting foot upon that legendary magical castle."
"..."
Those who sought to curry favor by any means clung to him endlessly, and Eugene grew utterly weary of it.
'Have the dark elves' tendencies rubbed off on me, too?'
He knew not about other matters, but the thought of outsiders setting foot in his and his household's dwelling made displeasure surge within him.
Just imagining their filthy shoes treading the castle interior, their body odors seeping into the castle air...
By the time all preparations were thus complete, summer had ended and autumn had drawn in.
It was the season when the heat subsided and the harvest was finished, leaving goods ripe for plunder everywhere. The finest season for waging war.
The encampments that had been pitched on a grand scale outside the city of New Canaan had vanished without a trace.
While everyone else stared out toward the fleet and beyond the sea with faces full of tension, Eugene's army had already returned to the Wandering Castle.
* * *
All mages were geniuses. This meant not that their intelligence was extraordinary, but that they were born with an aptitude for a particular domain of the mystic that set them apart from others.
Witches, on the other hand, were those who explored the mystic as a whole through acquired effort. They were beings who existed somewhere between scholar and mage.
Naturally, the authority wielded by mages was overwhelmingly stronger. Thus mages possessed a sense of chosenness and looked down upon witches.
'Half-learned ones who were never chosen.'
That was the standard view mages held of witches.
Yet among the witches there existed exceptional individuals. Cases where they were born with a special talent just like a mage, and Cassandra was exactly that.
"O Goddess Vanas. Guard our warriors who go forth to the battlefield."
Cassandra removed the fur garment she had been wearing and folded it neatly.
"I offer this tribute here. May you enjoy warm comfort in your own world."
White smoke rose from the fur garment placed upon the altar before the goddess statue. It decayed and crumbled away as if hundreds of years had passed in a single moment.
"It is always impressive to see."
"It was a garment the Castle Lord personally picked out and gave me, so it is a pity."
Cassandra's sculpted face grew somber.
"I shall buy you another one."
"The Castle Lord's gifts are always welcome, but I cannot show them off to others like this, can I? Who knows if they will disappear again."
Generally, witches possessed a talent for 'invocation'—receiving the mystic into their bodies.
Cassandra, however, was the opposite. She had a talent for sending something outward through her body as a medium.
Even things that normally could not be offered as tribute were converted into offerings if Cassandra had been keeping them on her person.
Eugene regarded her with an intrigued expression as he looked over her body. Cassandra proudly displayed her beautiful figure.
"Is your entire body something like a fermentation culture? As though whatever you wear ferments into an offering?"
"...That is a compliment that brings me no joy whatsoever. As if I were some wine or cheese."
Cassandra's shoulders, which had been held with such haughty poise, sagged.
"Ahaha. Forgive me. In any case, the goddess shall surely be pleased. Most sincerely."
Due to the distorted beliefs of the slavers over hundreds of years, Vanas lingered in a naked state within her own domain.
But the garments that Cassandra had worn upon her body attained the status of tribute, and it was possible to send them across to Vanas's domain.
"Does the Castle Lord not wield a power similar to mine? Though I could never dare compare with you in output, of course."
The miracle of healing Marbas, whom even the bishops of renowned orders had given up on, in a single stroke.
Aside from Eugene's martial prowess as a knight or the prophecy, this had left a profound impression on the Black Hand Tribe.
It was absolute, especially to the elders who deeply believed in superstition. Thanks to their support, Eugene had been able to bend the tribal folk to his will in a short time.
"Similar, yet of a different nature. My power is concentrated on influencing the present world. It does not reach as far as the gods who dwell in otherworlds, unlike you, Cassandra."
"Then together, you and I make a complete pair, do we not?"
Instead of an answer, Eugene removed the coat he was wearing and wrapped it around Cassandra.
Now that she had taken off the fur garment, she wore a sleeveless shift that exposed her shoulders and arms, and she looked cold.
"Thank you."
As if she liked it, she rubbed her cheek and nose against the coat collar.
'What is this, she's like a lioness acting cute.'
One could scarcely imagine that she was the same haughty young lady who used to regard humans with contempt in every city she visited.
"Thank you, Lady Cassandra."
"The goddess shall bless you."
The wives and elders who had come to pray offered their thanks. They were the families of the warriors who would soon sortie upon Sicily.
They were all descendants of warriors who had inherited the blood of struggle. Goddess Vanas, who manifested her authority upon the mortally wounded, was rapidly gaining popularity.
"Until just last month, it was always quiet here, but the faithful have increased dramatically."
"Now there are always at least one or two here except during curfew hours."
Their husbands and sons were going out to the battlefield. What could be more earnest than the hearts of wives and mothers praying for their safe return?
Eugene and Cassandra beheld the fruit and crafts placed before the goddess statue.
In terms of quantity, they fell far short of what large orders could muster. But for the countless gods who had fallen into decline and were being forgotten even in their very existence, it would have been a sight to fill them with envy.
"Offerings to gods are a matter of quality over quantity. Such sincere tributes as these are better than enormous donations offered without devotion by the wealthy. After all, they please the tongues of the gods more."
Eugene picked up one of the oranges placed upon the altar.
Even if a wealthy noble offered a hundred crates of oranges for the sake of display, most of them became damaged in the process of crossing over between worlds. They ended up like fruits that were abundant in number but crushed and rotten.
Faith and earnestness, however, were transformed into something like wrapping paper and ice packs, delivering the fruit that accompanied them fresh all the way to the bosom of the god.
"I have heard that the Castle Lord communicates directly with Goddess Vanas."
"Both she and I are beings bound to this castle. It is a sensation akin to exchanging blood through the same vein, I suppose?"
Eugene paused his words for a moment and looked around the sanctuary.
"Ever since the number of faithful increased, each time I step into this place I can hear Goddess Vanas breathing happily."
"That is marvelous."
"It is more than marvelous."
The growth in Vanas's faithful did not simply mean that the goddess's protection could be obtained.
It also drew forth awe and reverence for Eugene from the residents. For he could, in a sense, be seen as Vanas's champion.
It functioned, so to speak, as yet another safeguard to minimize the risk of rebellion.
* * *
At the time when the expeditionary force was boarding ships amidst fervent cheers and blessings at New Canaan.
The army stationed in the Wandering Castle was spending its days in quiet tranquility, waiting to descend upon unfamiliar soil.
"Congratulations on your promotion!"
"Captain! I believed in you!"
The dwarf warriors drank mushroom tea and praised their captain. With an operation ahead, they had imposed their own ban on alcohol.
Upon the chest of Rampage, who laughed heartily, a golden badge gleamed. Ten gauntleted fists were intricately engraved upon it, and each fist signified a single hundred-man unit.
Rampage had been promoted to commander of a thousand on the occasion of this Sicilian expedition.
"Honestly, would it not have been absurd for anyone other than our captain to be chosen?"
"If another had been picked, he should have vomited that badge right back up. If he had a conscience, that is."
The existing thousand-man commander had aged into a state of semi-retirement, and the hundred-man commanders had been competing to see who would succeed him.
Amidst this, it was a foregone conclusion that Rampage, who had consecutively brought the greatest achievements, pay, and connections, would be selected.
"Honestly, I did feel a bit slighted, as if we were being somewhat left out all this time."
"There was no helping it, was there? The situations required mobility."
Eugene had mainly operated his forces around cavalry, for they had mostly faced monsters in enemy territory.
Thus, the dwarves had primarily been mobilized for guarding the castle and maintaining its interior.
They had achieved some measure of recognition in the recent Forest Spirit subjugation, but that was not nearly enough. The Hammer Brotherhood was still hungry.
"This battlefield shall be a stage for the infantry."
As the dwarf who had drained his tea raised his hammer, hammers rose up all around in answer.
"Let us show the Castle Lord how the Hammer Brotherhood flattens its foes!"
At Rampage's words, everyone cheered and stamped their feet.
An ordinary infantry battle sometimes looked like playing at toy soldiers when observed from a distance. Both sides formed ranks, put shields forward, and clattered spears and swords against each other.
Then when one or two men fell, new soldiers filled in from behind, and this repeated until whichever side could hold no longer was routed in defeat.
But the battles of the Hammer Brotherhood were on an entirely different plane from those trifling fights.
The hammers they swung pulverized every last one of the enemies who formed ranks and stood in their way—as though they were executing ground-leveling work prior to construction.
"It is not strange that he, being a knight, is absorbed in cavalry. This time we must show him the charms of the infantry to his heart's content."
Rumble...
In that instant the Wandering Castle trembled faintly. The glass tubes in the ceiling that had emitted bright light flickered with a crackling sound.
"At last, we are departing."
The veteran dwarf warriors clenched their fists.
"It's fine, lads. We'll arrive in the blink of an eye."
"Don't you die on me, you fool."
In contrast, the newly joined dwarves glanced around with frightened faces. Their beards spread out in all directions like chestnut burs.
It was because, despite having no magical talent, they had sensed the overwhelming torrent of the mystic that raged throughout the entire castle. It was the sensation of entering a vast storm in a state of spirit.
Flash!
With a colossal flash of light, the Wandering Castle ascended from the Apen Peninsula.
Taking its many new family members and heading toward new lands—so that the lord of the castle could seize the land promised in his hand.
End
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