Varda, Daughter of Autumn (1)
Varda, Daughter of Autumn (1)
The scholars of Roman divided all of history, from the distant past to the present day, into three distinct eras.
The age when the Rui Amor elves, the continent's first unified dynasty, ruled the world in harmony — that was the 1st Era.
The reign of the Ancient Kingdom, which took an oppressive path unlike its predecessors — that was the 2nd Era.
And the present day, with countless kingdoms vying for supremacy — this they classified as the 3rd Era.
The Ancient Kingdom, through the common heritage of immortal masonry and a human dynasty, extended its influence across the entire continent even now.
The buildings and roads they left behind remained in active use, and the ceremonies and culture they used still symbolized noble authority.
The continental common tongue, forcibly unified and disseminated by the Ancient Kingdom, had become the first language, transcending borders and cultures.
The Rui Amor, by contrast, had left little behind aside from hygiene products.
They never forced their language or culture upon others, and their structures were built of mortal materials in harmony with nature. Their precious ruins could not help but crumble before the waves of time.
Most elves of the 3rd Era lived in seclusion within the Great Forest north of the inland sea — firing arrows at all who approached.
Save for one place.
There remained a single human territory where the traces of Rui Amor lived on to this day.
"Do you know this land?"
A delicate finger came to rest upon a great island beyond the western sea of the continent.
"Another island, I see."
"It is another island indeed. But Britannia is a land that holds worth and history beyond all comparison with Sicily. You must not liken the two."
Varda's ears stood rigidly erect in parallel lines. Though she always kept her composure, now she seemed genuinely displeased.
"Forgive me. I meant no insult."
"I am sorry as well. I spoke ill of Sicily, which is also your precious domain."
The apologetic Varda tenderly stroked Eugene's cheek.
Britannia.
A great island nation lying beyond the sea to the west of Gord.
"There is no barrier so fine as the sea, and scarce any people who prize tradition so highly as the nobles of Britannia. Amid the continent's countless wars, most of Rui Amor's legacy perished — yet here alone, it is the exception."
"From what Panis tells me, it is on the very brink of a great civil war."
Perhaps feeling sorry for having declined the recruitment offer, Panis had sent along a summary of the surrounding political situation.
-Lately, Britannian merchants have been buying up arms and armor in western Gord and recruiting mercenaries. It seems a grand blow is soon to come.
Bonyard, too, was reaping enormous profits by acting as an intermediary, funneling war matériel from Roman and Samur into western Gord.
They were even cooperating with the once-hostile Count Andar, borrowing his waterways. The grudge of recent days was simply too petty to cling to when faced with such vast sums of coin.
"The civil war came about because the Agrippa family, who ruled Britannia as regents, was destroyed."
"You say regents?"
Eugene knew the politics of the continent reasonably well, but nothing of what lay beyond the sea.
"Do you—"
Varda looked at Eugene with shyness in her eyes.
"Do you know how many times a union between human and elf has been officially recorded?"
The white fingers that had so confidently been pointing at the map now drooped. They fled down beneath her navel and fidgeted busily in a little cluster.
"I do not. Though I do know that tally will soon increase by one more."
"...It has happened but three times."
"Far, far fewer than I would have thought."
"The ease with which you befriend me and the Black Hand Tribe is most exceptional. The psychological barrier between humans and the elf race is as high as the Apen Mountains."
"Still, it seems too few. With so long a history, I would have thought affairs of the heart could not have been so rare."
"As I said, I count only the official unions. Those who established a household and lived together upon lands they owned, with the blessings of both families."
"That I can understand. The conditions were stricter than I imagined."
Varda's fingers, having shaken off their bashfulness, returned once more to the island.
"In the age of Rui Amor, a human and an elf were first joined together in Britannia. The half-elf family thus born has ruled the isle ever since as the royal family's proxy."
"Is that the Agrippa family?"
"No. That half-elf family, too, was extinguished long ago. By the last will left behind by the final half-elf, the Agrippa family, who were loyal retainers, assumed the regency. And so they governed without interruption — that is the Britannia of today."
"So now that even the Agrippa are gone, an age of warring states has dawned, has it?"
"Sadly, yes."
Varda's face was full of regret.
"Most of the regent family's lands have fallen to the grasping great nobles. Yet one place remains — a place that has held out to the last."
The white finger moved to the place named Cornwall. It lay at the extreme southwestern tip of the isle of Britannia.
"The land of the loyal. They hold to a tradition that no lord can be acknowledged but the Elf King, and they do not even produce great nobles of their own."
"Truly commendable."
Eyes of gold looked warmly down upon the region of Cornwall. It was the first open hint of favoritism Varda had ever shown — she who had maintained a neutral stance toward all save Eugene and Homi.
"Yet it seems they had no confidence they could hold out with civil war looming. They sent letters begging deliverance to every corner of the world — Gord included."
Varda drew a letter from her bosom and showed it to Eugene. It was a formal missive bearing the seal of the allied nobles of Cornwall, though how she had come by it was anyone's guess.
"So are we going to seize it by force?"
"No. As I have said before, we go to reclaim a right."
Varda laid her hand upon her own breast. She drew a slow breath, then gravely continued.
"My true name is Varda el Philamor. I am the last survivor of the royal house that received the world's very first kiss."
The elf princess of radiant beauty gazed upon her knight.
"The blood that flows in this body is truer than that of any elf now living. In any domain that claims descent from the 1st Era dynasty, I hold the right to assert a claim of succession."
"...Wow."
Eugene realized that the dowry was a far more monstrous thing than he had imagined.
Varda's dowry was less a specific trove of goods and more a blank cheque. It might possess staggering value, or it might be nothing more than a worthless scrap of paper.
And so their next destination was decided: beyond the western sea of the continent, to Britannia.
* * *
With a major expedition ahead, the presence of the great summoner Marbas in the field was essential. Eugene summoned him to his own castle.
"Ah, this is wonderfully refreshing. Utter paradise."
Marbas lay facedown upon a massage bed, wearing only shorts. A muscular masseur with a headwrap kneaded every part of the old campaigner's body, working out the knotted muscles.
"You seemed to have toiled so terribly at Phileremo that I prepared this for you."
"To think I would ever receive such filial care — never once imagined it in my lot in life."
Right after, Marbas's face turned a touch awkward.
"Was that an impertinent thing to say?"
"Not at all. The one who is to officiate at my wedding may say as much as he pleases and far more besides."
"Hehehe."
Eugene said so not merely out of friendship for Marbas.
A summoner was one who presided over the juncture between life and death, the present world and the otherworld. They were persons highly prized to officiate at life's rites — coronations, weddings, and funerals.
The Black Hand Tribe had accepted the human Marbas for the same reason. His abilities aside, a summoner was of immense help in maintaining smooth dealings with the world of men.
"If it hurts, say so at once."
The masseur spoke in a clumsy accent. From his skin tone, deep-set eyes, and slightly wavy black hair, his appearance was clearly distinct from the people of the continent or the peninsula.
"He looks to be from the Eastern Empire. Where did you find such a man?"
"A slave who came along in the retinue of the Immortals the Caliph dispatched. He was staying in the city of Kitania, and when I assumed control of the city, he simply became my property."
"He has a remarkably pleasant expression for one such as that."
"The slaves of the Eastern Empire were somewhat peculiar. Their spirit of service and their diligence are admirable, yet they possess something akin to a complete absence of any sense of belonging."
"Ah, I know the feeling of which you speak."
The moment Eugene took over the city of Kitania, the city's folk had rounded up the Immortals' slaves and presented them to their new lord.
The slaves wore expressions of utter disbelief that all their fearsome former masters were dead.
To their knowledge, the Immortals were the Caliph's own sword — monsters among monsters who split any foe asunder.
But when they were shown the banner of the Immortal knight order and their arms and armor, they accepted the truth at once. And then they began to serve their new master with all their hearts.
"Easterners do have that quality about them. Their warrior caste is fierce as wolves, yet the rest are like a flock of gentle sheep. Slaves even more so — of that there is no need to speak."
There was a reason the nobles of the continent were willing to pay high prices for slaves of Eastern origin.
"They showed no thought of running away, were obedient, and worked diligently, so I treated them as I would my own servants."
I put clean blankets on their beds, mixed in meat or fish with their meals for protein, never whipped them uselessly, gave them one day of rest each week, rewarded those who worked well, gave the ones with birthdays little marzipan treats as snacks, and let them go and see the sights whenever the city held an event.
"And after that, they forgot their previous masters entirely."
"...If they had not forgotten, they would scarcely be human. Your baseline for a master's duties is far too high, my friend."
"Well, setting that aside. You're in remarkably fine shape for your age."
Marbas was an old gentleman with a scholarly air. Not the type for a gnarled wooden cane used by ordinary elderly folk, but one who would suit a sleek ebony fashion cane perfectly.
Yet beneath his clothes, he was formidable. His body had always been well-trained, but after his burns healed, it had tightened even more solidly. It was the sort of physique that could beat an average mercenary to death with bare fists.
"For summoners, physical training is no less important than mental discipline. Whether it's thugs from this world or beings from the Otherworld, they all lick their lips at a frail body just the same."
"That must be yet another secret behind your success in befriending the Black Hand Tribe, Marbas-nim."
When the massage ended, Marbas offered praise with a satisfied expression.
The masseur bowed deeply with a look of profound gratitude. He retreated backward in that posture until he withdrew completely.
"Did the gifts meet with your approval?"
Eugene had selected the finest spoils from the Hydra hunt and presented them to Marbas.
A summoner required many catalysts devoted to their summoning art, and monster byproducts were far more effective than artificial materials.
"So excessive I was nearly embarrassed. Just selling a few of the things you gave me would have fetched a fortune."
Marbas had been so moved upon receiving the Hydra's ovaries that he'd actually shed tears. The ovaries of a monster brimming with potent Mystic, and a Hydra's at that. For most summoners, it was the stuff of dreams, something they would never lay eyes on in their entire lives.
"Thanks to you, I was able to act without worrying about Phileremo. You stabilized the city all on your own; I ought to do at least this much."
"It was an impossible task for me alone. The Rothschild family you sent were an immense help."
Chieftain Alessa was still operating in Roman, working to expand her network. She was winning over a dark elf tribe newly rallying beneath the banner of House Meyer.
The Rothschild family was her first success story—a bloodline composed entirely of merchants.
"They were quite earnest in proving themselves, having joined so late."
"They danced the blade-dance fiercely, just as you permitted. But they were realistic fellows, not the type to get drunk on power without cause."
"They are people who've spent their whole lives living on edge, reading others' moods. And Chieftain Alessa isn't one to recommend just anyone."
At present, the dark elves of the Rothschild family had been appointed and were working as the chief administrators of Messana, Phileremo, and Kitania.
Having reversed their positions from a lifetime of being trampled upon to now becoming those in power themselves, and granted several privileges in commerce and trade, they seemed unable to tear themselves away from that happiness.
"Do you intend to leave Sicily's territories in their hands going forward?"
"I'd originally planned to install Chief Magistrate Panis as my agent, but he refused flatly."
Eugene clicked his tongue, as if still regretting it.
"Your new friends will manage well, so don't worry."
"I do worry the majority human city-dwellers might find a dark elf lording over them distasteful."
"It doesn't matter. You think they'd dare start a rebellion?"
Marbas waved his hand and gave a derisive snort.
"Rebellion is less about immediate chances of success, and more about whether you can sustain it. This is a city ruled by a monarch who could, at any moment, appear with supply-laden fortresses and thousands of elite soldiers. Only a madman would harbor such vain hopes. Tell me your family motto."
"No one can predict us."
"By now, there's scarcely a soul in Sicily who doesn't know that motto."
As distance grows, so does estrangement of the heart. Even if a monarch governs his territory brilliantly, his influence vanishes far faster than expected once he departs for distant lands.
There was a reason why even the most capable kings spent their lives plagued by news of rebellion and the suppression of it.
But such concerns did not apply to House Meyer. They could conduct inspections at the head of an army, with none of the fatigue, complaints, casualties, or expense of a long march.
"Even if it's not strictly an inspection, I'll have to stop by the island periodically. To let the men get a taste of a resort, as it were."
"Yes. And to collect the taxes and tribute stockpiled there."
"Phrased like that, I do feel rather like a wicked landlord."
"Wicked, indeed. Lords as generous as you are a rare breed."
Two days later.
Flash!
At the heart of Sicily, a colossal bolt of lightning surged skyward.
The information and mass contained within the lightning were far more densely compacted than when it had first struck the island the previous year.
From the sky where the black tornado-like clouds had formed, fierce winds spewed out in all directions.
Crackle-crackle!
Residual energy continued discharging from the clouds, drawing the eyes of nearby people on the ground.
"O God. Protect the viscount."
"Glory to House Meyer."
"Do not leave us for too long."
The residents of Sicily who understood its meaning prayed.
Wishing for their new lord, who had brought them peace from monsters and bandits and bestowed good governance, to return once more.
* * *
The lords of the Cornwall region were fiercely proud. They considered themselves nobles among nobles.
This was because Cornwall was the very first place where the Rui Amor dynasty had landed when they set out to pioneer the island of Britannia.
They were stalwart men who had steadfastly pledged loyalty solely to the Elf King dynasty while fighting countless invaders, including Vikings and the Ancient Kingdom.
But far too much time had passed since the Rui Amor had vanished.
"Oh, ancestors. What in the world are we to do? This world has grown far too harsh and savage to live on pride alone."
Here, a baron governed a small fief on Cornwall's border. The unending reports of war's harbingers were driving him to the brink of madness.
The regent family that had somehow maintained Britannia's peace had collapsed. Greedy grand nobles were proclaiming themselves kings and preparing for wars of conquest.
He could not stand idly by and hand over his lands to such men, so the Cornwall nobles were also readying for war.
But there was a problem.
"Rejected again?!"
"I am sorry, my lord. The mercenary scum refuse to even entertain the offer."
"Tell them I'll pay more!"
"Those money-fiends ask first which faction we belong to, before even hearing the pay. The moment they hear 'Cornwall,' they wave their hands in refusal."
"Th-these base wretches! How dare they!"
Though mercenaries were said to sell their very souls for coin, they were still human and possessed a survival instinct.
If they were going to get tangled in a large-scale civil war certain to engulf Britannia, they wanted to stand on the stronger side. Pay was one thing, but they could make a fortune through plunder as well.
With no grand noble to serve as a rallying point and its strength weak, Cornwall was far from a desirable employer.
"An army has appeared at the eastern outskirts!"
"Damn it all! Have those Salisbury bastards arrived already?"
Salisbury was a strategic staging ground for the southern Britannian nobles eyeing Cornwall's border.
"No, my lord. They bear a white flag."
"Ohhh!"
Color returned to the baron's face. A white flag didn't only signify surrender. Precisely, it meant they had no intention to fight.
Given that he'd sent pleas for help in all directions, if an army flying a white flag appeared before full-scale war erupted, it was highly likely a relief force.
The baron lifted a wooden mug of ale from a nearby table and drained half of it.
"Kh-ha...! Where did they say they're from?"
"They are from Viscount Meyer's house in Sicily."
"???"
The baron's face went blank. Partly because the family name was wholly unfamiliar, but the point of origin was the real issue.
"They sent an army all the way here from Sicily?"
Britannia and Sicily were absurdly far apart. The journey would be even grander than the continental pilgrims of old heading for the Eastern Holy Land.
The baron himself barely recognized the name Sicily. It wasn't even marked on the map he possessed.
"Well, never mind that. The important thing is they've come to help. We must prepare a proper welcome. What are their numbers? One hundred? Two hundred?"
To entertain a visiting noble was the duty and pride of every nobleman. And those who came as rescuers deserved the utmost hospitality.
'They've come from that distance, so their number can't be large. But what sort of food do Sicilian nobles prefer? It's also an island, so I wonder if their tastes are similar to ours?'
The baron pondered how to host them.
"At least two thousand strong, my lord."
"...What?"
The wooden mug in the baron's hand clattered noisily to the floor.
"And they are not exactly a relief force, my lord..."
"You said they flew a white flag!"
"Viscount Meyer sent a missive. He declares he too possesses a claim to succession and will enter the Britannian civil war."
"???"
"And he has formally demanded the same of my lord baron. As a descendant of a vassal who once swore fealty to the Rui Amor, you are commanded to answer the summons of obligation. H-how shall we respond?"
"??????"
The voice of the messenger reading the missive shrank smaller and smaller.
He feared the baron would fly into a rage, shouting, 'What nonsense is this?! Do you dare mock me in such times?!' and start swinging his sword.
Thus did Eugene's army set foot onto Britannia for the first time.
Into the arena where contenders aimed their forks at a broken, fractured pie, the combined forces inheriting the legitimacy of the 1st and 2nd Eras declared their entry.
End
ⓒ Gusojae#1wecx