Conqueror (4)

The western lords, too, had grasped the news that the occupation force left behind by the Kruger family was under attack by a massive orc horde. Naturally, their reaction was cynical.

"They've been struck by divine punishment, the lot of them!"

"It is satisfying, but cheering for monsters is a bit..."

"I never cheered. I was merely suggesting we savor the feeling of watching pirate ships sink in foul weather."

The western lords watched from a comfortable distance.

"Oh? Why is an army emerging from that forest?"

"It's the banner of Count Meyer!"

But this time the spectacle was dramatic. A third force had swept in and mopped up the two groups that had been fighting fiercely.

The eyes of the nobles, who had been assuming the posture of spectators, all turned toward the administrator of the West, the temporary head of the Edward family.

"Lord Philip! You must go out to greet them at once."

"Do you know why Count Meyer has come north? Do you have any idea how frightening the army he leads is?"

An individual's martial prowess was easily exaggerated. Ordinary people were fond of inflating rumors and crafting heroes and legends, after all.

But an army's battlefield achievements were harder to exaggerate. There were too many witnesses, and no one could call a battle they had lost a victory.

That he had been butchering sizable armies every time, despite how recently he had entered Britannia, was nigh unfathomable.

"If, by any chance, the count has come with ill intentions, you will be captured on the spot."

"But if he has come with goodwill, we will lose the greatest of allies. Toward whom would the wrath of one who drove out wicked foes and received not even thanks be directed?"

It was not a mistaken statement. Even if Eugene himself were willing to let it go, his vassals would run wild. For it was an exceedingly excellent pretext.

In the history of the nobility, there were frequent precedents of using such ingratitude as an excuse to swallow up a fief.

Philip let out a sigh.

"At a time like this, nothing could be more foolish than expecting goodwill."

"Whether or not you go to greet them, there is no future either way. Without King's Field, there is no future. Do you intend to live with your leash handed to outsiders for a lifetime?"

Unlike the South, the Midlands, and the East, which could trade with the continent, there was nothing beyond the West but the boundless open sea.

Thus, the grain-producing region jutting out into the center had long been an object of love and hate. It could be said that half of the westerners who had ever died on the battlefield were directly or indirectly tied to King's Field.

"If we're doomed either way, let's at least preserve our honor as nobles."

"It seems, however, that no one cares a whit for the honor of a nobleman in this civil war."

From Kruger, who declared himself king and schemed dark intrigues, to the western lords who were utterly taken in and betrayed their own, to Viscount Winchester, who summoned no fewer than two foreign armies.

Yet the sorrowful Philip had no other recourse.

Like a man in crisis, he resolved to believe what he wished to believe. The honor Eugene had built drew him in as sweetly as the devil's temptation.

As it turned out, that was the right choice.

"Are you truly... returning King's Field to us?"

Philip was flustered by Eugene's attitude ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of readily offering it for him to take.

"Is it not abnormal to arbitrarily seize a noble's land?"

"W-well, it is, but..."

Even customs became nominal when the difference in power was overwhelming. Especially when everyone else was breaking them, it was only natural to feel reluctant to uphold them at one's own loss.

"Britannia is a blessed land. I raised my army to drive out savagery from this place and to protect its precious traditions. That was the same reason I resurrected the Shade Garden."

A stubborn adherence to old ways was a virtue shared by all nobles and the very source of the authority they possessed. Philip, born and raised a noble, could not help but be persuaded by this claim backed by action.

"I truly... thank you."

Only then did Philip, who had clasped Eugene's hands, burst into tears.

It was not the image of equals, as a representative of the West to a representative of the South. It was closer to the image of a follower submitting to a new order.

* * *

A short while later, Philip, having calmed himself, asked what he truly was curious about.

"But by what road in the world did you come? We heard absolutely no word of it."

For an army of this size to advance from the South, the usable roads were limited. Eugene's army had many cavalry units, making the supply of drinking water and horse fodder a demanding affair.

"We came through the White Rock Forest."

"That is a forest far too rugged for an army to traverse."

"There is no rugged forest that can bar the path of my army."

When Eugene glanced behind him, Varda, mounted on an ivory horse, approached.

An elven maiden who seemed as if a god had fashioned her from nothing but pure white and pure gold.

"The Sage of the Emerald Forest! Princess Philamor!"

"There is no forest that cannot be crossed when she is with us. Soggy ground grows firm as the roots drink up the moisture, thornbushes lay down their thorns of their own accord, and the trees step aside to open a path."

"Seeing you in person makes me realize that the rumors I heard were, in fact, lacking."

The moment Philip beheld Varda's figure, he realized that every autumn he had seen year after year had been nothing but a shell. Before him stood a true autumn, descended in the form of a woman.

As the hour was already approaching late afternoon, they made preparations to encamp.

The residential tents were pitched in the comfortable manner of nomads, the drainage ditches and sentry posts were constructed in the manner of the dwarves, and the traps for the alarm were set by Cassandra's special forces unit of women.

It was a sturdiness lent by the blending of things that could not be blended. The western lords felt not a sense of pressure, but tranquility.

'Well now, it doesn't seem as though anything would change even if we resisted.'

'Then we might as well enjoy ourselves comfortably.'

They had simply cast aside their needless worries. When one gives up, peace of mind follows by nature.

"To the honorable souls who have graced this occasion this day!"

"To the harmony of the West and the South!"

Thanks to this, they were able to wholeheartedly enjoy the banquet laid out with a variety of liquors and dishes.

"Is this I-rak? Truly, a liquor perfectly suited to warriors. Vitality surges through my body and strength wells up!"

The knights became fast friends in an instant, having exchanged cups a few times with tales of martial exploits as their relish.

"Do sprinkle that pepper on generously, I beg you. Will any scent even rise if you scatter so little?"

"B-but, however, how can I do so with something this precious..."

"Oh, come now. Hand it here."

Shake! Shake! Shake!

"Gah! What are you doing?"

A poor noble who had seen pepper for the first time in his life was appalled by Baron Foster's merciless peppering.

"Only by sprinkling this much does it become a proper soup. It has a spicy kick and is simply exquisite."

"Oooh!"

But as costly as it was, the taste was exquisite.

Once the atmosphere of the banquet had fully ripened, Eugene and Philip spoke of the main issue.

"You mean to say you have formed an alliance with Count Harvester?"

"It would be more accurate to see it as a transactional relationship rather than an alliance. I have fulfilled my promise, so now it is his turn to keep his."

"The East is a place that prides itself that even its poorest soul eats bread daily. They never break a promise related to food."

"A peculiar sort of stubbornness. It suits me well enough, though."

The Eastern Black Soil Zone, rich in nutrients, provided stable harvests. Though it did not always yield a bumper crop, neither did it ever suffer famine from a poor harvest.

"Originally, I had meant to take with me the provisions seized while occupying this place, but it seems doing so would be difficult now."

Eugene recalled the western soldiers who had been queued up before the mess tables. Even at a glance, the look of hunger was stark. Once their armor was stripped off, they appeared even more impoverished than Eugene's own prisoners of war.

"I shall leave the captured provisions here as well."

"Your Excellency! That is too..."

Philip, now embarrassed even to accept so readily, tried to decline but shut his mouth. It was because his retainer had stepped on Philip's foot beneath the table.

"...I'm grateful."

"If you're uncomfortable just taking, how about granting a request of mine? There are two things I want, actually."

"Please, speak freely. I am but a mere regent, but if it is a matter within my authority, I shall comply to the utmost."

Philip, even as he rejoiced, drew a line so as not to bring dishonor upon his family. He was merely standing in for his captured father and was not the head of the family.

"One is a privilege regarding the ports along the western coast. I should be glad if you would grant me exemptions from customs duties for entry and transport."

"You mean the ports of the West?"

The eastern sea of Britannia was connected to three great powers, six petty kingdoms, and eight free cities. But toward the western sea there was nothing. It was merely an endlessly stretching ocean.

"There seems to be some misunderstanding. The western coast holds no value as a port. There are only the small landing piers used by fishermen."

"Then may I take it that you have accepted? For it is not the least bit valuable. Should large warehouses or harbor facilities be necessary, I shall have them built free of charge on my side."

"..."

Philip could not fathom why Eugene was making such a demand.

'Smuggling? No, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what could the Grand Lord of the South lack? He could simply do it at his own ports.'

Smuggling was done to evade taxes or to circulate prohibited goods. But Eugene was in the very position of levying taxes and designating prohibited goods.

He stole a glance at his retainer, but even the seasoned old man appeared to have no idea of the reason.

'Could it be... to save the face of our family?'

Eugene's true intent remained unknowable, but Philip accepted.

A debt between nobles carried great significance. If the great favor of reclaiming King's Field could be settled with this, he welcomed it.

"The second may prove a little difficult."

Gulp.

Likely deeming this to be the real matter, Philip swallowed hard.

"I intend to revive a customary law that was abolished long ago. I wish to grant knights the right of exemption from passage tolls. I hope that the West will join in as well."

Once again, at an utterly unexpected proposal, not only Philip but everyone around them was astonished.

"A knight is completed through his journeys, but not every knight is wealthy. Would it not be a sad thing for him to fret and hesitate over his path because of a few coins in tolls? It would be a tragedy, too, for the weak who might not know they could be saved by a knight's sword."

Every knight in the banquet hall nodded their head.

Knights were treated as quasi-nobility, but many were those whose purses were not ample. Their armor and sword were their all, yet for the sake of their dignity, they had to be selective even in their means of earning coin.

When they wandered seeking a place to sell their martial strength, the expense going out in passage tolls was a level not to be ignored.

"Indeed, one who rose as a free knight is different."

The knights in the banquet hall were genuinely moved.

If this law were put into practice, it would be Eugene, the Grand Lord, who would suffer the greatest loss. It was a sight of a man who, even after rising high, took the lead to secure the rights and interests of knights.

"I fear that will be difficult with my authority alone."

"I understand. It is a matter of taxes, after all. You must engage in lengthy discussions with your other vassals as well. Frankly, it will not be easy to push through."

Philip was grateful to Eugene for his ready understanding.

"That's why I plan to start with my own territory. Beginning on the first of next month, Haven and the other lands directly held by House Meyer will abolish personal passage tolls for knights."

"Do you mean this?"

"I broached the topic, so should I not set the example? Now then, let us toast to commemorate this."

Philip could not tell what expression he ought to wear at the sight of Eugene smiling as he raised his cup.

One thing was certain: with this declaration, Eugene had won the respect of every knight, regardless of whether they were from the South or the West.

After all, throughout the banquet, there was an unending line of knights who came seeking to share a cup with Eugene.

-Would that much truly suffice? In the present situation, you could well demand something greater.

-Varda-nim. I already have more than enough wealth. What I want is future potential and the power of symbolism. Whoever claims a symbol first gets to own it.

The tariffs generated from trade and the circulation taxes attached to special commodities like salt were the core of their income. The passage tolls of knights were but a pittance.

By giving that up and gaining the honor of being the voice of the knights. It was an intangible power, but one not to be dismissed.

Were another lord to advocate such a thing, he would but suffer loss alone and be forgotten, but Eugene's ripple effect was of an entirely different order.

* * *

The banquet ended early, as was fitting for wartime. Varda, who had withdrawn beforehand, was being attended to by her handmaidens.

"What does it feel like to ride Might, you ask?"

Even Varda, who ordinarily maintained an archaic manner of speech, spoke comfortably only when she was with her handmaidens.

Talk among women. This alone was a refreshing tonic that even her beloved Eugene could not provide.

"Yes, my lady. You must have ridden one at least once, surely? Men and women alike, everyone says it's their dream to ride one just once."

"Because it's the strongest and fastest horse in the world."

The dark ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠elves, true to their nomadic heritage, possessed an immense longing for outstanding warhorses.

"A certain nomadic tribe in the northeast of the continent practices household marriage, they say. Several men and women live so intertwined that they don't even know whose baby is whose. But even they, they say, do not share their horses."

"Good heavens! That's absurd!"

Varda, who was the very pinnacle of prudishness even among the famously chaste elves, recoiled in horror and covered her face. At that adorable sight, her handmaidens burst into giggles.

Trickle...

One handmaiden poured mare's milk into the basin where Varda's feet rested.

Another handmaiden was braiding and adorning Varda's hair, and the splendor of her work was the stuff of art.

"How did you learn to do this?"

"From my aunt."

The Black Hand Tribe lived in large extended families, and its children learned all kinds of things from many different adults, from combat to everyday life.

"For us, a warrior clan, love is something to be won. That's why, before our coming-of-age ceremony, we also learn how to capture someone's heart. Some of us have an aunt who's a wonderful cook, and others have a grandmother who's an expert at mending armor. After all, the more weapons we have, the better."

"I envy that. I've always wondered what it feels like to be part of a large family."

Varda had lived alone with Grace in the Emerald Forest. That was why, after beginning life in the Wandering Castle, she had envied the Black Hand Tribe's way of life.

The sights of many voices mingling and laughing in the residential quarters, the artificial gardens, and the terrace with its night view when evening came. Just watching them had always warmed her heart.

"If you're envious, you can make one yourself."

"M-make one?"

"Oh my? Aren't you a married couple? And newlyweds at that, still burning with passion."

The handmaiden spoke in a hushed, whisper-like voice.

"Among the secret techniques passed down from the elders of the house, there are also methods for pleasing one's future husband."

"..."

Her face flushing bright red, Varda turned her head away, yet her ears remained pricked upright.

'How adorable.'

Although their cultures and skin tones differed, the handmaidens, being fellow elves, could read Varda's heart through her ears.

The handmaiden who had been adorning her hair raised her fingers and gently stimulated Varda's scalp.

"Aah!"

Pain, ticklishness, pleasure—at the sensation where those three formed a strange intersection, Varda's shoulders flinched inward.

Splash!

"Eek!"

Varda's feet, which had been soaking, arched up on tiptoe like a bird's claw, splashing the mare's milk.

"Sorry. Are you all right?"

"I'm alright. It's fine. More importantly, how was that? The feeling just now? Wasn't it thrilling?"

Varda nodded frankly.

"Because Miriel's scalp massage is the best in the tribe. They say a man who has worn a helmet and fought a fierce battle will be completely knocked out by just one of these. I conquered my own husband with it too."

"...Could you teach that to me as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠well?"

Tilting her head back to look at her, Miriel, who had been braiding her hair, answered with a radiant smile.

"Of course! What else would I have been laying the groundwork for?"

"What other things are there? The secret techniques you learn from your family, I mean. I'm curious about so many things."

To Varda, whose eyes shone with curiosity, the two handmaidens spoke as if they had been waiting for the question.

"Are you curious about lewd techniques as well?"

"Or the methods for conquering a man with just a few fingers or a single foot?"

"..."

There was a brief silence.

Varda nodded quietly.

"Heheh. It will take some time to learn. How much your husband reciprocates is also very important."

"Neither will be a problem. We have plenty of time, and he is sufficiently... exploratory."

Varda had to ponder for a moment to find vocabulary that would preserve Eugene's honor.

* * *

"He never ended up speaking about his captured father."

That night, Eugene massaged Varda's shoulders as she lay beside him on the same bed.

Both wore only thin nightclothes. The fabric woven by the witch allowed each to feel the other's skin and body heat even through the cloth.

"He must have felt he could not petition you to also rescue his father, having already received such great favor from you."

It was not only a matter of scruples but also a practical one. To ask for more here would, by custom, require him to give Eugene something truly immense.

"It would be an excessive request. To rescue Count Edward, one would have to wage all-out war against the Kruger family and capture their stronghold."

King Kruger had even turned away every envoy from the Edward family who came to offer ransom.

-There are no terms other than surrender.

Others might be different, but Count Edward was the administrator of the west. In the present civil war, his value as a hostage far outweighed any sum of money.

"Is there no possibility that Lord Philip might accept surrender?"

"None at all. It is said that before the battle at King's Field, Count Edward even wrote out his will, instructing that they must never surrender, no matter what."

Eugene buried his face in Varda's hair and inhaled deeply. His wife's fragrance filled him all the way into his lungs, and a sense of happiness welled up.

Varda, on the other hand, was seized by a lewd mood. Goosebumps rose on her white neck, and her shoulders flinched.

-First, since you are a beginner, let's start with something simple. When you lie down in bed with the castle lord, do this...

She could not even recall the plan to carry out what the handmaidens had taught her.

"If people knew that you, famed as a knight of noble virtue, were this lewd, they would all be shocked."

"No, isn't it a bit harsh to accuse me of that just for smelling my wife?"

Eugene felt wronged. The truly lewd acts were still only being conceived in his mind!

"Besides, no one else will ever know. Men don't talk to others about what they do with their own wives."

"I-is that so."

Varda, who had received some feedback from the married handmaiden regarding matters of the wedding night, felt a pang of conscience.

"And I suspect that husbands like myself are surprisingly common among the warrior class."

"Why is that?"

"As you know, the battlefield is a filthy place. Blood, sweat, mud, rotting flesh, rusting iron, and the excrement that spills from torn or loosened bowels. It is filled with foul stenches. Even more so for those of us who fight on the front lines."

Eugene inhaled her golden hair deeply once more.

"Catching my wife's scent like this, it feels as though my lungs are being purified."

Varda drew her husband's head into her embrace.

"If it's something like this, as much as you like."

One hand stroked Eugene's neck, while the other soothed his broad back. Her foot also stimulated his knightly thigh, pressing as though in massage.

"I almost feel sorry for my subordinates, enjoying such luxury alone."

A comfort as warm as being held in a mother's arms washed over Eugene.

-A man who has finished battle becomes as rough as a beast. They say that if my lady stimulates him even a little, he'll pounce like a wild animal.

Contrary to the handmaiden's words, Eugene soon fell fast asleep.

The warm comfort that recalled a mother's embrace—his body and heart relaxed because of that dear, forgotten sensation he had long missed.

'This isn't so bad either.'

Varda kissed Eugene's forehead. She herself had long received a mother's love from Grace, but her husband had not been able to.

Gifting him that comfort of early childhood was both a joy and a wish for Varda.

* * *

"I shall punish the vassals who turned their coats, consolidate the army, and then join you."

Philip made his decision. His captured father was beyond his power to aid, but he could not leave unpunished the very nobles who had caused it.

"Can you manage it alone?"

"Of course. Now that the provisions problem is solved, it is already a won fight."

The bribed nobles now warily watching from their own fiefs had their granaries completely empty.

They were desperately procuring food through hunting, fishing, and foraging, but that only maintained the status quo.

If an army of vassals led by Philip came attacking, they would have no choice but to hole up and endure a siege. Naturally, from that moment onward, their food supply would be cut off and they would slowly starve.

"In the meantime, I shall finish sweeping away the monsters."

After occupying King's Field, Eugene became certain that the orcs he had wiped out at the wooden fortress were not all of them.

"How can I ever repay Your Excellency's grace?"

"To kill fellow humans and covet only power while monsters run rampant—the tradition I intend to set right is not something so base."

Parting from the western army, Eugene's forces resumed their march. Their guides were native hunters personally arranged by Philip.

"There is an abandoned monastery in a remote place. It's a site of considerable size, and not long ago, the mountain clans settled there."

"Mountain clans?"

"They were originally indigenous tribes who lived on King's Field. They were defeated by the present noble lords and driven into the mountains, however."

Upon hearing the hunters' further explanation, they were clans in name only—the whole tribe was simply a bandit collective.

They plundered passing merchant caravans, kidnapped travelers, and when the west was in chaos, they even came down openly to pillage villages.

There was no hereditary rule; following the law of the jungle, the strongest became their chieftain.

"To the mountain clans, this civil war must truly have been a blessing?"

"Yes. Rumor has it they even made some kind of pact with the Kruger family."

The scheme was clear without even needing to look. The deal was surely that if they swore loyalty to him and threw the western nobles into disarray, he would grant them fiefs or whatever else.

"And so, to seize an opportunity amid the world's turmoil, the mountain clans gathered at the monastery. It's a good bridgehead for attacking the west, after all."

And then they had been surrounded by monsters that had come with the same idea.

"Your Excellency. Though I am but a lowly hunter, I have spent my entire life in the wilds and experienced a thing or two. The ones attacking the monastery were not an ordinary pack of monsters."

Even now, when the hunter closed his eyes at night, the memory came back vividly.

The countless screams that echoed from the monastery. They were not the kind of sounds that any human of this world could let out.

The agonized howling of the mountain clans was mixed with the viscous, clinging laughter of the monsters.

It was like mustard smeared on human sausage—like the sport of demons mocking the mountain clans on their way to death.

"Did you observe nothing else? Anything will help."

"I remember the light that leaked from the monastery windows. It looked as if a huge crimson tongue were flicking in and out. As a hunter, the glow of a fire in the night is always a welcome thing, but that time, I backed away for the first time in my life."

"It is certainly no ordinary pack of monsters."

Eugene remembered the bones scattered before the burned wooden fortress.

He had thought of them merely as orcs and bugbears operating separately, but it seemed these were far more dangerous creatures.

"I will guarantee your safety without fail, so rest easy and guide us."

At Eugene's promise, the hunters nodded.

They followed the army not only for the high pay, but because they believed that no threat could reach them under Eugene's protection.

Rather, the presence of this mighty army was an opportunity. If not now, it seemed they would never be able to drive out the evil lurking in the monastery. For that danger would one day threaten the entire west.

Eugene likewise had a reason to launch an extermination campaign. While interrogating the orcs captured in the battle at the wooden fortress, he had heard something suspicious.

-The priest-chief! Changed! And went mad! Red light drips from his eyes! He even tries to offer up pregnant kin!

Most orc soldiers knew nothing and only spewed curses and abuse. But the fearful words of one officer-rank orc piqued his interest.

-You fled even though you were the larger force?

-The resisting chieftains all died! We had to come down from the mountain!

The orcs who had fought at the wooden fortress were both invaders and fugitives.

Something had made its nest in that monastery—something powerful enough to annihilate the mountain clans, and so vicious that even orcs shunned it.

End

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