Chapter 95: Gord (2)
Chapter 95: Gord (2)
"How could a knight refuse a tournament? Now that you've said as much, my mind is at ease."
"With you entering, Sir, victory is assured. Who would dare stand against the All-Conquering Knight?"
At Eugene's declaration of intent to participate, the steward welcomed it with both hands raised in delight. By nature he was closer to a civil official and took little personal interest in tournaments. But he knew that the moment the knight before him entered the lists, the very character of the event would change.
"What weapon will you use?"
"I've only just decided to enter, so I'll have to think on it."
Tournaments in other kingdoms were founded on mounted combat, so the weapons — spear, sword, mace, and the like — remained much the same. The Gord tournament, however, was a brawl fought on foot, and every imaginable kind of equipment made an appearance. Flails, two-handed hammers, curved swords, glaives, even greatshields of a sort that could never be used on horseback. Eugene, who had been turning over weapon combinations in his head, let out a quiet laugh.
"It certainly will be entertaining to watch."
"Exactly. They say once you've acquired a taste for the Gord tournament, the matches of other kingdoms feel dull. Even the Barsian nobles who openly disparage it are known to slip down here in secret to watch."
Just then, the tribal merchant who had finished preparations for departure came to make his report. The steward composed his expression and asked carefully,
"Is the Wandering Castle presently moored in the northern forest?"
"Yes. If it were not so, I'd hardly be trying to send wagons laden with goods into the middle of the woods."
"If the castle is anchored at a distance out of consideration for us, there is no need. Bonyard will remain on your side, Sir. Please regard it as a home you can return to at any time."
The steward, for his part, wished to thrust the bond between the Wandering Castle and his city into the light before the whole world. It would serve as advertisement for the city's wonder and underscore that they had been the first to form ties with this knight.
"I appreciate the sentiment."
Eugene, having read the steward's inner thoughts, rose with a smile. It was a kindness he appreciated, yet his heart no longer quickened as it once had. He knew that a wider world and a greater breadth of choices awaited him.
Dozens of wagons departed the city in a long line. They were laden with foodstuffs, delicacies, luxuries, and military supplies — all carefully purchased by the tribal merchants. Payment was to be settled in salt.
"Most trading companies will not extend credit like this."
For tribal merchants who wandered without establishing fixed trading posts, it was a luxury they had never before experienced.
"Hire wagons and drivers in the city, fetch salt from the castle and sell it, then buy trade goods in return and head back. The mere thought of it is exhausting."
Had they gone to any other city, they would have been forced through that whole cumbersome process.
Meanwhile, the laborers and lesser merchants were falling into confusion.
"We're going into the forest? Not along the road?"
"There's nothing there."
They had set out lightly because the caravan had been organized in haste. 'They said it was nearby, so I figured a neighboring village at most. What is this?' No wonder everyone was bewildered when they were suddenly told to head deep into the forest.
"Keep silent and follow orders."
The middle-aged caravan master spoke, but calm was slow to return.
"Night will be upon us soon."
"Close to the city or not, I've never once heard of a caravan spending the night in the middle of a forest."
"..."
Their objections were too reasonable for the caravan master to offer any reply. Even by daylight the place was unsafe on account of wild beasts, and by night there was the added danger of monsters emerging. Already the sun was nearly down, and the laborers quailed at the hooting of owls rousing from sleep.
'The Wandering Castle has appeared deeper in the northern forest — there is no cause for concern. We will pass the night there in safety.' Even if he told them that, they would plainly curse him as if he were mad. There was no way but to show them with their own eyes.
"Keep your spirits up, all of you. We'll reach our destination soon."
At least Eugene rode at the head of the column, encouraging them in a steady voice, so they kept moving despite their unease.
"Heh heh."
"Well, I understand how they feel."
Only the mercenaries kept chuckling at the trading company people's reactions.
"Good heavens!"
And so, as they pushed through the brush where darkness had settled, there it appeared as if by magic — a colossal castle.
"What am I looking at right now?"
"The legend was real! Doesn't it look exactly like the fountain?"
The trading company people, who had been looking around in fear only moments before, changed completely.
RUMMMMMBLE—
As the castle gate opened, a bright flood of light poured out, illuminating the dark forest. For an instant, one could almost believe that the sun had not set in the west but had instead hidden itself within that castle.
Eugene, standing at the head of the caravan, spread his palm and gestured inside.
"Everyone, come in. I guarantee a safe night's rest."
Faced with a legend made manifest, the people, their faces as if spellbound, passed through the gate one by one.
The Wandering Castle, vast as it was, possessed numerous external entrances. The one called the main gate was situated at the center and had been designed for ordinary visitors to come and go. Apart from it, there existed auxiliary gates for the transport of goods. This was where the wagons were now filing in — a layout that connected directly to the various storehouses.
"Items requiring cold storage, this way!"
"Non-food goods to Warehouse D!"
Under the mercenaries' direction, the goods brought in on the wagons were stacked up in neat rows.
"Achoo!"
"Hey, what's with your face?"
"Same to you."
The laborers who had gone in and out of the freezing storehouse laughed at the frost gathering on one another's eyebrows. The dread they had shown at the thought of spending a night in the forest had vanished without a trace. They worked on, chatting happily about a mystical experience they might never have again in their lives.
"Does the castle truly move? This enormous mass of stone?"
"You're all locals, aren't ye? Has a castle like this ever been in this forest before?"
"Not at all!"
"Then why couldn't a castle that popped up all of a sudden just as suddenly vanish?"
The mercenaries did not find it tiresome to answer the merchants' questions. The pride of belonging to this place, the awestruck reactions of those who heard the tale — those things intoxicated the mercenaries with a satisfaction stronger than any drink.
"So that's why you bought so much fresh fruit. Now I understand."
"Just try taking it to Barsia or the eastern petty kingdoms and selling it — you'll see."
The merchants shook their heads from side to side. The commercial common sense they had built up over a lifetime was crumbling before them.
"Here is the salt we promised. Please, inspect it."
The tribal merchant gestured to the great heaps of salt sacks. His face, too, was filled with pride, no less than the mercenaries'.
There was a saying that if one had to serve, it was better to serve a noble house. The same applied to merchants: life became easier or harder depending on whom they belonged to. From the one offering bribes to the one declining them. From the one being judged to the one doing the judging. From the one always in need to the one with nothing to ask for. 'The moment anyone enters this castle, every merchant will be at a disadvantage.' Never had he been so satisfied to have been born into the Black Hand Tribe and chosen the merchant's path over the warrior's.
Gord was a nation that combined a warrior's valor with a merchant's cunning. The waterways that spread across its territory, fine as blood vessels, were more intricately woven than even those of northern Roman. In ages past, when it had existed purely as a nation of merchants, those same waterways had served as the chief invasion routes for the raiders who came over the northwestern sea.
'O God! Pray, fill in these accursed rivers!'
Such was the wretched suffering of that era that rivers, ordinarily prized as treasures, drew those bitter lamentations. But as time passed and the blood of raiders and merchants mingled, fusing into a single people, hundreds of waterways became a blessing. Gord rose anew as a powerful nation — the continent's greatest commercial state, possessing the martial strength to safeguard every trade route.
"To think they would even exempt us from passage tolls."
Eugene's mercenaries clicked their tongues in wonder.
"It's said to be one of the privileges extended to knights, for the duration of the tournament."
"They really are lunatics for fighting."
This tournament was being jointly hosted by the great nobles of Gord, and the venue had been set as the domain of Count Andar. Its proximity to Bonyard made it a convenient staging point for knights crossing over from other kingdoms. This was the same magnanimous count who, having instigated the Hall War and lost, had nonetheless sent his invitation with perfect equanimity.
"But Sir — surely you don't mean to enter the tournament carrying that? In principle, anything without an edge can be carried, but still..."
The mercenaries eyed the flail, whose chains had just been replaced. Every one of them vividly remembered the demons pulverized by that weapon and swallowed hard. One wrong swing could turn a joyful tournament into a mass funeral.
"I'm still thinking about what weapon combination to use."
Eugene possessed such extraordinary strength that he could equip himself with weapon combinations generally considered impossible.
"A greatshield paired with a two-handed hammer seems promising, but I'm still considering."
"In a mass melee, it would be wise to have a shield that can reliably cover your front."
The mercenaries who had stood at the front as shield-bearers during the purification work nodded.
"If you require a hammer, say the word. I will lend you mine. It's an exceedingly long one, so it ought to suit you well, Sir."
Rampage rapped his own two-handed hammer. A warrior's arms were not to be lent lightly, but if the knight before him were to carry it into the tournament, that in itself would be an honor.
"Is that man Count Andar?"
"Yes. Though our connection began with ill fate, he strikes me as a likeable fellow."
Eugene laughed at Varda's question.
"I'm worried he might hold a grudge because you refused the invitation he sent you."
"I only saw him briefly, but he's not the sort of man to hold a grudge like that."
Even after their Champion had been utterly crushed, the sight of Count Andar raising his wine cup to Eugene with a smile had left a strong impression.
"Besides, Varda-nim's invitation was far more important to me."
"..."
Had he accepted Count Andar's invitation, Varda would have had to watch over Grace's final fading moments entirely alone.
Eugene was glad he had left hand in hand with Varda as a smiling Grace sent them on their way.
Even a single week's delay could have caused everything to go astray.
"If you and Homi had not come, I would have cast an even stronger barrier around the forest."
"While keeping watch over the place where Lady Grace returned to nature?"
"Yes. I would have gone on living there alone, dwelling endlessly on the past."
"I don't even want to imagine that."
"But I would have been happy enough in my own way. Happiness is always relative. The less you know, the easier it is to be happy. But now..."
Varda let her words trail off, but Eugene read what she was thinking.
Now she knew too much to be content simply guarding the place where Grace slept at the forest mansion.
She had discovered greater joys than endlessly cherishing the memories she had shared with her nursemaid.
Of course, this was the end that Grace had most wished for, so she would harbor no regrets over it.
"I'm glad you came, young knight."
Count Andar himself greeted even a plainly dressed knight who had come up from the countryside.
The mounted knights nearby were startled to see the count approaching on foot and all hurriedly dismounted.
The count shook hands with each such knight, clapping them on the shoulder as he did so.
"I will fight with everything I have."
"That is the spirit. In this land, we do not judge a man by rank or wealth."
When the count raised a clenched fist toward the sky, his thickly muscled arm was revealed.
"This is a place where anyone with strength and courage can achieve great things. I wish you all good fortune in battle."
The count clapped the knight on the back with a hand the size of a pot lid, then moved on to welcome the next man just as fervently.
The unknown knights nearby were all visibly moved by his spirited display.
Haind, too, looked on with a face full of goodwill and spoke.
"For warriors with nothing to their name, Gord is like a holy land. It does not matter if a man cannot read or ride. As long as he is strong, anyone has a chance to rise."
"Naturally. Even a brute like Volks is treated well here."
However skilled he might be, it was unusual for an illiterate commoner obsessed with bloodshed to receive lavish treatment from nobles.
It would have been unthinkable in a place like Barsia.
"Truthfully, if I had not met you, Sir Eugene, I was planning to go to Gord and enter Count Andar's service."
Haind's blood was hardly blue. He was the son of a self-made merchant who had married the daughter of a ruined noble house.
In Gord, he would find it easier to achieve success than in other cultures that placed greater weight on bloodline.
"Then you must know the count well?"
"Yes. A title and a noble's actual power do not always match, but the imbalance is especially pronounced in Gord. He may be a count in name, but his power exceeds that of most marquis houses."
"He is especially popular among dwarf mercenaries."
Rampage spoke up from beside them.
"You know the count too, centurion?"
"Aye. He's famous for never falling behind on mercenary wages and for always rewarding men who distinguish themselves."
"Oh?"
Simply paying wages on time was enough to win the loyalty of mercenaries in that age.
"Besides, as you can see, we can't ride horses."
As Rampage gestured toward his short and stubby subordinates, Haind bit his lip to suppress a laugh.
"Dwarf mercenaries and Gord nobles have a few things in common."
"Both are warrior cultures centered on infantry, so I suppose they naturally get along."
Rampage withdrew with a grin, and Haind continued.
"Count Andar does not hesitate to share his wealth for the sake of harmonious rule. They say every dispute in southern Gord is settled the moment his purse opens."
Just then, heavy strides approached, and Count Andar stopped in front of Eugene.
"Well, who do we have here? The All-Conquering Knight of Bonyard!"
"It is an honor to meet you, Count."
"I still cannot forget the sight of you smashing my warriors in the trial by combat. It was magnificent."
"..."
"But that was nothing compared with what came after. The more I heard about what you did afterward, the more I realized you were no ordinary madman. I mean that in the best possible way! I loved it! That is what a real warrior looks like!"
For a moment, Eugene wondered whether coming had been a mistake, then breathed an inward sigh of relief. The count was speaking out of pure admiration.
"I am looking forward to this tournament more than any in recent memory. Please, go a little easy on them. One or two deaths cannot be helped, but if too many die, it will be difficult for me to shield you from the consequences."
"...Thank you for your consideration."
A somewhat strange misunderstanding seemed to be at play, but in any case, it was a good thing for a great noble of the count's standing to treat him with favor.
A grand banquet was held the night before the tournament.
"I spared no effort in gathering every delicacy the world has to offer for today. Eat your fill and show us your best tomorrow."
Among the three great nobles seated at the high table, it was Count Andar who announced the start of the banquet.
True to his boast, all manner of delicacies from mountain and sea had been laid out until the tables groaned under the weight.
Nestled right against the sea as it was, the feast surpassed even the banquet prepared by Duke Ismar of Rostock in sheer abundance.
"Mm. The food is excellent, but it is hard to relax and enjoy it. I can practically feel their stares on my face."
"Knights can be surprisingly jealous."
At the banquet, only a handful of high-ranking nobles fully grasped what Eugene had accomplished.
Count Andar himself did not yet even know that Eugene had come into possession of the Wandering Castle.
Yet even the partial deeds that were known drew challenging looks from the knights on every side.
"Thank you for coming in full armor. Otherwise, I'd probably have gotten indigestion while eating."
"Heh. It is partly for my own sake."
Had Varda, seated beside him, not been wearing a hood over her head and a scarf wrapped around her face, those looks would have been several times fiercer still.
But one by one, the glances directed at Eugene quickly faded away.
A fire-breathing clown, a multitude of acrobats performing every manner of trick, and musicians of lovely tone all stirred the atmosphere, and the food was simply too good.
"Please grant me your scarf."
"Sir Andrei."
One young knight even declared to a noble lady that he would dedicate the honor won in the lists to her.
A knight's duty of service was not owed to his liege alone. He could also single out one lady separate from that bond.
It carried no binding force like an oath of fealty and was merely a symbolic, sentimental bond.
Yet for a woman to have a knight of her own was a matter of great honor. It could well be called the greatest glory a noble lady could enjoy in that era.
It was the very pinnacle of chivalric romance, the secret wish dreamed of by every noble lady.
"Valiant knight. I pray for your victory."
As the noble lady bound her scarf upon the knight's breastplate, applause and cheers erupted all around.
"Master Goffrey told me about it, but this is the first time I have seen it myself."
"Sir Goffrey told you about chivalric romance?"
"Even if you win great glory with the sword, it starts to feel hollow as you grow older. My master used to say that often. He also told me never to miss the chance if I ever had an opportunity to ask a fine lady for her scarf."
"That really is unexpected."
For a wandering knight famed for his cynical disposition to have had that side to him—perhaps it was true that people changed as they aged.
Just then, a young lady in splendid attire approached Eugene.
"Sir Eugene. May I have a moment?"
She had been seated beside Count Andar, so she was surely his daughter. Her age, too, appeared a close match.
"My name is Aisha Andar. My father has told me countless stories of your valor. It is an honor to meet you tonight."
"The honor is mine. The food is excellent, and I hardly know how to respond to the count's generous hospitality."
"I understand this will be your first tournament, Sir Eugene."
A surprised stir rippled through those nearby at the revelation that a knight renowned for his duels still had no tournament experience.
"Yes. I am glad my first tournament will be in Count Andar's domain. I like the Gord style."
At Eugene's pleasing words, the Gord nobles laughed heartily and raised their cups.
Aisha, too, seemed satisfied, for she smiled brightly and drew out a silver scarf from her breast.
"..."
Eugene immediately sensed the atmosphere take an odd turn.
"Gallant knight. I hope you will wear my scarf at your breast when you enter the arena. If you share with me even a portion of the victory and honor you win tomorrow, I will remember it for the rest of my life."
Aisha gracefully lifted one side of her skirt and curtsied.
The custom was normally that the knight entreated the noble lady. But in passionate Gord, noble ladies at times reversed the roles and went hunting knights themselves.
Even so, it took considerable courage for the woman to be the one making the request.
"I am sorry."
Because of that, the atmosphere could not help but chill when Eugene declined.
"I already have a woman in mind whose scarf I intend to ask for."