The Orc's Earnest Counsel
The orc shook his head. It was unthinkable. An educated, cultured knight who believed in no god was exactly as rare as a shaman orc—which is to say, not rare at all, but nonexistent.
"Do you even understand the situation you're in?"
The orc cleared his throat, gathering himself to enlighten this young knight. Brave and powerful he might be, but the fellow seemed to lack the ability to see the wider picture.
Understandable. Most people only ever saw what lay directly before them. Only a rare few wise souls could look down the long road ahead.
"Hah... fine. Allow me to explain. Lord Lepiata has been granted the city of Umdim. Do you understand what that means?"
"That His Grace the Duke intends to set his Stars against one another in earnest? Granted, Umdim is surrounded by threats, so how one governs it would make a fair test of ability."
"......"
"Was I right? I just said the first thing that came to mind."
"...Y-yes. Yes. That was precisely what I was about to say."
The orc concealed his flusterment and pressed on.
"Why would the Stars of Breudhe abandon their own lands and linger at the Duke's palace? To catch His Grace's eye even one more time. Lord Lepiata's circumstances are no different. Now that he holds Umdim, capable men have all sorts of places to shine—this is the moment to charge forward boldly and stake a claim, is it not?"
"Hmm. I see."
"You do understand what I'm telling you, yes? So instead of wasting time inspecting your fief, you ought to hurry and plant yourself near Lord Lepiata's side, showing your face one more time than anyone else. You're lucky, you know. You rendered great service in this campaign, and Lord Lepiata holds you in high regard. Seize the moment and secure your place while you—"
There was not a single flaw in the orc's argument. Lower nobles without an inheritance had no path to advancement but the eyes of their superiors.
Those gathering around Lepiata harbored similar calculations. It wasn't that they felt no loyalty to him.
But loyalty aside, people naturally harbored ambition for the future. Each had a future they wanted, an appetite for it, and that was why they hovered at his side.
"I heard you were granted the rank of banneret by His Grace. But to sit back and rely on that is a fool's economy. Look here. The banneret's rank is honorable and resplendent, but the substance behind it is thin. Moreover, His Grace's court is full of men who have offered him a decade or more of loyal service. Who do you think he'll look after first? No matter how great your deeds, there's a limit."
As Johan listened in silence, the orc's words gathered heat. Unnoticed even by the orc himself, he was speaking with genuine sincerity, saying things he had no obligation to say.
True, he owed Johan his life—but debts of that kind were settled with gold. There had been no reason to counsel him this earnestly.
It was Johan's attentive listening.
There wasn't another noble alive who listened this seriously. Even that knight barely scraping by out of beggar's rags had brushed off his advice.
"Your granted fief won't get you anywhere near far enough. Hurry, catch Lord Lepiata's eye, receive lands and office, arrange a marriage, and grow your standing still further—"
"Hold on. Hold on."
"?"
"Are you perhaps trying to become my vassal?"
At Johan's words, the orc flushed red. Put that way, he had been offering far too much advice.
"Your counsel is appreciated. You speak with such gravity that I can hardly help but answer in kind. Yes—I understand that Lord Lepiata's side is a tremendous opportunity."
And not Lepiata alone; all the Stars of Breudhe were opportunity incarnate for young, landless nobles. There was a reason young men with nothing but their talents kept streaming in.
"Do you believe Lord Lepiata will inherit the Duke's title?"
"How would I know? But to cower before that question and do nothing is utterly foolish—"
"I asked poorly, then. Let me rephrase. Do you judge Lord Lepiata worthy of receiving your loyalty?"
"Of course I do. Why else would I be here?"
"A man that clever would know who serves him well without anyone hovering at his elbow showing their face, wouldn't he?"
"......"
The orc's mouth snapped shut. He stammered onward.
"W-well, yes, but a man's heart is naturally inclined toward the one he sees often—"
Landless nobles lingered in the courts and castles of the lords they served, straining however they could to stamp their faces into memory. They attended every event and hunt their lord hosted, charged at the front when war broke out...
All of it, a desperate bid to be seen.
Johan, however, saw no need for any of it. Especially not with someone like Lepiata.
Showing my face a hundred times wouldn't change a man like that. Better to put my own affairs first.
Inspecting the fief and drilling the mercenaries would pay dividends many times over.
"Granted, the fief I received isn't far from here, so I intend to cooperate with Lord Lepiata's governance as much as reasonable. That should be sufficient, don't you think?"
"I... I suppose so."
Somewhere along the way, the conversation had somehow drifted until it felt as though the orc was the one trying to recruit Johan.
And he hadn't meant to, either.
How on earth did it come to this?
"Now that I think of it, back to what we were discussing earlier—do you happen to know anyone you'd recommend as a steward?"
"...You're asking me that? Are you serious?"
The orc was bewildered. Did recommending the orc mean Johan intended to employ him as steward?
Normally one would hire a young noble with a scholarly education, or hand the accounts to a priest handy with numbers...
"As long as they're good with figures, I don't much care about station. Though if they're worse at sums than I am, that's a bit—"
"You're good at sums?"
Johan stared at him flatly. The orc went pale with fright.
"I'm not insulting you! I only gasped, that's all!"
"A priest skilled in arithmetic tutored me once. I'd say I'm better than most."
"...Then I shall set you one problem. A man bequeaths to his firstborn one gold coin and one-seventh of the remainder. To his second, two coins from what remains and one-seventh of the remainder after that. To the third, the fourth—thus on down to the youngest, each in the same manner—and when all was divided, every child received exactly the same share. How many children are there, and how many gold coins—"
"Six children, thirty-six coins. And unless you're going to introduce me someone clever, kindly stop wasting my time with trivia."
"!"
The orc was aghast. This was a problem devised by a brilliant orcish scholar—not one to be answered with a single stroke of the tongue.
"A- anyone fit to serve as steward, I shall introduce to you personally and send along myself."
"Oh. Much obliged."
The orc scurried away with a far more rattled and startled face than he'd arrived with. Watching him go, Stephan frowned in puzzlement.
"Why is that orc leaving in such a state?"
"Hard to say. No idea."
Stephan hadn't been the least bit startled or disgusted by the orc. Johan understood at once.
This fool's been borrowing money from orcs more than once, I'd wager...
He'd heard that dissipated young nobles often borrowed from orcs—but to see it standing right in front of him!
"Out gallivanting around the city again?"
"Gallivanting? It's called social obligation!"
Stephan meant every word. Unlike Johan, a noble born to a noble house considered meeting and being courted by the city's movers and shakers to be a duty as natural as breathing.
"If you knew who I met, you'd be shocked too."
"?"
"I met Lord Hormaric!"
The third child of House Breudhe. Hormaric. Johan's face registered genuine surprise. This was the last person who should have been anywhere near Umdim.
"Where?"
"At the manor of a noble who lives here... Oh. Wait. I'm not supposed to tell anyone. His Lordship wishes to stay quietly out of sight."
"Of course. I'll keep your secret. Lead the way."
"Huh?"
"Even if I keep the secret, I should still pay my respects and greet him properly. That's only courtesy, isn't it?"
"Ah. I suppose that's true."
"K-Knight Johan?!"
Hormaric flinched in shock. Recognizing Stephan beside him, his face twisted with reproach. After I asked him to keep it secret.
He wondered what the manor's staff thought they were doing, but it was a pointless grievance. What noble of this city could possibly have barred Johan's way?
"A pleasure, Lord Hormaric. I've come to pay my respects."
"N-no, the pleasure is mine, Knight Johan."
Hormaric wore an oddly ill-at-ease expression. At the sight of it, Johan's suspicion hardened into certainty. He had come half-expecting this, fishing—and the fish had taken the hook.
"My lord. Might I borrow your household staff for a moment? There is something I'd prefer to say in a quiet place."
"Y-yes, of course."
The Duke's third son was closer to a merchant than a soldier, and his nerve was not of the strongest. With Johan looming before him, he could not bring himself to refuse.
Watching him, Johan grew only more certain. However meek a man might be, for one of his station to crumble like this meant there was something to be caught on.
"What brings you to Umdim, my lord?"
"I had old friends here, but circumstances have kept us out of contact, so I thought I'd—"
"Ah. I see. ...My lord. Why did you hire assassins?"
"!"
While Hormaric froze, Johan seized his hand, pinning it so he could not rise.
"My lord, I have a mage in my company. Discovering who hired her would be a simple matter."
"C-could it be? It couldn't—could it?"
Beside them, Stephan's voice shot up in alarm. Hearing it, something did snag in his memory. He pointed at Hormaric and said:
"Was it you who sent those mercenaries to my manor? How could you!"
"What? No! Do you think I'm insane?!"
"No, no...! It'd be perfectly in character!"
Stephan clapped his hands. When he recalled the things Ulrike had done in her attempts to kill him, it seemed entirely plausible.
At that misunderstanding, Hormaric began to sob.
Before him stood a monstrous knight, barging in unannounced and growling threats; the manor's noble residents showed no sign of coming to his aid; and now, thanks to Stephan, he'd picked up some bizarre accusation on top of it all. It was a nightmare.
Killing one's kin was not something even a noble could brush past. And the Duke did not spare his children the consequences. The scaffold flickered before Hormaric's eyes.
"Don't spout nonsense, Stephan. Would His Lordship stoop to anything so crude?"
"How would you know! You haven't seen his brothers—greed has eaten their eyes whole! Where else would those mercenaries have crawled out of?"
"I truly didn't...! Sir Johan, please—believe me!"
Johan felt the situation sliding sideways thanks to Stephan. How, by any chain of events, had he ended up consoling a weeping Hormaric?
Should've known bringing this fool along would only cause trouble.
"My lord, please don't distress yourself. I believe you."
"Sir Johan!"
"But you did try to have the administrator killed, didn't you, my lord?"
"*hic*... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Had Johan simply asked outright, Hormaric might well have stonewalled and denied everything. But cornered under an absurd false accusation, with Johan speaking gently and considerately beside him, the confession tumbled out before he could stop it.
"Why, my lord?"
The reason was truly beyond all prediction.
For all his oafish reputation, the administrator had been a man of remarkably wide connections.
Reaching not only into the Kingdom of Slóvec but into the city-states as well. There was a reason Lepiata had chosen to keep him alive and put him to use rather than kill him.
"I knew it! You were trying to rein in a little brother more capable than you!"
"I'm telling you, no!"
What Hormaric had his eye on was not Lepiata, but the office itself.
Kill the administrator and the seat would fall empty—then he could go to Lepiata and appeal to their bond of blood and his own talent. A post like city councilor, administrator, or treasurer was precisely the sort ambitious nobles coveted.
"Sir Johan, I beg you—don't tell my father! Please!"
Hormaric clung to Johan, weeping. Johan patted him on the back. He felt as though he'd wandered into some cheap farce.
Stephan asked, plainly unable to believe his ears:
"But... you're the elder, my lord. Why would you have to beg him for anything—"
"I don't need the duchy or any of it! I haven't the nerve! A post as councilor or treasurer would satisfy me fine—"
It was hardly a seat a man should call "fine"—city councilor, city treasurer. For commoners, such posts were the very summit of worldly success.
Not every noble-born child hungered for supreme power. Some merely wished to live out their days in comfortable plenty.
Besides, Duke Breudhe tested his children without mercy. Timid Hormaric had contemplated flight more times than he could count.
Having grasped the shape of things, Johan spoke to Hormaric in a voice soft and warm.
"My lord, calm yourself. I have no intention of carrying this secret beyond these walls."
"Do... do you mean it?"
The face of Johan as he soothed the weeping man was perfectly composed, without a trace of a smile—but Hormaric could not see it. Stephan, standing where he could, felt his skin crawl.
God, what a terrifying man...
To a bystander, Hormaric looked for all the world like prey caught in a lion's jaws.