The Second Minotaur
"What, you don't believe me?"
"N... no, my lord. To be honest, I never expected you to accept outright."
"I imagine you expected some cursing, a beating, and then a threat. I have no intention of any of that. If this spell of yours proves useful, I'll pay you what it's worth."
Knowledge is power — that saying rang truer in this world than anywhere else. It never hurt to know things.
Suetleug had not known every mystery, and neither had Kaenerna. Even Galambos, an Eastern Ranger, had his limits.
Truthfully, if it were a spell capable of summoning minotaurs, Johan might have released him for free. The man had asked to be sold as a slave, and Johan had accepted, but...
I feel like I got away with something.
On the night the new moon rose, they procured a white heifer and bound her in place, then drove five wooden pillars carved with the shamanic script of the East into the ground around her.
A mixture of ash wood, cinnabar, and salt was arranged and set alight, raising a thick smoke.
Kaenerna watched the entire process with unconcealed fascination. Any mage worth the name would take an interest in the mysteries of the East — even if it was the magic of a wicked heresy.
"The Sage of the Ipael River would weep with envy at missing this."
Kaenerna smirked mischievously. She seemed rather pleased that Suetleug would never witness this mystery firsthand.
"You could just describe it to him later."
"That's nothing like seeing it with your own eyes. Speaking of which — I heard you refused the Baron's proposal. Is the Blua family elf really that pretty?"
"That wasn't the reason. Though she is beautiful."
It really was because of his tastes?
Kaenerna was astonished. However political the motivation might have been, it had seemed absurdly heavy-handed to her — and yet it had genuinely come down to preference.
The elf of House Blua had a lovely face, but everything else about her fell far short of any standard of beauty. Having seen countless gorgeous elves at the Emperor's court, Kaenerna could not help but be severe in her judgment.
"Be careful when handling the cinnabar. Tell the soldiers not to breathe in the smoke when it burns."
"Yes, my lord."
The smoke released by burning cinnabar carried mercury vapor. Kaenerna, who knew nothing of this, asked with a puzzled frown.
"Why shouldn't they breathe the smoke?"
"Because it's poisonous."
"Poisonous?!"
Kaenerna jolted. Cinnabar was a substance alchemists handled all the time. She rarely used it herself, but there were even those who deliberately inhaled the fumes of burning cinnabar...
"You're certain it's truly poison?"
"If you don't believe me, feel free to inhale as much as you like."
"You have a real talent for making conversation pleasant."
Kaenerna believed Johan without even realizing it. She didn't know it herself, but Johan had just made a fellow mage — Kaenerna, of all people — take his word through speech alone. A truly formidable power.
"The vassals' original forces take the left wing. The newly arrived take the right. In the center, the dwarves and the mercenaries..."
"Is it really all right not to mix in the new vassals?"
"That was the plan, at first."
Had their numbers been small, he would simply have blended them together into one force. It made command easier, and surveillance easier too.
But the vassals who had served the Margrave were, by nature, a dangerous element.
Then an unforeseen situation arose.
Far more vassals came seeking him than he had expected.
Under those circumstances, transparency games were pointless — an honest, frontal approach served better. With one or two men, you could cajole or threaten them into line; once the numbers grew, that stopped working.
Johan had come to feel it himself.
To truly subdue men and win their loyalty, you had to show them achievements worthy of it.
Not mere silver or guarantees of privilege — proof, before a crowd of hundreds, that you possessed the right to rule and reign!
So that's why everyone kept starting wars...
Before anyone noticed, the preparations were nearly complete. Along the forest's edge of the barony, the heifer and every manner of shamanic apparatus stood ready. The dwarven combat engineers had laid their traps and assembled siege engines alongside them.
"The moment it sets foot on the marked ground, the ballistae fire and kill it."
Monster hunts among the dwarves often called for powerful siege weapons like ballistae. This was hardly their first time firing one, so the dwarves were brimming with confidence.
Kaenerna asked, her brow furrowed in curiosity.
"Weren't you on good terms with the Order's priests, though? However did you get permission for this?"
Following the rituals of heretics would have been enough to give the priests a heart attack. However laden Johan was with their praise, surely that...
"Ah. I borrowed their name for it. A bit of yours, actually."
"......"
Kaenerna's face went rigid. Whose name had this count dared to use?
"I told them it was Kaenerna's ritual. They didn't curse you, at least."
"Consider one debt repaid."
"I don't mind, but... come to think of it, I noticed this last time as well — do you keep a running tally of my debts?"
Johan knew mages thought in peculiar ways. Setting aside the favors he was obliged to grant, Kaenerna seemed to be keeping a separate ledger of what he owed her.
"There... is such a thing, yes."
"I see. Saying 'no need' wouldn't mean much to a mage anyway. Serve me faithfully until the debt of your heart is paid off, then."
"......"
Kaenerna bit back a curse.
Normally she grew furious at lords who knew too little about mages — but apparently a lord who knew too much about them was a problem as well. One couldn't toy with him in the slightest.
As every living soul held its breath, the minotaur appeared in the pale moonlight with a bellowing roar. The ritual had worked.
The army arrayed in a ring around the forest waited in silence. Not a man could move until the minotaur was taken.
With an army like this, a few glory-hungry knights would normally charge out on their own initiative — but not a single one did. Part of it was Johan's stern orders, but mostly it was the sheer, crushing pressure the minotaur exuded.
Well-behaved, aren't they.
"Give the signal."
Johan was satisfied. In truth, since arriving in this world, he had rarely seen an army properly commanded at all.
Because each lord hauled in his own men and simply gathered them together, orders were constantly disobeyed, rogue charges broke out at every turn — and worse, this was regarded as a right.
It was satisfying enough that he wouldn't have to witness that spectacle. Had any man stepped out of line, Johan would have found some way to reclaim his fief.
In the darkness, with the sound of cords being loosed, sharp-tipped lances streaked through the air. Even from a distance, the piercing shriek of their flight seemed audible.
The minotaur, its legs snared in the traps, let out a dying scream and twisted its body — then sank to its knees. Then it crashed to the ground.
"Damn dwarves. Where do they get things like that."
The centaurs clicked their tongues. So far removed from such craftsmanship, they couldn't help but be astonished.
Even in the ancient days when the centaurs had ravaged the Empire, the most troublesome obstacles had been the fortress-keeps the dwarves built...
"The leader has fallen. Signal the left and right wings. We encircle and finish them."
The goblins and ghoul packs that had followed the minotaur were gathered in a clumsy ring around the forest. The plan was to close in from three sides and exterminate them to the last.
Dum-dum-dum-dum-dum—
War drums thundered, and banners began waving in steady succession. At long last, those who received the signal moved with joy in their hearts.
The vassals who had followed Johan saw their chance to distinguish themselves before their new lord; the vassals who had just abandoned the Margrave saw their chance to catch someone's eye. Each schemed according to his own designs, and each moved accordingly.
"My lord, you aren't going in yourself?"
Not only Aclada — Euclia too stamped the ground beside him with a hoof, visibly disappointed. Johan shook his head.
"I've earned my county. It's time I gave the vassals their chance to shine."
Rushing ahead to cut everything down yourself wasn't the mark of a true lord. A lord had to give his vassals the opportunity to perform and preen. Generous magnanimity was also a virtue a lord was meant to display.
"Eh. Then shouldn't I go in as well?"
"You two are to guard me."
At Johan's words, the centaurs laughed as if he'd told some utterly absurd joke — so loudly that Ezellia, listening nearby, felt her face harden into stone.
"My lord. Do they truly swear loyalty to you?"
"They're loyal, looks notwithstanding. Just... a rather unique sort of loyal."
When fiefs had been distributed to those who had fought well, the centaurs had been the ones who understood it least.
Aclada had grasped the meaning, more or less, and accepted it — but Euclia simply could not comprehend why she had to remain on some tiny patch of land.
At first she had taken it for a punishment and wept great, ugly tears.
Johan had barely managed to convince her that if she truly hated it, she could be reclassified as livestock, that she didn't have to stay if she didn't want to, and that it was not, in fact, a punishment.
"■ ■■■ ■■■ ■■ ■■ ■■■■ ■■■?"
Euclia asked Johan something in the Eastern tongue. Had Ezellia understood it, she would have blushed to the roots and trembled from head to toe.
"My lord. What did she say? It sounded like she was talking to me."
"She said you're too beautiful."
"Wh... what. What manner of — of harassment—"
Euclia beamed and nodded. It wasn't a mistranslation on Johan's part, either. There had merely been some difference in intonation and vocabulary.
In truth, that was exactly what she had meant as a compliment. Euclia then tried again, this time in her clumsy Imperial speech.
"We? We will guard you well."
"Th... thank you."
Ezellia was a knight born and bred. She felt genuine gratitude toward the goodwill of Euclia, who looked every inch a fierce warrior. Johan, for his part, thought to himself:
Thank the gods she doesn't speak Eastern.
"My lord! My lord!"
"What is it?"
"That pirate bastard's gone mad — he wants to die! Can't he keep his mouth shut?!"
There had apparently been an uproar among the pirates at the rear. The centurion was bellowing, eyes blazing murder.
"Let me cut him down right now! The insolent pirate filth!"
Caising a disturbance mid-battle was a grave offense in itself. It could only be read as attempted desertion. The mercenaries were already moving to cut the man down.
But Johan held them back. Tamir, pinned to the ground with his face shoved into the dirt, was astonished by Johan's patience.
"It won't be too late to deal with him after we hear what he has to say. Speak."
"Hah— hah... my lord! You must be careful! The minotaur — it isn't dead!!"
"What nonsense are you—"
"Everyone, silence."
At Johan's word, the centurions shut their mouths. It had been spoken quietly, and yet each of them felt as though a cold blade had brushed along his spine.
"The minotaur is dead. If it were alive, it would have crawled out of the traps by now."
The left and right wings were in high spirits, encircling the monsters and beating them down. The monsters that had charged out boldly were shrieking and bursting apart. If a monster could endure all that, it was no monster at all.
"If the minotaur were truly dead, at the very least the goblins would be fleeing, my lord!"
"...!"
Johan knew it at once — Tamir was telling the truth. But it was equally true that the minotaur was dead.
What, then?
In that instant, Johan's mind flashed, and a single conclusion took shape.
"...Don't tell me there were two."
"Goddamn it."
Aclada swore under his breath.
The mere thought of another minotaur charging out from among those giddy, rampaging knights made his blood run cold.
It had been easy only because they had snared its legs in the traps and ended it in a single stroke with the siege engines. Otherwise, a minotaur was a monster that bordered on nightmare.
"Is the poison ready? Aclada?"
"We can loose at any moment, my lord!"
"Send word for the centaurs to follow me! We go to help them!"
Johan wheeled his horse around and shot forward at once. The soldiers of the center, who had been holding their position, scrambled in confusion — but swiftly opened a path.
"Send the retreat order! Tell them not to push deep into the forest!"
Even as he spurred the messenger on, Johan held out little hope. Knights blinded by glory, after all, had a habit of fighting on even when the retreat was sounded.
"My lord! I understand your concern for the vassals, but this is reckless!"
Ezellia thundered up alongside him, shouting in alarm. She was worried what Johan intended to do.
"Don't worry, Ezellia. I have never once done anything reckless."
"????"
The centaurs, galloping at his heels, threw Johan looks of profound bewilderment.
Excuse me?
But Ezellia innocently took his words at face value. The few dozen riders under Johan's command punched swiftly through the formation and plunged into the forest. Within, the monsters were fighting with desperate, vicious frenzy.
"Johan of Yeats commands you! Fall back!"
"M... my lord! Why—?"
A knight who had just cut down three goblins asked in bewilderment. The reason presented itself immediately — a massive log came hurtling from behind.
CRASH!
And from among those flying timbers, an enormous shadow began to swell at terrifying speed. A minotaur, charging at full tilt without so much as a breath's pause. Its eyes burned crimson, and from its jaws wafted the stench of hell.
Johan did not dodge. He locked eyes with it. He could feel his horse trembling beneath him. As the third log splintered apart, a lance tore through the air and flew straight for the minotaur.