The Bicorn Named Cardirian
Karamap's death remained unknown to the world. Officially, Karamap was still said to be commanding knights from the Emperor's camp.
His failure to show his face was suspicious, true — but Karamap's reputation was far too towering for anyone to suspect he had died in some nameless forest.
And so the gossips murmured that Sir Karamap must have fallen gravely ill, or been struck by a curse. Considering the mountain of grudges he had accumulated over the years, it wasn't a strange conclusion at all.
"How could I possibly capture a man who doesn't even exist?"
At a suitable triumph or festival, one could dress a double in a fake suit of armor and play the charade, but no one would dare such a trick on a battlefield. Lose while running a deception like that, and there would be no covering it up.
"Now that you have an earldom in hand, start thinking like a man who has one. When the moment is right and you make your claim, who will people believe — you, or the Emperor?"
Suetleg was right. The Emperor's popularity was hovering near rock bottom.
Johan, by contrast, was a rising star. With the Order's full-throated support on top of his own deeds, there was no way he couldn't be popular.
Wandering knights threw themselves at monsters for the sake of glory. Slay a single monster, and that honor glittered on a knight's breast like a medal. Such glory was both a passport to being received with respect at any noble's court, and a résumé that swiftly proved the knight's prowess.
Johan had already beaten four or five of those monsters to death — a knight among knights, bearing achievements no one at any court feast could match.
"Then they'll believe me."
"Right. Given the Emperor's temperament, he won't let a war go unstarted, so the chance will surely come."
By cutting off every one of the Emperor's vassals in the southern peninsula, Johan had, for all practical purposes, already declared war.
If the Emperor ever finished untangling the empire's chaos, retaliation would naturally follow. Whenever it came, the fight was on the calendar.
When the time came to clash with Karamap's banner, if Johan drew Seal Retriever and claimed his victory, the enemy would have no choice but to reel in confusion.
"More important than that sword, though — isn't it Dusk? To think you snapped Dusk clean in half."
"That wasn't intentional."
Breaking a sword bestowed by a duke had put Johan in a rather awkward position. It had shattered slaying a monster, so it was an honorable end as far as sword deaths went, but he still couldn't just leave it be.
"Did you call for a smith?"
"I've asked the Order to send me a good one."
Suetleg nodded. The peninsula had plenty of fine smiths. If the Order handled it, they'd find an excellent one and send him along.
"I hear you tamed a bicorn?"
"Ah. I named him Cardirian."
"......"
Suetleg started to say something, then stopped.
Bicorns had a gift for bewitching other horses, and Cardirian was no exception. Johan's warhorses, Fern and Donum, had fallen under his spell and now trotted after him, panting like lovesick puppies.
"A clever monster. You could look forward to foals from him."
"Oh? Are bicorn foals also bicorns?"
"Not as far as I know. Breed him with a mare and you get an ordinary horse. But the bloodline will still be far better than any common warhorse's."
The famous steeds of legend — horses said to carry the blood of a spirit-beast in their ancestry — were usually born exactly this way. Johan suddenly felt a spark of anticipation.
I should try to get on better terms with the beast.
"Has everything been quiet in the county?"
"If it hadn't been, I'd have received a report. It's been quiet."
As if the chaos out west had never happened, the county was peaceful. The only activity had been envoys sent by the petty kingdoms of the eastern peninsula across the sea, or merchants under the nobles of the Eastern Empire.
They wanted to know what sort of man the newly seated count was.
After all, if he wasn't going to turn away foreign merchants from anchoring in his territory, they had no reason to sit idle either.
"Before the harbor construction is finished, we should set aside a dedicated district and guildhall for the foreign merchants."
"The republican way?"
The republics, with their constant foreign trade, maintained separate quarters for foreigners. Gathering everything in one place — guildhall, warehouses, and the rest — gave them a real advantage in attracting merchants.
Traditional nobles, of course, rarely bothered with such arrangements. Many were outright opposed to inviting foreign merchants into their lands in the first place, no matter how much money it brought in.
"It makes administration easier, and it'd be simple to impose restrictions in an emergency, wouldn't it?"
"It seems excessive to me, but... very well. I'll see the order given."
Suetleg was wise and experienced, but he was no master of commerce and trade. He didn't see why foreign merchants deserved to be courted so carefully. Merely permitting them to dock already felt, to him, like a generous favor granted.
"I heard the Count of Zillkild insulted you."
"Yes. I intend to pay it back."
Johan reported that he had secured the cooperation of Ahir of the Mulque family. Suetleg nodded.
The Countdom of Zillkild might be no more than a modest island, but it was a family that had been rooted there for generations. They would at least be prepared to repel an invader from outside. Having an ally on the inside would help enormously.
"You don't doubt whether they'll actually cooperate properly?"
"If it were you, I trust you managed things as well as ever."
Suetleg raised no particular suspicion. He knew Johan was thorough in matters like this.
Isn't he trusting me a bit too much?
Johan was the one left vaguely dissatisfied. He'd half expected Suetleg to tell him to keep a closer eye on Ahir...
"The countdom is no pushover, but I'd say you'll manage. The mercenaries are still riding high on morale, so you can overrun the place easily enough."
Truthfully, Suetleg found it rather puzzling.
What on earth had the Count of Zillkild been counting on when he threw out such an insult?
Did he figure Johan couldn't cross over yet, since the south wasn't fully pacified? Or had he simply dismissed him as some nobody from a family he'd never heard of?
He can't possibly be that stupid...
"Has Amien been well?"
"Well enough, I'd imagine. No complaints have reached me."
Suetleg took no particular interest in Izellia's daughter. Noble education, after all, was the concern of the tutors hired to provide it — not of the lord or the lord's deputy.
With no reports of trouble, the girl was presumably getting along fine.
"I should go see her, and bring gifts while I'm at it."
"Smitten with an elf of the Blua family though you may be, isn't this going a bit far? ...Well, do as you like."
Suetleg couldn't make sense of Johan's tastes, but he let it pass. Young passion was meant to burn hot when it burned at all, wasn't it? And tastes came in all varieties...
"Is this the horse?"
"It is."
Amien's eyes lit up as she reached out to pet the bicorn. The beast recoiled in disgust, and Johan seized its mane to hold it in place.
—Snort!
The bicorn endured it with the most hate-filled look imaginable, while Amien happily stroked its mane.
"I hear you've been studying hard. Here."
Johan handed Amien the gifts. Dazzled by treasures more lavish than anything she'd received in her life, she blinked in astonishment and glanced around nervously.
"What are you looking for?"
"The chamberlain... no, I mean... Lady Blua..."
"You could simply call her Mother."
"But Mother scolds me for it."
Izellia wanted Amien to behave like a proper noble in Johan's presence. And a proper noble, in her view, had to know how to speak with full formality and ceremony.
As far as Johan could see, though, there was no need for all that. Going through an hour of dressing and fussing under a crowd of maids and attendants just to bow for a greeting, then withdrawing to do it all over again — wasn't that just... inefficient?
"Tell her she's forbidden from scolding you. No one can honestly be angry over something so small. And I already told her the treasures were coming, so don't worry."
Amien's face brightened, and she threw her arms around Johan. With so little difference in their ages, they looked almost like brother and sister.
"I'll treasure these, I promise!"
"No. I'm assigning you homework. Tell me which of these pieces are valuable and which are cheap."
"...?"
Amien was taken aback. She hadn't expected an assignment.
"If I get it wrong... do you take them back...?"
"No. They're yours now. But if you're going to hold treasure, shouldn't you know what kind of treasure it is? Guess correctly, and I'll give you this ring as well."
Amien nodded quickly. There was no reason in the world to refuse.
"Oh, right. My lord. I, um, I've been practicing the bow earnestly. Would you watch me?"
"Have you, now?"
It seemed the archery Johan's men had displayed had caught her interest. She had apparently practiced quite hard in his absence — there were calluses visible on her fingers.
"As it happens, I've had a few bows set aside that would suit you. If your skill comes along well enough, you may use them."
"!"
"Ah. One moment."
Johan stopped halfway to walking with her toward the castle's archery range. Now that he thought about it, he had promised to patrol the territory with Izellia today.
She'd probably prefer I spend the time with Amien anyway?
Partly to make up for his absence on the punitive campaign, Johan called over a maid and said,
"Tell Izellia that today's patrol is postponed to tomorrow. Amien wants to learn the bow."
"Yes, my lord."
Amien, watching from nearby, asked with a hint of worry,
"Won't she be disappointed?"
"Izellia isn't the type. Now — take up the bow. Let's see how familiar you've become with it."
"My lady, this stretch of coast is my favorite stretch of coast. To the side, you can see the waves of the Edene Sea rolling in. The people around here used to say it looked like a goddess's hair."
"I see. It's beautiful. Not as beautiful as you, though."
"......"
"?"
Johan was puzzled. Usually a line like that should have sent Izellia scarlet with embarrassment. Instead she had gone glum and silent, offering no reply at all.
"Izellia. Are you not listening?"
"Oh! My lord. What did you say?"
"No... never mind."
"N-no, I'm sorry. It was my fault, so please don't be angry."
"I'm not angry."
Izellia fidgeted restlessly, and finally spoke.
"...I was worrying that you don't really enjoy these patrols."
"I don't? I was happily taking it in, thinking, so my territory has places like this..."
"You put off yesterday's patrol too, using Amien as the excuse..."
"That was because Amien wanted to show off."
By the time a man was a count, he didn't personally teach his own daughter the bow. It was customary to assign a professional knight or hire a proper instructor instead.
Which meant Izellia couldn't help but wonder whether Johan had invented an excuse to avoid riding out with her.
Honestly, it was hard to say whether riding the territory's edges as a pair was even enjoyable for Johan — it was delightful for Izellia, but for him?
And come to think of it, it did seem a little dull and tedious...
"Come here, Izellia."
"?!"
Johan lifted Izellia up with one hand and settled her in front of him. The bicorn reared and thrashed like something possessed. It seemed to find Izellia utterly repugnant.
"Stay still, or I'll kill you."
There was genuine killing intent in Johan's voice. The bicorn shuddered all over and went quiet.
"...I-I have been still, my lord."
"That was for the horse, not you."
Johan drew the trembling Izellia into his arms. When he bit her long ear lightly, her stiff, rigid body melted soft in an instant. He could feel it even through her heavy armor.
"M-my... my lord... this is a little embarrassing..."
"Do I still seem like someone who doesn't enjoy the patrols?"
"No! You clearly love them! P-please, just not here..."
Whatever misunderstanding Izellia had conjured, Johan simply held her in silence. Once he stopped moving, she seemed to calm as well.
"Shall we walk a little further like this?"
"......"
"No answer — which means you like the idea. Good."
"My lord count! An envoy from the House of Mulque has arrived with the ransom—"
Ahir's third son came galloping up in high spirits, then pulled up short. Izellia's face flamed crimson with mortification.
"I... I saw nothing at all, my lord count."