An Invitation from the Conspirators
Whatever Johan's suspicions, the offer had been pure goodwill. Neither Jusban nor the Emperor had any intention whatsoever of putting Johan in the vanguard.
And it wasn't merely battlefield courtesy. Anyone with a head on their shoulders knew better than to hand dirty work to an outsider who could pack up and leave at any moment in a situation like this.
Besides, the forces in the best shape of all were Johan's own men.
"Understood. I'll order my soldiers to stand watch."
"Your soldiers, my lord?"
"?"
The Emperor looked puzzled. Then what had he expected Johan to do, use someone else's men? The Emperor reacting that way, Johan didn't bother to press the point further. He was a little nonplused, but if the other party insisted on doing the unpleasant work themselves, so much the better.
"Still, let my own soldiers join the watch as well."
"You would do that? My thanks for the courtesy."
"And mine for yours, my lord."
Jusban's face brightened too. Command an army long enough, and you learn that the problem is always the people. Anyone who'd spent his career running a mercenary band knew he couldn't simply command in isolation — he had to meet his employers, coordinate with others hired under the same contract, sometimes even negotiate with men who had once been his enemies. When you found someone you actually understood, it was a joy beyond measure. Johan was exactly that kind of man. He'd won an enormous feat of arms, yet showed neither arrogance nor greed because of it. He spoke the same before a battle as he did after one. Ability alone doesn't earn trust — but a man like this did.
"I'll set my men to standing guard as well."
"...?"
Johan had said it offhandedly, just to be careful, and now the Emperor first, then Jusban, were both offering to join in. He was starting to grow genuinely puzzled.
What's wrong with these people? Were they suspicious of each other too?
-By the direct order of Count Yeats himself. Do not relax your vigilance.
-Count Yeats, huh...
With the order handed down from above, the centurions and decurions took their posts on watch, wound tight as bowstrings. The enemy wasn't exactly at their doorstep — they'd withdrawn far off toward the reservoir and pitched a fresh camp — but if Count Yeats said so, there had to be something to it. He wasn't even their own commander, yet the soldiers chose to trust him first. That's simply human nature: witness a miracle, and you start believing in the stranger who showed it to you. Besides, the feverish confusion after the battle was the perfect soil for rumors to spread.
"Huh... they're just leaving?"
"Think they've got something hidden up their sleeves?"
"Scouts swept the area around their camp. Found nothing, they said."
But the heathen army concluded their negotiations without any trickery whatsoever and quietly withdrew. Their morale was low, naturally — this was no victorious departure — and their manner was cautious, but there wasn't a hidden scheme in it anywhere. The soldiers were baffled at first, and then the reason dawned on them.
"Ah, right. They couldn't pull anything because the Count saw through them."
"That must be it."
An impression once settled does not fade easily. There could easily have been grumbling about being made to stand guard for nothing — instead, not a single word of complaint.
"...I swear it. I will return."
Yeheman glanced back over his shoulder through gritted teeth. The half-shattered gate fortress burned painfully in his eyes.
"My master was not defeated, my lord."
"He came all this way and goes home with nothing to show for it — if that isn't defeat, then what is it!"
Yeheman had been swollen with dreams of taking the fortress and marching east beyond it. With all of that collapsed at once, his resentment knew no bounds. Vinashitim still had teeth left, and the Republic's men were no pushovers either — of course, he had anticipated as much. He hadn't expected the Emperor to come in person, but that had turned out to be an even better opportunity.
In the far distance, the banner of Count Yeats fluttered in the wind. Several of the nobles nearby began to moan. A mere banner in the distance, and they were shivering with terror — it was quite the spectacle. Yeheman started to rebuke them, then stopped. These were men returning home from a failed campaign. Their insides were already churning; what good would scolding do?
"Lord Bashhar."
"Yes, Lord Yeheman."
Bashhar, who had been taken captive by Johan and ransomed back during the negotiations, was trembling. Had the mood been a pleasant one, perhaps it wouldn't have mattered — but the air was ugly and gloomy with defeat. If even a sliver of the blame drifted his way, his head could roll. Fortunately, Yeheman did no such thing. Cutting off the neck of a valuable talent who had observed the situation at Johan's side was something only a fool would do.
"What manner of man was Count Yeats?"
"Quite... quite a cultured and courteous man, my lord."
"...What?"
Yeheman asked again without thinking, and the surrounding nobles doubled back in disbelief at their own ears.
"What nonsense is that?"
"Did the heathen pay you off?"
"Silence, all of you! He hasn't even finished speaking — where do you get off interrupting?"
At Yeheman's bellow, quiet returned. Bashhar broke into a cold sweat. Everyone around him wore expressions of utter incredulity, but there was nothing he could do about it. Could he very well lie?
Haltingly, Bashhar recounted what he had experienced. The man spoke the Ancient Imperial Language, naturally, and the Eastern tongue as well, and had treated him with considerable courtesy. Now and then he had even picked up baduk stones and played against Bashhar — and his skill had been terrifying.
"It must have been someone else."
"Perhaps a twin..."
"Bashhar is not a man to lie. Enough, all of you."
With that, Yeheman turned and walked away. It had shaken him too deeply; he needed some time to think alone. But the other nobles were not so restrained. They seized on Bashhar and tried to wring answers out of him until they could believe it.
"Doesn't he torture sacrifices in his spare time and offer them up to demons? Think of his strength — it would have been impossible without a pact with a demon!"
"And this cultured, learned bearing? That's precisely how you were deceived. Demons are endlessly cunning by nature. No ordinary man can withstand that silver tongue!"
Exhausted by the endless questions, Bashhar finally gave them exactly what they wanted.
"Now that you mention it, he did seem somewhat demonic."
"I knew it...!"
"He kept a mage in his service, and at night he would take that mage into his tent."
"Wicked sorcery, then."
"And beneath him served elves. They were savage things, superb in horsemanship and the spear and the sword, and..."
These were warrior nobles who read mystical significance into every one of Johan's actions — but about the elves, they reacted with great realism.
"Elves are always like that."
"Damnable pointy-eared devils, the lot of them."
The elven kind, mostly nobles of the West, were infamous among the East's warriors as well. Once they appeared on a field, they came armored in sturdy warhorses and plate, sharp lances couched, driving a charge that had cracked even the Ancient Empire's fortress walls. The finest-mounted knights of the East came off second-best against the elven knights.
Bashhar was thrown off when the warriors reacted so indifferently. Honestly, the elves had struck him as the most ferocious and bloodthirsty element in Johan's entire camp — and this was the response they got?
"Th-those elves were unusually savage, though."
"Elves are always like that, I tell you. It's in their blood. Never mind that — tell us more about the Count's mage. What manner of sorcery did he practice?"
Only after the fleet had fully vanished over the horizon could Johan finally let the tension drain out of his shoulders.
They really are just... leaving?
He honestly couldn't believe it. It had been a cold, rational decision on their part, of course — but people didn't behave rationally by nature. Had he been in their position, he wouldn't have blamed them for digging in stubbornly to salvage something from the loss...
"What is it?"
"The enemy has withdrawn."
Izeliya rubbed her eyes and sat up on the camp cot. Beside her lay a heap of the arms and armor she'd looted. There had originally been heads among the spoils too, until Johan had recoiled in horror and made her haul them outside.
"You must be tired. Why not rest a while longer?"
"I'm fine. Not tired at all."
At that, Johan turned his head and looked at her. Izeliya, misreading the look in his eyes, flushed and waved her hands.
"N-not that it means we'd start first thing in the morning or anything."
"...I wasn't thinking anything of the sort. Well, if you're not tired, call your squire and get ready. I'd like to look around."
The enemy was gone, and Johan had collected the gold he'd set his sights on. By rights he should have departed at once, but the world rarely obliged so neatly. The port's governor, for one, wanted Johan to stay a while longer — no one with any sense relaxed their guard the instant the enemy vanished, not after what had happened. Considering his future relationship with the governor, it was the least he could do. A few more months of lingering to put minds at ease was money in the bank.
Oh, right. And there's still the Grand Equerry.
Holed up inside the fortress, he'd almost forgotten — but come to think of it, this Grand Equerry fellow was the man who'd sent an envoy to hurl an insult in Johan's face. In the urgency of battle he'd let it slide, but now that the Emperor was here too, it was time to settle accounts.
"My lord. We're going out hunting — would you care to join us?"
"Hunting?"
Johan blinked at Jusban's words. He was well aware that nobles dragged personal chefs and retinues of squires onto campaign and enjoyed themselves to the hilt even in the field — but he hadn't taken Jusban for that sort. He'd seemed pragmatic enough not to bother with such things.
So I was wrong.
Catching something in Jusban's eyes that said there was more to say, Johan nodded.
"Very well."
Once Izeliya, who had been riding alongside, bolted off after the quarry, Jusban spoke up as if he'd been waiting for precisely this moment.
"My lord. What are your thoughts on Leoanos?"
"I have none."
There was a debt to collect, true, but it was nothing like a bitter blood grudge. Johan wasn't the sort to be rattled by an insult in the first place.
Jusban seemed satisfied with the answer. He glanced around, then lowered his voice.
"In that case, my lord — if Leoanos were to die, it would cause you no trouble, would it?"
"...?!"
Johan started at the words. He'd been about to ask whether the man had lost his mind, acting without authorization — then caught himself. On reflection, Jusban was hardly the type to move on his own initiative in a matter like this.
"Did the Emperor put you up to it?"
"...!"
Now it was Jusban's turn to be astonished. Even granting everything, to hit the mark that instantly — the man was nearly old enough to be Jusban's own son, yet he acted every inch the wily old noble.
"Y-yes, my lord. How did you know?"
"Doesn't seem the sort of thing you'd do on your own. Hmm... can Leoanos be killed?"
"He has already committed a grave blunder, and His Majesty has won a great victory in this battle. The timing, I would say, could not be better."
The young Emperor needed military glory. All the more so if he meant to crush his rivals and secure his throne.
I see. So that's why he brought his own guard and came in person.
He'd won that gamble. If he meant to act boldly, the moment was now — and the great majority of people would side with the Emperor.
"I didn't ask whether it's acceptable to kill him. I asked whether it can be done. From what I saw, he's a thorough sort of man."
"Ah, that's what you meant. Yes — in fact, His Majesty has invited Leoanos to a banquet."
With the battle concluded, the plan was to hold a grand feast near the city in celebration of the victory, as an occasion of praise and commendation.
Of course, on that alone, suspicion might still gnaw at the other side — which was why Jusban himself would be present, and why they wanted Johan to attend as well. With plenty of other guests around the table, surely no one would dare draw blood.
"Even Leoanos won't be able to refuse."
Leoanos, after all, had never imagined the Emperor would march an army out and win. Backing out of a victory feast with excuses in such circumstances would be an unbearable burden.
"So you're asking my permission?"
"Yes. It would be an outrageous discourtesy to maneuver behind the Count's back without a word, wouldn't it?"
"Much obliged, Sir Jusban. How thoughtful of my reputation."
"Ah — His Majesty asked me to convey the request."
"...?"
Johan was momentarily nonplused. Normally one simply cut a man down in silence and then apologized after the fact — 'had no choice, forgive me' — didn't one? It would doubtless leave a sour taste in Johan's mouth, but that was how these things were done; security came first. Even Johan would have handled it the same way. The resentment, after all, could be smoothed over with gold later...
Unnecessarily considerate. That's exactly what makes it suspicious.
Now that he had something to lose, unlike the penniless days, even an ally's goodwill made him wary. In any case, this particular offer cost him nothing. Johan nodded.
"Tell His Majesty to do as he pleases."
"Yes, my lord! Thank you."