Connections!
Connections!
In this world, they mattered several times more than anywhere else — as Johan was already discovering in this very city, in fact.
After all, hadn't he joined Eldans's caravan in the first place precisely to forge a tie with this merchant guild?
Iaon, the Kettana Merchant Guild's branch manager in the city of Marcel, listened to Eldans's report with an expression of genuine fascination. True to her cat beastfolk nature, her ears and tail stood at attention, twitching.
"So you had an auspicious meeting?"
"Yes. All thanks to the grace of Saint Ruach."
"And so... what do you suppose his reason is?"
Eldans didn't flinch at the abrupt question. He had already grasped what she meant.
Knights who were not the firstborn of their houses — those who inherited no domain — fell into a few distinct categories.
Those born of a good noble house would receive their accolade in a family allied by blood or marriage and serve as knights within that house's circle. To be unable to claim a domain yet still act as a knight under the family's shelter was, in itself, a considerable stroke of fortune.
Of course, that was the case when everything went beautifully...
If a knight failed to secure such a footing, he had no choice but to wander the roads, entering tournaments and hunting monsters to build renown while he watched for opportunity. Every so often an ambitious one would approach a noble and beg to be taken on as a retainer, but such cases were rare.
And one step below that?
Then came the rogue knight — a man who drifted from battlefield to battlefield alongside mercenaries, until one day he turned bandit outright.
Johan was clearly no knight of a well-placed noble house. If he were, he would not have been traveling the way he did. A minor or fallen noble lineage, without question...
But then, with equipment of that quality, with skill to match — why had he come to the guild instead of seeking out the tournaments and other occasions where nobles' eyes might fall upon him?
Knights might as readily plunder merchants as look at them; they did not come to a merchant guild pleading for work. It was an odd thing, decidedly.
That was what Iaon was asking him to explain.
"I believe it is ambition, my lady."
"Ambition?"
"Yes. What else would drive a knight of noble blood to approach a guild like this? Surely you don't imagine he came hunting for a few coins?"
Eldans's words were the correct answer — though he himself never realized he'd stumbled into it.
"A man without ambition would not make such a choice. He must have come here precisely because he harbors the ambition to distinguish himself as a knight and earn a domain of his own."
An ordinary knight recoiled from rubbing shoulders with merchants. So why had this one sought out the guild?
Clearly because he possessed an ambition great enough to cast such conventions aside.
A hungry lion crouches low, and will not scorn to eat carrion!
A man who means to grow his power will grasp any hand offered!
"Just as I suspected. I had reached the same conclusion."
"It works to the guild's benefit as well, surely. To have a trustworthy knight bound to us by connection..."
At Eldans's words, Iaon nodded.
Guild and knight could raise each other up. The guild needed armed strength to shield its caravans and traders; the knight needed gold to arm himself and feed his men.
The trouble was that the two parties did not, as a rule, get along!
Few knights looked upon merchant guilds with anything resembling favor.
To a knight, merchants were grasping, gold-mad creatures; to a merchant, a knight was a monster wearing nothing but an empty title on its head.
But if Johan was, as Eldans claimed, a thoughtful man who did not regard listening to merchants as some disgrace...
Then this connection was unquestionably worth investing in.
"Very good. I will report favorably to the higher offices."
"Thank you."
"I trust your eye, Eldans. Now, that knight is settled for the moment... Is the imperial situation truly as dire as they say?"
"Yes. It looks as though a great war is coming."
"I thought as much."
The Emperor, in his drive to crush the momentum of the anti-Imperial faction, had trampled a handful of nobles as a warning to the rest. The charges were plausible enough, but everyone knew they were nonsense.
And that reckless overreach had enraged the lords of the realm.
This was no mere grumbling — mercenaries were being hired, envoys were passing back and forth behind closed doors, and the air had turned distinctly ugly.
He styled himself an Emperor crowned by God's own hand, but in truth he was an Emperor elected by the votes of the prince-electors. And even his power differed little from that of the great lords.
For him to overstep that line now — the nobles had every reason to rage. It was not as though they lacked swords and were holding their peace.
"We may need to start dissuading the guild's peddlers from traveling into that region. The roads nearby are restless enough as it is."
"?"
I shouldn't have come.
Johan regretted it. Now he understood why Eldans had said, Wait at your lodgings and I'll send someone to fetch you.
For Johan to wait inside the guild building made everyone awkward.
Even having heard about Johan from Eldans, the guild staff were not brave enough to approach him first — and since they clearly shied away from him, he could hardly break the ice himself. He had no wish to pester people who were busy for no reason.
He'd come wanting to see and hear a few things firsthand, and this was what he got for it.
Goidun, slave though he was, had been a traveling merchant, and it showed — he chatted with the guild staff with practiced ease, trading this bit of gossip and that. The staff, for their part, seemed to find it no great strain to talk to a slave, and spoke with him warmly, laughing as they went. Johan had hoped someone would strike up conversation with him, but the cautious employees much preferred talking to the slave.
Damn it.
In the end, all Johan could do was sit there stiff and solemn, staring into nothing.
As the awkward, silent minutes crawled past, a commotion rose from outside. Presently the door swung open, and a human elder wrapped in robes stepped into the hall.
He's not an assassin, surely.
Johan regarded the old man with that useless thought. He was certainly no warrior — his back was straight, his eyes keen and bright, but that was all.
The elder came attended by two slaves of his own. They wore plain clothes, but both were powerfully built. One could tell at a glance they knew how to fight.
"Master Suetleug, welcome. What brings you here?"
One of the staff, who apparently knew the old man, spoke in a flustered voice. It was customary to arrange an appointment before seeking the branch manager. Making someone of higher station cool their heels was an imposition on both sides — and, frankly, one awkward guest in the room was already enough.
"I've come to see the branch manager. What, is there some reason an old man like me can't come calling?"
"Not at all — I'll inform her at once."
"No need. I'm a busy man; I'll wait here."
"But—"
"Don't make me say it twice."
When the old man waved his hand in dismissal, the staff hesitated, then backed off. His notoriously foul temper was well known to all of them.
The elder glanced about the room, then fixed his gaze on Johan and put on an expression of mild interest. Johan, who had been studying the old man with equal curiosity, happened to meet his eyes.
Two odd men out, neither of them belonging here.
"A knight, are you?"
Johan nodded. The old man grinned — a crooked smile loaded with meanings. There was amusement in it, the pleasure of a bored man who had stumbled onto an interesting distraction; and there was confidence, too, the assurance that he had nothing to fear from the fellow's rank.
Well, to be fair, my knighthood is only the sort of thing that frightens fools who don't know any better.
A noble's rank could bow the necks of commoners, but only that far, and no farther. A noble's power flowed from his backing. A noble with neither house nor domain could do very little in a city like this.
The reason Johan was received with any courtesy in this guild was Eldans's vouching and his fine equipment. Had he strolled in empty-handed and announced, I'm a noble — show me proper respect, the merchants of this city would have called the guards on the spot.
"And you, sir — who might you be?"
"You don't know me, it seems. I am Suetleug — the Sage of the Ipael River."
"...?"
The old man smirked and tried again.
"Shall I put it more simply so you'll understand? I am a mage."
"Oh...!"
"Oh... Is that all the reaction I get?"
Suetleug was astonished. Thick-skulled nobles aside, it was rare among young knights to find one who brightened at the word mage.
The knightly virtues were valor, justice, and loyalty — values far removed from the mage's craft. The words suited to a mage were suspicion and ambiguity, a dark craft whose schemes no honest man could fathom.
And yet here was Johan, looking absolutely delighted.
...What is wrong with this fellow?
"A pleasure to meet you, Master Suetleug. A mage, of all things — I've long wished to meet one."
"...I, er... is that so?"
"If it's no trouble, I'd hoped to hear a bit about magic, if you'd allow it."
In the rural domain where Johan had lived, magic had been treated as little more than legend and tavern rumor. Seeing a real mage with his own eyes, he couldn't help but marvel.
By this opportunity, I'll learn everything there is to learn about magic!
...Seriously, what is wrong with this guy?
All the while, Johan remained blissfully unaware that he was being regarded as a most peculiar specimen.
Flustered as he was, Suetleug quickly recovered his composure. He nodded slowly and spoke.
"Since fate has seen us met, I suppose there's no reason I can't oblige."
"Oh."
"But simply answering questions would be no fun at all. Defeat me at a single game, and I'll answer whatever you wish to know."
"Oh..."
That second oh was a deflated one. Johan cursed inwardly.
Damn it. I should have practiced harder.
It was precisely because a man who couldn't play — or played badly — would naturally find it hard to work his way into their circles that Johan had bent his head over the chessboard with Father Valberga back home, drilling the game into himself on the faith that it would prove useful someday.
Father Valberga was an accomplished player...
But Johan had been a poor student.
At his most generous, one might call him average. He'd never cared much for chess, so of course he hadn't improved.
"Any chance of a different wager? Dice, perhaps?"
Or arm-wrestling.
"?"
At Johan's baffled look, Suetleug clicked his tongue.
With that, the old man snapped his fingers, and one of his slaves came forward and set out a board.
It was a Go board.
"......"
Johan wore a dazed expression. Suetleug misread it entirely.
"Rather a lot of squares, eh? I'll explain the rules simply — don't you worry. I'll grant you a handicap, seeing as it's your first time."
"...Ah. Yes."
Johan clenched his jaw hard.
It was to keep from laughing.