The Prophet Sweeps the Board
"You two... what exactly are you doing?"
"Ah. Branch Manager Iaon. It has been a while."
"So this is the branch manager? A pleasure to meet you."
As Swetleg and Johan exchanged greetings, Iaon gave a bewildered nod. At a glance, the two of them appeared to be playing a game of Go. And the state of the board...
Swetleg is... losing?
One look was enough — Swetleg was losing in spectacular, catastrophic fashion. That alone left Iaon all the more flustered. This was a master who had once defeated even one of the Sultan's own master strategists over the board.
"Well, the branch manager's here, so this is where we stop. A shame, but what can you do."
With that, Swetleg swept the stones from the board with his hand. Johan stared at him with an expression of pure disbelief, but Swetleg avoided his gaze and strode on ahead.
"Is he always like that?"
"N-no. More to the point — were the two of you acquainted?"
"Today is the first I've met him."
Iaon quietly revised her opinion of Johan.
That he got along so well with Swetleg suggested this knight was every bit as eccentric as the old wizard himself.
"Swetleg, you may speak first."
"Much obliged. Since the knight is being so courteous, I'll begin with why I've come. Branch Manager. You're aware there's been trouble brewing to the southeast of late?"
"?"
Johan was puzzled. Trouble to the southeast?
Seeing that Johan didn't understand, Swetleg obligingly explained.
Stray mercenaries had been drifting in from every direction of late, and before anyone knew it, they had banded together into a horde of bandits. Their numbers had already swelled past a hundred, turning the nearby forest into a nightmare; travelers and merchants passing through the region had taken to detouring far out of their way rather than risk the road.
Naturally, the city of Marcel could hardly sit by and watch. The Doge and the city council had voted unanimously for a punitive expedition, and with the city's gold, a mercenary company had been hired.
A company of over five hundred had marched into the forest to root them out. It would take some time, but the bandits would surely be crushed.
That was what everyone in the city believed.
"I suspect the subjugation will fail."
"...?!"
Iaon was startled, but she did not dismiss Swetleg's words. He was a sage with connections even to the margrave who owned the Kettana Merchant Guild. If a man like him said such a thing, there had to be meaning behind it.
"On what grounds do you say so?"
"The river and the water showed me the future."
What a staggeringly crude way to make an argument...
Johan was dumbfounded. If he were the commander and some wizard strolled into his tent claiming, the river and the water showed me the future, and it seems you lose, his response would have been, Off with the mad old man's head!
Shouldn't you at least dress it up in something a little more plausible?
And yet, for the people here, it was enough.
Unlike Johan, people took magic and superstition far, far more seriously.
"I see. Then we had best prepare ourselves."
"?!"
"That's precisely why I've come. Well, this worked out nicely."
No. That's all it takes?
"Thank you for coming all this way. Might you perhaps know why it fails?"
"I did not see that far."
"Understood."
Swetleg rose from his seat at once. It seemed he intended to leave. Iaon spoke up carefully.
"If it's no trouble, please stay a while longer."
"No thank you. The guild's lodgings are perpetually uncomfortable."
The guild would hardly have housed a mage like Swetleg in some shabby inn. They would surely have put him up in lodging fit for nobles — and even so, this was his reaction. It clearly had nothing to do with the quality of the rooms and everything to do with Swetleg's personality.
A spark flashed through Iaon's mind. With the quick wit of a superb merchant, she opened her mouth.
"It seems you've finally found a worthy opponent. Couldn't you stay here a while and play a few more games?"
"......"
Swetleg made a sour face. Honestly, calling it a worthy opponent strained his conscience a little...
But it was a tempting offer all the same. Where else was he going to find a player like this?
Iaon glanced at Johan, a silent plea in her eyes. She wanted his help.
He had already learned, and felt firsthand, that favors given to merchants were favors repaid. There was no reason to refuse.
"Shall we play a while longer together, then?"
"...Very well. Since you put it that way."
The moment the words left his mouth, Swetleg seemed to regret them, his expression turning complicated and strange. Still, having no intention of taking it back, he rose and stalked off. Once the two were alone, Iaon's face brightened.
"Thank you, Sir Johan."
"It was nothing. I'm no hand at it myself... ahem. But a game with an opponent who can actually play is a pleasure."
"Hearing you say that makes me all the more grateful. If it's no trouble — instead of the inn where you're staying now, could you lodge at the mansion where Swetleg resides?"
Johan smiled indulgently. Who knew the world held such easy profit to be had?
"I shall do so."
"Thank you truly."
"May I ask you one thing?"
"Ask away."
"Swetleg has already delivered his prophecy and left. Is there a reason to keep him here longer?"
"Ah..."
Iaon smiled wryly. True to form for a knight, he clearly had no grasp of this sort of thing.
"Swetleg's prophecies do not come cheaply. No matter how much we beg, he rarely grants one. Magic is not a thing to be cast about freely, after all."
"...?"
Johan was puzzled. Then what was the reading Swetleg had just done for him, if not a prophecy?
Had the man simply been doing him a favor?
"The longer he stays, and the better we treat him, the more prophecies we may yet receive. It was a small favor asked with that calculation in mind. Opportunities like this don't come often."
"Huh. I see. Are prophecies really worth so much?"
"A good prophecy can change the fate of the entire guild."
Prophecy of the future — certain or not — was something every soul craved. It was thanks to such prophecies that Swetleg had been able to serve as advisor to a margrave.
"Let's leave the matter of Swetleg there. I'd like to turn to you, Sir Johan."
"I'd be grateful if you did."
"Sir Johan. We have a fair idea of why you came to the guild."
"!"
Had his shallow little scheme — to make some steady money — been seen through?
Still, was there any need to rebuke me this bluntly?
"Ambition is no bad thing. And the ambition of a man with the qualifications to back it — that, if anything, is a virtue. A man like you, Sir Johan, is more than qualified to serve a worthy lord and receive a fief of his own."
"...You've seen through me."
Nonplussed as he was, Johan decided to play along with her tune for now.
An ambitious knight with his eye on land made a better impression than one who'd come sniffing for a few coins.
And honestly, the latter version of himself... looked far too petty.
"We guessed correctly, then. Please forgive us for raising it first — but we are merchants. We like to lay each other's cards on the table."
"Ah, of course."
"Sir, may we take it that you have no reservations about fighting beneath our banner?"
"None whatsoever. Not the slightest."
"Mmmm..."
Iaon let out a satisfied hum. Just as Eldans had reported, Johan was a knight truly worth taking by the hand.
He had impressed her from the very first meeting.
Despite holding a knight's rank, Johan had consistently shown her deference. Any other young knight would have relied on his status alone and behaved with arrogance.
But Johan had not.
He clearly knew his own station — and understood his position within it. Johan possessed a flexibility rarely seen in other knights.
"By the grace of Saint Ruak — may this meeting profit us both. I look forward to working with you, Sir Johan."
"And I with you."
A fief... I never even considered becoming a lord.
Johan sank into thought. Back in that rural fief of his, his first goal had simply been to get established — becoming a lord hadn't even made the list. It had been a goal far too distant to contemplate.
But listening to Iaon, it had suddenly begun to feel plausible. Becoming a lord came down, in the end, to nothing more than catching the eye of the noble who had a fief to grant, didn't it?
Win victories with the guild's backing, build up renown — who was to say such fortune wouldn't come knocking?
"Are you not going to play?"
"Ah. Yes."
Johan placed his stone. A killing move — he had devoured the wizard's largest group outright. Swetleg's face flushed crimson, then drained to a deathly pallor.
"Master wizard. Shall I grant you a handicap, then?"
"...You've kept me up half the night, you know."
"What did I do?"
"Didn't you keep the maids wailing until dawn?!"
"Ah. So you heard. My apologies."
Johan had tried to politely decline what he'd taken for a honey trap — but there was something about a cat beastwoman that made a man curious. The tail and the ears in particular.
The conclusion: cat beastwomen were, in fact, weak in the tail, exactly as rumored.
"Grant me a handicap, and I'll give you some good advice."
"Ah. Yes."
"Be careful about binding yourself too closely to the guild."
"...Is something the matter with them?"
Johan tensed. Swetleg's words were not to be taken lightly. Who knew the guild better than this man?
"Has the guild done something underhanded?"
"Underhanded, nothing. The guild is perfectly transparent. Profitable — they seize it. Unprofitable — they let it go. The problem is you, my boy. You're from the Empire, aren't you?"
"That's right."
"The Kettana Merchant Guild is aligned with the anti-Emperor faction. Once or twice you might be excused, but keep fraternizing with them, and sooner or later you — and your house — will be seen as anti-Emperor too. Don't gobble up everything the guild offers to look after for you. Think bigger."
"Er... I've made my peace with all of that."
"...Have you, now?"
"Yes."
"Then let's finish our game."
"......"
Embarrassed, Swetleg said nothing more. An awkward silence settled between them. Johan tried to smooth it over.
"This mansion really is a fine place."
Seasoned servants and maids, a beautifully kept courtyard, elegant rooms. And the meals that appeared at every mealtime were a bonus on top. Watching the treatment Swetleg received, even Johan found himself tempted by the life of a mage.
"Some noble used to live here."
"Oh? Who?"
"You expect me to remember every little thing like that? Besides, I hate this mansion. Can't hear the river at all... The only thing here that satisfies me is that creature."
Swetleg reached out to pet Karamaf. The wolf, displeased, shook his head and put distance between them.
"Though that name of his is rather ill-omened, isn't it?"
"A name should send a shiver down the spine. How else are enemies supposed to tremble?"
"Well, you're not wrong there."
As the two traded idle chatter, a courier bearing urgent news arrived at the mansion. Panting, he gulped down a glass of water before delivering his message.
"The subjugation has failed. Sir Johan. The branch manager requests your presence."
"So the prophecy came true."
Swetleg remarked idly from beside him. Swetleg knew nothing of it, but Johan was regarding him with a look of genuine, inward admiration — a look of profound irreverence.