The Price of Tenfold Gold
"I refuse."
It had been an dishonorable proposal from the start, so Johan didn't bother with courtesies. Ulrike, apparently having expected as much, immediately made her next offer.
"What if I doubled it?"
"I refuse all the same."
"Four times. You hate that too? Then how about ten times?"
"......"
Johan was stunned. Honestly, he hadn't expected her to go that high. Ten times was a price that would buy betrayal over and over again. He simply couldn't understand offering ten times Stefan's worth in the first place.
So that was her plan all along.
Ulrike seemed to catch his thought as well, gazing at him with leisurely patience. It was a beautiful face, but that beauty somehow recalled a serpent venomous enough to kill with a single bite. Clenching and unclenching his fist at the unpleasant sensation, Johan held her gaze.
"What's left now? Ah, right. I suppose you can't kill him by your own hand. You are a knight, after all. I wouldn't dream of asking that much of you. All you have to do is close your eyes. Just get that insufferable wolf out of the way, and the men I've sent will handle the rest."
Her confident attitude grated on Johan's nerves in a peculiar way. She seemed to genuinely believe that an offer like this would be accepted without question.
Truth be told, it was the kind of offer most other knights probably would have taken.
Knights were people in the end.
Just as the most devout believer could lust after gold and tell lies, a knight could be every bit as honest with his own desires.
Honor was a knight's armor — but where no one was watching, even armor could come off.
She understood that well enough. It was why she'd demanded this private meeting.
"This is my family's territory. If he dies here, the disgrace falls on my house, not yours. There. Have I covered everything? What more consideration do you need? Shall I invite you hunting? Do you need an excuse to be away from your post?"
"Isn't that an awfully steep price for killing a younger brother with no claim to succession?"
"You can say that only because you're an ignorant, blockheaded knight."
Ulrike sneered.
"Do you have any idea how much money my idiot little bloodsack has wasted? And how much he'll waste going forward? Count Abner spends coin on him because he's family blood, but I think differently. What matters first and foremost is the family. The firstborn who will carry it forward. The fortune being squandered now is the family's money — but it's my money too. Better to deal with it quickly before any more drains away."
"You're more candid than I expected. It's rather disorienting."
"You're a wandering knight. Even if you run your mouth out there, who's going to believe a word you say?"
"If you're so capable, I could hand him back over. Deal with him yourself."
"Are you playing dumb, or are you actually dumb? Once he's in the Count's hands, you can't kill him like this anymore. He'd be cheap again, and he'd come back."
Apparently finding further conversation tiresome, Ulrike drew out a certificate. It bore the seal of a merchant guild — a note of credit that could be exchanged for the promised sum on sight.
Thud—
She tossed the certificate down in front of him.
She doesn't consider the possibility I might just take it and run?
She wasn't merely unconcerned — she clearly had the confidence to deal with him even if he did flee. Anyone willing to spend a thousand gold coins to have a brother killed could surely spend far more.
"Now. Enough talk. Make your decision. What will it be?"
Ulrike wore the expression of someone utterly certain Johan would accept. He answered flatly.
"I refuse."
"...You're serious?"
"Dead serious. You made your case at length, so I'll return the courtesy. First, if he's truly as precious as the Count makes him out to be, then even if it's not my fault, the grudge could land squarely on me. Hearts don't settle debts that cleanly."
"......"
When Johan touched on a point she hadn't considered, Ulrike's expression twisted subtly. He wasn't wrong. People could sometimes vent their grievances on someone entirely uninvolved — all the more so if that someone was already easy to hate.
"And even if I could trust you, you have no reason to trust me. I'd have no way to retaliate."
"By that logic, no trade in the world could ever happen."
"Which is why, when dealing with someone stronger than me, I deal with people comparatively more trustworthy."
At Johan's words, Ulrike glared at him. Johan was entirely unbothered.
"So. Are we done talking?"
"No. One last reason remains — the largest of all."
"?"
"My honor—"
"Ah, spare me. You said yourself no one's watching or listening."
"Hear me to the end. Setting my honor aside, I made a promise to Stefan, and breaking it first would leave a bad taste. Stefan may be a wretched piece of work, but he hasn't yet done anything so grievous that breaking my word to kill him would be justified."
With that, Johan rose from his seat. Any further conversation would only harm them both.
"Then I'll take my leave."
Ulrike's face went slack, as if she'd just glimpsed some rare, mythical beast.
If what he'd just said wasn't honor, then what in the world was?
"Hm. It's true, then — Lady Ulrike tried to have you killed. Honestly, I only half believed it."
"...How exactly did you confirm that?"
"She came to me and asked me to step aside so she could have you killed. Said she'd pay me several times over in gold."
"......"
Stefan clutched his head and buried his face in the blanket. He hadn't imagined she'd propose it so brazenly.
"D-don't worry. Once we reach the Count, she won't dare try anything."
"She didn't strike me as the type to give up."
"Wait... don't tell me you were bribed. What about the promise?! What happened to the promise?!"
"You really have a gift for handling people. A silver tongue that makes even an unbribed man want to be bribed. Relax. I didn't take the deal."
"R-really?"
Stefan looked up at Johan with wary eyes.
He knew Ulrike's skill at manipulation from bitter, repeated experience. Hadn't she wound the entire castle's staff around her finger like so much thread?
"I don't make shady contracts with people I can't control. Lady Ulrike is... something of a demon in that respect."
"...Ahahahaha!"
Stefan, mid-shudder of fear, broke into laughter instead. He'd never heard anyone speak of Ulrike that way.
"Th-that's right! She does have something demonic about her!"
I said she was easy to handle, and he didn't catch that part?
Still chuckling, Stefan finally wrestled his laughter under control and spoke.
"Yes. Well thought out, truly. Better not to make deals that shady. If I make it home safely, I can pay you some gold on top of your ransom fee. I give you my word."
"You?"
Johan asked with undisguised incredulity. At that bald contempt, Stefan flared up.
"You think a knight like you has more money than I do?!"
He could accept being scorned for his lack of martial prowess. But scorned for his lack of money — never. Especially not by a knight like that.
"Ah, don't take it the wrong way. But you're not the firstborn, and you've no inheritance to speak of. Where exactly would this gold be coming from?"
A noble's power flowed from his lands. Even the impoverished Eitz family had managed to kit out expensive arms and attendants to bring along on the road.
The reason Ulrike could fling gold around so freely was the territories she'd already received. A house's heir, upon coming of age, was granted certain domains in advance.
But Stefan?
"......"
Poked squarely in his sore spot, Stefan fell silent. He deliberated for a while before opening his mouth.
"There are ways to come up with it."
"You're not planning to squeeze it out of the Count, are you?"
"What kind of insane...?!"
"Suit yourself. Either way, now that you've said it, I'll try to keep my hopes up."
Johan didn't believe it for a moment. Could Stefan really raise that kind of gold?
Johan and the knights entered the castle without surrendering their arms. It was a privilege won by victory.
The moment they stepped inside, resentful glares flew at them from every direction. Not a single vassal of the house had escaped losses from this war's defeat, and naturally, none of them were wearing pleasant expressions.
—We should have just accepted that blasted peace, shouldn't we?
—And then what? Have you any idea how much we owe that oak of a moneylender?
—And winter is nearly upon us. The mercenaries are already deserting as it is — you think they'll sit still once the snow comes?
Wars were meant to be prepared in winter and begun in spring — never the other way around. With supplies already lagging, fighting through winter was suicide.
And with their commander captured, the knights and mercenary captains had been handed the perfect excuse.
Retreating the very next day was only natural.
—Never again should Sir Stefan be given an army. His Lordship seems to have wanted to grant him a chance at glory, but he should have packed the boy off to a monastery instead.
—Well said.
Stefan's face burned crimson. There was no way he couldn't hear himself being reviled.
"His Lordship enters!"
The chamberlain announced it, and only after those present had paid their respects did the Count enter the hall. Wrapped in costly silk, he had the look of an aging wildcat. His enormous frame radiated the raw presence only a titled noble could display.
"Why do you bear arms within my castle?"
"Pardon? Did Your Lordship not grant permission?"
"I granted nothing. Lay down your arms."
The Count raised a hand. At the signal, the armored footmen beside him pressed forward a single deliberate step, bearing down on the company.
There were more of them than usual, better armed — and the intent behind it was unmistakable.
We've been had.
Count Zarfen's envoy bit his tongue. The Count had seemed so obliging about granting passage — had this been the reason?
A simple way to reclaim his face and dignity in front of his vassals.
The knights here couldn't overturn a negotiation over something this slight. The Count was toying right along the edge of the line where a treaty would be rendered void.
The knights seemed to understand as much; one by one, sour-faced, they began preparing to lay down their weapons.
But Johan was different. Unlike the Zarfen knights, he owed the Count nothing that required such delicacy.
"If you want my weapons—"
"...?"
"You'll have to take them from my corpse. Hands off."
The advancing footman shot the Count a bewildered look. He hadn't expected a reaction like this.
"Are you the knight they call the Troll-Slayer of Marcel?"
"I am, my lord."
"I understood you to be a hedge knight. Were you a man of House Zarfen?"
"I merely accepted an invitation. I am not a man of House Zarfen."
"Then why did you involve yourself in the war?"
"There was no help for it — my honor demanded it."
"Am I to understand from that, you bear no particular grudge against House Abner?"
"None whatsoever, my lord."
"Then, in respect of that honor, I grant you the privilege."
When the Count yielded so readily, it was Johan's turn to be surprised. From reputation alone, he'd sounded far more volatile — but the manner he displayed was cold as forged steel.
That exchange had, in effect, been an offer of reconciliation.
I bear you no grudge, so you'll bear none toward me.
It was a rational posture, to be sure. But people were rarely rational by nature — and the higher their station, the less so.
Johan felt anew just how cold the blood of aristocrats trained to rule could run. By comparison, men like Johan and the other knights ran practically hot-blooded.
"My Lord! However much Your Lordship may have granted permission, I feel my honor has been stained. Grant me the chance to restore it — let my son face the Troll-Slayer in single combat!"
And there it was.
At the sight of an old knight bursting out of nowhere, Johan realized his reputation had spread rather further than he'd thought. The mere fact that someone wanted to test himself against Johan one-on-one meant Johan was considered worth defeating. Otherwise, the man would never have stepped forward at all.
Nobody sings your praises for cutting down some worthless bandit in a duel. Johan had now reached the level where honor-hungry knights would come hunting him.
Do NOT accept!
"?"
Behind him, Stefan whispered in a voice small and desperate.