The Glory of the East
The city of Bayen, where Duke Brudhe resided, bore the nickname Glory of the East.
The vast eastern reaches of the Empire were largely untamed wilderness. Even now, cities dating back to the days of the Ancient Empire could be counted on one hand. Venture just a little further north, and barbarians and heathens who mocked the Empire's very name would descend upon you from all directions.
Small wonder, then, that the rest of the Empire dismissed the East as savage.
Bayen, in the south of the East, was the city that answered that mockery. A beautiful and magnificent metropolis, its origins stretching back to the Ancient Empire itself.
With the tail end of the Dwarf Mountains at its back and the Denal River — born of the Ipael River — flowing through its heart, the city had never once fallen. Not even when the Ancient Empire collapsed and countless kingdoms and barbarian hordes swept across the land.
The centaur warriors wore satisfied grins. Watching Johan gaze at the city emerging in the distance filled them with pride.
"Am I saying that correctly?"
"That's fluent enough."
"The Eastern language is rather difficult."
The centaur warriors puffed out their chests. They watched Johan with visible curiosity. Among the knights who came from the Empire, none had ever bothered to learn the tongue called Eastern.
Even the eastern nobility used the Imperial tongue — there was simply no need to learn the languages spoken further east still.
"Isn't it easier than the Imperial tongue, at least?"
"Well, maybe for you lot."
"Honestly, there's really only one thing worth learning in Eastern. ■■■■."
"■■■■? What does that mean?"
The other centaurs hurried to intervene, flustered, but the warrior just grinned broadly and explained.
"Roughly: 'You, your parents, and your children — I will kill you all and bury you together in one grave.' Very useful to say before a fight."
"I'll be sure to remember that."
Though the words could have sounded insolent, Johan only chuckled and let it pass. It would certainly be practical, after all.
"Sir Knight. My name is Aclada of the Alchia Tribe. Please remember it well."
"I'll remember. A pity I didn't get the chance to show you my skills, though."
Remarkably, no monsters had appeared since the centaurs had joined them. Then again, encountering monsters on the open plains was rare in the first place.
"There will be an opportunity soon."
"?"
There was something distinctly meaningful in Aclada's words. Johan was about to ask what he meant when, far in the distance, he caught sight of a great multitude encamped across the plain.
Hundreds of warriors and thousands more besides, streaming in beneath banners bearing every manner of sigil.
These were the people come to participate in the coming accolade ceremony — and the crowds gathered to watch it.
A field packed with so many people, arranged in such orderly fashion, was a spectacle in itself.
"May the honor of Sir Knight be ■■■■ ■ ■■ ■■■■."
"Did you just insult me?"
"Why would I ever do such a thing! Haha! Sir Knight, do come visit the Alchia Tribe someday. Don't you dare forget Aclada's name."
With that, Aclada raised his arm. The centaur warriors, their escort duty complete, raced out ahead — toward the lands where their tribe dwelled.
"Lord Aclada. You must be careful how you treat the Imperial nobles."
"Why so? I rather liked that knight. We got along well, he and I. So there are knights like him even among the Imperials."
Aclada spoke cheerfully. The easy fluency of his Eastern tongue stood in stark contrast to how he carried himself with the Empire's people.
To the nomadic tribes of the east, the Empire had always been a threat to be wary of.
The same held true for those who had entered the Empire's fold.
They had sworn oaths of loyalty as vassals of the Duke, yet they never let their vigilance slacken. They were not dogs. They were wolves — and wolves are never tamed.
"Do you know how insufferable the Imperial bastards are? Men who'd take an arrow to the throat and die the moment we met them on the open plain, strutting around like they own the place..."
"There's some truth to that, I admit."
"And don't you believe that nonsense about the knight killing three werewolves either. The Imperials do love to puff themselves up, don't they?"
"His eyes weren't the eyes of a liar. Didn't you see the faces of the soldiers behind him?"
At Aclada's words, the centaur warriors had no rebuttal. An exceptional warrior was marked first by the faces of those who followed him. And the faces of those soldiers had shown genuine reverence for Johan.
"At this accolade ceremony, I intend to teach the Imperial bastards what a true warrior looks like."
"Good. See that you do."
The Alchia Tribe was one of the most renowned nomadic tribes in the region, and Aclada was its chieftain's doted-upon youngest son.
As such, information about the accolade ceremony could hardly fail to reach his ears.
Duke Brudhe was a wise man, and he understood precisely how useful the eastern nomadic tribes could be.
This ceremony would be an occasion to honor their pride.
He really is handsome.
"What is it?"
"Ah. I was admiring the Duke's good looks."
Suetleug gave a small smile at Johan's words.
"The Duke's appearance is famous even within the Empire. Speaking of which, you seem to have gotten along well with the centaurs?"
"They were agreeable company."
"That would be your doing. A great river accepts any stream, no matter how small, without discrimination."
"Just as a great mountain accepts even the humblest handful of soil without refusing it."
"Oh? There's a saying like that too? A fine one all the same."
Duke Brudhe, who had been mounted, spotted the party and hastily dismounted. The people of House Zarfen wore expressions of visible emotion at the sight. Stefan was no different.
"Quite graceful, isn't he?"
"What sort of man is the Duke?"
"I haven't met every noble in existence. The Duke, though..."
"You could call him an exceptional ruler."
Kaenerna picked up the thread. She asked with her eyes whether she might stand beside them, and Johan readily made room. She brought her horse alongside and spoke.
"The East is the roughest, most barbaric corner of the Empire's domain. To rule it for over twenty years without a single uprising — is it any wonder the people of this land sing the Duke's praises?"
"True enough. And they say the bloodline of House Brudhe is blessed, besides."
"Blessed? Whatever does that mean?"
Kaenerna sounded as though she found the notion absurd.
"It's a saying that spread because the family has produced brilliant geniuses generation after generation. Probably a rumor the ducal house put into circulation itself."
"Spreading a rumor like that is its own kind of talent, I suppose..."
Having finished his conversation, the Duke called for Johan. Johan bowed with proper courtesy.
"I have been looking forward to this since I received my Count's letter. I hear you slew a troll... Even among my own knights, one who could fell a troll alone is rare. A remarkable knight indeed."
"You honor me too much."
"No, the gratitude is mine. To send me such an exceptional knight — I almost feel guilty for stealing away Count Zarfen's glory, I do."
Duke Brudhe greeted Johan not with the haughtiness and formality befitting a duke, but with a modest, familiar warmth.
Such treatment for a mere knight who had not yet even received his accolade. However much the Count had vouched for him, it was an excess of honor. Any knight other than Johan would have wept and sworn undying loyalty on the spot.
But Johan's heart remained perfectly still, without the faintest tremor. His instincts were speaking to him.
Flattery.
Not a single word of praise directed at Johan carried any sincerity in it. To everyone else it looked like a heartwarming scene, but Johan's keen instincts caught the falseness even here.
Not that it wounded him in the slightest. He hadn't come for the accolade ceremony for anything but the Duke's authority and name, after all.
When a knighthood was on the line, he could swallow any amount of abuse — insincere compliments were practically a bonus.
And flattery was no vice. It would be stranger, frankly, if a duke blindly trusted the prowess of a knight he'd only heard tales of. The Duke was behaving exactly as his station demanded.
Duke Brudhe embraced Johan, then murmured softly.
"At the accolade ceremony, it is my knight's performance I anticipate most."
"...I will do my utmost."
Does he say this to every knight?
Count Zarfen is not a man given to idle boasting, true enough.
Seated beside the Duke were his blood kin — his proud children.
"What are you thinking about, Father?"
"Nothing of consequence."
The Duke was thinking of Johan. Among all the knights he had met today, that one had lodged in his memory with unusual force.
Was it because of Count Zarfen's recommendation?
"I would hear your opinions. Speak, one at a time."
"I believe Lukes of House Lachio will distinguish himself."
"Your reason?"
"Lukes has served as Sir Carpati's squire since childhood, has he not? He performed admirably in the last punitive expedition as well."
"Not bad."
"I would nominate Boriska of House Peteo."
"Your reason?"
"In the tournament to be held at this ceremony, horsemanship matters above all else, does it not? House Peteo is famous for its cavalry arts..."
"Not bad."
One by one, the Duke's children named the knight they expected to shine brightest among those entered in the accolade ceremony.
"I choose Aclada of the Alchia Tribe."
"Why so?"
"Because you wish for them to perform well, Father."
The other heirs wore expressions of having been bested. It was certainly true that the Duke had poured considerable effort into placating and taming the nomadic tribes.
The Duke's face settled into a look of satisfaction.
"Sharp eyes."
"Father. Surely not..."
This accolade ceremony had drawn not only the knights of the eastern noble houses. The notables of the nomadic tribes and their young warriors had come as well.
Yet the Duke's heirs had overlooked them entirely. Not out of deliberate disdain — it was simply that, true to their Imperial upbringing, they had never registered the tribesmen as contenders at all.
"Indeed. This ceremony is also an occasion for bestowing favor upon those tribes."
"......"
"......"
A few wore disgruntled expressions, but none voiced them aloud. The Duke was a generous and faithful man — but hardly so spineless a hedonist as to tolerate slights against his authority.
"However, that holds only if the tribes' warriors prove themselves worthy. If they cannot, your prediction is wrong."
"And whom have you chosen, Father? I would hear your judgment."
The second son spoke up, his voice dripping with flattery. The Duke smiled serenely.
What good would it do to match wits with his children here anyway? Partly to indulge their enthusiasm, and partly for his own amusement, the Duke decided to pick from a candidate who didn't matter at all.
"Let's see. I choose Johan of House Eitz."
"...?"
"The knight recommended by House Zarfen."
"Ah. That House Zarfen... was he such an impressive knight, then?"
"Count Zarfen doesn't talk nonsense, does he?"
The Duke said this, but his heirs could not quite conceal their puzzlement.
Count Zarfen was an exceptional soldier and warrior, but by custom, recommendations were always embellished to their fullest. Recipients thus trusted the sender's name more than the letter's contents — never the reverse.
Besides, in the tournament at an accolade ceremony, connections mattered nearly as much as skill.
Eastern knights were hardly likely to look kindly on a knight come from the West. At best he'd be swarmed in the opening melee...
"If you say so, Father, he must be a remarkable knight despite his youth."
"I find myself curious to meet him."
"How curious this all is."
"In what way?"
"That Stefan is welcomed with open arms while I am regarded with such suspicion."
Suetleug had to fight down a laugh.
"Well, you're a knight competing in the tournament, and Stefan isn't. Keep that in mind."
The man who had been tensing his grip grimaced and clenched his teeth in an instant.
"The rules here differ somewhat from the West, so bear it in mind."
"Ah. Yes."
In truth, it hardly mattered to Johan at all.
He'd never done it in the West either!
Where the West favored one-on-one jousting, such contests were rare in the East.
Eastern tournaments were, for the most part, melees. The assembled knights split into two factions and charged at one another all at once, brawling with blunted weapons.
"Besides, there's no need for me to stand out too much, is there? My plan is to fight moderately and stall for time."
"Clever."
Suetleug nodded with a grin. As ever, Johan was cunning in a most un-knightly way. And that was exactly why he liked him — no need to say anything twice.