The Silent Youngest Star
"Good day to you, Lord Lepiata."
"Thank you for answering me the other time."
Seen under the sun rather than in a dark corridor, the man struck Johan anew. The youngest blood of House Brudhe seemed half-dead. His voice was cold and dry, utterly without the vitality that lived in the voices of his siblings — like a man already halfway into his grave.
The escort knight beside him looked at Johan and asked, "A feast has been prepared in gratitude. Will you not join us?"
"I would be hon—"
Mid-sentence, Johan noticed Aclada fleeing at a distance, chattering away with Gerwolf, Marco, and Stefan.
Wow! Sir Knights. Isn't this wolf magnificent?
Grrr.
To the superstition-ridden centaurs, the Stars of Breudhe were deeply distasteful beings — and with the youngest of them, apparently, that aversion ran strongest of all.
He's actually running away?
The fact that he would strike up conversation with knights he barely tolerated in ordinary times meant the fear was entirely sincere.
Well, no matter.
It seemed this young Brudhe didn't much care either. He wished to repay Johan; there was no need to invite anyone else.
And Johan would soon come to regret that decision.
Lepiata's camp was peculiar.
A noble's camp was normally organized around the tent of the highest-ranking person present. The knights and lesser nobles who attended the lord occupied the inner ring; those of lower station were pushed to the outside. Naturally, anyone visible from the center had to be of a certain rank. And yet—
What in the world is this composition?
There were knights and petty nobles, certainly, but there were far too many figures who looked suspicious even beside them. Wandering alchemists and minstrels were one thing — tolerable. But there were men who looked for all the world like thieves and con artists, the kind that made you wonder what they were doing here at all. They sat hunched in the corners of the camp with gloomy expressions.
The crowning glory was the orc moneylender. When knights saw an orc dressed more flamboyantly than the nobility strolling past with a pouch of gold coins jingling at his hip, they frowned.
"Please refrain from misunderstanding those people."
"Misunderstanding? I'm afraid I don't take your meaning."
Brunhilde, the knight who had escorted Johan here, showed a faint flicker of satisfaction on her face. She was clearly pleased with his tact.
"Sir. When you go inside to meet the lord, I would ask that you not be startled or surprised."
"...?"
Johan was suddenly uneasy. What could possibly be inside that tent? Some kind of trap?
Of course, it was nothing of the sort.
The interior was stark and bare, without a single ornament. Johan felt an inexplicable chill. It had nothing to do with the weather.
When he took his seat, a servant poured wine into a silver cup. Johan accepted it with a proper bow of the head.
"...Thank you."
The wine is good... but I can hardly breathe in here.
The silence inside the tent was crushingly heavy.
The duke's youngest was not a sociable man. The knights beside him were taciturn, and the servants could hardly open their mouths at all.
The result was precisely this silence!
Johan regretted not bringing Aclada along. He had come in a light mood, never expecting to sit among people who barely spoke.
Johan was no chatterbox himself, but in this company he had no choice but to be the one talking.
"My lord, the fact that you're camped out here... are you taking part in this campaign?"
A nod. Affirmative.
"Are the other young lords and ladies taking part as well?"
Negative.
"Are you acquainted with Count Ganelwood?"
Affirmative.
"Will you be moving together?"
Negative.
At this point, bantering with Gerwolf would honestly be more enjoyable...
Any other knight might have suspected he was being insulted. But Johan read the expressions of the people around him. They too were on tenterhooks over how little Lepiata spoke. As long as the man wasn't doing it deliberately, it hardly mattered.
Besides, Johan was the sort who could sit there and let an insult roll off him, provided there was something in it for him.
So this is what Sir Brunhilde meant outside? Forcing words out of each other would just be torture for us both.
Johan decided to pass the time without conversation. As it happened, a Go board sat at the back of the tent.
"Shall we play a game?"
Lepiata nodded. Well, that worked out, Johan thought, and picked up the stones.
Johan did not rate Lepiata's skill particularly highly. For one thing, the man was young; for another, this was a closed world where information was hoarded rather than shared. Here, knowledge was monopolized, never circulated.
I'll play along with him at a reasonable level.
The result was astonishing. Lepiata played a game so cold and so thick that Johan could only stare. Every move seemed a step above Suetlg's — no, two.
"...I lost."
When Lepiata admitted defeat and began clearing the board, the knights waiting in attendance were even more astonished. It had been Lepiata who crushed every Go master among the duke's knights and drove them all from his presence. They had known Johan was a valiant warrior, but who would have guessed he was this strong across a board as well?
"Shall we review the game?"
Lepiata nodded again. Johan let out a breath of relief. It seemed he could pass the time without having to speak.
By the time the review was finished and he stepped outside, the sun was sinking. Johan reflected, not for the first time.
When we met inside the castle, he was genuinely quite talkative...
A knight was a member of the noble class. One could not simply swing a sword at everything; social engagements like this were essential.
Still, next time I'm bringing someone along. Anyone.
Today had taught him exactly how miserable it was to sit in company made up entirely of the tight-lipped.
"Thank you for accepting today's invitation. My lord was surely pleased as well — he has been able to build a rapport with you, Sir."
"......"
Johan harbored a private doubt. He didn't feel like any rapport had been built at all...
But from Brunhilde's standpoint, today's exchange had been an exceptionally chatty affair. Compared with everyone else, this was the very summit of intimacy.
Well, their interests align, so of course the conversation flows!
She had told him to cultivate goodwill ahead of the campaign, but she had never imagined he would talk this much. She saw Johan off with a satisfied expression.
"Might I ask one thing?"
"Ask away, Sir Johan."
"I saw some rather unusual people. Are they your lord's people?"
"Yes. They are loyal servants who attend the lord."
Johan came to regret that he had said anything at all. Once every two or three days, Lepiata began sending for him.
He was the duke's son — he could hardly refuse — and every visit left him breathless and drained...
When he heard the full story, Aclada was delighted to the point of dying of joy.
"Did I not tell you it was an ill omen, Sir Knight?"
"He's just a man of few words, I'm telling you."
The incident had left Aclada on quite friendly terms with Gerwolf and Marco. Gerwolf's reticence and Marco's archery seemed to have won his genuine regard.
I wonder if there's anything in it for me.
If it were a match against the duke himself, that would at least have been better — there would be something certain to gain. But the duke's youngest was another matter entirely.
For one thing, no one knew whether the man even held the duke's favor. For another, no one knew what would become of him.
"What were the people like?"
"Those around him seemed loyal enough. For his age, isn't that fairly impressive? And there were some strange characters around him..."
Johan told Suetlg about the assortment of oddballs surrounding the young lord, and Suetlg listened as though hearing a marvel.
"That is strange indeed. However talented he may be, to keep people like that in his service... Wait a moment. Come to think of it, doesn't that describe you as well?"
"I only kept men whose identities were thoroughly verified?"
"I'm sure Lord Lepiata verified his too... Ah — I meant to ask. Why are you keeping an Eastern Ranger around?"
"Ah. That fellow."
After the werewolf hunt, the others had been pardoned by the duke and released — all except Galambos. Johan had too many questions to ask him.
Do you happen to know a man among the Eastern Rangers who looks like this? Left-handed, with a scar down one side of his face...
Er... yes. You mean Joseph the master hunter? Yes, I know him. I've met him.
How did you track down and flush out the werewolf?
Well, you see...
An ordinary knight would have shown little interest in a hunter's craft, but Johan had been pestering Joseph with questions since he was a boy. He wasted no chance to review what he'd learned in the past and pick up something new.
Johan made full use of his rank and position as a knight.
Great is your sin in disregarding His Excellency the Duke's authority — but join the campaign, distinguish yourself, and I shall have it forgiven.
Y-yes, my lord. I will do my utmost.
"He'll be useful in a siege, won't he?"
"Hm... I couldn't say. In any case, you two think rather alike, don't you?"
"I'd say I'm the better of the two."
"Honestly, from the outside there's not much difference."
Count Ganelwood issued the order to depart a full week ahead of schedule. The mercenaries, who had been waiting around in comfort, grumbled as they packed up their gear.
What's gotten into the Count, why's he in such a blasted hurry? Did somebody step on his toe?
We've been here barely a day...
"The Count is impressive, isn't he?"
"?"
"He's doing this so the city won't hear the rumors and prepare a defense."
"...Huh. I suppose you could read it that way? I assumed he was being badgered by the duke."
Kaenerna stared at him with an expression that said the thought had never once crossed her mind. She, too, had not rated Count Ganelwood so highly. She'd taken the change of schedule for a petty blunder — exactly the sort of mistake a weak-willed count would make.
The soldiers moved out column by column, following banners clustered in threes and fours. It was impossible for every soldier gathered here to depart in a single synchronized motion — the force simply wasn't organized that way to begin with.
The commanders of each unit shared destinations among themselves and made their own way there. It was closer to a primitive system than anything else.
Johan led his own force toward Umdim. He caught sight of a few knights he'd met in the city leading mercenaries past on either flank.
"Sir Knight! There's a village ahead. Are we raiding it?"
"No. Bring me the village headman."
Aclada galloped off again wearing a profoundly disappointed face. In his heart of hearts he had wanted to smash the palisade, storm inside, and plunder everything that wasn't nailed down...
Johan sternly rebuked the headman — a man who had paid his taxes to the city instead of to the duke. Trembling head to foot, the headman paid a protection fee out of everything the village had scraped together and begged for his life.
"I don't understand why you spare wretches like those traitors."
"■ ■■. You've got ■■■ too, haven't you, Sir Knight."
Euclia's speech was starting to become audible as well. The censored part was probably something along the lines of shut up...
"Was I wrong, then? Men like that don't know gratitude no matter how much mercy you show them. If the soldiers under your command had been fewer, they'd have spat at you and cursed your name — and if you'd lost and been fleeing for your life, they'd have turned on you and stabbed you in the back."
"Something like that, yes."
"...?"
When Johan agreed so readily, Aclada was thrown off balance. He hadn't expected to be conceded to.
"It's not for honor's sake, and it's not because I pity them. It's pure practicality. If I sack one village, the others will never come out quietly. They'll fight to the death behind their walls. Our objective is Umdim regardless — why would I spend our strength before we even get there? We'll come out with a bit less gold, that's all."
"!"
Aclada was struck with admiration at Johan's words and conceded the point without protest.
"Well said, Sir Knight. I hadn't thought of it that way."
"We'll be in this region a long while. Better to make as few enemies as possible, don't you think?"
But not every knight or mercenary reasoned as coolly as Johan.
And the most convenient form of self-provisioning, as ever, was plunder.
The justification was ample, and the mercenaries cheered for raids of this kind. It wasn't just supplies — it was a chance at some fat, illicit income.
A knight who spent the preparatory period stockpiling supplies with utter thoroughness and then drew additional provisions from villages and local merchants — a man like Johan was the rare exception.
They were in the middle of extracting money and goods from yet another village when a mercenary came sprinting from the distance, carrying the banner of a company Johan had never seen before.
"Sir Knight! Excellent timing! My captain sends word — he proposes we sack this village together!"
"No. This village has already paid protection. I've sworn on my name that it won't be attacked."
"What...? You're the one who's been doing that, Sir Knight?"
The mercenary made a face of utter disbelief. Word had drifted around that certain villages had been spared by invoking a knight's name, and he'd thought, has that knight who's never fought a war in his life gone and done something idiotic?
Crack!
The whip cracked and the mercenary tumbled from his saddle. Gerwolf and Aclada had struck the man down simultaneously. The two of them exchanged a look of perfect mutual satisfaction.
"This contemptible little human... where does he get off running his mouth so insolently?"
"I've comm... committed a sin worthy of death. I beg your forgiveness."
The fallen mercenary spat blood and hastily bowed his head.