The Flag Above the Walls

While the merchants stood there looking mortified, Johan read the letter straight through. Its gist was simple enough: when the army arrived, several members of the city council would open the way from within.

"So they're not surrendering?"

"No. Neither the current garrison commander nor anyone else holding authority has any intention of giving up the city."

"Well, that figures."

The men who had first dared to speak of raising the banner of rebellion against the Duke were now the ones running the city — of course they wouldn't surrender meekly. Their necks were as good as already fitted for a hangman's noose.

The other councilors, however, saw things differently.

Why should they have to die along with them?

With the vanguard already here, it was only a matter of time. Once a proper siege began, surrender would grow harder still. And so, through the merchants of the Kettana Guild, they had secretly sent word to Johan.

'They'll stir up the rebellion themselves and put it down for me, I suppose...'

That was Johan's first thought, though in truth it was wishful thinking. The councilors might be treated as something like nobility within the city walls, but in reality they were not nobles at all.

Even had they wanted to rebel, raising troops would have been another matter entirely. Leading a mob of vagrants, laborers, and house servants against the Duke's army would have been sheer madness...

"Very well. Give them some ale. I'll have people gather so we can discuss— ah. Hold on a moment."

"?"

The merchants, who had been rather looking forward to that ale, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stared at Johan in puzzlement.

"You'll be staying in the camp until the siege is over, yes?"

"Yes... I suppose that would be for the best...?"

"Good. Then I have a task for you."

Johan led the merchants to a tent — the one where the scribes and priests serving as quartermasters for this expedition kept their ledgers.

"Go in there and help with the accounting."

"...Pardon? Us?"

"Can you not do numbers?"

"N-no, it's not that, it's just—"

In a mercenary company, who could say. But in an army led by an ordinary noble, the men in charge of the finances were bureaucrats of lesser noble birth or priests versed in arithmetic.

Lesser nobles who failed to become knights were expected to learn some useful trade — law, theology — so it was hardly strange for such men to end up as finance officers.

Priests, drilled in every manner of knowledge within their monasteries, were a natural fit for the work...

Merchants, too, were good with numbers. Yet no noble ever hired a merchant for the post. Above all, they simply could not be trusted.

"Watching them fumble through calculations in Ancient Imperial numerals was about to drive me mad. Merchants use Eastern numerals, don't they?"

"Yes."

The merchants of the peninsula, thanks to trade, used Arabic numerals — or Eastern numerals, as they were called here.

"Then see to it yourselves. The scribes may take a rest."

"Thank you, my lord!"

The scribes and priests who had been saddled with the accounts — through an education, a priest's garb, or sheer force of circumstance — breathed sighs of relief. They had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never wanted the job in the first place.

Where an illiterate lord might have let his mind rest easy, Johan was another matter entirely. Some demon seemed to have taken hold of the man; he kept ferreting out every error in the books.

"The totals don't balance. Check it again."

"Some of these figures seem low. How did you arrive at this?"

"Run through it once more."

Financial bookkeeping of this kind could never balance to the last copper. Not because anyone was skimming — accounts tallied by human hands, prone to error, and further burdened by the tyranny of Ancient Imperial numerals, were bound to drift. That was why such things were normally settled at a rough approximation...

But of all people, it had to be Johan. To his eyes, such slovenly arithmetic was simply beyond forgiveness.

"You're certain it's all right for the likes of us to do this?"

"It's fine."

"Th-thank you."

Merchants were kept away from such posts out of distrust — but that meant nothing to Johan. One look at a ledger was enough for him to catch most schemes anyway. Especially when they were written in Eastern numerals.

"Splendid news! Fortune must surely favor the Knight right now!"

"We ought to be ■■ cautious. The Imperial bastards are ■■ troublesome."

The opinions gathered around the council table split every which way. Aclada, Stephan, and Kaenerna thought it a fine opportunity; Suellg, Euclia, and Marco urged caution.

Kaenerna asked, as if she genuinely could not understand.

"Didn't you say it was fine to seize the ships?"

"That was worth a try. And it worked, didn't it."

"......"

Now that it had succeeded, what complaint could there be? The one who misses his mark is the fool, not the plan.

"Seizing the ships didn't look likely to fail, and even had it failed, it wouldn't have been all that dangerous. The enemy was a merchant vessel, and we had plenty of soldiers at hand. But this is an entirely different matter. Even if the other side doesn't betray us, a single mistake could turn it deadly. Saint-Darge Castle was a different case altogether."

Saint-Darge had been a small stronghold; this, rotting or not, was a city.

"Even if something went wrong, I believe we could still find a way out..."

Suellg murmured the words quietly, pitched so that only Johan could hear them.

"Think it over carefully. The tribal warriors you brought with you are men of some standing in their tribes. If men like that are wounded or taken captive, it could put you in a difficult position."

"...!"

They had been summoned by the Duke and granted knighthoods — men of reasonably respectable line among their people. If a great number of them died, Johan's own standing with the tribes might be called into question.

'Then I'd simply draft more of them to make up the numbers, wouldn't I?'

"What did you say?"

The mercenaries of the Wirago Company were left reeling by Johan's sudden proposal.

"...The sir ba—... Sir Knight seems... far too... generous?"

"......"

The mercenary hastily swallowed the word bastard and changed course — that was how unexpected Johan's offer had been.

They had been asked to take the city on the strength of collusion from within — and now Johan wanted to cut the mercenaries in on it?

Generous didn't begin to cover it. The Wirago Company had no particular bond with Johan, and there was no reason to be sharing spoils of this kind.

"Is this perhaps a trap?"

"...You think a Duke's knight — not some lowborn mercenary rabble — is joining hands with that city to spring a trap on his own men? Why in the world would he?"

"...I— I suppose not. My apologies."

At Gurerick's rebuke, the centurion apparently realized ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how absurd it sounded, and shut his mouth.

He had wondered if the knight was the type to shove mercenaries into the dangerous places first — but that wasn't it either. Johan had declared outright that he would lead from the very front.

An offer with nothing to lose!

Sneaking into a city while deceiving the enemy's eyes was dangerous work, true — but what mercenary job wasn't? What mattered was not the risk, but the reward.

Stephan yawned. The mercenaries had made him stand there waiting far too long.

"Well? What are you doing! If you don't want the offer, then say you refuse!"

"F-forgive us. Just a moment longer, we beg you."

Stephan, come as their envoy, was dressed head to toe like a young nobleman of quality, and the hapless mercenaries withered and bowed and scraped.

In the end, Gurerick made his decision: he would pick the quickest and deadliest of his men and take a share of the work.

It was far too good an offer to refuse on the grounds that it made no sense.

"My lord. There is talk among the men that reinforcements are coming from Slovek."

Rumors ran through the soldiers marching in step with the main column.

Reinforcements were coming from the Kingdom of Slovek!

From enemies who struck in bands of dozens and melted away, to every manner of grim tale besides, the whispers only sharpened the men's wariness.

Brunhilde's report made Lepiata shake his head. Gathering his strength for the unusually long answer, he spoke.

"If they were coming, they would have come sooner. Sending so few, in this manner — it itself shows they lack the strength to send real aid..."

"They mean to abandon the city?"

Lepiata nodded. The kingdom had little strength to spare for Umdim. So they would pinch and scrimp like misers, sending only small bands to make a nuisance of themselves.

"Then I will give the order to spread word to that effect."

It was best to keep the soldiers from growing anxious wherever possible. Lepiata nodded again. He had already spent a full day's worth of words.

Brunhilde, the loyal hand and foot who carried out his every command, was astonished to hear that Johan had already reached the city walls.

"Truly? With that force?"

Count Ganelwood was having much the same shock.

"Th-they weren't attacked on the way?"

"From what we hear, the Knight himself had the tribal warriors with him, and the villages along his line of advance chose not to resist."

"N-no pillaging? R-remarkable."

Count Ganelwood was marveling in an entirely different direction. Any ordinary young knight, flush with hot blood, might well have left a scorched swathe in his wake as he advanced — and no one would have thought it strange.

Instead, the man had moved at speed, deftly bringing the villages to heel as he went. For all his reputation for valor and boldness, something about Johan struck the Count as oddly familiar — that particular something only men of their own kind could recognize in one another.

Ganelwood wondered if he was imagining things. By every appearance, the young knight seemed a world away from him.

"My lord. As for the Slovek reinforcements—"

"N-no need to worry. They w-won't come."

Ganelwood thought much as Lepiata did. Men truly capable of sending reinforcements would never have bothered with such pettifogging tricks in the first place.

And even if they met the enemy before the city, it wouldn't matter. It had already been confirmed that the garrison was thin.

"But still—"

"I—I have already planted spies in Slovek and confirmed it. There are n-no reinforcements."

"...!"

The knight was startled. This was a Count who could not have lasted a single exchange of blows in a fight — and yet, just now, he was terrifying.

"Or-order the column to quicken its pace."

"Yes, my lord!"

Such was the order given — but they still could not arrive until three more days had passed.

The vanguard at the head of the column scouted the surroundings first, to confirm the positions of Johan and the other mercenaries.

But there was no sign of any encampment nearby.

"...?"

"What is this?"

After checking for a long while, the vanguard realized that something was wrong with the flag flying above the city walls.

It was not the city's flag. It was the Duke's.

"The city has surrendered!"

"Ride back and report at once!"

The vanguard wheeled their horses around in astonishment. They had believed the city might surrender — but this soon?

For a conquering army, the mood was not particularly good. To be precise, only the place where the commanders had gathered was in poor spirits.

The rank and file, after all, were swollen with expectations of colossal spoils of war...

Several centurions of the Wirago Company, together with their captain Gurerick, were staring at Kaenerna with eyes benumbed by fear and loathing. Had it not been for Johan, they looked ready to leave the tent on the spot.

Kaenerna had a headache. Not because of their stares — the backlash of her magic. She touched her face as she spoke.

"I told you it was a mistake."

"Repeat that mistake a few more times and you'd have burned every last one of us to death!"

"And what would you have me do? Hold the fire back then? Smother it mid-spell?"

It was little wonder the mercenaries were terrified. Kaenerna had very nearly burned them all alive.

The plan had been simple.

Enter the city by river, set fires in various quarters to raise an uproar, and in the confusion seize the praetor and the garrison commander, forcing the soldiers to lay down their arms.

In the course of it, Johan had displayed truly ferocious prowess. Butchering single-handedly the garrison of a post held by more than a dozen soldiers — even the Wirago mercenaries swallowed hard at such monstrous strength.

'I'd only heard talk of tournaments and hunts — but seeing it before my eyes, it truly beggars imagination!'

Calling the knight a braggart was all well and good when he wasn't there to hear it; seeing him up close made their hearts pound and their knees go weak.

The problem had been Kaenerna.

"For a fight like this, Kaenerna seems a better fit than Lady Suellg."

"True enough."

"I will come along — so long as my life is guaranteed."

Kaenerna had readily agreed, and with Johan vouching for her safety, she had joined the raid.

But there proved to be far more places to set alight than they had anticipated.

"Hah... hah... wait... I need... a moment's rest."

"What's wrong? Can you not use it any longer?"

"Summoning... the fire is fine... but controlling it... will be... difficult."

"Just set the fires! Set them, I say!"

Scrounging embers and kindling in a place ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like this was trial enough, and the growing-impatient mercenaries pressed her on and on.

The result: Kaenerna's flames went berserk and clawed at everything around them. Had the direction skewed just slightly, the mercenaries would have been reduced to ash on the spot.

They had moved to shoot her down, but Johan stopped them — he had sworn an oath. In the end, he dashed through the flames himself, knocked the maddened Kaenerna unconscious, and carried her out.

Only the protection of the Sorcote of Gulrak had spared him; otherwise his whole body would surely have caught fire.

"It worked out in the end, didn't it? You lot were the ones rushing her."

Once it became clear that Johan had no intention of punishing Kaenerna, Gurerick gave up at once.

Nobody had died — surely that was what mattered!

"Aye, that's so. We owe it to you, Sir Knight. Our sincerest thanks."