Hostage
Upon returning to the campsite, Rodeban ordered his escorts to withdraw.
"We're heading back."
"Yes, sir!"
The escorts moved in perfect unison. Embers were smothered with dirt, tents folded in an instant. Knights who had finished packing began loading supplies onto the carriages, and the once-quiet campsite bustled with the preparations for departure.
Watching them, Luce approached Rodeban and said, "When we get back to the Academy, I'm going to punish Arfria."
She seemed thoroughly annoyed at having been deceived.
Rodeban asked, "How?"
Luce made a thoughtful face for a moment before answering. "Should I hit her?"
"...Hold back. You'll get arrested for insulting the imperial family."
A short while later, one of the escorts approached and bowed his head.
"Lord Rodeban. Preparations for withdrawal are complete!"
"Well done. Let's head down the mountain."
Rodeban nodded. Their business here was finished.
As they descended the mountain, the thought that he was thoroughly sick of mountains crossed his mind. The sea was better than mountains any day. Once he retired, he had planned to go see the southern seas of the Empire.
After a long descent, flat ground finally came into view. Several escorts were already waiting beside the carriages and the tethered horses. Someone must have gone ahead to pass word; they were fully ready to depart.
Climbing into the carriage, Rodeban said, "We leave at once."
"Yes, sir!"
The sound of the escorts mounting their horses followed. Luce, taking the seat beside him, asked, "Uncle. Where did you arrange to meet Big Sister?"
"Tiliard."
"That's where you went for your victory banquet."
"That's right. You know it well."
"What's it like?"
She was asking about the city. Rodeban answered in detail.
"Not bad. It's where the lord's castle is. The most prosperous city in the North. Not quite on the level of the capital, but far more thriving than the cities of most mid-sized territories."
As he spoke, Rodeban suddenly frowned.
And of course that guy got himself a cushy post again. I spent two years on the frontier...
This was why background mattered. Some people got reassigned to nice places even after demotion, while others got dragged off to the borderlands.
Rattle, rattle—
Just as the carriage was leaving Ferngrad, its speed suddenly dropped. An awkward voice came from the driver's seat.
"Lord Rodeban. There's a group blocking the road."
"What?"
"It appears to be... the vampire clan we met before."
Rodeban leaned out the window to check ahead. Armed forces numbering well over a hundred blocked the forest path. Their pale skin left no doubt—they were vampires.
"...They're real."
The difference this time was that they held hostages. Confirming the hostages' faces, Rodeban let out a hollow laugh.
That noble from earlier?
It was Heron. He and his knight had been forced to their knees. Their fine clothes were torn to shreds, and blades were pressed to their throats.
Rodeban said, "Stop the carriage."
"Yes, sir!"
As the carriage halted, Rodeban marveled inwardly.
This guy has the worst luck imaginable.
An old knight rode forward on horseback. A lion-shaped medal hung on his chest—the mark of a Centurion of the knight order, one of the hundred strongest.
The old knight said, "Lord Rodeban. The three in the center have an unusual presence. Be careful."
Rodeban looked ahead again. Only then did three figures in different attire stand out from the rest. Their conspicuously red robes made them hard to miss. As the old knight said, the mana they radiated was notably exceptional.
Rodeban nodded. "Understood."
He had expected them to come again after he killed the bishop who had visited before.
From the seat beside him came a sudden, chilling voice.
"Uncle. Want me to go kill them?"
It was Luce. Murderous intent poured off her, as if she were ready to leap out and take their heads that very moment.
Rodeban shook his head firmly. "There are hostages. No."
"So we're just going to do what they say?"
"Don't worry. Your uncle is much stronger."
Luce stared at him intently, then said, "...Still."
"I said don't worry. It's fine."
When the carriage stopped, Rodeban climbed down with an extremely weary expression. The mere thought of fighting brought a wave of annoyance.
No wonder I couldn't sleep in the carriage today of all days...
Looking at the distant hostages, a sigh escaped him unbidden. What bothersome demand would they make this time?
A closer look at the hostages showed scattered wounded among them, as if there had been a fight.
From across the way, a woman in red robes spoke.
"Rodeban. I am Suaren, Third Bishop of the Red Blood Sect. As the Fourth Bishop told you before, the Progenitor desires you."
Mana laced her voice; her words carried clearly even across the considerable distance.
"Because you refused the first offer, we had no choice but to take hostages. Understand that."
Rodeban let out an incredulous hollow laugh. The object of the deal had shifted from the Magic Sword to himself. And for people holding hostages, their attitude was remarkably brazen.
He asked after the Progenitor's whereabouts. "And where is this great Progenitor of yours?"
"That I cannot say. His residence changes constantly. Even we can only meet him by going to the appointed place."
The woman who had identified herself as the Third Bishop lifted her head. The eyes that briefly showed were a vivid red—proof that she carried a considerable amount of the Progenitor's blood.
She beckoned him closer. "Come join us. We bishops will escort you."
Rodeban narrowed his eyes. "How am I supposed to trust you? I'm the one who killed one of your bishops."
The Third Bishop shook her head. "The Progenitor showed no reaction whatsoever to the Fourth Bishop's death. That means you are one who receives the Progenitor's love. How could mere servants like us kill you?"
This was the first he had heard of such a thing. Love, of all things...
For a moment the thought crossed Rodeban's mind: Is the Progenitor somehow my fan?
The phrase "delusions of grandeur" flickered through his head before he dismissed it. Shaking his head, Rodeban finally said, "Fine. No choice, then. Release the hostages. I'll go."
No better option came to mind. As long as they held hostages, the initiative belonged to them.
The surrounding escorts immediately tried to stop him.
"Lord Rodeban, that is a bit..."
"There is no need to enter an unfavorable battlefield for the sake of hostages."
"Uncle. Let's just kill them all."
As the escorts chimed in one after another, the hostages' faces turned as pale as if they themselves had become vampires.
...There's something a little off mixed in there.
In any case, if he simply agreed here, the hostages' chances of walking away alive would plummet.
Rodeban said, "Everyone, enough."
He settled the situation. "They're not after my life, so it will be fine. I'm simply going to meet the Progenitor, nothing more."
With that, Rodeban began walking slowly toward the Red Blood Sect forces. Glancing back, he saw Luce wearing a thoroughly dissatisfied expression, killing intent still gleaming in her eyes.
Just hold on a little longer.
He had no intention of going quietly. The first plan was to get as close as possible and then strike at point-blank range. A full force-on-force clash would mean heavy casualties on their side, given the enemy's superior numbers.
As he began formulating a second plan, the bishop drew something resembling a laurel wreath from her robes and said, "Come. This way."
Having covered about half the distance, Rodeban stared at the black laurel wreath the Third Bishop held out.
"..."
An immensely ominous energy radiated from the object. It was a different order of foreboding from the usual aura of demonic energy. The fortunate part was that he recognized it.
An artifact that blocks the senses.
A reasonably useful item. In the game, it was rarely used alone and more often combined with other artifacts.
Rodeban smacked his lips and asked, "A sacred relic?"
For an instant, panic flickered in the Third Bishop's eyes, as if wondering how he could possibly know.
She said, "Correct. Wear this, and in the blink of an eye you will arrive before the Progenitor. Come quickly."
"I get it, so stop rushing me."
Maintaining his leisurely pace, Rodeban hastily revised his first plan.
That one's a bit of a problem.
The time it would take for the wreath to settle on his head seemed shorter than the time needed to draw his sword and thrust. He was stronger than the Third Bishop, but the possibility of unforeseen variables still nagged at him.
Step, step.
Before he knew it he had entered among the Red Blood Sect troops, and countless gazes followed his every move.
"..."
His senses opened of their own accord. The Third Bishop's movements, the enemies' breathing, the faint clinks of weapons shifting—every sound poured into his ears.
The Third Bishop held the black laurel wreath in both hands and said, "Approach. Any foolishness, and the hostages die."
Rodeban nodded once and walked toward the bishop. Behind her, the hostages with blades at their throats trembled and wept. Among them, Heron's mouth formed silent words that caught Rodeban's eye.
—I'm sorry.
There was no need for him to apologize.
When the distance to the Third Bishop had closed enough that he felt ready to fight, a certain explanation about cold energy abilities that a knight had once given him suddenly rose in his mind.
—From 4-Star onward, the direction changes. You radiate cold energy from your entire body. From this stage, insufficient mana makes training extremely difficult.
Radiate.
The word that stuck with Rodeban was "radiate."
If he explosively released cold energy all at once... couldn't he freeze the rabble around him in an instant? That speed would be several times faster than drawing and swinging a sword.
At last, when Rodeban arrived right in front of her, the Third Bishop smiled a spine-chilling smile and said, "Do not worry. When you open your eyes again, you will be in the Progenitor's embrace."
That expression seemed to imply that he was about to die.
In the instant just before the black laurel wreath settled onto his head, Rodeban poured mana into the Magic Sword to its absolute limit.
Wooooong—!
The pure white blade rippled like a cloud. The Third Bishop's eyes flew wide open—and then cold energy erupted like an explosion.
Booooooom—!
Rodeban's vision turned completely white.