The Secret Cave (1)
The Secret Cave sat at the seventh peak of the L'Pierre Mountains. Considering that the place where Rodeban had last recovered the demonic sword was only the second peak, the cave was situated far, far higher. In short, he had to go mountain climbing again.
Fortunately, the situation was different this time. Ever since he'd obtained the demonic sword, the mana exhaustion had vanished.
The carriage came to a halt at the mountain range's entrance. The escorts who'd been following on horseback began slowing down one by one. It was the same place where the knight order had pitched their tents last time.
Rodeban stepped down from the carriage. He looked around, then said,
"One of you stay here. The rest of us head up the mountain."
"Yes, sir!"
With the escorts' booming reply, they set off along the forest path.
The L'Pierre Mountains ranked among the tallest on the continent. Climbing them in a single day was, of course, impossible.
"We'll only go as far as the second peak today."
"Yes, sir!"
Rodeban took his first step lightly — then broke into a run up the slope. The coniferous forest rushed past. A frigid wind brushed his ears. Behind him, the escorts who'd started a beat later were following.
The reason he was climbing this urgently was simple. The sooner they reached the Secret Cave, the lower the chance of being ambushed. The cave was a space protected by a barrier. Once they arrived, they'd be safe for a while.
The moment he reached that conclusion, Rodeban kicked his speed up another notch.
"......!"
The escorts following behind widened their eyes. The distance between them began to grow. Still, they had their own pride, and not a word about slowing down passed their lips.
They ran like that for quite some time, until a high cliff suddenly loomed ahead. Rodeban turned his head. A path branched off to the other side — a detour, by the look of it, carved around the cliff.
A thought occurred to him.
Should I climb the cliff?
It was the kind of question that would make anyone who heard it ask if he was feeling all right. But in his eyes, the cliff already looked like a shortcut. The truth was, he was used to cliffs. He'd even fought flying magical beasts while hanging from one.
Rodeban kicked off the ground and immediately began scaling the rock face. Strangely enough, at certain intervals there were holes perfectly sized for hands and feet. For a moment he climbed as fast as a lizard. Where there were no holes, he swung his demonic sword to make them. When he lost his balance, he blasted cold air into empty space and used the recoil to stick back to the wall.
Climbing was far easier than he'd expected. Apparently, among the successive heads of the ducal house, there had been someone who'd scaled this cliff just like him.
So I wasn't the only one who thought of this.
The realization that he wasn't the only lunatic made him feel not half bad. If anything, he wanted to argue that this was the proper way — so he jammed his feet in hard, widening the holes as he went. That way, the next person would have an easier climb.
Then, suddenly, the escorts' voices drifted up from below.
"Lord Rodeban!"
He'd climbed quite a ways — the voices sounded rather distant. Looking back, he'd already gone about twenty meters.
"That's not the path!"
"It's dangerous!"
Their words were thick with disbelief. They'd arrived late only to find some madman hanging off a cliff — of course they'd be speechless.
"Hmm."
With every escort's gaze locked on him, Rodeban looked down from midway up the cliff.
"It's not. There are footholds. You can climb up one at a time."
A chilly silence fell. The only sound was Rodeban's voice echoing back. The escorts seemed to be conferring among themselves, and most of them were shaking their heads. Apparently they thought climbing the cliff was insane.
A moment later, their discussion over, one of them called out:
"Lord Rodeban! We'll meet you at the first peak!"
"......Do as you like."
Once Rodeban gave his permission, one of them stayed behind at the base of the cliff. The rest tore off toward the detour at a dead run.
"They're more conservative than I thought."
Rodeban shrugged once, then went back to climbing. From there it was a mechanical repetition of the same motions — hands and feet into the gaps, a hole carved if there wasn't one, and when he was about to fall, a pulse of mana to stick to the cliff.
How many minutes had he been climbing? The moment the top of the cliff came into view, he kicked off the rock face. Suspended in midair, Rodeban poured mana into his demonic sword. Cold air burst forth in a single direction.
He seemed to have completely mastered discharging frost by now. Given that he'd done nothing but eat and train lately, it was a natural result. Using the recoil from the blast of cold, he launched himself up onto the cliff. A loud thud rang out as he landed — a stable landing, both feet hitting the ground at once. A truly clean piece of rock climbing.
Looking around, an ordinary forest path stretched out once more, though there was a bit more snow piled up than at the entrance. He followed the path a short way and came upon a tent.
Is this the first peak?
It felt like about fifteen minutes had passed. Considering it normally took three hours to reach the first peak, that was a fairly record-breaking shortcut.
He was about to walk right past the tent, but it seemed too quiet, so he stopped.
"Anyone home?"
Rodeban lifted the tent flap and stepped inside. His brow furrowed.
Two knights were slumped over a table, wearing the distinctive blue-toned uniforms of the Northern Knights. Rodeban thought reflexively:
An ambush? Or sleeping powder?
But looking closer, several liquor bottles were rolling around on the floor. In short: dereliction of duty.
"You've got to be kidding me..."
A faintly incredulous look crossed his face, then he woke the knights — the same way he'd woken the train engineer on the way north. A sharp slap rang out.
"Ow! Wh-what the hell. Who the hell is rude enough to—"
The knight who'd been slapped awake flinched, then lifted his head with a surly expression. He looked at the rude man who'd hit him, then went pale and opened his mouth.
"Uh, L-Lord Rodeban?"
Rodeban stared at the knight without a word. It was a look that demanded an explanation. Usually, that was enough to get a confession without asking.
The knight bowed his head repeatedly as he made his excuses.
"I-I'm sorry. My comrade is being deployed elsewhere soon, so I just..."
"And that means you get to drink on duty?"
"I have no excuse. I'll accept whatever punishment—"
"Got any left?"
"Pardon?"
For a moment the knight looked like he must have misheard. Rodeban asked again.
"The booze. Is there any left?"
Only then did the knight point inside the tent.
"Ah, yes. There's a bit left in the back. I'll bring it to you."
"Thanks. I've still got a long way to go."
The knight quickly fetched the liquor, then asked him,
"Excuse me, but might I ask where you're headed...? I have to log everyone who passes through here..."
Rodeban's gaze turned to the knight.
And you were getting wasted?
He was about to chew him out on reflex, then shook his head. He wasn't their superior, so holding back was the right call.
I'll tell Seria once I get back down.
Rodeban said briefly,
"I'm going to the seventh peak."
"A-are you perhaps going to the Secret Cave?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Ah, th-that's... I have to report it to the commander... Here's the liquor."
The knight held out a squat bottle. Rodeban's hand snatched it. He popped the cap, and a sharp smell rose up. Having inspected the goods, he nodded.
"Good. This is the first peak, right?"
The knight answered at the top of his lungs.
"Yes! That's correct!"
"How long to the second?"
"Our members generally take about nine hours! There are a lot of detours, so if you want to arrive today you'll need to hurry a bit."
Rodeban nodded.
"Right, got it. My escorts will be coming up shortly — let them know I went on ahead."
"Yes! Understood! Travel safely!"
Rodeban left the tent. He took a swig of the liquor, then set off down the forest path once more.
A cabin on the outskirts of Tiliard. The door opened, and a man in a red robe stepped inside.
"The target has left Tiliard."
A woman asked,
"Where did he go?"
She was seated at a table in the center of the cabin. The man stopped in front of the table with dry, measured steps and answered,
"The L'Pierre Mountains."
"When did he leave?"
"Two days ago."
The woman narrowed her eyes.
"Second Bishop. Why are you telling me this so late?"
The man and the woman were called the Second Bishop and the First Bishop, respectively. They'd been called that for so long that they used no other names.
The Second Bishop said,
"He headed for the Secret Cave. To obtain the Holy Fluid — the reward for recovering the demonic sword."
The First Bishop snapped,
"That's not what I asked. Explain why you didn't grab that bastard before he entered the Secret Cave. It's way up there — why couldn't you catch him before that? The terrain takes two weeks to climb properly!"
The Second Bishop answered briefly.
"He climbed it in three days."
"What?"
"All I received was an analysis of the footprints found in front of the Secret Cave. There's a barrier around the area, so we couldn't interfere carelessly."
The First Bishop lowered her head as if considering something, then tossed out,
"...Did he climb the cliffs? I think I've heard records of the Crusias ducal heads practicing cliff-climbing from time to time."
The Second Bishop said with a serious expression,
"He might have flown."
The First Bishop shook her head.
"Don't talk shit."
"...Anyway, it'll take at least a few months for him to come out. Even this generation's supposedly exceptional family head took over a hundred days to pass."
"Fine. Then we'll start around then."
Arriving in front of the Secret Cave, Rodeban shook the snow from his body. From the midpoint onward, he'd barely stopped running. Thanks to that, he'd reached the cave in three days.
The cliffs were the right call after all.
The cliffs had been a shortcut — practically a vertical path straight to the summit. The only real problem was that a severe blizzard had started pouring down from the fourth peak onward. Fortunately, recovering the demonic sword seemed to have given him a resistance to the cold. He barely felt the chill.
Good thing there were no ambushes along the way.
He'd covered a three-week journey in three days, after all. Even if his route had been exposed, it would have been hard to ambush him.
"All right. Time to go in."
He took a light step forward, and headed straight into the Secret Cave.