Illea
Illea
At the break of dawn, Gaf was riding again.
Their destination was the Miyatro Barony. It was a distance that would take a full day’s ride, yet before the sun had even set, he had already stepped onto the lord’s manor grounds.
Forn Village. It was the territory closest to the lord’s castle.
Entering the marketplace, Gaf looked around.
He paid particular attention to the building walls and the ground, searching for recruitment notices.
But there was none to be found.
Had the demon’s prediction been wrong? Gaf recalled his conversation with Johan.
‘If you really don’t want to discuss things further, fine. Let me give you a hint. The lord will be recruiting soldiers. Even a fool like you will know what to do then.’
Contrary to those words, not a single scrap of paper was drifting around the village.
Instead, he only saw drooping, lifeless faces. Gloom saturated the entire village, and the already dreary weather only added to the bleakness.
Whatever it was, it seemed the demon had been wrong. Gaf approached the mother and looked down at the bundle.
“Acting like you know everything, but you’ve shown your hand already. It’s my fault for letting your silver tongue lead me.”
The baby struggled to lift its tiny arms.
Uu-waa, uu-waa.
It was trying to convey something, but Gaf could not understand it.
At night, he had wanted to gag it, but now, it was somewhat frustrating.
Uu-waa! Waa!
Gaf let out a long sigh.
“I can’t understand a damn…”
At that moment, the mother grabbed Gaf’s arm.
“W-what is it?”
She pointed somewhere with her free hand.
Following the direction of her finger, Gaf turned his head.
There was a blacksmith’s forge. The sound of hammering on steel rang sharply through the air.
During harvest season like this, blacksmiths usually made farming tools, not weapons.
This place was different. Armor, swords, shields, arrowheads—piled up like mountains.
Were they preparing for war? That couldn’t be. Even feuding lords avoided wars during harvest season. Diverting the labor force needed for harvest into soldiers would be a loss for everyone.
Gaf looked back down at the bundle.
See, I told you so? The baby, giggling, seemed to be saying that.
“This makes no sense.”
Gaf had suspected that the demon’s ability was to read the past. Illea’s whereabouts, the elder’s corruption, Gaf’s desire for revenge… All the secrets the demon had revealed so far were things it could know if it had such an ability.
Now, that hypothesis crumbled.
There was no way it could have read the past of the residents here from the mountains. The demon’s information-gathering ability was now completely unknown.
Gaf muttered.
“I need to confirm this.”
Then, he headed toward the blacksmith.
“I have something to ask.”
The bald blacksmith, in the middle of quenching, raised his head.
“Are we going to war or something?”
“You must be a stranger around here.”
“I asked you a question.”
No answer came back.
Gaf pulled a few coins from his pocket and handed them over.
Only then did the bald man react. He grinned broadly.
“I can’t say for sure, but the chances are high.”
“War, in a time like this?”
“Well, you see…”
The blacksmith looked around cautiously and then whispered into Gaf’s ear.
“The lord’s only son has a disability.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Listen to the rest. With his only son unable to function properly, what happens to the succession?”
“So the position is vacant because the son is severely disabled?”
The bald man nodded.
“Blind in one eye, and lame in one leg.”
Typically, nobles would not pass down titles to someone with such disabilities.
“So the successor is…”
The blacksmith crossed his arms.
“The lord’s younger brother—his uncle—is claiming the right to succession, but the lord is completely against it. The two can’t stand each other.”
The lord and his brother were thorough enemies.
Rather than hand over the position to his brother, the baron would choose a distant cousin.
Gaf nodded in understanding.
“A battle for succession, then.”
“Well, the other side already has about 300 men gathered.”
“What about this side? I didn’t see any recruitment notices.”
The blacksmith smirked.
“When war breaks out, do we have a choice? We’ll just have to swing swords with the same hands we use to plow the fields. At least I can handle a sword, given my trade. Hah!”
It seemed the men of Forn Village would all be involved.
Gaf clicked his tongue and muttered.
“Who will harvest the crops, then? They should hire mercenaries instead.”
“They’ll probably fill the ranks from other villages. They’re not drafting in Taharan or Geren, I hear.”
Taharan and Geren were located in the southernmost part of Miyatro territory and were grain-producing areas.
“I…”
Gaf trailed off. He had almost revealed he was from Taharan. It wouldn’t really matter, but he felt cautious.
“You?”
“No.”
The blacksmith tilted his head.
“You stop talking halfway. Anyway—”
He looked Gaf up and down.
“To be honest, I thought you were a mercenary.”
“Well, not too far off.”
The bald man laughed heartily, as if to say he knew it.
“My eye is sharp as always. Having someone who can fight on our side would be reassuring. Thinking of going to the lord’s castle? They won’t turn you away.”
A single veteran mercenary could easily replace a dozen or more farmers.
Gaf muttered doubtfully.
“Not sure if they’d use a mercenary.”
“The lord can afford to pay for one.”
Once, he would have demanded a hefty fee, but now, payment meant nothing.
Rescuing Illea was the top priority.
“But the woman with you—is she your wife?”
The blacksmith was looking at the mother.
“She looks tired. Don’t just let her stand there. Here, have some water.”
The bald man offered a wooden cup.
The mother simply stared at him blankly.
Gaf sighed and took the cup, handing it to her.
“Drink it.”
He placed it in her hand.
Only then did the woman cautiously drink the water.
The blacksmith chuckled.
“She’s quite shy. That’s how women should be.”
His eyes dropped to the mother’s chest.
“Oh, there’s a baby too, huh.”
He stepped closer to look at the bundle.
“What a pretty little one. Thankfully, looks like they take after the mother, not the father. Ha ha!”
Gaf almost said it wasn’t his child but decided not to bother.
“And putting a baby in a rag like that, tsk. Hold on a second.”
He went to a shelf and began working on something.
Soon, the blacksmith returned with a well-made baby sling.
“Made it roughly from leftover leather. Still, it’s far better than that rag. I won’t take any money for it, so use it comfortably.”
Gaf was about to say it wasn’t needed, but the mother snatched the sling quickly.
She discarded the rag and placed Johan in the new carrier.
The baby smiled pleasantly.
The blacksmith said with satisfaction.
“See? The baby likes it.”
Johan stared at him. He would remember that face and repay him properly someday.
“It’s like he’s saying thank you with his eyes. Smart baby. Ha ha!”
“If you knew who you just earned favor with, you’d be terrified.”
The blacksmith tilted his head, not understanding.
Gaf patted his shoulder.
“Anyway, thanks for the information.”
“Heading to the lord’s castle, then?”
Gaf turned away and muttered.
“Well… I’m not sure yet.”
The moment he joined the army, he would be participating in the demon’s plan.
Gaf found it hard to decide what to do.
***
Baron Grian Miyatro could not take his eyes off the girl sitting beside him, despite the table full of various dishes.
He was looking at the tribute maiden.
A doll-like girl. Around ten years old, still young, but perfect in beauty for the baron’s tastes.
Her hair and eyes were particularly clear and pure.
A strand of platinum hair fell across her deep blue pupils, reminiscent of a clear beach on a bright day.
“No matter how much I look, I never tire of you. How can you be so beautiful?”
The girl modestly lowered her head.
“You flatter me.”
A woman sitting across from the girl smiled with satisfaction.
“She’s not just beautiful. I’ve never seen a child as clever as Illea. Hoho, it’s rewarding to teach her.”
The woman who laughed delicately was responsible for the training of the tribute maidens. Her name was Betra. She was a courtesan.
Illea spoke with an overwhelmed expression.
“With both of you praising me, I don’t know where to put myself. Please, take care of me.”
The baron stroked Illea’s cheek in admiration.
“So polite, too. It’s hard to believe you’re the child of farmers.”
His lecherous hand slid down her white skin.
Though it should have been uncomfortable, Illea did not lose her smile.
“My mother taught me. She always reminded me to never make mistakes when serving you, my lord.”
The baron looked at the courtesan Betra.
“You’re earning your keep, aren’t you?”
The tribute maidens called Betra “Mother.”
Betra smiled with her eyes, pleased with Illea’s praise.
“Illea just learns faster than others. I’ve done nothing.”
The baron nodded.
“Such a warm mother-daughter scene. It warms my heart to see you both.”
Illea’s expression clouded over with melancholy.
“But your touch grows colder, my lord.”
She gently removed the baron’s hand from her cheek.
“And your complexion is poor… Are you still unwell?”
Grian’s vitality was weakening day by day. He could not eat, and he could not sleep at night. Even his once-rampant lust had waned.
His skin, once greasy, was now rough and dry.
It had begun right after he took in Illea as a tribute maiden.
“…It must be quite noticeable.”
“How could I not notice? I always worry about you.”
The baron let out a deep sigh.
“The nightmares continue, making me feel like I’m dying.”
The corners of Illea’s lips lifted subtly. No one noticed the change.
“Was it the imp you mentioned before?”
Imp meant a baby demon.
“Yes, it won’t leave me alone.”
“What a persistent creature.”
Illea paused, then smiled brightly.
“But don’t worry. I’m here by your side, aren’t I? I’ll stay close and protect you.”
The baron’s eyes softened foolishly.
“How sweetly you speak. Truly commendable.”
At that, Grian tapped the table lightly, as if making a decision.
“This won’t do.”
Resolve appeared in his eyes.
“Though my body is weak, tonight, I will make an effort. I cannot delay it any longer.”
Illea tilted her head as if she did not understand.
“Make an effort?”
“Your first night.”
He meant to take her virginity.
Immediately, Illea’s expression hardened like wax.
The atmosphere shifted abruptly. The baron, startled, asked,
“Why, what’s wrong? Do you not want to share a bed with me?”
“It’s not that.”
Illea lifted her fork and began pointing to the food one by one.
First, the sherry the baron liked to drink, then the salad made with fresh vegetables, and a small pie.
“What do you call these?”
“Why are you asking that, all of a sudden…”
“Please answer.”
Had it been any other tribute maiden, he would have scolded her.
“Well… appetizers?”
“That’s right.”
Illea smiled at Betra.
“Mother, why do we start with appetizers before the main dish?”
Betra’s eyes trembled slightly. Illea was being disrespectful to the baron. The consequences might fall directly on Betra.
She forced a smile.
“Illea, the baron is asking you to serve him. Stop with the nonsense and answer.”
“Mother’s answer is mine.”
Was she trying to pick a fight? Betra gripped her fork tightly under the table, so her veined hand was hidden from view.
“To whet the appetite and build anticipation for the main dish.”
She did not rise to the provocation. She could not engage in a nerve battle with a ten-year-old in front of the baron.
Illea nodded.
“Correct.”
Then, she pointed forward with her fork.
There, lined up against the wall, stood several girls who could not fit at the table.
Illea looked at them and drew a calm smile.
“I wish to be the main dish for the baron.”
She was telling him to savor those girls first.
Betra looked at Illea, speechless.
‘What kind of child…’
Even as a courtesan who had trained many girls, she had never encountered one like this.
Illea was shrewder than the street brats of the slums, as audacious as the daughters of fallen noble families, and as quick-witted as abandoned bastards.
She was good at everything, leaving no room for criticism.
Betra checked the baron’s expression.
Fortunately, he did not look displeased. Instead, he was staring at the other girls with a depressed look.
“…I feel nothing. My heart doesn’t stir.”
His fading desire no longer responded to most women.
How had this lecherous man become like this? Betra could not understand.
“It’s heartbreaking. You need to regain your strength soon.”
Illea lifted her teacup as she murmured.
“Mother will have to take care of you.”
Though her expression was subdued, it felt subtly off. As if she was calmly enjoying the situation… Betra’s thoughts were interrupted.
A knight entered the dining hall and approached the baron.
“My lord, a mercenary has arrived.”
Grian’s face twisted.
“Vultures, sniffing around, eh? Tell them I don’t need them.”
“Well, it’s just one.”
“What? Just one?”
“Yes, but he claims he was with the Kandeya Mercenaries.”
At that moment, doubt crossed the baron’s face. Illea did not show any reaction.
‘…Kandeya?’
The Kandeya Mercenaries. A cavalry unit once famous in the east, now vanished without a trace.
Rumor said they had been wiped out.
“What nonsense is that? They were all killed long ago.”
“I’ve confirmed the mercenary badge.”
An impostor? The baron was suspicious, but Illea was certain.
It was her father.
The knight spoke.
“He requests an audience. Shall I let him in?”
“Are you sure it’s just one?”
If it were any more, the baron would refuse to pay.
“Yes, well, he has his family with him, but it’s just a wife and a baby.”
Only then did Illea’s expression change. Beneath her calm smile, a flicker of interest appeared.
She muttered quietly.
“How capable.”
How long had it been since they were separated, and he already had another child?
“Hm, Illea, what did you say?”
Illea smiled brightly.
“I said, have a good meeting, my lord.”
“I didn’t say I’d go… Well, I suppose I’ll take a look at this impostor’s face.”
With that, the lord stood up and headed straight for the drawing room.