Chapter 23: My Home

Kaban returned to Marhal with his subordinates in tow. The bonfire blazed in the same spot, unchanged, with a pot of mysterious black liquid bubbling over it. It resembled the burning water that mages used, but it wasn't the real thing. Not even the most eccentric mages would touch it. Yet there were two women by the fire, spoons and bowls in hand, locked in battle with the pot.

Marhal stepped forward to greet Kaban. He looked just as defenseless as before—the same man who'd nearly died in their last encounter. That made it all the harder for Kaban to relax around him. Any rational person would learn from a brush with death and take precautions next time. Those who didn't were called lunatics or madmen by the world. This guy wasn't mad, yet he kept repeating the same mistake. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He'd even stationed the knight who'd blocked Kaban's thrown sword far enough away.

"Looks like your calculations are done."

"That tone. So it was you after all."

"Nothing impressive about it. The original idea came from His Excellency Azenman Riantl, the finest mind in the Duchy. Everyone who's worked with him has made a killing."

"Azenman Riantl... I've heard the name. The genius who perfected the Duchy's administration and logistics during the war—supposed to have ruined it all. Should've crashed and burned. He was in the West?"

It was a natural outcome. Not some moral lapse, but embezzlement. Who'd appoint a quartermaster or administrator who stole from the national treasury? In rural backwaters where they couldn't count, just dropping Azenman's name would have nobles bowing and dragging him off. But a man who'd tasted the top—would he settle for that? No, he'd head west, where he could wield power rivaling any lord.

"Your numbers are short. Three betrayed you? Or did one betray and then stab his comrades before fleeing? No familiar faces. Lieutenant Knight Aul."

"You seem to pride yourself on your silver tongue, but watch your words, or you won't live to see discharge."

"That's factored into the discharge pay. Aul betrayed you, then. Shall I put out a wanted notice? Pioneer bonds in the West run surprisingly deep."

"...I'd appreciate that."

Kaban wasn't some lowly knight, a mere cog in the machine. He was a high knight leading his own order. When a cog broke, it was his duty to fix it. Especially if one subordinate had killed another and fled—that would shatter the honor he'd built over a lifetime.

"Now, to productive matters. You've come in person to hand over this land. Right?"

"Yes. The land's yours, and we'll provide minimal protection until the surveyor arrives. That suffice?"

"Perfect. Now we're allies bound by land. Its history will bless us."

At the word "history," Strekl and Rebel la—who'd been observing at Marhal's request—reacted subtly. Marhal knew about history. He'd probably understood it long before Strekl explained. It didn't make sense for the Hero Party's guide to be ignorant of history and "accumulation."

"Hey. Does the Empire teach imperial kin about a land's history?"

"No... We learn the history of long-reigning rulers and their names, but a land's history? Never crossed my mind."

"Many knights receive land from lords. But that's not true ownership. It's just the right to collect taxes on its produce in the lord's stead. Even 'landed merchants' hold deeds, but every deed states the land is leased under the king's permission. At least in the Duchy."

"The Empire's no different. All land belongs to the emperor by default; nobles lease and rule it. Merchants below them are like sub-lessees."

The true owner of every inhabited land—at least on paper—was royalty. No one truly owned their own.

"In the West, even commoners can claim their own land. Become landlords in the truest sense, without noble titles. Might sound mundane, but it's revolutionary."

"And there's a guy casually spilling secrets even royals don't know. I thought I'd seen it all as an aspiring tracker knight, but this man's impossible to read."

Having wrapped up with Marhal, Kaban turned his horse toward the city. Marhal waved him off. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Mage, miracle-worker, Hero Party guide, survivor of the fallen West. What more did he need to be satisfied?

"Glad it ended without a fight. Marin! Plant the flag. It's time!"

Marin, who'd been glaring down her bowl of mystery sludge, shot up faster than the wind and slammed her flag into the ground. The red banner fluttered.

When the surveyor came, this land would be hers. A refugee who'd fled her homeland had, after over a decade, claimed land in the West—not the same soil, but her own.

"Grandma, we did it. This is our home. Our home. Sniff... ugh..."

She clutched the flag and finally broke. So much had happened. She'd nearly starved, hovered near death from mere food poisoning. She'd killed people. Killed to survive. Killed a lot. So much that the sight of blood drove her mad. And at the end of it all, she finally had something she could proudly call her own.

Marin sobbed into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the flag for a long while. No one called her ugly for it.

After her long cry, Marin's eyes were puffy, her nose and eyes red, her face a mess.

"Come on, Marin, blow your nose. Hmph."

"N-no..."

"Just do it. Hmph."

"Snort!"

Prodded by Marhal, Marin blew her nose, then realized what she'd done. She gawked, mouth agape, before hanging her head.

"Is it over now?"

"More or less. Pray the surveyor's quick. The one handling this area seems competent, so it won't take long."

"What next after the race?"

"Manage the land we've neglected."

"You were a landlord?"

Bayola's eyes widened. Marhal's greatness aside, she'd never imagined him as one.

"A landlord joining the land race? This dangerous thing?"

"The more land, the better, right?"

Strekl and Rebel la exchanged meaningful glances.

Waiting for Kaban upon his return from Marhal was a knight of unfathomable heights, one he couldn't even look up at. Cliff of the Hyena Knights.

The emperor's direct order demanded the exceptional in all things. Other knight orders bore names of legendary figures, mythic beasts, or predators. The Hyena Knights? Just hyenas. The familiarity bred fear of their deeds.

They handled any task at the emperor's command. No honor in it. Honor was a nice-to-have bauble for knights, but the Hyenas lacked even that baseline—they did anything ordered.

"The imperial shadow's just rumors. These are the cruelest in the palace."

Shadows stayed unseen; these openly wrought havoc in the palace.

"They say one once cleaved an ox in half before a princess."

The leader of those mad dogs stood before him now.

"That's what happened."

Kaban recounted his goal and the events here to the man. In the West, might made right. The emperor's knight commanders were all iron-cutting knights—and beyond. Armed with just a light sword, this man could carve him and his men apart.

Cliff, having heard it all, sat on Kaban's former stone and stroked his chin.

"So, not the emperor's man, but an imperial knight lost land to some unknown mage's scheme?"

"Yes."

"Shameless."

Kaban bit his lip, head bowed. Easy to say without experiencing it. In the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠same spot, even he'd have been helpless. But afterward? He'd have slaughtered everyone there and seized the surroundings. That was power. Clever schemes crumbled before absolute might.

"Eastward, you said?"

"Yes."

Cliff rose. The large debris was cleared, but stray wooden pillars remained. Tap, tap, tap. His casual steps exploded into a sprint. He dashed diagonally up a towering pillar, then leaped like a bird from its top. Twisting midair, he spotted the eastern bonfire and five figures nearby. Two faces he knew.

"Princess Bayola. Wondered where you'd vanished—already in the West."

A princess unranked in the top ten for succession. Post-succession, her life hinged on the new emperor's whim. Yet the emperor's caprice made her the wild card.

"Lord Yurel will be pleased."

Hyena Knights' captain, but Cliff also backed the emperor's fifth son, Yurel. Capturing Bayola would delight his young patron.

Ascent peaked; descent began. From a height that would've shattered a normal man's legs into five pieces, Cliff landed leisurely.

"Any excuse is fine. Call those bastards here."

"They won't come."

They'd know the city interior was Kaban's turf. Their alliance was pure interest—no loyalty. Given a sure kill, they'd stab backs gladly. So they wouldn't approach.

"Send a letter. If they don't want the princess's secret exposed, come."

Kaban's eyes widened at "princess." One woman screamed noble, sure—but royalty in the distant West?

"No need to think. Just send it."

"Understood."

One of Kaban's subordinate knights raced up, handed a letter, and fled. Marhal opened what seemed to be from Kaban.

"If you don't want your secret out, come inside the city walls. Recipient... Bay. Cliff reacted oddly when we first saw him too."

Bayola bit her thumbnail. Strekl glanced at Rebel la, who shook her head. She'd been Bayola's exclusive knight only a few years—by then, Bayola was already hiding her hemophobia desperately.

"Once called a doctor to cure my blood phobia. That quack said to 'prescribe' cleaving an ox in half before me. The man who did it? A Hyena Knight."

Cleaving an ox in one stroke wasn't easy, and knights loathed butcher's work. Hence the Hyenas.

"They saw the treatment, so they know something's off. Maybe even the phobia itself. That's the gist."

Bayola nodded. Marhal burned the letter in the bonfire. No keepsake there—and knowing it carried someone's breath made it worse.

"Kaban would've used that info ages ago if he knew. Unless divine revelation, someone fed him fresh intel. And we saw that someone pass nearby?"

Rebel la's face darkened at mention of the Hyena Knights.

"Captain Cliff's quietly backing Yurel."

"Yurel's more mage than knight. Not the first prince Imaril, but the fifth? A knight captain?"

"You know the imperial succession well."

"Duchy's top brass must be obsessed. So, what now? I say run—that's best."

A true iron-cutting knight had arrived. The flimsy alliance crumbled. Marhal hid power, unknown extent, but without him, no one here could block one strike. Kaban avoided fight expecting heavy losses—not a rout. And now entangled in imperial succession? Capturing or killing a advantageously positioned royal like Bayola would shift the board. They'd pursue relentlessly. Forget land—flee to live.

"My land?"

Marin's voice shook. Lose the flag not even a day after planting? After all that?

"Meeting them is the worst option. Secret out won't kill us, but entering the city? Worse than death. So run."

"Sounds like you're excluding yourself."

"No reply to the invite? They'll suspect. Someone must buy time."

Bayola's eyes trembled, Marin gaped foolishly. Rebel la scowled.

"No one's asking you to sacrifice. We all run. Better that."

"Your horses are different breeds. Won't last a day before they catch up."

"What about surveyors? Can't commit crimes before them, right?"

"Relative. Imperial matters? Surveyors'll turn a blind eye."

Might even bribe for favor. Surveyors' West power came from the Union behind them—and the Empire topped that.

"No matter how great you are, stalling twenty knights? Impossible."

"Gotta try to know."

Marhal turned and walked off, done talking. Strekl followed.

"I'll go too. Two's better than one."

"Might die? Probably will."

"Without you, I'd have died underground. Call it extra days from the saint. And you lot—don't come to the city. Nothing worse than allies captured mid-guerrilla. Just run."

The pair mounted horses grazing nearby and leisurely approached the city holding the iron-cutting knight.