The Power in a Name
Marhal untied Astal and headed out to the streets with him. Every time cheers erupted from a tavern, Astal flinched.
"You won't get kidnapped twice a day, so don't worry."
"But why are you helping me?"
"The name Bergias is reason enough."
"Even the nobles who used to keep ties with my family ignored the name Bergias once it was all that was left."
"That's because they're idiots."
If they'd known the power held by the owner of the name Bergias, they never would have let him wander around like this.
"So how were you planning to claim land?"
"I was a bastard child, but the family still gave me money. I spent a bit on... entertainment."
Asthal trailed off, embarrassed to admit it himself.
"And?"
"I made a few friends at taverns. I came to the Border with them. They only cared about my money, but that made them reliable."
"They must've been decent friends, then. They didn't put a knife to your throat right away, at least."
To them, Astal had been a mark, a sugar daddy. But the fact that they stuck around even after the money ran dry meant he wasn't a total lost cause. If he'd made those kinds of friends through his carousing, Astal's judgment of character wasn't half bad.
"Probably. Eek!"
Asthal toppled backward. Moonlight revealed over twenty corpses strewn across the street. People bisected, their blood and guts splattered everywhere.
Strekl must have really cut loose.
"Uh, what is this?"
"Happens sometimes at the Border. Don't get involved—just hurry along."
Marhal picked paths where no blood had fallen, and Astal followed cautiously in his footsteps. They made it back to the inn that way.
Marhal opened the inn door. Astal fell backward again.
Strekl sat in an inn chair, his cloak and plate armor drenched in blood and entrails.
"I figured, but you picked up another stray."
"Stray? Astal, let me introduce you. This is Strekl. You've heard the name if you're lucky."
"Strekl? The Indomitable Knight Strekl?"
"I had a nickname like that?"
"It's not one people call you often. Most in the Duchy haven't even heard it."
"Astal Bergias. It's an honor to meet you!"
"Bergias?"
Strekl's gaze shifted to Marhal's face. Marhal nodded.
Strekl, who understood the power of history, also knew about the Bergias family. Straddling the border between the Duchy and a small kingdom to its south that no longer existed, the Bergias had been a great house supplying food to the region. He'd heard the entire family had been shattered in the Union wars.
And here was Marhal bringing back the heir.
"You pick up big fish just by touching them. Good luck or bad?"
"Good, obviously. Where's Marin and Bayola?"
"I'm down here. Bay's upstairs."
Marin poked her head out from the kitchen. As she started to step out, she hurriedly hid the liquor bottle in her hand behind her back.
"Th-this is..."
"Adults can drink too. Got any more? I could use a glass myself."
"I'll get it."
As Marin ducked back inside, Astal whispered.
"Who's she?"
Marhal glanced at Astal's expression. It was the face of someone who liked his fun.
"Better not get too close to Marin. I won't stop you if you insist on talking to her, though."
"N-no, I won't!"
He'd gotten the wrong idea, but letting him keep it wasn't a bad call. What Astal had in mind was probably the exact thing Marin hated most.
"Is Karian still up?"
"Seemed like it. He took some late-night snacks upstairs."
"Good to see him motivated."
Marhal grabbed a bottle of liquor and two glasses that Marin brought out. Astal eyed Strekl, clearly wanting to say something, but he never mustered the courage to speak to him. From the nickname, it seemed Strekl had accomplished something big near the Bergias lands. Astal looked to be in his early twenties, so he'd probably seen or heard of Strekl's exploits firsthand during the demon wars.
The real deal idol.
This could be useful.
"Astal, I've got someone to introduce you to. Won't hurt to get friendly. Follow me."
Marhal led Astal up to the second floor. Their destination was Karian's room.
Astal's steps faltered briefly at the sight of the hallway lit only by a few candles, but he forced himself to follow Marhal.
Marhal knocked. Karian emerged from the room holding a lantern.
"Studying?"
"Gotta do something. Who's this?"
"A lost young man. Mind showing him around the city for a bit?"
He didn't know the details, but he knew Marhal had something big coming up in a few days. Taking on extra people right now was tough. If someone had asked him to watch over a stranger just before the land race, he'd have cursed them out.
Karian nodded.
"Not a problem. Looks like... nobility, huh?"
"Just the name. Astal Bergias."
"Got it. Teach him about the West?"
"Told you Karian's the best."
Astal blinked at Karian's reaction, wondering if he'd made a mistake. Then Karian's next words explained it.
"If you don't have solid backing, even nobles in the West don't throw their names around. No one here to respect them, protect them, or avenge them if things go wrong."
All the power they'd enjoyed in the East was worth less than a single gold coin out West. To intimidate with a name alone, you'd need to be someone like Azenman Riantl or imperial royalty.
But royalty sleeping exhausted on the floor above? Karian won't figure that out anytime soon. Maybe never.
"Come in. Let's talk."
"Here. You need this for conversation, right?"
"Thanks."
Karian took the liquor and glasses from Marhal and went into the room with Astal. Marhal headed back downstairs.
In that short time, Marin had nearly emptied a bottle of strong liquor. She slurred in a tongue-twisted voice.
"Lord Marhal. Am I not a person?"
"Who said that?"
"That bitch up there."
Marin jabbed a finger at the ceiling. There was only one person she'd call a bitch.
"Bayola?"
Bayola could be a bit oblivious, but that came from lack of experience. Raised in the palace, she was actually sharp when it counted. Otherwise, she wouldn't have survived this long with a fatal flaw like hemophobia for a Muet Empire noble.
She wasn't the type to hurl insults at those around her. That left one possibility.
"What'd she say?"
"Asked if you could even call someone without a future a person."
It probably wasn't said directly to Marin. Just something that slipped out mid-conversation. Given what Bayola had been through, it was understandable she'd lash out at criminals or bottom-feeders. But Marin had clawed her way up from those depths too.
Words aimed at them hit Marin indirectly. She might be far from that life now, but if she still felt that way, no arguing would fix it.
"Ouch. That stings me too."
"You too, Lord Marhal?"
Disbelief that Marhal could be like that. Hope that he was, deep down. Self-reproach for even thinking it. Emotions rose and fell across her face like waves on the surface.
They sank deep into her chest, brushing her conscience—embarrassing, pitiable feelings about her own lot. Marin buried her face in the table.
"My past is a bit flashy. Still living flashy now. But one puff from the Union and I'm gone. If the West vanishes, I'm out on the street too."
"But there's tomorrow, right? Not for me."
"Why wouldn't you have a tomorrow, Marin? We've gotta figure out how to use the land, gather resources. If this goes well, we can build a few structures. Open a shop for the laborers rebuilding the city."
Marin's only response was a few squirms with her face still planted in the table. Words wouldn't cut it. No one else's would get through. Forcing agreement would just breed resentment later. They'd have to sort it out between themselves.
"I'm heading up."
"Hey."
"You're Strekl's disciple. If disciples fight, the master mediates, right?"
Marhal vanished up the stairs like he was fleeing. Tsk. Strekl clicked his tongue.
He wasn't one to lose an argument. Without basic rhetoric, he couldn't have scrapped with Duchy nobles. But even he had no confidence in succeeding where Marhal failed.
Not wanting to head up just yet, Strekl downed his drink. As a high knight whose lineage specialized in consumption, he didn't get drunk easily. He emptied three bottles of hard liquor in his seat before a slight buzz hit.
Borrowing the liquor’s courage, Strekl spoke.
"I've got over two hundred family members."
Marin's head lifted from the table like it was glued there. She eyed him like he was spouting nonsense.
"The families of those who died following me, died from my bad calls, or died in my place. That's just the ones I can still contact."
"Checks?"
"Yeah, money for them. Gave them living expenses before coming West, but that's running out."
If he'd just wanted wealth or fame, Strekl had better paths. He had the skill and experience to command a knight order even in the Empire.
Empire, Holy Empire, Duchy—the three great powers aside, he could aim for a noble title elsewhere. A free knight in full plate fetched a king's ransom.
He stayed in the Duchy because of the people he had to support. Most were widows or mothers left alone after husbands and sons died in the wars. If Strekl let go, their survival was hopeless. That's why he couldn't leave.
"Leave?"
"I've got time to drill the basics into you two. But I can't be away long. Whatever happens, I'll have to head back to the Duchy once."
Strekl had been gone nearly two months. The sharp ones were already dismantling what he'd built.
Have to cut ties.
A traitor had emerged among his men. His influence was waning that much. Staying in the Duchy was unrealistic now. At minimum, he had to abandon the capital and its surroundings.
And that required money. A lot of it.
Small problems got pushed aside by the big ones. Faced with the weight of hundreds of lives Strekl carried, Marin fell silent. She quietly slid the remaining bottle toward him.
It was a night that called for drink.