Plenty of Prepared Chairs
There were plenty of prepared chairs. Marhal plopped down roughly in an empty one, bringing Marin and Karian along with him. Until then, no one had spoken a word. It was the shock from what had come out of Marina Silanatiell's mouth.
Demons. More than half the people here had experienced that nightmare firsthand. They'd seen the black fog blanket the horizon with their own eyes. To them, demons weren't legends or fantasies—they were reality.
Azenman Riantl opened his mouth.
"Who might you be?"
"A surveyor for the Union. Marina Silanatiell."
"How did a Union surveyor end up here? This is a gathering of landlords."
Ales eyed Marina with clear distaste. Priests and mages didn't get along. Priests hoarded history as God's domain, while mages delved into mysteries to uncover their roots—the two were incompatible from the start.
"I invited her."
It was Lugen.
"She's with the Union, but not one of them. Closer to imperial personnel, really. She had something the landlords absolutely needed to hear, so I brought her along. And she did deliver something pretty important, didn't she?"
"I see. Demons have appeared. I'd like to hear the details."
Azenman again. He elegantly sliced the meat before him and brought a piece to his mouth—a posture that would have left a ducal court etiquette master swooning in admiration. A commoner like Azenman couldn't afford to give the nobles any opening, no matter how small, if he wanted to avoid their scorn. He was the epitome of perfect etiquette here—and he knew how to wield it.
Food arrived in front of Marhal, Marin, and Karian too. Marin hacked at her meat with zero regard for manners, while Karian followed the basic etiquette Ena had taught him. Marhal just cut into his roughly. He could show off proper form if he wanted— he'd learned Holy Empire etiquette from a saint and imperial ways from a mage, and even the thief wasn't a total outsider to it. Besides, Marhal was Bachea imperial royalty, possessors of the world's most intricate protocols.
The others began picking at their food bit by bit. But no one was savoring the taste. Everyone's full attention was locked on Marina.
"Everyone knows about the recent land race, I assume."
"Of course. You'd have no business being here if you didn't."
Lugen said.
"Demons showed up there. High knights participating in the race and their subordinates handled them. For the sake of protecting landlords' identities, I won't go into details. But I trust everyone here could figure it out with a simple investigation."
"Her words are true. I vouch for it with my land and name."
A hush rippled through the room. Some landlords gasped, and one servant dropped the food he was carrying.
"Is that true?"
Ales.
"Mr. Ales, was it? What do you mean by that?"
"How are we supposed to believe some Union mage runt? Could be a Union ploy to sow chaos among the landlords. I don't buy it."
"What would it take for you to believe me?"
"Proof. Show us why we should trust your word."
Marina swallowed her rising anger. Political games in a situation like this. She was sick of the Holy Empire's authoritarianism. Regulating her breathing to keep her language civil, she replied.
"Fine. I'll show you."
"Go ahead, then."
Marina covered her eyes with her hand. An unseen eye circled Ales before piercing the wall and heading outside. It zeroed in on Ales's carriage. Noble carriages always had at least one hidden compartment for valuables. Ales's was no different—a space concealed under the seat panel. Seals made without mystical aid meant nothing to her. She peered into the hiding spot.
A few checks and a single letter. Marina read the letter. It was from the Holy Empire, instructing support for a special operation and its personnel. But the operation wasn't ordinary.
A bandit gang led by a saint aspirant?
She lowered her hand from her eyes.
"You got a letter from the Holy Empire recently. Something about aiding their honored guests—how's that going?"
Ales's relaxed expression froze. A landlord backing bandits? It happened plenty. But getting caught doing it was worlds apart. One slip, and he'd make enemies of everyone here. Sure, he had the Holy Empire's covert backing, but he couldn't take on all these landlords. There was Lugen with imperial support, and Azenman who could rally ducal power.
"Not the most astonishing magic, but it seems to have surprised you, Lord Ales. Does that prove my abilities? Need more?"
"No, that's enough."
He wiped away the cold sweat streaming down his face.
As everyone stared at Marina, Azenman watched Marhal. He made sure never to miss Marhal's movements, even if he overlooked others'. Marhal, unseen for the past year, had returned to Pioneer Village and jumped right back into a land race. And he'd come back with a heavyweight like Strekl. Marhal's inhuman charisma was no surprise, but Strekl wasn't one to be easily swayed. What had happened in that race to make Strekl follow Marhal's lead so obediently? Demons made sense.
"This is a claim without proof. But everyone here has heard the news about the sudden storm and black giant a few days ago."
A perfectly clear sky had erupted in storm clouds, and some unidentified giant had appeared. No one here was unaware. The phenomenon itself remained unexplained.
"That was demons' doing too."
"I saw it. The sky splitting open. Who was that?"
A hulking man spoke in halting Duchy tongue. His build dwarfed everyone else's—Azenman, who avoided exercise, looked half his shoulder width.
"And you are?"
"Haily of Aphranche. So, it was there? The Hero."
"Not sure about that far."
"Nothing else. The one who cleaved the sky."
The figure that rent the storm and giant drew as much fascination as the storm and giant themselves.
Mar sis could do it too, but it felt more like bro's technique.
Anyone who'd seen the clouds part alongside the giant would think of the Hero.
"I did my utmost to track down the mystery's owner. I'm sure you all did too. But I found nothing."
Of course you didn't. He's right here.
"Finding the Hero can wait. No one could if he doesn't want to be found. What's important is demons have appeared—even near the Border."
Marina sat down. Lugen looked slightly flustered. She'd come here out of duty to warn about demons. She hadn't seemed thrilled about the gathering and had said she'd leave right after speaking. Her staying longer was unexpected.
Marina still wasn't comfortable here. She disliked power and those who wielded it. Gatherings of the powerful? Hard pass. The only reason she stayed was one person.
Marhal.
A man who understood the bond between land and history.
—Building it.
—The built-up.
The most common expressions for mysteries and history. History accumulates. And the accumulated doesn't vanish. Even those who know and wield history and karma choose humans as the accumulators.
In truth, what could accumulate—and hold—far more than humans was something else.
Land. Soil.
All history unfolds where humans tread, so all events pile upon the land. A land's owner is not just master of the dirt, but of the history embedded in it.
If a genius or prodigy emerges from a new noble house with no special lineage, check the past events on that land. But in practice, people rarely draw influence from a land's history. Even powerful clans rarely see it.
A man who knew that and spoke of it wasn't ordinary. She needed to learn about him. It was worth enduring the discomfort of a landlords' gathering.
Marhal spoke in Aphranche.
[Haily, long time no see, right?]
[Thought you were dead. But a guy like you wouldn't go down easy. What mess you stir up this time?]
[Hey, I don't just go around causing trouble. Had some important personal business. How've you been?]
[Same as always.]
Haily, from Aphranche, represented the West's native landlords. Like Hugo, he was a nute. But where Hugo was a typical one, Haily had collected taxes in royal demesne. His personal prowess rivaled a high knight, and his land management skills ranked in the top five here. His only flaw was his poor speech.
Haily was bad with languages, but after a decade trading with ducal folk, he could've picked it up. He stubbornly clung to his clumsy accent and odd grammar to preserve his identity. Fluent in Aphranche and sharing West origins—and with Marhal employing nute Hugo—Haily was especially friendly toward him. Marhal saw no downside in cozying up to someone like Haily, so they'd mingled often.
Chatting in Aphranche at landlords' meetings was routine whenever Marhal showed. The others watched with "here they go again" faces but didn't butt in. It was an unspoken rule after three landlords who'd tried got unceremoniously dumped on the floor.
The other landlords started their own conversations with acquaintances.
[Mind if I join?]
[Your Excellency knows Aphranche too?]
[Learned it. Languages aren't totally isolated—year's enough.]
[That's surprising.]
[Can't curse now. Shame.]
[You cursing me?]
Azenman narrowed his eyes.
[Everyone does.]
[...Gotta learn another to dodge the humiliation.]
Azenman's scholarly fire was lit.
[Kane, what now? Union's starting their bullshit.]
Kane was like a soulmate for men. Calling another man "Kane" meant trusting him like family. Marhal never felt great about Haily's "Kane"s—he'd never earned it.
Unexplained favor was as scary as malice.
[Saw it coming, didn't you? How many you gathered?]
[Can say?]
[If His Excellency wants, he'll know in half a day.]
[Azenman Riantl—knew he was sharp, but this exceeds expectations.]
[I'll take that as praise.]
[Over two hundred nutes pledged. Plenty acting as proxies for other landlords too.]
[Far more dangerous than I thought.]
Nutes were a unique profession born from Aphranche's culture and history. Aphranche wasn't a big nation, sustained by the Grain Basin's productivity. Famines were rare, food plentiful, population high. But high population bred problems—poor control. Local rebellions flared often, costing resources to suppress.
Thus, nutes emerged: city managers without power or private guards—death for that. All responsibility, no authority. Self-reliant protectors. Even in Aphranche, they were called inhuman work. But in the West's pioneer era, they shone as land stewards. Skilled in accounts, management, and self-defense. Ex-nutes commanded top pay as proxies managing multiple landlords' lands.
Nutes organizing? It'd cause uproar. Not for open gatherings—midnight backrooms only. But no one here understood Aphranche. Fallen kingdom tongues had their uses.
[Looks like we've got someone to keep quiet now.]
Except today, someone special was here. Marina, seated across from Marhal, stared wide-eyed their way.