Chapter 80: The Emperor's Iron-Cutters
The emperor commanded several direct knight orders. In times of war, they shone brighter than any other force, rivaling even the paladins of the Holy Empire as the finest warriors in the East. But few knew what these knights did in peacetime. Even within the imperial palace, it was rare to catch sight of their captains.
The palace housed several disused warehouses. Those piled high with junk were so thick with dust that even the cleaning crews avoided them.
One such warehouse door creaked open, and three figures emerged. No sound accompanied them. Rusty iron gates swung silently; iron-shod boots struck the ground without echo. Unseen by any eyes, they reached the throne room.
Viktorma Muesilrigo II gazed down from his throne at his knights. In his youth, the emperor had been famed for his sculpted physique. Time had withered those legendary muscles, but in their place, he had gained wisdom. His eyes pierced deceptions, his ears sifted lies from truth, his nose scented danger, and his lips wielded power.
"Raise your heads."
The three knights lifted their gazes. They were the captains of the emperor's direct knight orders—all three of them. Iron-cutting knights, three in number, had departed the palace together... and now returned as one. Anyone who grasped the significance would move heaven and earth to uncover what they had done outside.
"Did you plant the flag?"
"We beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty."
The knight known as the Immortal drew a flag from his breast. It was small, crafted from paulownia wood plated in gold, topped with a crimson silk banner. Though no breeze stirred the throne room, the flag fluttered on its own.
"What happened? Report in detail."
"By Your Majesty's command, we reached the site of the old Bachea Empire capital—the former seat of its palace."
"What of the palace and the Bachea capital itself?"
"No trace remained of the grand city or its radiant civilization—only barren plains. Had it not been so, I might have thought we'd misread the map."
"And that?"
"Where we surmised the palace once stood, a colossal black veil hung in the air. It was identical to the fog of the demons—the one that devours history. We lingered a full month, exhausting every method to breach it, but deeming it impossible, we withdrew."
"Even with the relic I granted you?"
"It seemed effective at first, but we failed to pierce the black veil in the end. We beg your forgiveness."
The three captains—Immortal, Iron Mountain, and Flame—had left the palace under orders to plant their flag at the site of the Bachea Empire's palace. The journey was long, but the task itself was straightforward. Yet they had failed. To them, it was a wound to their pride. And a humiliation before the emperor.
"This was anticipated. Do not dwell on it."
"Your Majesty's boundless mercy leaves us unworthy."
The Flame knight spoke. "Your Majesty, may I presume to ask a question?"
"Speak."
"Is that veil the work of Silanatiell?"
The emperor drummed his fingers on the armrest. Silanatiell—a name laced with love and hate. Begun in the days of the Muet Kingdom, perfected in Viktorma Muesilrigo II's reign. The masterpiece at the root of all troubles, the culprit behind this deadlock.
"It may be. Or it may not. You have served well. Rest until my next summons."
"Before we go, Your Majesty, there is one more matter to report."
"Permission granted."
"Beyond the palace site, we observed identical black veils at several locations—all corresponding to strategic strongholds or capitals on the maps. Could it relate to the demons... or perhaps the Hero?"
"Enough. Withdraw."
The emperor cut him off, a flicker of displeasure crossing his face. The three knights departed the throne room swiftly.
"Land..."
The emperor closed his eyes tightly. Visions of other places filled his mind: his eldest son drilling with swords, his fifth studying demons alongside mages, his tenth poring over books. Nothing within the empire's borders escaped the emperor's gaze.
He was no mage. He had not studied far-seeing arts, nor accumulated such history. Yet he wielded a mystery akin to magic at will. Had he not understood its origin, he might never have used it. But the emperor knew precisely whence this power came.
Land. The fact of owning the vast empire's territory, combined with his desire to control it utterly, granted him eyes to surveil his domain. Few grasped the inherent value of land ownership itself. Even ascetics versed in karma rarely extended their insight to the earth beneath their feet.
That was why it gnawed at him. Mysterious black veils blanketing key western strongholds, including the ruins of the Bachea Empire palace. Not random spots, but capitals and chokepoints—the heart of land power. If even his handpicked knights, armed with his gifted relics, could not breach them, the mystery woven into those veils was no trifling thing.
Few in the world could erect so many. Only the four called inhuman made the shortlist—and when it came to mysteries, only one truly fit.
The emperor slammed his fist on the armrest.
Bam!
The iron armrest crumpled.
"Silanatiell. Silanatiell. Mar Silanatiell…!"
The emperor ground out the name of the masterless hound.
* * *
Marhal prepared to head south. Little preparation was needed. Stealth demanded light travel: rations, horses, weapons. That sufficed.
"Are you sure no other preparations are required?"
"I'm fine, really. Hugo, just look after Marin and Karian. We've found settlers, so it's time to kick off construction in earnest. Tell the others I'm away on urgent business."
"Understood."
Marhal mounted up. Beside him rode Kaban and Ultekan, their subordinates similarly astride.
"Hyah!"
With Marhal in the lead, the horses broke into a gallop.
Once they had vanished from sight, Hugo turned away. He was no idler himself. Routine business oversight, Marhal's special tasks, support for Marin and Karian...
'Maybe I should hire one more person.'
His superhuman physique had handled most things alone thus far, but the mounting workload was nearing its limit. Sounding out Haily could yield a reliable Nute proxy.
Lost in such thoughts, Hugo returned to the villa. Strekl awaited him out front.
"Where's Marhal?"
"Headed south."
"...That direction, then. Already on the move. Did he leave any particular message for us?"
"Nothing special. Do you have some plan in mind?"
"I want to know about the settlers' arrangements. How exactly will it proceed?"
These were family-like folk. Even with Marhal around, Strekl couldn't just stand by.
"Those who wish to stay on the Border, we leave be. Most of the young men, probably. Anyone heading to the Lord's pioneer village travels with supplies and materials. Including basics plus village and warehouse construction kits—that makes for a sizable group."
"Escort?"
"Our people, plus a few trusted mercenaries if needed."
"Can you hire me?"
"You, Strekl?"
Hugo blinked, already calculating the cost of employing someone of Strekl's caliber in his head.
"No need for pay. Just ensure the journey's smooth, one way or another."
"Understood."
With Strekl added, no mercenaries would be necessary. Hit-and-run bandits posed no threat to this crew. The real worry was overwhelming numbers. A clash like that meant casualties on their side. A knight in full plate was an unmatched monster in a numbers game. Strekl's armored presence alone deterred bandits like nothing else.
"What's my going rate? Should fetch a pretty sum."
"We could add meat to every meal and upgrade to finer blankets for nights."
"Sounds good."
Strekl nodded in satisfaction.
* * *
Karian and Astal Bergias had been spending more time together lately. To Astal, tossed alone into the West, Karian—who'd survived years here—was a pillar of support. Hugo was trustworthy too, but Astal's frail nature shied from the steward's stern demeanor. Even in his estate's heyday, he'd avoided harsh-faced folk.
"Five small warehouses should be doable."
Karian mused as they exited the lumberyard. He'd not been idle. Shadowing Hugo, he'd absorbed business by osmosis and even snagged warehouse blueprints. Having labored as a handyman, he could build a small warehouse solo with time and materials. Accompanying Hugo on personnel matters had built his confidence in managing workers too. Back at Marhal's pioneer village, hiring familiar hands could yield proper warehouses.
The village had a few sheds, but Ena's managed stockpile was the only real one. Building similar or slightly larger nearby meant rental income, bit by bit. Start small, get a feel, then pitch investors like Haily from the landlords' meet.
Astal queried the buoyant Karian. "You going back to that pioneer village?"
"Of course. That's my home now."
Did home have to be one's birthplace? The place you chose to die—that was home.
"Sigh. What about me?"
"Come to the pioneer village."
"Still... it's scary. People dropping dead left and right, right?"
"Same here as there."
Karian shared a few memorable brushes with death; Astal now saw the West as some demonic hellscape. To Karian, death was death everywhere. Astal would learn with a few months' manual labor, but sending the soft noble to toil risked him dying before the lesson sank in. Hugo and Karian agreed on that. Marin and Bayola had superhuman bodies; Astal, who'd wasted years on booze and gambling, was frailer than Karian.
Back at the inn, Karian fetched wooden-bottled liquor from the liquor cabinet. Hugo had said to help himself to the glass ones, but conscience stayed his hand.
"Quick shot before dinner?"
"Sure."
As Karian poured, the inn—no, villa—door opened. Marin and Bayola entered after a long absence.
Karian nodded lightly in greeting. "Back? Where's Marhal?"
"Left again. Karian, got a minute?"
"Me?"
Some tavern scenes were like that: familiar faces sticking to their cliques, never mingling. No bad blood—just mismatched vibes. The villa mirrored it. Karian and Astal chatted with Hugo, occasionally dined with Strekl. Strekl and Marhal blended anywhere; Bayola ignored men save those two. Marin and Karian exchanged nods—similar origins fostered that much. Bayola's disinterest in males meant no group hangs. Marin saw no need to chat them up either.
Didn't expect an approach from their side.
"Need a quote for village-building. Hugo said you'd know."
"Oh, that. Yeah, I do."
Warehouses were deceptively tricky despite blueprints. Ironically, homes cost less and built easier. With plans, you could manage a modest mansion for the wealthy—or at least a step down.
"I'll make it worth your while. Help out."
"We were just about to eat..."
Astal nudged Karian's ribs. Recalling his friend's wastrel past, Karian sighed. Habits didn't vanish overnight. Astal's meddling might not sway her, but the try could teach him something.
"Let's go. There's a supplier I just dealt with."
The mismatched quartet stepped into the Border streets.