Marina's Reward
Marina's joining had been a stroke of luck for Marhal. Without her, things would have been several times harder. The Pen of Responsibility made it possible to shake off Ales, but the odds of someone getting killed or injured in the process were high—and that was just the start of the problems. The Pen of Responsibility, which stole history, wasn't something to use in front of others. The black smoke it emitted immediately evoked images of demons.
If he'd used the pen in the city, Marhal would have faced pressure from the entire West, and even the Union itself. He'd have lost Ultekan's trust too. Among Westerners, it was harder to find someone who didn't grind their teeth at the word "demon." Especially Ultekan, a warrior of the plains. A warrior who hadn't been able to defend his homeland and had fled. Demonic power was alien. No matter how Marhal explained it, convincing someone driven by emotion with logic was tough. They might accept it in the moment, but Ultekan would likely harbor resentment afterward.
That was why Marhal had pushed himself—quite considerably—to get somewhere out of sight before pulling out the pen. And even that had only been possible because of Marina.
Without her, he'd have had no choice but to use it inside the city.
"Compensation. Compensation... Is there anything you need? I can get most things from the West."
Marina didn't answer right away. She moved her spoon instead. She was pretending to be nonchalant, but her thoughts were quite tangled.
Compensation? She didn't need any. She hadn't helped Marhal for a reward. Half of it was because Ales—that priest—got on her nerves, and the other half was Marhal's talk of saving people. Saving people and sticking it to Ales? That was a double win. She'd started with that lighthearted motive.
She hadn't expected to fight someone who handled land history in such a twisted way. Still, going through all that trouble without any payoff felt like bad math.
She came to her senses to find half her bowl empty. She spotted the awkwardly cut lock of hair. It was matted with blood, sweat, and dust.
"You have my hair, right?"
"Should I give it back?"
"No. Keep it. That's the compensation I want."
Marhal pulled the lock of Marina's hair from his bosom. The bundled strands had been soaked in blood once, then dried and discolored. They'd hardened a bit too.
"This? Won't I be cursed if I keep it?"
"It does make me want to curse someone. Hold on a sec."
Marina snipped another lock from the matching spot on her head. She snatched the hair from Marhal and tied the fresh strands atop the bloodstained ones.
"Here."
"But if I keep this, won't Marina know where I am?"
"Who knows. Maybe I'll help you out for free again."
"Hm. Thinking about it, it seems like a small thing."
Marhal tucked the hair away. It depended on her mood, but opportunities to get help from a mage of Marina's caliber weren't common. If he got really anxious, he could seal the hair temporarily with the power of the Paulownia Crown. The crown would forgive that much.
It would forgive him... right?
Marhal couldn't shake the feeling of having voluntarily shouldered an extra lump of metal.
It wasn't far, and they had horses, so they were back in the city quickly.
"This is another Border city. First time seeing it in person."
Oddly enough, the one showing the most interest in the city was Shavel. Her eyes sparkled with childlike wonder as she drank in the sights without pause. Marhal had to throw up his hands at her carefree spirit, which brushed off church indoctrination like it was nothing. When he asked how someone like her had become a nun, she said she'd been an orphan, and the church was the only place for decent meals.
With that kind of drive, she could have founded a nation if she'd been born in chaotic times.
[Ultekan, how are you keeping in touch with the Anche people?]
[I've built a network around the surviving plains warriors. Guess I'll have to rebuild it.]
[Shavel seems to want to be a doctor. What about you?]
[I'll follow her. We need influence in the West to build a nation anyway.]
Ultekan was highly capable. Having him and his men settle in the village would greatly help with security. It wasn't bad for Marhal either.
[...You're really going to do it?]
[I'm prepared, no matter what's waiting.]
Ultekan's attitude was resolute. He seemed like he wouldn't bleed even if pricked with a needle. Marhal wasn't about to tell him to abandon his dreams outright.
'There are realistic hurdles, though.'
Even small villages had their power structures. Ten years since the Demon King's fall, five since the land race began. Wherever people lived, power—big and small—took root in every corner. Marhal was part of it, as were Azenman, Lugen, and Ales. Even Dagon had enough pull in the underworld to growl at Azenman once—before inevitably getting buried.
[I'll cheer you on. If you hit tough spots, let me know. I'll help if I can.]
[...Why are you helping us like this?]
[Why? You think I've got ulterior motives?]
[Frankly, yes. No one helps others for free, let alone risks their life.]
They hadn't even started off on good terms. Their first meeting had been Ultekan, egged on by Ales, trying to kill Marhal.
[I'm not helping for free either. Hard to explain, but let's just say the West's revival helps me too.]
[The West's revival?]
[Weird?]
[Very.]
He'd seen people chasing personal glory, money, power. Dig into Anche reconstruction, and it boiled down to Ultekan's lust for power and nostalgia for home. He'd never met anyone who cared for the West in a pure sense. If someone else spouted that nonsense in front of him, Ultekan would gladly take up arms.
[But coming from you, it doesn't sound strange.]
Marhal might actually mean it, he thought. Marhal wasn't Anche-born—you could tell by his face. Yet he spoke flawless Anche. Anche warriors were famed for their strength, but Anche itself wasn't a powerhouse. Some countries didn't even recognize it as a nation. Objectively, Anche was useless outside its borders. Plains warriors often learned foreign tongues for work abroad. So when a non-Anche like Marhal said it, the claim felt believable.
[I'll write you a letter of introduction. It's not a bad village to build a base. If you're diving into the underworld, there's already someone established there, though.]
[That's for me to handle.]
[Glad you say that. Once you're ready, come to the villa for the letter.]
After giving directions to the villa, Marhal parted ways with Ultekan and his men. Ultekan's daughter shyly waving goodbye was adorable. Worth teaching her the harmonica during breaks, he supposed.
"Marina's with the Union, right?"
"Planning to stop by briefly to research Ales's mysteries. His growth is too suspicious, no matter how I look at it."
His earth manipulation had evolved to siege-level power on its own. Crude as brute force was, he'd even layered curses that worked on someone with the Silanatiell name. If Ales had "accumulated" that well, he'd have dominated as a landlord or grabbed a high church post in the Holy Empire. There were too many unnatural aspects to his power's emergence. It was worth studying, even for Marina.
"Rumors of some eccentric running around will spread soon enough."
"That won't happen!"
"Really?"
"Over my dead body."
Until now, Marina had used magic via the Silanatiell name and the history she'd built. But to research and accept new history, Marina Silanatiell herself needed to embrace and accumulate it. That infamous eccentricity of mages. Fake or not, she'd inherited the Silanatiell name, so she had the basics. Without results from solo study, though, she'd inevitably put on a show in public. Even Mar Silanatiell hadn't escaped that fate.
"Why are you smiling?"
"Nothing. I'll cheer you on."
"That doesn't look like cheering at all."
Marina aimed a timid kick at Marhal's shin, but he dodged easily. Offended, she turned away.
"What's Marina's relation to Mar?"
"...Distant relatives. Never met. She probably doesn't know me either."
The answer came after a long silence. Marina veiled her face with cloth and melted into the crowd.
"Kaban, sorry to keep you waiting."
"Not at all."
"You came for city reconstruction, but I held you up too long. Dragged you into weird stuff too."
"It's fine."
Marhal had handed him that city. Kaban could never defy him—and had no intention to.
"There's good news too. Word that Duke Kalaens failed should have reached the West by now. Means we can borrow from his haters."
"Is that so?"
"Materials are a slight worry, but we can make it livable."
Color bloomed on Kaban's face. A siege knight with no knack for battle, he'd become a high knight for advancement and come West. Becoming a city lord made his heart race.
Back at the villa—once an inn—Marhal found dozens of letters piled on the table.
"May I ask what they are?"
"Hugo's regular reports."
"...Important letters? Left in a place like this?"
"No one here can read them anyway. Here."
The letter Marhal showed was covered in unfamiliar script. Kaban wasn't dim. He knew Imperial, basic Duchy speech and reading, could spot Holy Empire script. But this was entirely alien.
"Aphranche language and script."
"How many languages do you speak?"
Kaban had seen Imperial, Duchy, Holy Empire, Anche—four. Add Aphranche. From what Marhal had shown, he wasn't just reading; he was fluent as a native speaker.
"Exaggerating a bit, I can handle all the major ones?"
"Even... ancient Imperial?"
"Nah, not quite. But I'm learning."
Truthfully, ancient Imperial was closest to Marhal's native tongue. The Bachea imperial variant required special pronunciation untrained from youth.
'Say I know ancient Imperial, and everyone's suspicious.'
Mix truth with lies. Even thieves acknowledged it as the easiest deception to pull off without detection.
"Let's see what it says."
Kaban swallowed. Marhal's reading speed picked up. His expression hardened accordingly.
"Big problem?"
"Kaban, can you stick around longer? I'll pay properly."
"Understood. But... what's got you reacting so gravely?"
"Some lunatics are peddling drugs on my land. And that's just part of what these West-stabbing bastards are up to."
A chill ran through Kaban. The same terror as first seeing Marhal don the Paulownia Crown.