Chapter 190
Chapter 190
The offer from the Margrave of Alger to defect his domain was shocking enough to widen the eyes of all three of the Hero Party.Alger wasn’t some small holding, but a vital fortress on the border, where the Margrave himself lived and commanded his troops. If war with Jugend broke out, Alger Fortress would be the single most critical stronghold for both offense and defense.
It was a “spear” to project military power, and a “shield” to block the enemy’s vanguard. Even Jugend, whose siege engines were several steps ahead of other nations, would face heavy losses trying to take it. That very fortress had just raised the white flag of its own accord.
“A-are you being serious...?” Leon asked.
Even he, who had little knowledge of military science, understood how grave this was. It was not something to be spoken of so lightly.
However, the Margrave of Alger did not take back his words and added a few instead.
“Yes. I’ll attach a few conditions, but if they’re accepted, Alger will turn to the Kingdom of Jugend,” he declared and casually sipped his tea.
Elahan studied his manner and asked, “And these conditions?”
“Nothing complicated,” replied the Margrave of Alger as he set his cup down and raised two fingers. “First. Guarantee the titles of myself and my retainers, and do not interfere with the property or safety of my people. I’ll allow for requisitioning due to the war against the Empire, but nothing excessive.”
“Fair enough,” Karen muttered.
“Second. Even if Alger defects to Jugend, its people have lived as Imperial citizens for generations. They can manage corvée or supply duties, but pointing their blades at those who were their countrymen until just recently? That will be hard to demand.”
“That’s...” Elahan hesitated.
It was not a wrong point. She couldn’t deny it, but Karen instantly saw through his intent and gave a cold smile. Leon’s wavering expression also hardened into neutrality.
Her eyes narrowing, Karen said, “So in short, you’ll defect to Jugend but refuse to fight the Empire directly? You know how that sounds, don’t you? You’re going to switch sides again when you see fit.”
They had spoken politely to the Margrave only as a way to smooth the conversation, not to curry his favor. Three fighters at the level of Aura Masters or beyond stood before him.
The unintentional pressure they gave off soaked the Margrave’s neck with cold sweat, yet he kept his tongue steady.
“That is not my intent,” he said.
“And how are we supposed to trust you?” Karen asked.
“I’m not asking you to trust me. I speak purely on the basis of the reality of the situation.”
“The situation?”
He nodded once to Karen’s question and explained, “You may not know, but the Empire’s internal affairs are far worse than what’s made public. However this war ends, whether with victor or vanquished, Clyde will never regain its former glory.”
Leon joined in, “So, you judge that even if the Empire survives, it won’t have the strength to reclaim Alger.”
“Exactly.”
The Margrave was cunning. Leon marveled inwardly at his shrewdness. In a sense, the Margrave of Alger was the most aristocratic man he had ever met. He pursued gain without forgetting legitimacy, yet voicing what others would call ugly truths without hesitation.
His defection to Jugend was the same. For Jugend, it meant securing a critical fortress without shedding blood. For the Margrave, it meant gaining a new patron instead of clinging to an Empire with no future.
He avoids all loss, seizes profit, and yet never crosses the line that would offend his counterpart.
As Karen pointed out, many would find his conditions distasteful, but the advantage of seizing Alger without a fight outweighed it. With such gains, no one would reject the terms simply out of irritation, and that gap had been pinpointed perfectly by the Margrave.
To think the one who surrenders first could hold the initiative in negotiations... I’ve never seen anything like this.
While Leon was in admiration, El-Cid chimed in, —What’s so impressive about that? He’s no different from a debtor.
A debtor? Leon asked.
—At first, it’s the one who owes money who grovels, but when the debt grows so large the lender starts to stumble, the debtor grows arrogant.
“Isn’t that just being shameless?”
—And how is he any different? He’s just swapped debt for Alger Fortress and put on a brazen face. The essence of nobility is no different from crooked merchants haggling over how much they can squeeze.
You’re as sharp as ever, El-Cid.
El-Cid’s words were blunt, but convincing enough to make Leon nod.
So Leon asked without thinking, “And how did you deal with them? You must have seen this often.”
—Me? Nothing special. I just...
Leon chuckled at what he heard next. The Margrave of Alger tried to guess the meaning of that smile, but Leon spoke before he could reach an answer.
“Understood. I’ll write you a letter of recommendation,” Leon said.
“Oh! How bold, befitting a hero. You have my sincere gratitude.”
Elahan and Karen looked startled at his answer, but they did not stop him. Leon scratched his pen across a sheet of parchment and thanked the Margrave.
“I should be the one thanking you. Without your decisive choice, countless lives would have been lost here.”
“Hah, you, my benefactor, gild my face with words.”
They exchanged courteous pleasantries in a warm atmosphere. When Leon finished and handed over the letter, the Margrave scanned it up and down, then grasped his hand with a satisfied smile.
“I owe you more than words can repay. By this fortress and my family’s honor, I swear the debt will be returned.”
“Haha, it’s really not so grand a thing. But if I may, could I ask a simple favor in return?”
“Of course. Ten favors, if you like.”
“In that case,” Leon said. “Please share what you know of the Empire’s rebel factions—their likely battlefields, and the identities of their leaders.”
“Very well... Since I am no longer a noble of Clyde. I’ll honor my benefactor’s request.”
However, Leon wasn’t finished.
“And one last thing.
Meeting the Margrave’s eyes, Leon voiced the name he had hesitated over more than once.
“Lyon Cailum Gladius Pon Clyde.”
The legitimate heir of the Clyde throne. Leon remembered his full name despite hearing it only once.
The prophesied vessel of the Hero for a century and a half, stripped of that role by the will of the Holy Sword El-Cid. Someone who was nothing less than a character straight out of a storybook, which Leon hadn’t realized while he was in the Academy.
It seemed that the Margrave, too, had not forgotten the name. His calm face shifted with something unreadable.
Leon asked, “If he returned to this land... could he overthrow the Mad Emperor?”
The answer did not come right away. After a pause, the Margrave finally spoke.
“That is...”
***
Golden Whale. The name of the city came from the sight of the sunset-stained sea heaving at dusk, like a golden whale rising from the water. It was one of the Clyde Empire’s few port cities and famous for the fortress Aurum, built around its harbor district.
Its walls stretched for kilometers, studded with hundreds of cannons.
Even the Maritime Union of Meril, whose fleet was many times stronger than the Empire’s, had never breached the fortress’s defenses. The terrain itself was a natural fortress, and the troops stationed there were of the highest quality.
The only weak point was its rear, but that, too, was Imperial territory. There was no straightforward way to take it.
“At least, that’s what those cocky imperial bastards think.”
The voice came from deep in the forest, not far from the Golden Whale domain. There, preparations were underway to stab the Empire in the back.
One agent of the Kingdom of Hispania’s special forces gave a crooked laugh.
“In a few days, we’ll see that mighty fortress go up in flames.”
His comrades chimed in, “Heh, sounds like the perfect thing to drink to.”
“If only we had some meat. After more than a week of nothing but jerky, my teeth are falling out.”
“Nothing we can do. If smoke leaks out, we’re done for.”
“Eh. Who’s going to come into this dumbass forest anyway?”
“Did you forget the old herbalist we buried the other day? Took us ages to find and burn his hut to the ground after we took him out.”
“Ah, damn. You’re right.”
The deadly talk passed among them as casually as gossip. They were operatives trained in Hispania for infiltration, sabotage, and assassination. Their unit went by the name “the Bats,” and, befitting their name, shadiness was their trade.
Working with the Maritime Union of Meril to topple the Aurum Fortress, they had been hiding in the forest for over a week. Dozens of woodcutters and herbalists had been killed in the process, but the news would never spread. By the time it could, Hispania’s army would have arrived to reduce the fortress to ash.
“Take the fortress but wreck it internally so badly it can’t be used again? The higher-ups really are vicious.”
That was the Kingdom of Hispania’s decision. Bringing down a common enemy was one thing, but they had no desire to share the spoils with the Meril Union. So, they had decided that it would be better to cripple Aurum completely.
One operative muttered in agreement, “Well, the deal was only until Golden Whale falls. Not exactly a breach of contract. Not like this is something they can go public with, either.”
“An enemy’s enemy, not an ally.”
“Same as always.”
Their hands moved as quickly as their tongues. Dozens of operatives busied themselves refining maps and checking tools for the infiltration. Their preparations were meticulous, and they could move at a moment’s notice.
Perhaps that was why they were able to react instantly to the unfamiliar voice that caught them all off guard.
“Still filthy as ever, Hispania’s bats.”
In an instant, they moved, some drawing daggers, others pulling bows. Unlike regular soldiers, every member of a special unit had their own specialty. Some excelled in combat, others in fields beyond combat. Naturally, the fighters were the first to move.
With a series of thwips, four arrows were loosed at once. Each was infused with Aura, strong enough to punch through a tree trunk or even a steel shield. They hadn’t seen the target, only heard the voice. Yet their aim was true.
“Slow. Weak. Pathetic,” the unfamiliar voice evaluated, coldly.
All four arrows were cleaved aside in a single stroke, and the darkness of the forest parted in a wash of swordlight. Despair hit them all at once.
“Y-you’re—!”
No citizen of Hispania could fail to know him. His wanted posters were plastered across every street. Five noble houses shattered by his single blade. Half the Royal Guard slaughtered, and he had walked away unscathed.
“The Sword Demon, Cedric!”
“Thanks for remembering. Now then, die.”
Cedric cut the words short and moved. He took a single step without making a sound, yet two heads flew.
A tree and a boulder used as cover split on the diagonal, crashing to the ground. Against Cedric’s Aura Blade, cover and armor meant nothing. The arc of light flowing along his blade cut through the very space it traced.
From crown to groin, the man was split in two, spewing a fountain of blood and collapsed to either side. There was no dodging, no blocking.
Even their squad leaders were only Experts at best. To them, Cedric was death itself. Each step, each swing of his blade claimed two or three bodies.
In less than a minute, the two squads of Bats, Hispania’s elite special forces, were annihilated.
Cedric swung his zweihander once more to flick away blood and gore, showing no emotion at the result.
Feeling the power seep into the blade, he mused, “Hm.”
It wasn’t a bad feeling at all. Vermin weren’t much to cut, but the fact that their deaths fed him strength was efficient.
The cursed blade he had found in Jugend, Dainslife, trembled with pleasure after feasting on life again.
It really is like keeping a pet.
Cedric smirked as he sheathed it. Then, he turned, staring into empty air.
“Come out,” he demanded.
The forest was silent. Only Cedric’s voice echoed through the trees.
“If you won’t, I’ll cut you down.”
The flat tone carried a thread of killing intent, and the wind through the trees died. He was in a realm where even nature bent before his intent.
Realizing the threat was genuine, two figures emerged from what had seemed empty air—a white-haired old knight whose presence had not dulled, and a fair-haired youth with piercing blue eyes.
It was clear at a glance that they were master and servant.
“My apologies, Mr. Cedric,” Lyon said and stepped forward. “My name is Lyon. I lead the revolutionary forces in this region.”