Armand stood blankly, gazing at the horizon.
He saw a group on horseback approaching along the road. A faint vibration could be felt beneath his feet.
"Bring the lady!"
Armand ordered his subordinates. Something felt off. The pursuing force had arrived sooner than expected.
'They must not find out Ran is here.'
Even as it was, margherita was already out of favor with the emperor. Even if she herself was uninvolved, it was an undeniable fact that her husband had joined the rebels. Not only the Holy Church, but powers targeting Orvik were lurking everywhere.
If Ran were discovered by the pursuers in this situation, it would give them the perfect pretext to claim that Margherita had deliberately harbored the crown prince's assassin.
'I have to protect Ran. That's the only way for Margherita and Orvik to survive.'
He didn't know Ran's detailed circumstances. Regardless, he had no intention of abandoning Ran, who had been cornered from the very beginning.
There was even a brief thought of tormenting him somehow while the opportunity was there, but seeing Ran's face, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Most of all, the fact that other brothers had sacrificed themselves for him weighed heavily on his mind.
'He's not the type to lie.'
He took a deep breath. His mind cleared.
Once the pursuers withdrew, he would arrange matters with Ran and the church. Expelling Ran would come after that.
Armand formulated the best possible plan.
'All for the sake of Margherita.'
At last, the pursuit party drew close.
Armand raised his voice and called out loudly.
"This is the estate of Lady Margherita, the current lord of Orvik. Show proper respect!"
The pursuit force halted and re-formed their ranks. True to their name, the imperial guard were all heavily armed with the latest weaponry. Under the moonlight, more than a dozen armored figures gleamed with a cold, blue sheen.
'Barbarian?'
But at their center stood a barbarian, wearing nothing but rough bear pelts thrown loosely over his muscular, bare body.
A man standing beside the barbarian spoke up.
"This is Lord Iravan, adjutant to General Oscar! We request an audience with the lord of this estate!"
Armand had heard the name Oscar before. A barbarian who had once made the Empire's north tremble with fear. Now, he was one of the Emperor's closest confidants, called one of the Empire's Four Swords.
"I am the lord of Orvik."
Margherita stepped forward a pace ahead of Armand. He could see that her shoulders were trembling. His mouth tasted bitter.
Iravan, who by right should have dismounted and shown courtesy, simply stared at Margherita from atop his horse.
Without taking his eyes off her, he said something to his interpreter. His voice was thick and his intonation rough, making his speech sound harsh to the ears.
A strange smile flickered on Iravan's lips. The interpreter looked troubled.
Armand shouted.
"You stand before the Lord of Orvik! Show due respect!"
Iravan snorted, then waved his hand dismissively at the interpreter.
The interpreter, flustered, stammered with a trembling voice.
"Br-br-bring the wh—, no, the l-l-lord? Go on, do it."
Clack!
"Get down here at once! You beastly bastard!"
Armand drew his sword. His teeth ground together.
Iravan burst out laughing, nearly choking. He regarded Armand's anger as if watching the antics of a child.
Iravan reached down and grabbed his crotch, saying something to the interpreter.
The interpreter was quick to explain that his earlier words had been a joke. Then he continued.
"A few days ago in Kalondo, there was a local report of individuals presumed to be from the Special Unit! As such, under General Oscar's orders, orvik will be under lockdown, and the lord is to cooperate! First! Until the crown prince's assassin is secured, all mercenaries are forbidden from entering the mountains!"
Even as the interpreter continued, iravan kept tossing rapid comments, which the interpreter relayed in quick succession.
"And! During the search of the Astana Mountains, you are ordered to provide full support in setting up the main force's base camp, including food and supplies! Please ensure all preparations are complete before General Oscar arrives within a few days!"
A single wrong word would change the entire meaning. The interpreter relayed Iravan's words flawlessly, not leaving out a single extra syllable.
Iravan operated on Oscar's orders, and Oscar moved under the imperial command.
In other words, these were the emperor's wishes.
"Screw you, bastard. Tell him exactly that."
Armand retorted in a rage. Above all, it was an issue of pride. Even as a member of the Zima family, he'd always acted on impulse.
Margherita tugged his arm.
"Armand! What are you doing? Have you forgotten our situation?"
"Please, trust me, my lady. Even if it's the imperial command, if we act brazen enough, they'll be cautious in how they treat us."
"What? Are you crazy? Do you know who you think you are? Get your head on straight."
"Yes??"
Margherita's whispered words struck like a dagger to his heart.
Margherita expressed her willingness to comply.
Iravan's face lit up with satisfaction. While he spoke with the interpreter, margherita drew close to Armand. Armand could not hide his bewilderment.
"I understand your feelings for me and Orvik. But Armand, right now what you're doing is just bravado. Do you understand me?"
He knew it in his head. But it was hard to calm his surging emotions.
"Those people back there, are they your family's retainers?"
Suddenly, the interpreter pointed at Camus's group. Iravan was glaring at them.
Toby trembled as he spoke.
"M-m-milady. I think they mean us?"
"It's fine, stay calm. Don't move."
Margherita introduced them as Lord Rel and her retainers.
A tense silence fell, with only Iravan speaking rapidly in his crude accent.
The interpreter nodded.
"There! Bring over the child in the veil!"
Everyone's gaze turned to Iel.
Iravan had received one bit of advice from Oscar.
'They'll be sheltering a child with the scent of a Mark. That kid is more important than the inquisitor.'
The Northlanders call warriors of their tribe who receive the Mark from their god, Dakir, "barbarians" and revere them.
Northlanders who came to the mainland were shocked.
The mainland had warriors who had transcended human limits, much like barbarians. These individuals gave off a similar 'scent of the Mark', so the Northlanders made a habit of calling such people 'the ones who reek of the Mark'.
'Mainlanders seem to call them by all sorts of different names, but oh well.'
Iravan bared his yellow teeth. With his keen sense of smell, he tracked prey faster than anyone. Oscar valued this and often used him as the vanguard during the civil war.
'It's rare for a child to carry the Mark's scent so strongly.'
Whatever reason the inquisitor wasn't by the child's side, his instincts were reacting with certainty.
Iravan pressed the interpreter with a frown.
"H-h-hurry up and bring them!"
Iel couldn't lift her head. Her legs trembled. She may be of Igraine's blood, but she was still a child.
People from the Empire's north shuddered at the thought of barbarians. There were many reasons, but the worst was the rumor that barbarians believed sleeping with mainland children would grant them immortality. In truth, many children in the north had disappeared during the wars.
Margherita and Armand watched Iel anxiously. Nearby, margherita's two daughters, Judith and Ivia, were also at a loss.
A guest from afar was about to become the plaything of a barbarian before their very eyes.
"To think those who draw imperial pay haven't washed off the stink of savagery."
Camus stepped in front of Iel. There was a reason for her prolonged silence.
From the moment she faced the pursuers, she had made a decision.
Why was she standing here?
It was to face the truth. To comfort the spirits of kin who had died meaninglessly in foreign lands.
'If I protect Iel here, house Rel will become a target of the emperor.'
At some point, Camus had moved past Armand and Margherita. Her cold gaze fixed on Iravan.
'I'm prepared.'
Rather than become the emperor's hound and have her whole bloodline die, she chose to resist, even if it meant dying herself.
"Oh, that scent is something else."
Iravan exclaimed in his own tongue. His nose, sensitive to the 'scent of the Mark', was strongly stimulated.
He smelled it strongly even from the woman before him.
"What is your relation to this child?"
The interpreter relayed Iravan's question.
A single word would settle everything. Camus looked back. She met Viola's gaze.
She was thinking much the same as Camus. They communicated with their eyes.
She couldn't answer immediately because this was not just a matter for herself. She was head of a house and leader of a territory. Many responsibilities rested on her shoulders.
"I am—"
As she finally opened her mouth, Camus sensed a change in the atmosphere. The flow of the air subtly shifted.
Camus's eyes widened.
Whack―!
Something tore through the air and definitely came flying in their direction.
Just as the dull thud rang out, the imperial guard at the end of the formation was thrown from his horse. He couldn't even scream.
Whinny!
The horses whinnied in unison, bucking in terror. Even these carefully selected and well-trained warhorses were afraid.
The guard whose face had been shattered by the hatchet collapsed, eyes rolling back.
"Over there—!!"
Iravan urgently pointed to the side of the formation.
The imperial guards were an elite group of individually excellent warriors. Even amid chaos, they did not falter.
The crossbowman calmly aimed into the brush.
Clang!
This time, Camus saw it clearly. Before the crossbowman could act, a hatchet came flying, lodging in the slit of his helmet.
"Damn! Battle formation!"
At Iravan's command, the remaining eight all dismounted at once. They drew their weapons, steel ringing in the night. In contrast, Ran stepped forward, supremely calm and quiet.
"I am inquisitor Ran."
Everyone except him was surprised. Ran's words were not in Imperial.
"You, how—?"
"What's with the surprise?"
It was a strange sight. It was rare for an imperial to be fluent in Northlandic. Few ever even tried to learn it.
Pristine imperial features, yet the rough Northlandic accent continued to spill from Ran's mouth.
"Is this all of the pursuit force in Orvik?"
"You know the warriors' tongue. I have to praise that first."
"Dakir watches over you. Answer truthfully—are these all the pursuers?"
"Yes! The great Mukesh chieftain is staying in Kalondo. I led only a small advance party here first."
Ran nodded, glancing around. Iravan studied him carefully.
'No scent of the Mark at all. Is this man really the crown prince's assassin?'
He knew the name.
Inquisitor Ran.
But Iravan felt no hostility. Two guards had been killed senselessly just now, but meeting someone who spoke the tongue of his homeland in this foreign place touched Iravan more deeply.
His curiosity was piqued. He had never met an imperial who honored Dakir. If possible, he wanted a formal duel between warriors.
"I am Iravan, third son of Tana Tonga, chief of the Frost Serpents! Shall I announce your name to Dakir—?"
Thunk.
Iravan's head fell smoothly from his shoulders. Ran had closed the distance in an instant.
"Yaaah!"
The guards all lost track of Ran's movements. They attacked only after realizing, belatedly, that the foe had come right to them. Specialized in single combat, not as a unit, it was as if the enemy had walked into their deaths.
Sheen!
His sword, slicing through the air, rang with a cold, metallic sound.
Ran's sword moved only in straight lines. Short and precise thrusts sought out the joints in their armor and every exposed patch of flesh.
"Eeeaaah!"
One guard aimed for a blind spot, hiding behind a comrade, then rushed at Ran the instant his comrade fell, swinging his sword overhead.
Clang!
Ran raised his blade to block. The edge screeched and then split in two. Off-balance from his lowered stance, his body wavered.
"Die!"
The guard swung at the falling Ran. They'd been ordered to capture him alive, but after only moments of fighting, he sensed he'd be killed unless he struck to kill.
Thump!
His vision spun as Ran, falling, kicked the guard's legs out from under him. He was startled, but not overly worried. Three of his comrades still lived.
'—?!'
Shock overtook him. Face to face with the inquisitor now atop him like a wild beast.
How?
He had left no openings, as solid as bedrock. Now he himself was utterly exposed.
Those who have reached a certain mastery experience body and mind splitting in combat. The body acts by long-trained reflex, while the mind reads the enemy's breathing—the shift in breath mirrors the psyche.
The more skilled a warrior, the greater advantage this gives over their foe.
'Ah?'
He realized. The inquisitor was on an unfathomably high level.
No matter how many hyenas bare their teeth, a lion doesn't even flinch. Ripping apart one victim ruthlessly is the best way to cow the rest—somehow, he just knew this was the most effective method.
Though his thoughts stretched long, reality took only an eye-blink.
Shnk! Shnk!
Ran stabbed his reverse-gripped dagger into exposed patches of the guard's flesh repeatedly. Finally, he drove it deep into the eye slit of the helmet. Blood spurted.
"Hah, huh?!"
The remaining guards recoiled in terror. They had never felt fear like this from an opponent.
Ran wiped the blood from his face and stood.
He had no intention of letting any foe who stood in his way leave alive. This was not a duel over the art of swordplay. He fought to survive.
-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
Did Ran get stronger???
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】