Chapter 17: Let’s See, Any Decent Fellows… (1)
A late night with the full moon hanging in the sky.
In the backyard of the Daphne estate, which chaos had swept through, Viscount Cobalt stood in training clothes, swinging a wooden sword.
“Huuup! Huhuhup!”
Buuung! Buuung!
How many hours had he been swinging the sword?
His whole body was drenched in sweat, and his breathing had grown ragged.
“Haaah, haaaah, haaaah...”
Thud!
He sat down on the ground, catching his breath.
The muscles all over his body swelled as if they were burning, and he could taste the scent of blood rising from inside.
Yet, on his face, there lingered a refreshing energy.
“...Hm?”
At that moment, the Lord’s gaze fixed on the ants crawling along the ground.
Tiny bodies that were hardly visible, carrying stones many times their own weight without rest...
In some ways, their appearance seemed precarious.
As he stared at those ants, a faint smile formed on Cobalt’s lips.
Then, a voice came from beside him.
“What are you looking at?”
When he lifted his head, he saw Commander Mulgybson standing there, holding out a canteen.
“Commander Mulgybson? What brings you here?”
When Cobalt accepted the canteen and asked, Mulgybson lightly shook the wooden sword at his waist and curled his lips into a smile.
“Somehow, my body was feeling a bit restless as well.”
“Is that so? What a coincidence.”
“How about joining me?”
Mulgybson asked, extending his hand.
“Sounds good.”
Thunk!
Viscount Cobalt clasped it and rose to his feet.
The two naturally stepped apart to put some distance between them.
“Huuup!”
As if they had arranged it beforehand, the two began swinging their swords almost in unison.
Buuung! Buuung!
Thrusting, slashing, chopping down, sweeping strikes, and more.
Each movement connected without the slightest error.
It was the kind of harmony born from the long years they had spent restoring Wave Swordsmanship together.
“Huuup! Huuuuup!”
After a long while of silent training, Commander Mulgybson spoke first.
“...Lord, how was it today?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Didn’t the Young Master accomplish something truly remarkable?”
Kwaaak!
Viscount Cobalt swung his sword more forcefully as he answered.
“Needless to say, it was a worthy achievement.”
“So it really was.”
How long had they continued swinging their swords again?
Mulgybson finally paused, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
“I... felt ashamed.”
“Ashamed? Of what?”
At that, Cobalt also stopped for a moment.
Thanks to the heat of their training, white steam was rising softly from their bodies.
With a bitter expression, Mulgybson spoke.
“For years, I’ve been standing still in the same place.
In contrast to the Young Master, who reclaimed his mana and accomplished something great.”
“...You’re speaking of Wave Swordsmanship?”
“Yes.”
On Viscount Cobalt’s face, the same expression as Commander Mulgybson’s appeared.
“If it’s about that, even if I had ten mouths, I’d have nothing to say.”
“Even you felt that way, Lord?”
“Why else do you think I’m out here?”
The lips of the two men standing across from each other curved into the same faint arc almost at the same time.
[I must succeed, the Sword of Waves... That alone will save the family…]
And then, at the same moment, the same memory flickered through both their minds. Before a man with long blue hair.
The memory of when a young Viscount Cobalt and a youthful Commander Mulgybson had stood side by side.
On this promise, which had become weathered and gray beneath the dust of passing years, a wind had begun to blow.
A wind named Hardin, a name they could never have expected.
“That promise from back then... I hope we can keep it.”
“We will keep it. I will make it so myself.”
“Do you truly mean that?”
“Of course. If Hardin managed to do it, would it make any sense for his father to fail?”
“...You are right.”
The two of them grinned broadly.
Buuung! Buuung!
Facing forward again, they resumed swinging their swords.
At that moment, from inside the second-story window of the Daphne estate overlooking the backyard.
“...They sure are working hard.”
Hardin sat perched on the window ledge, gnawing on jerky as he let out a long sigh.
‘With that alone, they’ll never make it.’
Worthless Wave Swordsmanship.
Just by looking at the way they swung their swords, he could tell right away.
That the shabby swordsmanship he’d seen in the training grounds had been their doing.
Pathetic and sloppy, an utterly useless style that could never compare to the real Wave Swordsmanship.
Yet somehow... he couldn’t bring himself to simply sneer at it.
Because.
‘Those fools must have been desperate too.’
After Varlach’s death, when the Wave Swordsmanship was lost... the family had collapsed over and over again.
And in the midst of that, they had kept doing that nonsense, which meant, in their own way, they had been flailing however they could.
It was a stupid, foolish thing.
To the point that it might have been better to just learn any random sword art circulating in the markets.
But...
‘That must be why this place is still called Daphne.’
Even if the substance was worthless, at least the name Wave Swordsmanship had survived.
A bitter expression came over Hardin’s face.
‘Damn it all.’
A long sigh slipped out.
In truth, he wanted to leap down right then and teach them a proper sword.
To tell them that real Wave Swordsmanship was something else entirely, and that this was the path they needed to walk.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do that just yet.
Those fools’ vessels still weren’t ready to contain the Wave Swordsmanship properly...
‘Right now... there’s something more urgent.’
If those Calpion bastards laid the territory to waste, the Wave Swordsmanship or whatever else... it would all become meaningless.
Thunk.
Hardin slowly climbed down from the window ledge and sat in front of his desk.
A desk piled high with all manner of books and documents.
“Huuuu...”
My lot in life, my damned lot in life...
With an utterly exhausted face, Hardin picked up the pencil once more.
---
In the Calpion Viscounty’s mansion, in the Lord’s chamber at the innermost part of the second floor.
Amidst the splendid scene of ornate paintings and vessels displayed along the walls, a man sat in a chair, speaking in a low voice.
“...What an utter disgrace.”
A middle-aged man whose massive body looked nearly seven feet tall, with a face chiseled like a statue.
Ruder Calpion, the current Lord of the Calpion Viscounty.
Across from him stood Great Young Master Donfel, face ashen, his arm wrapped thickly in bandages.
“...I am sorry.”
“Yes, you’d better be sorry.”
Kwaduk.
The Lord crushed the armrest of the chair effortlessly with nothing but his grip.
“To think you went out of your way to duel them and save Daphne, when it would have fallen into our mouths if we’d only waited.”
“Father, but that man used some kind of unidentified sword art…”
“Shut your mouth.”
“...”
Fwoosh!
When Viscount Ruder’s eyes flared coldly, Donfel flinched.
“It wasn’t just any man. It was Hardin. That shut-in Young Master Hardin. And you still dare to make excuses after losing to him?”
Donfel furrowed his brow and replied.
“It was a mistake.”
“Mistake? At such a crucial moment, that’s not called a mistake. It’s called a failure.”
“...I am sorry. But if I could be given just one more chance…”
At Viscount Ruder’s words, Donfel’s head drooped low.
“Huuuuuu...”
Viscount Ruder exhaled a deep breath, then spoke again in a cold voice.
“That’s enough. Stop spouting useless nonsense and prepare for the Territorial War.”
“Are you… planning to sever their heads right away?”
“Thanks to you, we’ve already been delayed, haven’t we? Rather than dragging this out any longer, it’s only right to proceed in the most certain way. Don’t you agree?”
His gaze was as chilling as his voice, and Donfel bit his lip hard before replying.
“...You are right, Father.”
“Hurry and go. Even this time is too precious to waste.”
At that moment, Donfel hesitated, then asked quietly.
“Father, may I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“Why exactly… are you so obsessed with Daphne?”
“Obsessed?”
“We were their vassals once, but even so, that’s just a story from the distant past. Frankly, I don’t understand why you insist on claiming that land.”
Viscount Ruder frowned as he answered.
“I already told you. ‘It’ lies within that land.”
“But even so, isn’t that just some relic from an older age? To start a Territorial War just to seize it… isn’t that going too far…”
Viscount Ruder’s expression twisted in an instant.
“Foolish wretch.”
Slowly, he rose from his chair and walked to the window, looking outside.
In broad daylight, the sun bathed Calpion Castle in light.
Buildings of marble with blue roofs spread out in a radial pattern around the central fountain, a refined sight.
Viscount Ruder slowly began to speak.
“You say such things because you never saw Daphne in its past.”
“...”
A trace of displeasure crossed Donfel’s face.
“‘That place’ was created by none other than the man who was called the Great Sage. If we obtain it, our house will rise even higher. And you think I should abandon that?”
“Is it truly worth that much? No matter how you look at it, isn’t it still just an old thing…”
“Donfel.”
“Yes, Father.”
“The Lord of this house… is me.”
Crack.
Viscount Ruder ground his teeth savagely rather than continuing to argue.
“...Yes, Father. I will obey your orders.”
In the end, Donfel bowed his head quietly.
After casting him a brief glance, Viscount Ruder turned back to the view beyond the window.
‘Just imagining it excites me.’
Once I bring down Daphne and seize ‘that place’, we…
Viscount Ruder’s eyes brimmed over with greed.
---
Around midday, beneath a clear sky without a single cloud, deep inside the crowded city.
“Have a meal before you go! Delicious turkey meat for only 60 silver!”
Between the two-story stone buildings lined up on either side, restaurant owners and shopkeepers were out on the street, calling out to passersby.
Farend.
One of the Imperial Free Cities nearby, about two days on horseback north from Daphne.
“Huuuu...”
Hardin trudged right down the middle of the street, chewing on a piece of jerky.
His cheeks were sunken, and deep dark circles lay beneath his eyes.
‘Damn… I’m tired enough to drop dead.’
It had been two full days since he’d left the family estate.
While he was still in the mansion, Hardin had spent sleepless nights reading every document he could find on Calpion and Daphne.
The terrain, economic power, troop strength of each house—everything.
After weighing it all, he had reached a few conclusions.
First, judging by the scale of Calpion, there were about 50 to 60 days left before the Territorial War began.
Second, the military strength of Daphne and Calpion differed by exactly a factor of two.
That was only counting the knights and the number of people in each territory; if he added economic power into the calculation, the gap would only widen, and never shrink.
So, what was the conclusion?
‘If war breaks out as is, we’re all dead.’
It was practically the same as standing unarmed in front of a brigand who could lop his head off at any moment.
In this kind of situation, there was no way he could just stretch out and sleep.
‘I need a plan. One as soon as possible.’
All he had to his name right now was 100,000 gold and this pathetic body, which had only just recovered its mana.
With these two things, he somehow had to lead his house to victory.
Sure, if he just poured out money to plaster everyone in equipment… and made a spectacle of himself, he might be able to win.
After all, the opponent was only a viscounty’s army.
If he could just drive in hard enough, he could create an opening.
But…
‘Simply winning isn’t enough.’
Even if he rampaged on his own, there was a chance of victory, but he couldn’t cover the entire battlefield by himself.
So if they waged war like this, the damage to his family would be unthinkably large.
If the wounds were too deep, even winning would be meaningless.
In this Empire that was little better than a wild land, what awaited a wounded herbivore… would be nothing but death.
‘I have to win overwhelmingly.’
Only then would the family have a future.
And… there was something he absolutely needed for that.
‘Troops under my command.’
Soldiers who would not question his orders, who would carry them out faithfully.
Only with them could he bring about the outcome he wanted.
If it were up to him, he would’ve liked to beat the family’s knights into submission and seize control…
‘But there’s already a commander of the knights right now.’
Sure, he could try to take over the knight order by fighting, but…
Right now, the family had Commander Mulgybson, an old knight over seventy years of age.
To raise a fist against someone who had devoted his entire life in loyalty to the family?
That would obviously backfire.
In that case, there was only one option left.
Thud.
Hardin stopped walking and slowly lifted his head.
[Farend Mercenary Office]
A large building stood right in the middle of the street, with a signboard prominently displayed.
‘It’s been a long time.’
Hardin looked up at the signboard, feeling a strange mix of emotions.
Back when he’d been a wandering knight—no, a wandering bum—he’d come and gone constantly, begging for jobs.
Coming here like this now, he couldn’t help but feel a bit nostalgic.
Well, this time, he wasn’t here to work as a mercenary… but to hire them.
‘In a situation like this, there’s nothing better than mercenaries.’
Mercenaries—people who would do absolutely anything for money.
And conveniently enough, his pocket currently held 100,000 gold.
With that much money, he could easily hire around twenty first-rate mana users for the duration of the war.
‘With just that much, well… I could win a Territorial War lying on my back.’
Really, money was the easiest thing to rely on in times like these.
A relaxed smile crept across Hardin’s lips.
Bang!
He flung the door open energetically and stepped inside.
“Make way!”
And then…
“All right, line up! Form a line!”
“Anyone here to apply, come this way!”
Mercenaries, clients, and clerks were all mixed up, creating a scene of total chaos.
‘Hmm… there are more people here than I expected.’
Farend wasn’t such a big city, but somehow the office was overflowing with customers far beyond what seemed normal.
‘Well, whatever.’
Hardin tilted his head slightly, then joined the line at the back.
While waiting his turn, he looked around briefly.
‘I already see a few good candidates.’
A man with an eyepatch, another who looked exactly like a boar…
Mercenaries with all kinds of vicious faces were sitting in their seats, glancing toward the inner counter.
Every so often, a few of them let blue light flicker in their eyes, trying to show off their skills in their own way.
Spending a little time watching them, he finally heard—
“All right, next customer!”
“Ah, yes.”
At last, it was Hardin’s turn.
A young female clerk with a bright, gentle smile looked him over and asked,
“Sir, please start by telling me what type of mercenaries you want and the contract period.”
Smiirk.
With a supremely confident expression, Hardin reached into his clothes and—
Thuuunk!
He laid a promissory note worth 100,000 gold squarely on the counter.
“First-class mercenaries. Contract period: two months. As many as this money can hire.”
Take your customer, you lot.
With a leisurely smile, Hardin laid out his demands with perfect composure.