Chapter 32: Not Coincidence, but Inevitability (2)
Hardin looked at Mikkelsen and grinned slyly.
‘This is why we impose restrictions.’
Physical training that pushed the body to its limits without using mana.
Naturally, this improved both muscle strength and the amount of mana within the body.
They had repeated the same training from morning till night without rest for an entire month, so he must have felt an immense sense of accomplishment.
‘Well, that isn’t actually the main point of this training.’
At that moment, Mikkelsen alternated glances between the hole he had made in the floor and his fist, thinking to himself.
‘W-What is this? Did I really do that?’
A level of power he never could have imagined before.
He had only drawn out a little mana, yet the strength… the destructive force was completely different.
Which meant…
‘Is it thanks to the training the Young Master forced on me?’
But all he had done so far was run around carrying logs.
Mikkelsen tilted his head, unable to understand the situation.
Then… naturally, his gaze returned to Hardin, standing beside him.
And at the same time, an insolent thought crossed his mind.
‘At this level… maybe I could actually beat that bastard?’
Mikkelsen stared blankly at Hardin.
Maybe it was because he had been worked to the bone.
Throughout the training, he had desperately wanted to land even a single punch on that man.
And honestly, if he managed to knock out the Young Master here, who cared about the territorial war or anything else? He could just run away.
‘Good, good!’
Mikkelsen’s lips curled into a wicked grin, and without warning, he pointed a finger straight at Hardin.
“Hey, Young Master!”
“Hm?”
“Come at me, you bastard! Damn it, I, Mikkelsen, will take you on personally!”
“…Why are you suddenly acting like this?”
“I’ve been reborn! With this power, no matter who you are—!”
“What nonsense.”
Hardin scratched his head as he walked closer.
Paaack!
“Argh!”
He casually extended his fist, and before Mikkelsen could even react, it smashed into his face, distorting his features.
Then, his body flew all the way to the edge of the training ground.
Puh-uck!
“Kehe… hek…”
He crashed into a wooden pillar and collapsed face-first onto the ground.
Hardin brushed off his palm and spoke.
“Are you finished saying whatever you wanted?”
“…”
Mikkelsen, having lost consciousness, could no longer answer.
The mercenaries looked on, shaking their heads with awkward smiles.
‘Why did you do that, Mikkelsen…’
‘That man trained several times harder. Of course, he got even stronger…’
They quickly decided not to show off, unless they wanted the same beating.
Hardin let out a long sigh and spoke up.
“Anyone else got something to say?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, the next one. We’ll continue.”
“Yes, sir!”
After that, the real procedure began.
Paaack!
“Aaaargh!”
Each time he jabbed a finger into a mercenary’s abdomen, their eyes lit up as if fire was blazing in them, their strength returning.
Like a messiah working miracles.
And when he finally finished treating everyone—
“Mana… My mana! I really got it back!”
“Ghh… How long has it been since I felt my mana?”
The mercenaries expressed their tearful joy as if they had just reclaimed stolen toys.
Among them was Mikkelsen, his face swollen like a bruised fruit.
At that moment, Hardin stomped his foot twice.
“Attention!”
“…”
Flinch!
Everyone turned to look at Hardin with tense faces as he spoke in a serious tone.
“From now on, I’m going to explain what tactics you all will use in the Territorial War. I’ll only say this once… so listen carefully and remember it well.”
“…Huh?”
“Tactics?”
Us… doing something like that? All we’d done so far was smash logs into the ground.
Chwaaak!
While the mercenaries murmured among themselves, Hardin pulled out a large bundle of parchment and spread it out on the floor.
“W-What is this?”
“A tactical map.”
“A tactical… map?”
“Yeah. It’ll make it easier for you to understand.”
Those Calpion bastards… I’ll crush them completely with this card.
A shadow fell heavily across Hardin’s face as he raised one corner of his lips in a smirk.
‘Is… is this really going to be okay?’
Worried expressions filled the faces of the Maw mercenaries.
---
A cloudy morning.
“Open the gates!”
“Ah, yes!”
The knights who had ridden out on horseback just yesterday returned to the castle one by one, their faces thoroughly exhausted.
“Instructor Manton! The conscripts from the three villages in the northwest have all arrived!”
“Equip them with weapons immediately!”
“Yes, sir!”
Each time the knights brought a dozen or so men from each village, they gathered them around the square and reported to Instructor Manton.
They were all peasants conscripted by the Lord’s orders.
“Damn it, a territorial war, of all things.”
“I have to go to war? Against… the Calpion Viscounty?”
A mixture of fatigue and fear appeared on their faces.
Calpion, rising like the morning sun, and Daphne, teetering on the brink of ruin.
Anyone who wasn’t a fool could see who would win.
On top of that…
“Come on! Move those crates over here! Hurry up! Time is precious!”
“Boil all those potatoes at once!”
Even the women, old men, and children left in the inner castle—
Everyone busily moved about, preparing food or carrying military supplies, each doing whatever they could to help.
The real preparations for war had begun.
At that moment, in the large conference room on the mansion’s second floor.
A topographical map of Daphne lay in the center, with all the family’s key figures gathered around it.
“If we have to fight, then at this location—”
“Grrrrmmm…”
The retainers spoke up one after another with grave faces, adding to the confusion in the room.
Lord Cobalt also wore a solemn expression as he received their reports in real time.
“Currently, we’re short on bows and swords. Some of the conscripts can’t be armed at all.”
“What about the weapons we ordered? Have they still not arrived?”
“No, sir. Since the quantity was so large, the craftsmen say production hasn’t finished yet…”
“…How many are we short?”
“We’re lacking equipment for roughly a hundred men.”
Damn it, nothing is going right.
With every report that came in, the Lord’s face grew darker.
Purchasing weapons, securing extra provisions, and so on—
He had prepared as best he could, but everything required time and procedure.
Since the orders hadn’t been fulfilled yet, they were short on both food and weapons.
Some suppliers had even gone so far as to cancel the orders altogether.
‘They must be trying to avoid getting involved in this war.’
Viscount Cobalt gave an instruction in a grave tone.
“Gather whatever farming tools you can find that could serve as weapons and equip the men.”
“Ghh, we’ve already been doing that… but even so, we still don’t have enough.”
An answer that was anything but reassuring.
Viscount Cobalt clicked his tongue and asked Mulgybson, who was standing beside him.
“Commander Mulgybson, how many troops do you estimate Calpion has?”
“I suspect at least twice as many as us. Their knight forces alone are known to number close to thirty. There haven’t been any unusual movements in the meantime… so their numbers likely haven’t increased.”
“This won’t be easy.”
With each report, speculation, and update, Cobalt’s face grew steadily darker.
No matter what scenario they planned for, overcoming such a numerical disadvantage wouldn’t be simple.
And on top of that…
“Malion, no word from the neighboring territories?”
“No, sir. They keep repeating the same answer, that they won’t get involved in this war.”
“…So it’s come to that.”
Even the neighboring territories, from which they had pinned their last hopes, had all ignored their requests for support.
Viscount Cobalt closed his eyes tightly and let out a long sigh.
‘…It’s only natural, I suppose.’
Anyone could see that Calpion had overwhelming odds of winning this Territorial War.
There were also many who had dealings with them, and none of them would want to stick their necks out and risk losing.
Just as the lord was pressing his fingers hard into his forehead—
“Engelmann.”
“Yes!”
Third Young Master Malion urged the retainers on, his face tense with anxiety.
“Is there any additional news?”
“Th…that is, no, nothing yet.”
At the retainer’s reply, Malion’s expression instantly darkened.
“You’re certain the carrier pigeons reached Calpion?”
“They should have. Didn’t we send three birds?”
“Damn it… Then why haven’t they replied?”
He tried to maintain his composure somehow, but his voice trembled slightly.
It had already been several days since they’d sent the pigeons.
On top of that, fearing something might have gone wrong, they had reached out to various guilds and professional couriers in the neighboring cities, trying to find any way to make indirect contact with the Calpion Viscounty.
It felt like Malion had exhausted every possible means at his disposal.
Yet every time, the only replies they received were…
[It seems it will be difficult to arrange a meeting.]
[It is impossible to approach them in the current situation.]
Letters containing nothing but vague, useless statements.
Malion’s blood slowly turned cold.
‘…This war must be stopped. Somehow.’
Malion gnawed on his fingernail with a sharp click, then abruptly turned his head and nearly shouted.
“Father, even now, wouldn’t it be better if I went there myself?”
“Malion…”
“If I go in person, I’m sure I can persuade Calpion. If I can negotiate properly—”
“They’ve likely already made up their minds.”
“But—”
“Get a hold of yourself, Malion.”
It was the impulse of someone desperate to do something.
But Cobalt shook his head and firmly restrained his son.
And so, in one corner of the meeting room full of confusion—
‘It’s a battlefield. A battlefield, really.’
Hardin stretched and slowly shook his head, seated in a corner.
He looked strangely at ease, without a hint of nervousness or fear.
Though he was sitting there because he was the Young Master, what could he really say about this situation…
‘No one cares about me.’
Maybe they were too busy, or maybe they simply had no expectations of him in the first place.
Not a single person even spoke to him.
This was honestly a little hurtful.
While Hardin was scratching his chin, Viscount Cobalt turned to ask him a question.
“Hardin.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Have the mercenaries been fully armed?”
“Yes, they’ve been equipped, and I explained the situation to them. I also trained them hard enough that they’ll practically be flying around.”
“That’s at least some relief.”
“Of course.”
…
Though he said that, it was plain to see from his expression.
He was clearly thinking they wouldn’t be of much use.
‘From their perspective… they’re just worthless mercenaries who can’t even use mana.’
Expecting anything would be stranger.
Well, revealing that the Maw mercenaries were actually mana users… showing they were a capable fighting force could be one way.
But…
‘That would be troublesome.’
If it became known that all of them were mana users, and skilled ones at that,
ten times out of ten, the family would take command of them.
And if that happened, the tactics I’d planned from the start would never even get a chance to be executed.
So for now…
‘It’s easier to just let them think we’re incompetent mercenaries who can’t even use mana.’
While Hardin was organizing his thoughts and going over his plans—
Bang!
The door swung open roughly.
“Third Young Master! I-It’s arrived!”
“Arrived? What are you talking about?”
As the servant called out while opening the door, Malion’s head snapped around.
“A courier from Calpion delivered this at the castle gate!”
“Give it here!”
The servant handed over a cloth bundle, which Malion immediately grabbed and set down on the desk, untying the knot.
“This is…”
A wooden box, engraved with the key emblem symbolizing Calpion.
Gulp.
Malion swallowed hard and slowly opened the lid.
“…Huh?”
At that moment, his face went pale, and his body began to tremble violently.
“Third Young Master?”
“What is it?”
Everyone looked puzzled and asked.
Thump!
Malion slumped back into his chair, bowing his head deeply.
“….”
“What is it?”
The retainers crowded in to peer inside the box.
“Urgh…!”
“Insane.”
Disgust twisted all their faces. Some stepped back, while others gagged and retched.
‘What is it now?’
Hardin slowly stood up and poked his head between the retainers.
At that instant, a thick, cloying stench of blood stung his nose, and his brow furrowed.
Inside the box—
The carrier pigeon Malion had sent lay decapitated, its body soaked in blood.
Maggots writhed all over it, and tied to its ankle was a note, drenched in sticky red.
‘God, what a taste these bastards have…’
Hardin let out a deep sigh and stepped in among the retainers.
“Excuse me a moment.”
“Y-Young Master?”
Thud!
Hardin reached into the box and grabbed the severed pigeon’s body in one hand.
Plop.
Maggots tumbled onto the table.
“Young Master, w-what are you doing?”
“Urgh…”
Everyone grimaced and stepped back, but Hardin remained expressionless as he calmly tore the note from the pigeon’s leg.
“Hmmm…”
The unfolded note contained only a single sentence.
I reject your proposal.
–Ruder Calpion
Hardin opened the note and turned it this way and that, then spoke.
“The reply’s here, by the way.”
For a moment, silence descended over the conference room.
‘So… it’s really come to this.’
Viscount Cobalt shut his eyes tight.
Was a Territorial War truly about to break out?
Even as he looked straight at this reality, it felt like a dream.
Why was Calpion doing this? What in the world were they after? He couldn’t even begin to guess.
But—
‘…I must not waver.’
When he opened his eyes again, he saw his retainers all deathly pale, their bodies trembling.
“What is this…”
Malion in particular looked as if his very soul had left him, unable to close his gaping mouth.
If he let himself show any sign of agitation now, the atmosphere would collapse beyond repair.
Viscount Cobalt clenched his fist tightly and spoke in a steady voice.
“…Commander Mulgybson.”
“Yes.”
“How long do you estimate it will take for Calpion’s forces to arrive here?”
“If they move as declared in their proclamation…”
Mulgybson took a deep breath, then widened his eyes as he answered.
“By around noon tomorrow, they’ll reach the castle.”
The moment he said those words, the conference room erupted in anxious murmuring once more.