༺ 𓆩 Chapter 29 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
All through the supervision of the unloading of supplies, Schiller’s mind was in disarray.
Ordinarily, he would have checked even a single arrow, even a handful of grain meal, with relentless care, but this time he finished by mere estimation.
He was a man who prized dignity, yet the way he hurried toward Isaac’s barracks was closer to running than walking.
“Carlson, Hans. Leave us for a while.”
After confirming once more that no one stood near the barracks, Schiller at once burst out in anger.
“Why did you not tell me sooner!?”
“You startled me.”
Isaac, who had been honing his sword’s edge with a whetstone, turned to look at Schiller.
“I nearly used magic on the soldiers here. If I had, it would have sparked a civil war.”
The chamberlain looked truly furious.
“But you didn’t use it.”
“It was a hair’s breadth away. Could you not at least have given me a hint?”
“I needed you to stay silent.”
“What possible need was there for that?”
“If you and Hans made exactly that kind of fuss, Bessemer would believe it. And I trusted that you, Schiller, would notice.”
“…….”
For a while Schiller kept his mouth shut tight.
His face was still far from pleased, but after several deep breaths he managed to suppress his anger.
There were things that needed grasping now, and as chamberlain he could not afford to put emotion first.
“Since when?”
“Since when what?”
“Do not think of evading it now.”
“Since the last mana explosion.”
There was neither subject nor object in the question, and yet Isaac understood him at once.
“Why did you not tell me?”
“You know why. My peculiar constitution bears an uncanny resemblance to someone from a century ago. It is a manifestation of bloodline.”
“...............!”
A crack appeared in Schiller’s expression.
“The records of the previous lord would not have been accessible without His Excellency’s permission.”
“With my condition in such a state, do you think I would have cared about such things? I looked in secret.”
“…….”
“Why are you so surprised? You already knew.”
Isaac set the whetstone to the blade again.
“If it becomes known that I can use magic, then perhaps no one in the kingdom would welcome it. It would be no different from a seed of catastrophe sprouting.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Keep silent.”
“…….”
At Isaac’s calm answer, Schiller forgot his words for a moment.
It was a fact that might very well decide the fate of the house.
And yet Isaac remained utterly composed.
Schiller had watched Isaac and Jonas, these two little Goethes, from the moment they were born until now.
As much as their nursemaids or attendants, perhaps more than them, he knew the little Goethes well.
Over the past few months,
Schiller had thought Isaac’s eccentricities, his unexpected exploits, no more than momentary whims brought on by mana explosions.
But the duel with Bessemer had made it certain.
Isaac had changed.
And changed in a direction wholly beyond Schiller’s understanding.
His change did not run along the usual course by which children grew, matured, and came into themselves.
What result this would bring to Goethe, Schiller could not begin to guess.
“Young master, what… are you thinking? Other than coming to use magic, has anything else happened to note?”
“Why?”
“You have become someone else while I was not looking.”
“…….”
For an instant, Isaac’s hand stopped upon the blade.
“Maybe so. Schiller, I have a request.”
***⚜***
At dawn the next day.
“Keep the line straight! Any bastard who falls behind runs another lap!”
The eighty-odd soldiers, excluding those on night watch and patrol and those wounded, ran the outer boundary of the camp with their faces twisted into deep scowls.
“Fuck, what kind of bullshit is this.”
“That crippled little brat, huff, does he really think he’s the commander now? Huff, I should’ve smashed him to bits, huff, right away.”
“Then, huff, stop whining and, huff, do it, huff, instead of all that mouth.”
“Fuck, if it weren’t for that demon bastard, huff, I’d have done it already.”
Curses flew thick among the soldiers, yet none dared stop running or openly resist.
One reason was the merciless violence that had been meted out before the sun had even lifted its head above the ridge.
Any soldier who failed to obey or lagged in his movements was unfailingly met with Carlson’s fists and kicks.
A few soldiers had rushed him, but now they lay stretched in their barracks, unable to rise.
Teeth had been knocked out, clumps of hair torn free, and in the worst cases an arm or leg had been broken.
In this camp, where most agreements were settled through force, it was an exceedingly effective mode of communication.
It was not enough that Carlson could knock down men twice his size in two or three blows. He had also beaten a soldier who wept and begged for mercy until the man blacked out.
Everyone had been cowed.
Another strong reason was that Bessemer, who had seemed likely to voice the men’s complaints, joined the running formation without a word.
Since the strongest soldier in the camp, the one all but treated as its captain, was obeying the order, the mood among the rest had at least turned cautious.
And there was one more reason still: Carlson had kicked Hans without mercy when he fell behind.
“So this is all the resolve you had when you insisted on staying here? A wretch like you was always hopeless. Why not give up and crawl back to the estate? You were rotten from the root! Give up!”
Hans, enduring all this with desperate stubbornness, unsettled the soldiers even more.
“I, huff, huff, won’t, give up!”
“If you don’t give up, you’ll die! Either your breath will fail and you’ll die, or I’ll kill you myself.”
“Even so, I won’t, give up!”
Though he had already fallen three full laps behind, Hans, with a face gone bright red, was retching, drooling, and running with mucus hanging from him, yet still grappling with Carlson in his own miserable way.
He was hardly even walking anymore, much less running. It was near enough crawling.
Even the soldiers of Vinfeldt, who had seen every ugly thing there was to see, clicked their tongues at the sight.
So dawn came to Vinfeldt.
A noisy morning without any demonic-beast attack was deeply unfamiliar to the soldiers.
“Do you really mean to remain here?”
Schiller, fully prepared to return to the estate, asked the question.
“……Yes. The place, where I belong, is beside the young master. Uweegh—”
Hans, having only just finished the run, dry-heaved.
“Tsk, tsk. If the young master is to be believed, you’ll be staying here quite a long while.”
“Even so, ugh, it doesn’t matter.”
“Your family will worry.”
“Yes. And, urgh, they’ll be proud. I’ll, hoo, make sure of that.”
Hans wiped the drool hanging down to his chin with his sleeve.
“Hoo. That stubbornness of yours is just like your master’s.”
“Where would a servant unlike his master even come from?”
“Are you insulting me in front of my face?”
While Schiller and Hans traded their clumsy little jokes, Isaac cut in.
“Stay well, young master. Carlson, I’ve left a few soldiers behind from the estate, but in the end the most important role is yours. Protect the young master.”
“Yes.”
At Schiller’s words, Carlson nodded.
“Schiller, I’m counting on you.”
“It will take time. But I’ll manage somehow.”
“Make good use of Bill. I’ve already spoken to him.”
“Understood. Then.”
Schiller offered Isaac a proper bow.
He was about to climb into the carriage when suddenly he looked back at Isaac.
“It was only that fortune did not favor you.”
“What was?”
“It is not your fault, young master.”
Before Isaac could answer, Schiller bowed once more and climbed into the carriage.
“…….”
Isaac smiled faintly, though with a trace of bitterness.
He understood what Schiller had meant.
He had been speaking of inheriting Zeke von Goethe’s .
In the old chamberlain’s eyes, Isaac must have seemed a deeply pitiable young master.
‘It was his way of caring, I suppose.’
He had not refused Schiller’s send-off.
He had shown him the duel with Bessemer.
He had let him see magic that only Schiller could recognize, and had revealed a part of his plans ahead.
It had all been to earn Schiller’s trust.
Fortunately, things had gone as Isaac intended.
That said, the fleeting pity shown by the stern-looking chamberlain did not sit altogether easily with him.
“What did you talk about so long with Sir Schiller last night?”
Watching the line of supply wagons leaving the camp, Carlson asked.
“You listened in to all of it.”
“I got bored halfway through and fell asleep.”
“You’ll know soon enough anyway. Bring me one soldier who knows the land well.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“I should make an inspection. It’s still my first day as Lord of Vinfeldt, at least in name.”
Isaac stretched.
“Ah, and Hans.”
“Yes?”
“Bessemer’s discarded axe. Keep it.”
“What for?”
“It has a use.”
***⚜***
“Y-you called for me?”
The soldier wore a supply gambeson, but at a glance it was obvious he was of tribal origin.
Everything but the hair at the crown of his head had been shaved clean, and the remaining hair was braided down to his shoulders.
Like most of the soldiers, he looked at Isaac with open unease.
“I heard you were born and raised here. Then you must know the land well.”
“I know it well enough.”
“There are villages nearby where the remnant tribes live in small numbers. How many?”
“I don’t know about the hidden tribes, but there are about three villages still functioning more or less.”
“Then guide me.”
“Why should I…….”
Isaac was the lord of Vinfeldt, and the commander of the camp.
By military law, obedience should have been natural.
But at least here, nothing natural held.
The soldier had been dragged over only because he feared Carlson, and his face made it plain he had no wish to do this.
Carlson had violence.
Isaac, too, had a fine method of persuasion.
Ting—!!!
Isaac flicked a silver coin up with his thumb.
Caught off guard, the soldier caught it.
“I’m asking.”
“……Very well.”
The soldier nodded with obvious reluctance.
Three horses left the camp and crossed the wasteland.
Since Isaac still did not know how to ride, Hans held the reins for him, while the soldier and Carlson each rode their own mounts.
“Let’s get down here for a moment.”
“Here?”
Hans asked back, pulling on the reins.
It was a place of nothing.
A desolate black-red expanse of earth stretched over the rolling rises.
There was no living thing to be called animal or plant.
Only dry blackened stalks scattered here and there, and from time to time the white remains of corpses.
“What are you trying to do?”
When Isaac suddenly dismounted, Carlson asked.
“I want to check something.”
Isaac crouched and dug at the black-red soil with his hand.
At first glance it looked like hard-frozen, dried-out ground.
But with only a little pressure the brittle upper crust crumbled, and damp earth could be felt beneath it.
Isaac gathered a handful of the moist soil and tasted it.
“Why are you eating dirt?”
Hans came running over in alarm.
Carlson and the soldier, less shocked by Isaac’s antics than intrigued, merely watched.
“Because the soil has to be checked first. Ptoo.”
Isaac spat out the dirt in his mouth and savored the taste left at the tip of his tongue.
There was a slight sourness to it, and the reek of urine.
‘Just as the book said.’
A satisfied smile spread across Isaac’s face.
The hills and plains within sight, and even the place in the far distance where the black forest began.
All the soil wore the same hue.
“Are you planning to bake some kind of pastry out of the dirt?”
“That wouldn’t be impossible either. Hans, can you see it?”
“See what?”
“From this end to that end. A landscape washed through entirely in gold.”
“Huh?”
Hans wore a thoroughly baffled expression, then reached up and pressed a hand to Isaac’s forehead.
“Are you well?”
Before a mana explosion, Isaac often used to say strange things.
It had already been several months since one last struck, so Hans had begun wondering whether the time had come again.
Perhaps yesterday’s duel had left some unseen internal wound.
“I’m not mad, so don’t worry.”
Looking at Hans, whose face had darkened with concern, Isaac gave a faint laugh.
Hans’s worry was only natural.
For Hans, and for anyone in Goethe, and for anyone in the kingdom, the landscape Isaac saw did not yet exist.
But before long, all of them would see it.
The kingdom’s greatest granary, thickly sown with wheat, barley, and sunflowers.
It had not existed in his previous life.
In this one, it would.
The cornerstone of Goethe’s self-sufficiency.
‘Before that, I need to secure the safety of this land first.’
Isaac brushed the dirt from his hands.
“Let’s go.”
END σϝ CHAPTER