༺ 𓆩 Chapter 33 — Preparation (2) 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
“I’ll do it.” Bessemer said.
At the murderous force in his bearing, the soldiers’ attention snapped toward him all at once.
“Then you know what to do, don’t you?”
“I do.”
At the low-voiced question, Bessemer nodded.
“Then begin.”
The instant Isaac finished speaking,
whoom—!!!
Bessemer swung his axe in a great arc.
Kang—!!!
To any eye, the axe had been aimed straight at Isaac.
It looked as though it would split Carlson in two as well, obstacle or no.
“What are you doing!?”
Carlson, having drawn his sword and stopped Bessemer’s first blow, roared aloud.
The play Isaac had ordered had begun.
It was the failed revenge tragedy of a great Baitur warrior.
“For my dead tribesmen’s revenge.”
Expressionless, Bessemer swung the axe again.
Kang—!!!
Kagagak–!!!!
Sword edge and axe edge met in exchanges too swift for Isaac’s eyes, much less the soldiers’. Sparks burst. Steel screamed a desperate cry. The actors played their parts well. Bessemer pressed the attack without pause, while Carlson held firm in stable defense.
Movement beginning at the toes, rising through calf, thigh, waist, flowing into shoulder and arm as one living chain.
For a man of such size, Bessemer was unnervingly supple.
His attacks drew the greatest possible rotational force by bending his body around the axis of his waist.
After one strike, any fighter should have reset his stance, if only to prepare for a counterattack or the next blow.
But Bessemer’s attacks did not work that way.
The ending point of one strike became at once the beginning point of the next.
From the tips of his feet to the axe in his hand, he moved like a single whip, every attack flowed into the next as naturally as water. It was nothing like the emotionally driven assault he had shown in his duel with Isaac.
This was a method of attack aimed at the most efficient possible killing of the opponent. He was not merely trusting in the size of his body or the brute force of his arms. It was the seasoned battlecraft of a man who knew exactly how to use his body.
Yet the soldiers could not judge just how powerful Bessemer’s attacks truly were.
Carlson was stopping them too easily.
The dreadful bursts of air splitting under the axe blade, the thunder that rang each time steel struck steel.
And through all of it Carlson’s expression did not move. There was no fear in it, no sign of tension.
Minimal movement.
A perfectly stable posture that never once broke.
To anyone watching, it might have seemed as though he and Bessemer had practiced together for years.
He received each deathly blow as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
He was like a rock standing before a storm.
A fight that should never have taken place was unfolding before them,
yet not one soldier so much as thought to intervene.
They were overwhelmed by the clash of two monsters, either of whom seemed capable of being cut in half by the slightest mistake.
Each time the cold wind of a blade slicing through the air brushed their ears, the napes of the soldiers’ necks prickled.
The fight did not last long.
Bessemer, who threw his whole body into every strike, eventually failed to break Carlson’s defense, and his breathing came apart.
Even in the flurry that had seemed it might continue without end, a gap finally appeared.
Carlson did not let the moment pass. He swept Bessemer’s knee from under him.
“Kh.”
Strength leaving him, Bessemer’s balance failed at once.
As he dropped to one knee, Carlson’s blade came to rest before his throat.
“Enough!”
Isaac shouted.
“What revenge do you mean to take against me, Baitur Bessemer?”
“Are you asking because you don’t know? Or because you’re pretending not to? After slaughtering my tribesmen like that, did you think the little young master’s neck would stay whole?”
“You understand that what you’re doing now is treason, don’t you, soldier?”
At Bessemer’s answer, Isaac’s face hardened.
“Don’t talk nonsense! This isn’t treason. It’s revenge for the family of my friend’s brother!”
Bessemer rolled his eyes wildly at Isaac.
“Carlson.”
“Yes.”
“Military order. Four days. After that, execute Bessemer. Tie him to a post and don’t give him a drop of water.”
“Understood.”
“Oh, and. Beat him half to death so he can’t try anything foolish.”
“Yes.”
The moment Carlson answered, he reversed his sword in his grip.
Then he swung the hilt like a club and brought it down on Bessemer.
With a dull crack, Bessemer crashed face-first to the ground.
Carlson’s beating continued.
“Move.”
Parting the startled soldiers, Isaac walked back toward his own barracks.
For a boy of twelve, his face was far too severe.
And yet no one dared object.
***⚜***
Two days passed, and, as ever, darkness came down.
“Fuck, really. There’s no demon worse than that.”
The two soldiers standing watch atop the watchtower cursed one after the other.
“What if the captain really dies like this?”
“We’ve got to do something before that.”
“Are you insane? You want us to mutiny? No matter what anyone says, Bessemer definitely tried to kill that brat.”
“Fuck, and if the captain gets executed, what makes you think we aren’t next? What if all this shit is just to wipe out every last one of us with tribal blood?”
“Why now, after ten quiet years?”
“You know what nobles are like. They’re snuffing out anyone who might one day lay a hand on their food bowl. Bastards. To that demonic brat, our lives aren’t even worth a fly’s……?”
“Shut up. Look.”
One soldier clamped a hand over the other’s mouth.
Below the watchtower, a man and a child carrying torches were walking the edge of the wall.
Carlson, newly installed as company commander.
And the brat who had become both lord and commander, Isaac.
“Tell me one thing.”
Carlson asked.
“Y-yes, yes. Speak.”
The soldier answered politely, as though he had not just been spitting venom behind their backs.
“How many meters high is this wall?”
“W-well. Y-you, do you know?”
“N-not exactly, but I think it’s about four meters.”
“Is that so? Good.”
After hearing the answer, Carlson said something to Isaac, and the company commander and the lord continued walking along the wall.
“Why the hell are those bastards prowling around the wall all day long?”
“Huu, fuck, my heart nearly stopped.”
The two soldiers on the watchtower let out sighs of relief.
“The soldiers are growing restless. Bessemer is more than a captain to them. For over ten years he’s been the pillar of their spirits.”
“I know.”
“If things go wrong, there’s a real chance of rebellion.”
“I know that too.”
“It’s uncertain whether we can even drag this out for four days.”
“That’s true.”
Isaac answered Carlson’s concerns only half-listening.
“What are you thinking so hard about?”
“This wall.”
“What about it?”
“Could hell wolves jump it?”
“If they could, the camp would have fallen long ago.”
“Wouldn’t it?”
Four days.
The time remaining until Bessemer’s execution.
Isaac had allowed that much time for a reason of his own.
‘There’s still a blank I haven’t filled in.’
Through the records he had read in his previous life, Isaac already knew the rough shape of Vinfeldt’s future.
But if he meant to defend the camp and deal with the Baitur, there could be no gaps left in what he understood.
The point that troubled Isaac most was this: how Vinfeldt had fallen at all.
‘The moment the hell wolves’ assault began, Vinfeldt sent for reinforcements by carrier pigeon. Father gathered relief forces and reached the camp within two days. But by then Vinfeldt had already fallen to the hell wolves.’
Isaac stood still and looked up at the wall.
A height the hell wolves should not have been able to clear.
The entire camp was ringed with massive logs sharpened to points.
‘The wooden wall was said to have remained intact. It wasn’t burned either. If it had really been flimsy, then the camp would have fallen into Baitur hands long before it managed to endure ten years.’
“Carlson, could this be broken?”
“Not easily. I heard they cut these from the great trees of the Black Forest.”
“And what makes trees from the Black Forest different?”
“Mana lets living things surpass the limits given to them. It’s the same principle by which knights grow strong through aura. If these are trees that survived and grew in the Black Forest, then they must have exceeded their natural limits through mana.”
“Harder than stone walls?”
“Comparable to them.”
Isaac rapped his knuckles against the wall.
It gave back only a dull sound, as though he had knocked on stone.
‘Did they dig a tunnel?’
Isaac shook his head.
If they had dug one large enough for creatures of that size to pass through, the soldiers could never have failed to notice.
‘The attack was recorded as happening on a night of the full moon.’
That was the greatest reason he had allowed four days.
The moon would be full then.
Vinfeldt, in the old record, had also been attacked and overrun when the moon was at its fullest.
He could not be certain, but if the moon had been mentioned at all, there had to have been a reason for it.
‘If I provoke them into attacking under the same conditions, I might learn something……. The moon. Could that really be connected?’
Isaac stared up at the sky.
Fragments of remembered history drifted up in his mind.
The finer details of Vinfeldt’s history had remained with him because there had been things in them he could not accept.
For a boy trapped all day in a dark and stale underground chamber, doubt and curiosity had been precious forms of play.
‘The current total strength of the camp is one hundred and eighteen. But when Father himself arrived with reinforcements, there were fewer than thirty corpses found. Where did the other ninety-odd bodies go?’
If the hell wolves had devoured them, there should have been great quantities of blood, scraps of flesh, skulls or bones too troublesome to eat.
But the record said that not a single trace of the remaining ninety-odd corpses had been found.
“The moon is full.”
Following Isaac’s gaze up into the night sky, Carlson spoke.
“It is. So it’ll be tonight or tomorrow.”
“What?”
“The time those bastards will move.”
Isaac had already given Carlson and Bessemer his thoughts on it.
Virfier wanted you to become the King of Wolves, didn’t he, Bessemer?
He did.
And why?
I don’t know.
Whatever the reason, he won’t stand by and watch you be executed.
That much is certain.
No, it is certain. If you tried to kill me, then that means you openly showed hostility to Goethe. In other words, it can be read as you standing on the Baitur’s side.
You think Virfier will fall for that?
Even if he thinks it’s a trap, he won’t have another choice. If nothing else, the Baitur seem to need you.
And the King of Wolves will come?
If the King of Wolves still thinks of you as his son, then it’ll come of its own accord whether Virfier asks or not.
……So you’re telling me to strike my father in the back when he comes to save me.
If the King of Wolves died, the hell wolves would become nothing more than demonic beasts.
And once the Baitur lost that core strength, they would no longer be a threat to Vinfeldt.
Now the remaining problem was how they would attack.
And how to recognize the sign that the assault had begun.
“Why do you think they’ll move tonight or tomorrow?”
Carlson asked.
“Because of that.”
Isaac pointed to the moon.
“That’s enough to make you think so?”
“It’s just a feeling.”
Carlson tilted his head.
“Young master.”
As Isaac finished inspecting the wall and turned to head back to the barracks,
Günter called to him cautiously.
“Mm?”
“That…….”
“What is it?”
“You told me not to overlook even the smallest sign.”
“I did.”
“Would you spare me a little time?”
“What kind of matter is it?”
“It may be nothing. But I thought you should know.”
Günter scratched the back of his head without meeting Isaac’s eyes.
He did not seem at all certain whether what he had found was worth reporting.
“Show me.”
“Mm.”
When Isaac moved, Carlson rubbed at his rough jaw and followed after with a look that said he had no choice.
He had been just about ready to take a drink and rest.
“So. What is it?”
The place Günter led them to was the serving stand in front of the food storehouse.
“O-oh. You’ve come.”
Two kitchen soldiers were standing there, faces lined with anxiety.
“I saw it myself. They put this into the cask here.”
Günter handed Isaac an empty leather pouch.
“What is this?”
“It’s nothing special. We sometimes add it to improve the taste of beer…… Günter must have gotten suspicious when he saw it.”
“S-sorry for causing concern. I only stirred up needless misunderstanding.”
The two kitchen soldiers’ eyes rolled nervously.
“So what is it?”
Isaac brought the mouth of the leather pouch to his nose and smelled it.
A stench rose strong enough to make him frown at once.
It was the smell of rotting meat mingled with the scents of char and pungent spice.
“It-it’s a mixture of animal blood and spices. They say drinking it with alcohol acts like a tonic. It’s an old folk remedy.”
“Then why did you both jump the moment I looked at it?”
“Because you were pressing us. And the mood around here already isn’t good.”
At Günter’s question, one of the cooks made a weak excuse.
“May I smell it?”
“You can tell just by smelling?”
“Maybe not most things. But when it comes to the smell of blood, I know my trade.”
Carlson took the leather pouch from Isaac and sniffed it.
His expression slowly twisted.
Isaac thought the stench alone had soured his face.
But that was not it.
“This is bad.”
“Well, of course it is. It reeks.”
“This is the blood of a hell wolf.”
“……?”
A question rose onto Isaac’s face.
“Why would they put hell wolf blood into it?”
“…….”
The two kitchen soldiers went deathly pale.
Their four eyes flicked rapidly between Isaac and Carlson.
Then, in a flash—
“Aaaah!”
One of the kitchen soldiers thrust a dagger at Isaac.
END σϝ CHAPTER