Chapter 164

Translator: Willia

Sometimes, it was hard to remember how things had come to this. Even when it was this horrific, this tragic.

And in truth, at some point, the reasons really had ceased to matter. Reasons for one person to kill another, or to destroy another's life.

Adelun, the capital of the Adeloron Kingdom, was divided into an old city and a new city. Farmland lay beyond the city, but it had long since been abandoned and left to ruin.

The old city had an enormous fortress atop a hill, with walls encircling the city itself.

The new city lay across a river called the Rotava, and it was overflowing with criminals of every kind. What else would soldiers who had forgotten how to fight devote themselves to? Gambling, drink, women, violence, and exploitation.

Even when Ricardt appeared at the head of the Knight Order, the criminals in the new city did not flee. They had become so steeped in their sordid, debauched lives that by then, they had nowhere else to go.

“Clear it out.”

There was no battle to speak of. It was, quite literally, a cleanup. The Knight Order and the Nord Mercenary Corps entered the city, beat the criminals indiscriminately, killed them, and threw their bodies into the river. Since the river had to be used for drinking water, they dumped the corpses downstream.

After making the residents thoroughly clean the filthy city, reasonably tidy streets finally emerged. Ricardt stationed his troops there.

Ricardt formally hired the residents for pay and put them to work on all manner of menial tasks. A faint light returned to the eyes of those who had lost all hope in life and seemed dead inside.

But as was often the case in war, something unexpected happened.

“Grantz isn't here. He abandoned the castle and left.”

A gaunt young man spoke while nervously rolling his enormous eyes, clutching the hat he had been wearing against his chest.

“When?”

“Three days ago.”

Three days ago would have been around the time Ricardt defeated Imperial Prince Rotarius. Grantz seemed to have fled the moment he heard the news.

“Where did he go?”

“Probably east.”

Ricardt immediately took a small force and headed for the old city. From a distance, the city gate had appeared to be shut, but up close, he saw that it was slightly ajar.

Yet some inexplicable bleakness seemed to seep through the narrow opening in the gate.

When Ricardt entered the old city with his knights, the new city seemed almost like paradise by comparison.

The streets of the old city were littered with people reduced to skin and bone by starvation, sprawled about like zombies, while an infant suckled at its dead mother's breast.

Naturally, they showed no fear even upon seeing Ricardt and his knights. Their eyes had simply given up on everything. On life, and even on death.

There was no need to look around for long. Grantz seemed to have taken and scraped away everything he possibly could. Indeed, even the graves beside the Temple had been dug up.

In truth, this was the sort of thing that happened in an ordinary war. What other way was there to feed an army?

Things might have been different if Grantz had cultivated the farmland, restored order, and governed properly, but whether he simply lacked the ability or knew what needed to be done and still could not do it was impossible to tell.

Ricardt entered the royal castle of Adelun. The jewels that had adorned the walls were gone, of course, and even the gilding had been scraped away. Nothing remained. It was nothing more than a ruin.

There was no goldware, no metal, no lumber, no stone, not even furniture such as beds. Only cobwebs and bleak, empty spaces remained.

Whatever its condition, Ricardt had succeeded in retaking the capital. A capital with nothing left in it, where even the spirits of its kings past seemed to have vanished.

Ricardt's strategic objective had been to retake the capital that autumn, rest through the winter, and end the war the following year, but the way things had turned out left him in a difficult position.

Retaking the capital without suffering any significant losses was certainly good, but Ricardt knew that the moment one grew greedy and reached beyond a strategic objective was often precisely where trouble began.

So he decided that, for the remainder of the year, he would focus on rebuilding the capital while gathering information on Grantz and the situation in the surrounding regions.

The army could survey the surrounding terrain and conduct reconnaissance, but obtaining information of any real value was difficult for soldiers. This was where Paolo came to Ricardt's aid.

As Paolo took charge of reconnecting the flow of money into the capital of Adelun, almost as though he were joining severed blood vessels back together, he also began advising Ricardt.

Ricardt had never formally appointed him, but Paolo had naturally come to occupy a position much like a member of his advisory council.

“Do you know why Grantz is called Invincible? Because he never fights a battle he'll lose. He waits and waits, then only acts when he's certain he can win.”

“You make him sound like a bastard who knows how to do nothing but run away and betray people. Isn't that nickname a little too grand for someone like that?”

“That's right. Other people didn't give him that nickname. He gave it to himself. And if you're good enough at running away and betraying people, you can bring down a kingdom. Just as he has now.”

Ricardt had faced many formidable enemies before. Of them all, the most troublesome were enemies who refused to fight him, and Grantz was that type of enemy.

“Then why did he go east?”

“There are several warlords in Adeloron besides Grantz at present. He's probably planning to join forces with them or absorb them. He isn't completely devoid of military talent, so he'll gather as many troops as possible. At the very least, several times as many as you have, Commander.”

“Hmm......”

Ricardt stroked his chin in thought, then suddenly asked as though testing Paolo.

“What do you think, Paolo? What do you think I should do now?”

“The ability to fight and always win is extremely powerful, but that alone will not put a kingdom into your hands. Not unless you intend to kill everyone. Your forces in particular are sufficient to fight battles, but too few to occupy an entire region. So I suggest keeping the army stationed in the capital until at least the end of this year and starting by drawing up a list of people to deal with.”

“Deal with how?”

“A list of those to kill and those to spare.”

In other words, Paolo was telling him to draw up a death list.

It was an important and complicated matter, because it was not enough merely to write down a string of names. Each person had to be investigated individually. And the resulting list could become an important strategic guideline.

Those who had to die would need to be deceived and fought, while those who were to be spared would instead have to be persuaded and brought into the fold.

“Have you thought of anyone?”

“I have.”

“You say that as though you've already prepared everything.”

“My merchant company and I have staked ourselves on you, Commander. Naturally, I have to do everything I can to help.”

Paolo, with his oversized head, grinned broadly.

Truth be told, he was the most capable person Ricardt had met thus far. In fact, he was so capable that it was almost unsettling.

Karllich, the headmaster of Beringen Academy, was intelligent but had a somewhat naive side to him, while Bori and Marie were certainly capable but only within their respective fields. Paolo was different.

More than anything else, Paolo was the first person Ricardt had ever met who could look at matters with a perspective and insight equal to his own.

A sharp sword had to be handled with care. Ricardt was a master of the sword, but whether he could handle people as skillfully as he handled a blade was another question entirely.

What made Ricardt wary, more than anything else, was that Paolo's words kept aligning with his own intentions.

“So have you drawn up that list?”

“No.”

“What? You were talking as though you'd prepared everything.”

“I said I'd thought about it, not that I'd finished the work. Besides, even if I handed you a list, would you trust it? That would be no different from me deciding who lives and who dies instead of you, Commander. So let us discuss them one by one. Whether each person should die or live.”

“......Let's hear about the people to spare first.”

“Most of those worth sparing are loyalists of the existing royal family. If they've defended their own territories to the bitter end despite things having deteriorated this badly, then they must possess a certain degree of competence, and their loyalty should be trustworthy as well. Winning them over, however, will be difficult.”

“And the people to kill?”

“Obviously, the mercenaries and those who colluded with them. A person who betrays once will betray again, so whether they're competent or useless, it's better to kill them early.”

“That sounds simpler than I expected.”

“Well, yes. The difficult part is examining each individual. Also, if you intend to administer the territory you've taken, it would be wise to grant titles of nobility. So I don't believe it would be good to delay your coronation.”

“No. I can administer it myself. As for being king...... I don't know.”

“Are you afraid?”

Paolo asked without hesitation. Ricardt turned to look at him. There was no sign that Paolo feared him or regarded him as some great figure. Perhaps that was precisely why Ricardt could speak with him about such matters.

Ricardt gazed steadily into Paolo's eyes for a moment, then readily nodded.

“Yes. I am afraid.”

“But because you are afraid, you will be different from other kings. You are worrying not about the crown itself, but about what lies beyond it.”

Ricardt lowered his head with a faint chuckle. It struck him as absurd that some merchant understood feelings he had never even been able to confide in Marie.

Founding a dynasty and ruling over people was not a matter that could be solved by sacrificing himself alone. It meant carrying that duty on from generation to generation, through his bloodline.

Ricardt had always staked his life in struggles where victory and defeat were on the line, but this was a matter on an entirely different scale.

“To begin with, there is a county called Cheska nearby to the north. This autumn, you should try winning over Merbes, the Count of Cheska. If he comes over to your side, more than half the loyalists will follow.”

Ricardt had no particular desire to kill men of principle. But neither did he care to cling to them and beg for their support. Still, whatever came of it, he figured he could at least meet the man once.

When Ricardt nodded to show that he understood, Paolo asked,

“Will you go to meet him, or summon him here?”

“I'll go.”

“When?”

“Now.”

Once he had made up his mind, what reason was there to delay? Perhaps Ricardt's greatest strength was his ability to act decisively.

Ricardt left the capital in Marie's hands, then rode north with only Raimund and Roy. It was the fourth day since he had retaken the capital.

Cheska was not particularly far from the capital of Adelun, so they were able to set out in the morning and arrive around noon.

As the terrain began to rise, a fortified gateway appeared in a gorge. Looking at the geography, Ricardt could see why Merbes had been able to defend his land. Of course, even terrain like this was useless in incompetent hands.

The gorge bore unmistakable traces of battle. Broken swords, torn banners, bleached bones that no one had managed to retrieve.

When Ricardt reached the gate and looked up, a banner bearing a lion fluttered overhead. Wary eyes were fixed upon him.

Without saying anything else, Ricardt shouted to the men looking down at him. His voice echoed loudly through the gorge.

“I am Ricardt! I lead the Order of the Steel Knights, and I have retaken the capital, Adelun! I wish to meet the Count of Cheska, so open the gate!”

But no reply came from the men guarding the gate.

A short while later, however, the gate opened with a long, grinding groan, and knights poured out from within in an instant, surrounding Ricardt, Roy, and Raimund.

Then, unexpectedly, Merbes, the Count of Cheska himself, appeared on horseback. It meant that rather than remaining shut away in his castle, he stayed at the gate regularly to defend it in person.

His neatly groomed mustache extended in sharp points, and his gaze was every bit as keen.

Perhaps because of all he had endured during the Civil War, his response was every bit as sharp as his appearance.

“What business brings you here? If you have come to threaten me, I shall repay your threat in kind.”

“I did not come to fight. Nor did I come to threaten you.”

“Then state your business.”

“The time has come to end the Civil War. I shall respect the title of nobility you have held until now and guarantee that it remains yours. Stand with me, and let us bring the Civil War to an end.”

Merbes continued to regard Ricardt with undisguised suspicion for a moment before asking,

“Your fame has reached even beyond this gate, Ricardt. But there is something I wish to know. Are you truly a knight who understands honor?”

“I am a knight.”

“Who knighted you?”

“God.”

“......”

For a moment, nothing could be heard in the gorge but the sound of the wind. No one laughed, and aside from Raimund, no one believed him.

“Can you prove it?”

Merbes asked. Ricardt answered with a question of his own.

“What can you prove?”

“This gate, which has yet to be breached, and the duty handed down through my family for generations are proof of my honor. I ask you again. Can you prove yours?”

Without even asking what sort of proof Merbes intended to demand, Ricardt answered with complete confidence.

“I can.”

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