Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 10 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Julianus I’s Advice

That night, Ryoma Mikoshiba entered a room in the royal castle in Xarooda’s capital, Peripheria. He’d been called there suddenly and with no explanation by King Julianus I himself for the purpose of a private meeting.

It was an especially empty corner of the castle. A maid led Ryoma to the room and soon made herself scarce. There were soldiers standing guard outside, and while he couldn’t see them, he could feel by the tense atmosphere that there were also guards adept at stealth hiding in the shadows around the room.

The messenger who delivered the summons made it clear that Ryoma was to come alone. However, if Ryoma’s suspicions as to why he was called were correct, there shouldn’t have been a need for this much security. Julianus I must have really dreaded someone listening in on this meeting. But for how punctual he was said to be, he still hadn’t shown himself despite it nearly being the appointed time.

What’s going on? If he’s being this cautious, this can only mean...

Ryoma poured a glass of water from a pitcher sitting on the desk and brought it to his lips. The most likely possibility was that he wanted to have Ryoma assassinated. Just like Queen Lupis feared Ryoma’s resourcefulness after the civil war concluded, perhaps Julianus I also came to dread him. As the saying went, when the enemy was defeated, the victorious soldiers could be killed off. Ryoma doubted that was the case, though. For one, Lupis and Julianus I were in different positions.

Judging from this water, it doesn’t look like he means me any harm.

Feeling the liquid pleasantly run down his throat, Ryoma narrowed his eyes in thought. It was plain water, but even an unassuming pitcher on a table could offer a great deal of information. There was some kind of lemon-like citrus fruit mixed in along with ice to keep it cold. Some attention and care had been put into it. But it was still just water. It was preferable to lukewarm water, but one wouldn’t normally pay it any attention.

However, the standards in this world were different from Ryoma’s. This world had no refrigerators, so ice was fairly rare and expensive. The only real cooling sources were snow, collected during the winter and stored in cold rooms, and ice produced by verbal thaumaturgy. And unlike martial thaumaturgy, verbal thaumaturgy required a great deal of education and intelligence, making practitioners few and far between.

Verbal thaumaturgy also required dedicated teachers, and they learned the craft through reading numerous texts. Naturally, they needed to know how to read and write, meaning only the affluent could master verbal thaumaturgy. It required more than simply absorbing the prana of defeated enemies and activating one’s chakras, especially since defeating enemies from afar only granted half the normal amount of prana.

Nevertheless, that didn’t mean ranged attacks were any less effective. As proof, many skilled mercenaries and adventurers went to the trouble of learning a few offensive spells. While they might not be called verbal thaumaturgists, they still saw the value in that power. And even knowing that little drew the attention of others.

For instance, Lione’s mercenary group, the Crimson Lions, was recognized as quite skilled, and a lot of that reputation could be attributed to the fact that many of them could use verbal thaumaturgy. This was why, even though most knights on the continent saw ranged attacks as cowardly, many countries still proactively encouraged them to learn verbal thaumaturgy to some extent. In the face of the lofty purpose of defending a nation, the knights’ petty quibbles meant little.

And the reputation of verbal thaumaturgy was well-earned. Some of the more famous verbal thaumaturgists in the history of this world were said to be capable of wiping out entire armies. And so the Kingdom of Xarooda, for example, employed multiple court thaumaturgists. They were all nobles, but even if one of them happened to be a commoner, it wouldn’t have mattered. Once one became skilled enough to serve as court thaumaturgist, be they a commoner or even a slave, they would still be given a noble title to match their role. Verbal thaumaturgy was that highly sought after. Of course, no commoner would normally be skilled enough to reach that level of mastery over the art...

The ice is in large, uniform cubes, so from the looks of it I’d say a verbal thaumaturgist made it, Ryoma thought to himself as he eyed the ice cubes floating inside his glass.

He then took a baked sweet from the bowl sitting next to the pitcher and bit into it.

It’s too sweet.

It was, in all honesty, like a lump of sugar. Ryoma had tasted some confections from famous stores in his world, and to him, this had the crude, unrefined taste one might find in the countryside. One bite was enough to make him sick of the sweetness.

Still, he could say that because he was Japanese and not from here. In this world, most sweets were either fruit—both fresh and dried—or honey. Candy made of sugar was expensive. A commoner would probably never taste sugar in their entire life.

This was something Ryoma knew from when he motivated his young soldiers during training by giving them gumdrops. The price of sugar sweets was high, and there weren’t a lot in circulation. The gumdrops Ryoma gave the children were the cheapest sweet available in Japan, but a handful of them would probably cost a thousand gold coins in this world.

And so the meaning behind the sugar confections before him differed from Ryoma’s culinary impression of them. The lord of this castle was making a show of his power and wealth, for sure, but as a host he was greeting Ryoma with the greatest hospitality he could. But even based on what Ryoma knew of this world, this struck him as odd. Unless it was a tea party, hospitality in this world meant food and alcohol.

Since they went to the trouble of serving this, I’m guessing they want to avoid drinking here. But I’ve never heard anything about Julianus being a weak drinker. I guess he wants me to stay sober and clearheaded.

Just as Ryoma considered that explanation, he heard a knock on the door.

“Are you ready to see us, Sir Ryoma?” a familiar voice asked him, muffled by the door. It was probably Grahalt, who’d come as an escort and bodyguard.

He brings his own bodyguard after forbidding me from bringing my guards? Whatever this is about, it must be a delicate issue.

Ryoma was only a general dispatched by Rhoadseria, while Julianus I was the king of Xarooda. It was only natural he brought bodyguards, but Ryoma suspected there was more to this than just that.

“Come in,” Ryoma said.

The door gently swung open and Julianus I entered the room, accompanied by Grahalt.

“Pardon my tardiness, especially since I’m the one who called you here,” Julianus I said. “Some matters I couldn’t put off cropped up, and dealing with them took some time. Do forgive me.”

Ryoma nodded but remained silent. This reaction would normally be seen as quite rude and impudent, but everyone present overlooked it. Grahalt, who stood at the king’s side, didn’t seem to blame Ryoma for it.

“Now then, Grahalt... I’ll have to ask that you leave.”

At Julianus I’s orders, Grahalt simply bowed and left the room.

“Are you sure you should have done that?” Ryoma asked. Julianus was the king of Xarooda. Even if it was his own castle, his position meant that dismissing his bodyguards was unthinkable.

Julianus I, however, simply shook his head. “I do not mind. After all, I called you here without any of your guards. It’s only fair I do the same.”

Since he’d asked Ryoma to do something, he would return in kind. But given his position as king, it went without saying that this was an act of impressive resolve.

This old man has guts.

The surrounding countries called Julianus I “the mediocre king,” but as far as Ryoma could see, he was one sly old fox. Despite the rebellious tendencies of his nobles, he’d somehow kept Xarooda unified under his rule. This was probably due to his skills as a king.

“Now, I do believe speaking while standing would be rude...” Julianus I said as he sat on the sofa opposite Ryoma. “First, I must apologize and thank you.”

He bowed his head to Ryoma. This was likely why he asked Grahalt to leave. This certainly wasn’t a sight he could let others see.

“Thanks to you, our country survived this war, so first allow me to thank you on behalf of Xarooda and all its people. We’re eternally grateful to you. And...I must also apologize. Your daring attack and conquest of Fort Notis severed the O’ltormean army’s line of supply, and despite that, I ended this war with a cease-fire. Forgive me.”

This was the greatest gratitude and apology a king could direct at a general.

“Your Majesty...” Ryoma was speechless, flustered even, and he gestured for the king to raise his head. Even Ryoma, for all his boldness, couldn’t remain composed with a king as old as his grandfather apologizing to him like that.

“I can relate to your feelings, Your Majesty. At least, I can understand why you allowed for the cease-fire, but...”

Julianus I raised his head. “I know. All this does is buy us time.”

Ryoma looked at Julianus I, his eyes grave. “If you understand that, I’m in no position to say anything more. But if I could say just one thing, however discourteous it might be, it’s that your country is very much on borrowed time...”

“I see... Does it seem short by your estimate too?”

“Yes.”

“How many years would you say we have?”

“It greatly depends on how skillfully you negotiate things, but the next war will come within ten years, at the latest.”

Julianus I regarded Ryoma with a nasty smile. “Kehehe... Lying is no good, Sir Ryoma. No matter how much you try to space things out, I have five years at most, don’t I?”

Julianus I then smiled softly again. That was the exact figure Ryoma came to, as well.

“Then you knew...” he muttered.

Julianus I nodded.

“I may be foolish enough to be mockingly called a mediocre king by my neighbors, but I have still reigned for decades. I take pride in the fact that I’ve defended and built up this country for as long as I have.”

His words were charged with resolve and determination. Even as those around him mocked him and called him mediocre, this wise ruler had always kept a careful watch on the state of affairs. True, he didn’t make any achievements that would draw attention. Julianus I would likely go down in the annals of history as a mediocre, unimpressive king of Xarooda. But his firm will to defend and develop his country was by no means inferior to any other ruler.

In the end, this old man... He was a cheat. 

Ryoma’s lips curled into a smile. He believed this mediocrity was a facade this crafty old man used to hide his fangs. He couldn’t help but like him.

For a short moment, Ryoma and Julianus I looked upon each other wordlessly before breaking into smiles. Those smiles eventually gave way to rolling laughter.

♱

After laughing for some time, the two finally quieted down.

“It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed myself like that. I can’t remember the last time I laughed aloud...”

Julianus I poured himself a glass from the pitcher before Ryoma could stop him. He emptied the cup in one gulp. He must have been quite thirsty, as he drank it with a vigor one wouldn’t expect of his age.

“Nice and cold...” he muttered as he tipped the pitcher toward his glass again. He then turned his eyes to the sweets sitting on the desk and smiled whimsically. “Lady Helena mentioned you hail from Rearth? She told me your people served her a treat called macarons at a recent tea party. Your world’s culinary culture is far beyond our own, it seems.”

Ryoma couldn’t help but crack a sardonic smile.

Right... So now we’re getting to the main topic.

Ryoma never outright told Helena of his origins—that he was what the people of this world called an otherworlder. But Helena was a perceptive woman, and Ryoma didn’t exactly try to hide it, so she probably learned of it from some source.

I did serve her macarons a few days ago...

The truth of the matter was that Ryoma didn’t exactly go to great lengths to hide the fact he was an otherworlder. But why did Helena see fit to tell Julianus I about this?

I suppose Helena could have let it slip on accident, but...I find it hard to believe.

Helena Steiner was the Kingdom of Rhoadseria’s general, the person in charge of the country’s military affairs. She was an accomplished commander and a skilled politician too. Would a woman like her really let something like that slip?

She must have told him intentionally. This old man and Helena must be very close.

Ryoma knew the two of them were connected, but he didn’t know how deep that connection went.

“You two must be awfully close,” Ryoma said.

“Is that sarcasm I spy in your voice, Sir Ryoma?” the old king asked, smiling sardonically.

“No, I’m just a little curious.”

Julianus I’s expression tightened a bit. “Well, you needn’t worry so much. I simply consulted Lady Helena on some matters, and as we spoke, I heard a bit about you.”

“Like what?”

Julianus I fell silent for a long moment before he spoke again.

“What is your opinion of this world, Sir Ryoma?”

“I’m not sure I understand your question, Your Majesty?” Ryoma said, his head cocked. Was he asking if this world was pleasant or convenient to live in compared to Ryoma’s? Was he asking him about the level of culture? No. Ryoma’s intuition told him Julianus was asking about something else.

“I see...” Julianus I shook his head. “I suppose my wording was faulty. Sir Mikoshiba, you are not native to this western continent. With that in mind, I ask you. Does this land, with its constant wars, not strike you as odd?”

“Odd, Your Majesty?”

Julianus I nodded. “I did not simply call you here today just to thank you and apologize.”

“What was your reason, then?”

“I wanted to speak of this with you, Sir Mikoshiba.”

With that said, Julianus I hesitantly parted his lips. And as he spoke, little by little, Ryoma’s expression gradually hardened. 

Several hours had passed since Ryoma’s conversation with Julianus I. It was nearly midnight, and the residents of the castle were fast asleep. For several days now, thick gray clouds had darkened the sky, so the only lights illuminating the area were the bonfires set up around the premises.

It was during this time that a figure stood in the castle’s shadowy courtyard. The figure stood still, maintaining their posture. In front of them was a mannequin clad in steel armor. The figure remained in this position for some time.

Eventually, the curtain of clouds shifted and a ray of moonlight shone down on the earth. And at that moment, a silvery spark flashed in the figure’s hands as they delivered a slash from the mannequin’s left flank to its right shoulder. It was a drawing technique dispatched at godspeed—a draw so quick one couldn’t even see the figure’s hands move.

Despite the blow, the mannequin seemed to remain intact. Yet the figure nodded in satisfaction, as if pleased with the slash they delivered.

“Hm... I think I’m getting used to it,” Ryoma whispered, tapping on the mannequin. The next moment, the top half of the mannequin, which had remained still until then, slid off diagonally. It fell to the ground, along with the armor it wore, and landed with a clangorous thud.

“Kikoku...”

Ryoma whispered the katana’s name as he held it up against the bonfire’s light. It was a thick blade with a clamshell-shaped edge, a battlefield katana made explicitly for cutting people down—a well-crafted sword the Igasaki clan gifted to Ryoma as proof of his lordship over them.

“Not a single nick on the blade. Impressive stuff. But...”

Ryoma’s tone conveyed a dissatisfaction that stood in contrast to his words as he gazed at the unblemished surface of the blade. During the attack on Fort Notis, Ryoma dueled against the captain of the guard, Greg Moore. During that battle, his sword had been nicked and chipped. But looking at it now, there wasn’t so much as a mark on the blade’s surface.

Kikoku was made to be hard to break, but apparently it recognized Ryoma as its owner to some small extent because of the duel with Greg Moore. Ryoma was still far from becoming its master, though. He was perhaps a temporary wielder of it at present. Still, even that was great progress.

The sword really does repair itself. They told me it can do that, but seeing it in action really makes it settle in. Endowed thaumaturgy is impressive.

There were three types of thaumaturgy in this world. Martial thaumaturgy strengthened one’s body, while verbal thaumaturgy used words to offer up prana to gods and nature spirits to invoke natural phenomena at the caster’s whim. But the third type of thaumaturgy, endowed thaumaturgy, was different from the other two. By applying specific crests onto weapons and tools, those items would be endowed with unique spells that could be activated by the wielder feeding them their prana.

This allowed for the production of what the people of this world called martial tools. The most famous type of endowed thaumaturgy, however, was the crest of obedience, which slaves were branded with. It was a chilling example of how not just tools but even humans could be endowed with thaumaturgical crests.

Crests could be applied to saddles to lighten the weight of a rider or to recover stamina. There were also sigils that gave weapons the ability to feed on the wielder’s prana and remain in prime condition, like Kikoku. Mere nicks and chips in the blade could be repaired within the hour.

Most weapons also had enchantments that strengthened their durability, so it was unlikely a thaumaturgical blade would break. On the off chance it did, one only needed to store the blade in its scabbard and it would repair itself within the day. For those who live on the battlefield, this was an exceptionally valuable weapon to have. A weapon one had grown used to wielding was hard to replace, after all. But of course, even such a marvelous sword required constant maintenance to exhibit its full strength.

Kikoku was a warrior’s weapon if there ever was one.

That’s still nowhere near the things Gennou promised, though.

Ryoma let out an exaggerated sigh as he watched Kikoku, a blade that had not yet acknowledged him as its true master.

“Seriously, though... It wasn’t just Moore; you drank that Eagle Lord’s prana too. And still, it’s not enough for you?”

According to Gennou, once Kikoku acknowledged someone as its true master, there was nothing it couldn’t cut. It would truly become a demon sword capable of severing everything in creation. An impressive statement, albeit a problematic one, given that Gennou himself had never seen Kikoku’s full prowess either.

Kikoku was made during the early days of the Igasaki clan, when its first leader had it smithed at the cost of his own life. Ever since, the Igasaki clan protected it like a sacred treasure, awaiting a worthy master that would wield it properly.

Still, I suppose a sword that doesn’t require repairs is valuable enough.

Having a katana repaired and serviced was a problematic affair. Since the culture on this continent wasn’t familiar with them, finding someone who could service one was time-consuming and expensive. In fact, when Gennou gave Ryoma a katana during their first meeting in Rhoadseria, he gave him a few spare ones for this exact reason.

Of course, constantly changing weapons was far from optimal. It was said a good craftsman didn’t blame their tools, but the truth of the matter was that the more skilled someone became, the more particular they got about their tools.

Katanas, in particular, were made by hand and not manufactured mechanically. This meant individual katanas inevitably had differences in weight or shape. Certainly, katanas from the same smith could be quite similar, if not almost indistinguishable from each other. Even so, no two katanas were perfectly identical—not even those made by the same smith. Things like the amount of material used, the temperature and timing of the heat treatment, and the strike of the hammer all influenced the final product. Even the weather that day was important, since the moisture in the air could affect the process.

No man alive could produce two perfectly identical blades, so each katana had small but ever so distinct differences. But once a wielder reached a certain level of skill, even those minute, miniscule differences could influence how they wielded that sword. However, weapons enchanted with endowed thaumaturgy like Kikoku were unlike the rest. So long as their wielder supplied them with prana, they could always regenerate and repair themselves. In that regard, they could be called perfect weapons.

But if what Gennou said is true, this sword still has plenty of things to show, Ryoma thought, his smile spreading like a child relishing a new toy.

But the next moment, Ryoma’s expression suddenly changed. He sensed something.

Ice-cold blood lust... I’m surrounded. Ryoma clicked his tongue. There are multiple opponents, and I’m here alone. I must have let down my guard since I’m in an ally’s castle.

Normally, the Malfist sisters would have been nearby, guarding Ryoma. But tonight was an exception. He wanted to ruminate on Julianus I’s warning alone.

Did the old man do this? No, I doubt that.

This suspicion surfaced in his mind for a second, but Ryoma soon denied it. Julianus’s warning certainly was a secret he couldn’t let other people know about—so much so that the idea of him silencing anyone who knew of it was plausible. But Julianus had been the one to share that secret with Ryoma to begin with. Ryoma had a hard time believing he would change his mind within a few hours.

So is this some kind of coincidence? Yeah, fat chance of that. This can’t be a coincidence...

There was no shortage of people who wanted Ryoma dead, especially people from the O’ltormea Empire. Between the grief Ryoma gave them during this war and the past grudges they had with him, they would probably do anything to put his head on a pike. But what Julianus I told him not a few hours ago narrowed down the list of candidates quite a bit.

“Oh, come on... What he said was true? What is this, one of those war record stories I read once?”

Truth be told, Ryoma didn’t take what Julianus told him seriously. How could he? The king had told him that a force greater than any one country was manipulating the wars that embroiled this continent. To be more exact, he told him he suspected that such a force might be pulling the strings. But regardless of how confident the old king might have been, Ryoma wasn’t more inclined to believe it. It didn’t matter what world he was in, a story about a worldwide conspiracy was hard to swallow. Concepts like that only worked within the pages of a novel.

But as it turned out, maybe truth was stranger than fiction after all.

Suddenly, an arrow tore through the darkness, whizzing toward Ryoma. The next moment, Ryoma drew the katana from its scabbard and delivered a slash into the air.

“Whoa there...” Ryoma muttered. “Just shooting at me, no questions asked? Scary stuff.”

Apparently, this was the doing of professional assassins. These weren’t people who would engage Ryoma with needless conversation.

The arrowhead looked wet. Must have been a poisoned arrow.

It seemed these assassins were undeniably fixated on killing Ryoma efficiently.

Interesting... This should make for a decent workout. Ryoma smiled, excitement bubbling up in his heart.

At that moment, Kikoku shivered in his hands.

Huh, so you’re feeling thirsty for blood too. All right, then. I’ll let you drink your fill.

Kikoku’s blade let out a faint screech, as if to answer his thoughts.

“Let’s go!”

With that battle cry, Ryoma broke into a run, rushing toward the darkness where his assassins hid. His heart beat fast with excitement and elation. He began operating his chakras, forcing prana to circulate through his body.

Second chakra, open!

Superhuman agility and muscle strength filled Ryoma’s body. However, the assassins weren’t amateurs either. As Ryoma sprinted toward them, they fired arrows at him from the surrounding foliage.

So the first one was a decoy. They wanted me to rush toward them so they could shoot at me from the sides.

This was a highly lethal tactic, assuming they didn’t mind discarding the assassin who served as bait like a sacrificial pawn. No... The first arrow would have already done most targets in. The mere fact that Ryoma survived the first shot meant he’d already gone beyond what the assassins expected.

Even so, this didn’t change what Ryoma needed to do in this position. He let out an animalistic howl, sending a needle of fear through his assassins that pinned them in place. It only lasted for a second or two, but that was more than enough time for Ryoma, strengthened as he was by martial thaumaturgy.

He swiftly closed the distance. His blade flashed as two figures intersected, and the moment they parted, one figure’s head took to the air. Ryoma didn’t even glance at his opponent as their headless body crumpled to the ground.

“Next!” Ryoma shouted as he dived into the thicket, seeking his next prey.

It wasn’t long before moans of pain rang out and the rusty scent of blood filled the air. Soon after, silence once again filled the courtyard.

Looks like the rest retreated...

Sensing the tides were turning against them, his assassins chose to flee. The bloodlust that filled the air disappeared without a trace.

“Satisfied now?” Ryoma whispered to Kikoku, which he’d gripped in his right hand.

It let out a low screech, as if asking for more.

“No, huh? Gluttonous, aren’t you?”

Kikoku let out another dissatisfied shriek.

“Fine, fine. They’ll come attack me again before long. I’ll let you feed on all of them then.”

Ryoma settled Kikoku’s bloodstained blade into its scabbard. Normally, sheathing a sword without wiping the blood off would be a foolish act that would only result in the blade rusting. This wasn’t an issue with Kikoku, though.

“Still, this is something of a problem...”

The courtyard of this beautiful castle had transformed into a sickening scene of bloodshed and gore. The scent of blood and viscera hung in the air, and Ryoma’s body and clothes were stained red. He wouldn’t be able to sleep without taking a hot bath.

“Now I have to come up with an excuse...”

As the commotion and screaming finally gained the attention of the castle’s occupants, the image of the Malfist twins’ tearful expressions filled Ryoma’s mind. Looking around, Ryoma heaved a deep sigh.

♱

In one estate in Peripheria’s castle town...

“I see. You failed...”

A man sighed, having received this report from a shadowy figure cloaked in darkness.

“My apologies, Your Excellency. I swear, we shall rectify this failure,” the figure responded, their voice thick with shame and humiliation. Their attempted assault was nothing but a shameful display. Failing to fulfill a direct order from their master was a painful blot on their pride.

Despite this, the man simply nodded. A trusted agent had failed him and betrayed his trust, but blaming the shadow for it would do nothing to change the situation. The man knew this. It was he, after all, who insisted they go on this attack as immediately as tonight.

“Understood. You may leave.”

At the man’s words, the shadow faded into the darkness.

“So that whelp is as skilled as they say” the man muttered as he took a bottle of alcohol and a glass from a shelf by the wall.

When I heard that fool Julianus told that whelp things he didn’t need to hear, I figured we should eliminate him as soon as possible. But maybe that was a bad idea...

As a member of the Organization, this man had been informed that he should be wary of Ryoma. Of the eight traitors who attempted to sell Xarooda out to O’ltormea, this man was the only one to receive this warning. Taking that to heart, he prepared to assassinate Ryoma. Seeing that he’d stopped the O’ltormean invasion, he believed Ryoma might end up becoming a major obstacle for the Organization in the future.

Initially, the plan was to assassinate Ryoma near the Xaroodian-Rhoadserian border. What moved the assassination forward was news of a secret exchange between Ryoma and Julianus I. This man certainly looked down on Julianus I as a fool. Despite having talents worthy of a wise ruler, Julianus chose to hide his fangs in the name of the country’s stability. This man, however, believed it was the role of the talented and wise to rule over the foolish masses. In his eyes, Julianus I’s choice was the height of stupidity. But at the same time, he didn’t doubt Julianus’s prudence and abilities. That was why this man suspected that Julianus I was likely the only one to have potentially noticed that the Organization existed behind the scenes of this war with O’ltormea. And the man’s intuition proved correct this time.

Yet the assassins he sent to eliminate Ryoma failed spectacularly. It was probably too late now to have him assassinated on the Rhoadserian border as originally planned. Ryoma was bound to be more vigilant after tonight’s attack.

“I wanted that whelp’s head, if only so I could offer it to Princess Shardina as a sign of loyalty. But I suppose there isn’t much to be done now...” the man whispered as he took a swig of alcohol from his glass.