Wortenia Senki (LN) - Volume 14 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Warrior’s Way of Life

That night, Count Salzberg ignored the chaos brewing outside his estate and shut himself up in his study. Oddly enough, he was wearing a set of armor, a family heirloom that he hadn’t put on in years, and was seated on a chair with his sword leaned against it. This was even more surprising given the time of day, when he’d usually have snatched one of the maids to have some fun.

Nevertheless, some things remained the same—like the countless bottles of alcohol rolling around Count Salzberg’s chair, for example. There were enough of them to knock most people into a drunken slumber, but Count Salzberg’s mind was currently as sharp as a whip, his eyes glinting ferociously like an animal as he stared into space.

Feeling the long-forgotten anger flare up in his heart, Count Salzberg took a swig from the bottle in his hand. This sensation had constantly haunted his mind until the fateful day he claimed the title of count from his father. It was a sixth sense, a sort of precognition people naturally acquired when they spent every day fighting for their lives.

Back then, I hated this feeling with a passion.

The sensation was an alarm bell, and the fact that he felt it so strongly now meant he was somewhere dangerous. The problem was that he—the count, head of House Salzberg—was the one exposed to this danger.

Normally, one developed a warrior’s intuition by surviving countless battles, but there were two possible reasons why Count Salzberg had it: he was born a genius warrior or he did indeed see many battlefields despite his status as House Salzberg’s eldest son. And Thomas Salzberg was not born a genius warrior.

But looking back on it now, it wasn’t all bad.

At present, the citadel city of Epirus was a danger zone. The refugees that had flooded the city were currently locked in a violent clash with the city’s residents, and even his castle, guarded as it was by soldiers, was caught up in the ensuing chaos. Just earlier he’d received a report that the granary had caught fire, and it clearly hadn’t been an accident or spontaneous combustion of some kind.

He’s behind this; there’s no doubt about it.

The face of that hulking young man surfaced in his mind. Normally, just thinking of Ryoma Mikoshiba would anger him to no end, but now a smirk stretched across his lips. After all, Ryoma was an enemy, one he would have to kill. But perhaps because Ryoma was his rival, Count Salzberg felt something akin to affinity with him. Compared to the foolish commoners and the heads of the ten houses of the north, who pestered him about their wants and needs every day, Ryoma Mikoshiba was several times better, even if Ryoma was his enemy.

This is all because of my father.

His father’s face surfaced in his mind next, and he spat bitterly at the floor. Spitting in one’s own home was beyond ill-mannered, and even though he wasn’t going to be the one to clean it up, it still didn’t feel right to do it. Tonight, though, Count Salzberg was going to let his heart do as it pleased.

Ever since that day, I’ve lived like a dead man walking...

Count Salzberg’s father had been a man brimming with loyalty and nobility, a man of character respected by both his subjects and his vassals for his sagacious wisdom. He’d also been a powerful warrior who had blocked his neighboring countries’ many invasions over the years. And he had been a good father. As a governor, a soldier, and a father, he’d been a cut above the rest, and not even Count Salzberg, who hated him from the bottom of his heart, could deny that.

Be that as it may, Count Salzberg couldn’t respect his father because back then, on the day he’d found out about his father’s plot, the glorified image of his father had shattered to pieces. His father had planned to have not Thomas—who had the blood of Rearth running through his veins—but the second son he’d raised in secret inherit the headship of House Salzberg.

Had it been just that, Count Salzberg would have been better off. Relinquishing the headship to his brother would have angered him, but he might have come to terms with it in time. If nothing else, he wouldn’t have cut off his brother’s head had it been just that. The problem was the method his father had chosen to expel his legitimate child. It was an unforgivable act, so much so that one wouldn’t even pardon their family for it. Or rather, they wouldn’t be able to forgive such an act precisely because a blood relative had done it.

Count Salzberg took another bottle from the table, gulped down the wine inside it, and turned his eyes to the door.

Hm... Looks like he’s here. Yulia really did turn to the enemy’s side, didn’t she?

He could tell the person he was waiting for had arrived. The anger Count Salzberg felt for him since the outbreak of the war had all but faded now, and the only thing left in its wake was the resolve and fighting spirit of a man who’d accepted his fate.

He could avoid this battle if he so wanted, of course. There were several secret passageways in Epirus, some of which even his wife Yulia wasn’t aware of.

Well, considering Yulia’s attitude so far, I should be thankful she didn’t poison me or plan to kill me with an “accident.”

Count Salzberg had already suspected that Lady Yulia had turned to the enemy’s side. When did he realize it? At first it had just been a small sense of discomfort, but by now he was convinced that she’d led a large number of enemy soldiers into his castle.

His fort was on the verge of falling, but there were still plays he could make even in this situation. It would be difficult to escape with his troops, but if he wanted to escape alone, he had the means to do it. So long as he could survive this situation, it was possible he could turn the tables.

Count Salzberg had many relatives and was a prominent noble within Rhoadseria’s aristocracy. If he were to ask his relatives for help, they wouldn’t turn him down, and if he were to add the ten houses of the north’s relatives to that, he could certainly gather an army of ten thousand. On top of that, Queen Lupis saw Ryoma Mikoshiba as an enemy and a threat. All the spies he’d sent to investigate the Wortenia Peninsula had been sent on her order, and it was evident she was looking for reasons to find fault with him. If he could just manage to escape, he would have multiple avenues with which to turn the situation around.

However, winning that way would be meaningless. He was strong, and winning by resorting to begging another family for mercy was a shame he would never live down. His warrior’s pride wouldn’t permit it.

Besides, doing that would waste this wonderful chance.

Facing a powerful opponent made Count Salzberg’s warrior’s blood boil with an excitement he’d nearly forgotten.

“Come in, the door is unlocked,” Count Salzberg called. The door immediately opened. “Oh, I thought you’d hesitate a bit. I’m not sure if you’re dauntless or just plain thoughtless.”

Count Salzberg smirked at the man who appeared before him. His visitor was being far too reckless for his attitude. This man was currently standing in the heart of the enemy’s stronghold, and surprise attacks and traps were to be expected in war. The fact that he’d entered the room without hesitation when the enemy beckoned him inside surely seemed like the height of stupidity. But, at the same time, it also showed he was confident in his abilities.

The man scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, I’m not thoughtless. I just didn’t see a man like you relying on cheap tricks.”

“I see. In that case, I have nothing to say to that.” Count Salzberg laughed loudly. “It’s been a long while, Baron Mikoshiba. I believe the last time we met was when your army visited on the way to Xarooda?”

“Yes. You were a great help to us back then,” Ryoma said with a smile, bowing his head.

Though Count Salzberg had taken a rather sizable mediator’s fee, his connections in Rhoadseria’s north did prove extremely useful. One could very well say that Ryoma owed the count a debt of gratitude.

Amused, Count Salzberg said, “Incidentally, I don’t see the two sisters who always follow you. Where are they?”

“Oh, I had them leave for now. I need them to handle a few other matters for me.”

Count Salzberg smiled in satisfaction, perhaps gleaning some hidden meaning in Ryoma’s words. “I see. You’ve got your own share of problems, don’t you?”

“Oh, don’t get me started. I may have risen up in the world, but that just means there are always issues to take care of.”

In truth, Ryoma hadn’t moved up in the world because he’d wanted to. He’d met Queen Lupis, earned impressive martial achievements, and gained territory of his own either by coincidence or chance. But while he had, at first, drifted into this situation, he couldn’t give it up now. Doing so would mean that the opponents he’d taken down would have died for nothing and that he’d put his friends’ futures at risk.

Sensing Ryoma’s emotions, Count Salzberg laughed again. “Good, good. Knowing trouble when you’re young promotes growth. Keep at it,” he said, directing a probing glance at Ryoma. “Pardon me for changing the topic, but all the chaos that’s been going on the last few days was your handiwork, right?”

“Yes. I did it to keep your guards occupied.”

This was a very dangerous topic, but they spoke of it like they were discussing something trivial over tea.

“Hm, well, your plan worked. I had to send most of my soldiers to town to keep things under control. Splendid job overall, but don’t you think it was foul play? I spoke to Signus and Robert after the first battle, and apparently your soldiers are pretty capable. I underestimated you when I heard your army was made up of women and children, but honestly, I’m surprised. With them on your side, you could have matched me without resorting to petty tricks.”

“Going head-to-head with you like a reckless fool would just cost me soldiers,” Ryoma replied.

Count Salzberg forced a smile.

There was no point in needlessly sending soldiers to their deaths. Much like pawns in chess, soldiers were perhaps disposable, but that didn’t mean it would be wise to throw them away for no reason. And unlike inanimate chess pieces, their soldiers were living, breathing human beings, so they couldn’t treat them too terribly.

For a commander, Ryoma’s logic was rational, but Count Salzberg could discern the meaning hidden behind Ryoma’s actions.

“I see. You hated the idea of losing troops. Which means you’re not going to stop with this war, are you? Lupis Rhoadserians is your next target, isn’t she?”

Ryoma remained silent, but the vicious smile that spread on his lips told the whole story.

“Hmph. I swear, I simply can’t understand you,” Count Salzberg continued. “Why are you so insistent on going through with this? True, Queen Lupis broke her pact with you, but you’re dealing with a queen. Given the class difference, it’s only natural that would happen. And even if she did break her word, she did repay your services generously. Promoting a commoner to a land-owning noble is unheard of in this land. Surely you realize that.”

This was both a warning from the bottom of Count Salzberg’s heart and a doubt he wanted answered.

But that emotion didn’t reach Ryoma. With a sneer, he answered, “Are you telling me to obey that woman and live the rest of my life with my head down?”

The class system was widely upheld in this world, and as such, Ryoma Mikoshiba was certainly in the wrong for saying this. As justified as his anger was, it only applied when the other party was his equal. A teacher can scold a student, but few students would criticize their teachers. Doing so took a great amount of courage. A boss can rake their subordinate over the coals, but an employee can’t fault a superior for their mistakes. The most they could do was resign.

It was easy to say the class system didn’t exist in modern times, but that was a falsehood. Even in modern society, not everyone is equal. That held even more true in this world, so Ryoma wasn’t standing on even ground with Queen Lupis.

“I’ll agree that it’s irritating,” Count Salzberg continued, “but would obeying her really be that bad? Your status as a noble can give you so much. You’ll have all the money and women you could ever want. You could wear the best clothes, relish in the finest wine, and share your bed with the most beautiful lovers in the land. That’s worth so much more than needlessly fighting a war, isn’t it?”

“Well, I can’t deny that...” Ryoma nodded. “You’re probably right.”

Ryoma was a healthy young man. He wanted to spend his nights with beautiful women as much as any man did, and he longed for delicious food. He wasn’t very picky when it came to clothes, but he did prefer wearing fine clothes to dirty rags. Yet there was something else that mattered more to Ryoma than all of that, something that couldn’t be replaced with physical belongings. Trying to replace it would simply make it fade away.

“I understand what you’re trying to say, Count,” Ryoma said. He took a deep breath. “But I think some things are more important than that.”

“Oh? Like what?” Count Salzberg replied with an amused smile. He probably already knew what Ryoma meant but had asked that question anyway.

Countless answers surfaced in Ryoma’s mind, all of them feeling equal parts correct and insufficient. When he puts it like that, it’s hard to decide. Justice? Virtue? Nobility and conquest? Love and friendship? Anger and hatred. They all feel right and wrong in their own ways. All sorts of emotions filled his heart, but none of them felt like the right one.

“I don’t know. Like what, indeed?” Ryoma eventually said.

Those words reflected his heart at the moment. Any lofty ideal would have been reduced to meaningless waste the second he tried to put it into words. But although he couldn’t describe his emotions verbally, his heart didn’t waver. His eyes still burned with pride.

In his rival’s eyes, Count Salzberg saw something he’d lost on the day he killed his father to steal his noble title.

“You have youth on your side, and I envy you for that.” Count Salzberg narrowed his eyes longingly and then shook his head. “I...I cast aside that kind of emotion a long time ago.”

He genuinely did envy Ryoma. He’d once had the same unyielding nature, but he had eventually lost it.

“Was that why that incident happened?” Ryoma suddenly asked.

The color drained from Count Salzberg’s face. “What do you mean?” he questioned, trying to maintain his composure but failing to stop his expression from stiffening.

He’d boasted both martial and political accomplishments even before he gained the title of count, but at some point, he’d suddenly cast it all away in the name of his desires and pleasures. This must have been the reason behind it.

“Count Salzberg, Helena told me a lot about you. She said you were a powerful warrior who supported northern Rhoadseria’s defenses on the front lines. And she also told me why you changed...”

That question didn’t need answering right now. What mattered most to Ryoma was killing Count Salzberg immediately and without fail. But he had to know. He needed Count Salzberg to admit, from his own lips, what brought upon his change.

“Ah... Yes, come to think of it, Lady Helena was there when it happened.”

Under Ryoma’s direct gaze, Count Salzberg slowly began to speak.

“When was it that I first stood on the battlefield? At the time, we were fighting against Xarooda nonstop, year after year. I think that was, what, twenty years ago?”

Thomas Salzberg had first experienced battle in his early teens. He’d been graced with the talent and physique for combat, which he’d inherited from his father, and the ability to draw more prana from his defeated opponents, a trait he’d received from his otherworlder mother. Having been born into an environment that allowed him to foster his inborn gifts, Thomas became a skilled warrior, worthy of the ruling class.

“In my first battle, I killed twenty-five Xaroodian knights and butchered many conscripted commoners,” he said, his voice brimming with pride.

In Ryoma’s world, a noble’s first son should have no need to stand on the front lines. It was seen as reckless and dangerous. But things were different in this world. Here, those of higher status were required to seek out further strength. That was because monsters, powerful creatures that far exceeded ordinary animals, infested the land and thaumaturgy existed.

Those skilled in martial thaumaturgy were like one-man armies—quite literally—and legends of warriors who’d fully mastered it were sung far and wide. Numbers were still a major factor in war, but the truly powerful warriors could overcome that with sheer strength. This meant that generals and kings had to match their warriors, otherwise they wouldn’t survive. That was why so many of the royals and nobles were skilled in combat. Those that weren’t inherited their households under special circumstances and fostered indispensable talents in other fields instead.

“When I was young,” Count Salzberg continued, “I aspired to become a good governor, the sort of ruler the commoners looked up to. I believed that ensuring my subjects’ livelihoods and protecting my domain from invaders was all that mattered.”

Ryoma nodded. The information the Igasaki clan had gathered had indicated that Count Salzberg was very different before he inherited his title. Though he’d fought on the most violent of battlefields, he’d proved to be a loyal warrior who devoted his life to defending Rhoadseria’s northern borders and a noble heir who always put the lives of his people first.

Those descriptions seemed far removed from the count Ryoma knew, but Count Salzberg truly had been that kind of person in his youth. However, it had all changed over a decade ago, a year before Helena Steiner lost her beloved family to the late Hodram Albrecht’s scheme.

“That night, there were heavy clouds in the sky. Just like today...” Count Salzberg whispered.

Ryoma nodded and turned his eyes to the window. “You mean the night you lost your fiancée?”

“Yes. The night I lost the woman I loved with all my heart.”

The scenery of that night flashed before Count Salzberg’s eyes. It wasn’t a heartwarming or a wistful memory, but a painful recollection full of humiliation and scorn.

I suppose anyone would become warped after something like that, Ryoma thought. Though I can’t help but feel that it’s a shame.

This was what had made Thomas Salzberg, a young hero, veer off the proper path. It was a story of love, lust, envy, and jealousy, worthy of the great myths.

Thomas Salzberg had once been in love with a woman he’d sworn to marry since childhood—the second daughter of Viscount Muebach, Asteria. Though the viscount’s domain was small, it was near the capital Pireas, and its land served as an influential trade center. The viscount was also blood relations with the esteemed Marquis Halcyon, a leading figure in the nobles’ faction.

Count Salzberg had been close with Lady Asteria Muebach since they were children. They would frequently visit each other’s estates, and the servants who’d worked for House Salzberg for years would warmly look on as the two played in the garden together. Of course, just because they’d been close as children didn’t mean they’d feel the same as adults. In many cases, time changes a relationship. In addition, Viscount Muebach was a major player in the nobles’ faction, with territory near the capital, so as his children grew older, they were expected to attend balls, tea parties, and plays to mingle with other nobles.

That didn’t apply to House Salzberg, though. Their domain and rank was greater than House Muebach’s, and despite living in a remote region, they were praised for holding off external threats, including the Wortenia Peninsula. But within Rhoadseria’s power balance, they were merely another warrior house located far from the capital, near the border. Their influence was limited to northern Rhoadseria, and their rank in the court was only what their noble title granted them. They might have been famous, but their renown offered little benefit.

Had the former heads of House Salzberg worked to further their political influence along with their martial prowess, maybe things would have been different. But their warrior’s nature made them refrain from joining any of Rhoadseria’s factions.

As warriors, prioritizing their military might was the right thing to do, but as nobles, that was a mistake. People dislike those who try to present themselves as different, and many of Rhoadseria’s aristocrats saw House Salzberg, a house that rarely showed itself in the palace, as pariahs.

Despite this, House Salzberg had managed to retain a careful balance with the other nobles...until Thomas Salzberg tipped the scales, leading to the incident that took place on that fateful night.

“It seemed that the honor and glory I attained were becoming eyesores to the other nobles,” Count Salzberg explained.

Thomas Salzberg has slain the enemy general during a battle with the Kingdom of Myest, earning a brilliant victory for Rhoadseria. Helena Steiner, who had been deployed to the north as reinforcements, personally relayed his achievement to King Pharst II. Helena had meant no ill will, and as the general in charge of all military affairs in Rhoadseria, she’d merely done what was expected of her—praising a knight who made a major achievement in battle was the natural thing to do. Unfortunately, that report only made things worse.

Thomas Salzberg was beckoned to the capital to attend an evening party hosted by the king. It was there he saw it—his fiancée, Asteria Muebach, laughing as some noble’s son led her to the dance floor.

It wasn’t forbidden for noble ladies to dance with gentlemen, even if they weren’t married or engaged to them, but it was certainly unusual. The woman’s fiancé would always get the first dance, and she would have to ask him for permission to accept any others. If those laws of decorum weren’t upheld, things could devolve into an outright duel.

Needless to say, Asteria had not asked Thomas for permission. Perhaps she couldn’t be faulted for that. It was up to her parents to teach her these unspoken rules, and Thomas had never attended an evening party to begin with. She probably never expected him to be there on that particular night.

Unfortunately, by coincidence or misfortune, Thomas saw this happen, and the moment he did, only one option came to mind. He tried to step between the two of them, saying that Asteria was his betrothed. However...Asteria met him with cold silence, which then earned him the scorn of everyone in attendance.

“And that was their plan all along,” Count Salzberg spat, his face contorted in rage.

Being young and inexperienced, Thomas hadn’t realized the meaning behind his fiancée’s actions, nor did he realize the intentions of the Muebach viscounty when they conspired to make this happen.

At the time, the nobles nearby had acted like they hadn’t noticed anything while they internally sneered at him for his fiancée abandoning him. They saw him as a pathetic hero who let his betrothed get away.

The evening party meant to celebrate his heroics had cost him his fiancée and his manly pride. Nothing could have been more humiliating. Thomas Salzberg had had no choice but to leave the party, his heart burning with hatred as the jeers of the other nobles stabbed him in the back.

“Was that the reason for everything?” Ryoma asked, sighing. Ryoma did think this was a terrible story, but that alone couldn’t have been enough to warp the count’s heart. Engagements between nobles were always a matter of convenience for their families.

“Well, let’s just say that was one reason...” Count Salzberg said, a ferocious grin on his lips.

An unexpected breakup with the woman he loved and the mocking of those around him had taught Count Salzberg that the people of this country weren’t worth it. Why cast aside his own pleasure for them? But that couldn’t have been the only reason his heart snapped the way it had. There must have been another, much more decisive event that caused it.

“I see. I’d like to hear what happened, if you don’t mind.”

Count Salzberg slowly shook his head and drew the sword sitting beside him from its scabbard. “No, it’s getting late,” he said, his voice stiff and cold as ice. “From here on out, we’ll let our swords do the talking.”

He held up his sword, the candle’s light glinting against its blade. His stance silently communicated that he had no intention of continuing this conversation.

“That right? Well, so be it,” Ryoma replied.

Truth be told, Ryoma wanted to finish this conversation. After he unified the north, Ryoma would once again have to make his way to the capital, and his next opponents would be the ruler of this country, Queen Lupis Rhoadserians, and the nobles supporting her. Count Salzberg’s words were a valuable source of information for studying his enemies. But Ryoma could see that continuing would hurt Count Salzberg all the more.

Well, no matter. I already know the general outline of what happened.

“Let’s do this, then,” Ryoma said, drawing Kikoku from its sheath and holding it up in an offensive stance. As soon as he did, a demonic howling filled the room. It was the same voice, the same oppressive pressure, that Sakuya had experienced the night prior.

It seemed the howling had little effect on Count Salzberg, though. “I see. So you have a thaumaturgical sword of your own,” he said. “We’re on equal footing, then.”

With that last word, Count Salzberg vanished from Ryoma’s sight. He was augmenting his physical prowess with martial thaumaturgy, which allowed him to move at blistering speeds.

A heavy metallic clash rang out, and red sparks sprayed into the air. Ryoma saw Count Salzberg’s face just inches from his own, close enough to feel his opponent’s breath. Then, in the blink of an eye, their overlapped shadows parted from each other as they jumped away, creating some distance between them.

I wasn’t able to block it.

Noting the cut on his right arm, Ryoma felt a rush of exhilaration as he stared at Count Salzberg. The count stood firm, his stance perfect and bereft of openings.

Thanks to the practice matches he’d had with his grandfather Koichiro, Ryoma had built up a resistance to pain. That wasn’t to say that he felt none at all, but rather that he’d developed an extreme tolerance for it. Furthermore, his numerous training battles back in Rearth had taught Ryoma that pain could decide the battle’s outcome. In duels, where one’s life was on the line, a tolerance for pain could separate the winners from the dead.

That’s another thing I need to thank Gramps for...

When it came to assessing danger, ignoring the pain could cause problems, but if one let pain paralyze them with fear and disrupt their attacks, it would be even more fatal. It was possible to suppress instinct with force of will and bloodlust, but doing so could affect one’s performance. There was only one way to prevent that—getting used to it. Ryoma owed the fact that he could lock blades with Count Salzberg right now to his grandfather and the arduous training he’d put Ryoma through.

Count Salzberg’s lips curled into a smile reminiscent of a carnivore feasting upon its prey’s flesh. He was enjoying this from the bottom of his heart and had relished in the sequence of blows they’d exchanged.

“Ooh... So you do have some skill. That would have finished off most people. I guess I need to use more than just the Anahata to fight you.”

Ryoma cracked a smile, unappreciative of the count’s backhanded compliment. Maybe the count was adopting a wait-and-see approach, but he hadn’t unleashed the full extent of his capabilities quite yet. Still, that brief exchange was enough for Ryoma to see just how proficient his opponent was.

Three slashes in an instant... His speed, strength, technique—everything is above anyone I’ve fought so far. I wasn’t doubting Helena’s description of him, but he’s just as skilled as she said he’d be.

From the moment Ryoma arrived in this world, he’d fought to the death many times, and of the numerous opponents he’d faced, only three had left a lasting impression—Kael Iruna, whom Ryoma had faced in the Rhoadserian civil war; Greg Moore, the O’ltormean knight whom he’d dueled during the expedition to Xarooda; and Vector Chronicle, whom he’d defeated recently in Viscount Bahenna’s domain. All of them had been powerful martial thaumaturgy users, and all had had a strong heart backed by experience and pride as warriors. Each of them had boasted enough strength to be called a first-rate warrior.

Ryoma had also sparred with Chris Morgan in Pireas, Helena’s protege and a skilled spearman with a thrust as fast as a god’s. He was still a young warrior with much to improve upon, but his technique and talent made him one of the strongest warriors Ryoma had ever met.

Without a doubt, those four had been powerful, but as far as Ryoma could tell, their strength was no match for Count Salzberg. The count stood head and shoulders above the rest in heart, technique, and body. And if what Count Salzberg had said was to be believed, he’d only used up to the Anahata chakra so far.

Based on the information I gained, the guild ranked Count Salzberg at Level 6, meaning he can use up to the Ajna chakra, located between the eyebrows.

The seventh chakra, the Sahasrara chakra, which was located at the top of the head, was said to be the same as the eyes on the palms of the thousand-armed Kannon. According to Buddhism, it was the very place where one reached enlightenment, and Taoism taught that reaching it would unlock endless wisdom. Using it wouldn’t allow someone to exceed the limits of mankind—anything it did could still be explained as within the scope of what humans are capable of, but at the same time, unlocking it would make one almost superhuman.

The fact that Count Salzberg had unlocked Ajna, the sixth chakra, meant that he’d reached the height of human capability but hadn’t crossed the threshold.

Ryoma honestly couldn’t imagine what kind of power the count could unleash, but one thing was certain: Count Salzberg was the most powerful opponent Ryoma had faced thus far. Normally, a realization like that would have sent one running for the hills, but it loaded Ryoma’s heart with fighting spirit.

I already knew this when I started this war. This just leaves...

With the Malfist sisters’ help, Ryoma had unlocked the use of his own chakras. Before and during the expedition to Xarooda, he’d absorbed enough prana to unleash his third chakra, the Manipura chakra.

Ryoma was already very powerful by this world’s standards, but compared to Count Salzberg, he was at a major disadvantage. If they were to clash directly, it would only be a matter of time before the count’s blade cut his flesh. Be that as it may, Ryoma still had an ace up his sleeve.

In the end...it all comes down to whether this sword acknowledges me as its master.

Ryoma’s gaze flicked to Kikoku, the sword he gripped in his hands. The Igasaki clan’s treasure was about to reveal its true potential, an accumulation of the five centuries it’d spent lying in wait.

Ryoma and Count Salzberg’s shadows tangled together again. The sound of clashing steel and labored breathing filled Count Salzberg’s office once more.

“Hmm, you hold your own even after I’ve used my fifth chakra. I’m not sure if you can really use the third chakra or if you’re just pretending, but either way, it’s impressive you’ve kept up with me this far.”

Count Salzberg usually made backhanded compliments, but surprisingly enough, this was honest praise.

Fundamentally speaking, numbers, like how much prana one possessed and how many chakras one had unlocked, decided who was stronger between thaumaturgists. This was a general rule for all manner of thaumaturgy, be it martial, verbal, or endowed.

If prana could be likened to fuel, chakras were like engines. Naturally, more engines meant more proverbial horsepower, and more gasoline meant longer times between refilling. Of course, in motorsports, a discrepancy in the number of engines or the size of a fuel tank was considered cheating.

Choosing to fight with such a disadvantage would be nonsense, but there was no place for whining in a duel to the death.

Focus! Keep your eyes on the tip of his blade and block his attack!

Count Salzberg had already triggered his Vishuddha chakra—the fifth chakra located in his throat—but despite that, Ryoma had blocked his slashes and thrusts so far, much to the count’s amazement.

“I sense a theoretical refinement in your swordsmanship, Baron Mikoshiba,” Count Salzberg said. “The kind you wouldn’t find in mercenaries who honed their skill on the battlefield. I don’t know which school you studied under, but you were blessed with the tutelage of a fine teacher. I envy you. Does everyone in Rearth wield the sword like you do? I hear you were born in a country called Japan.”

Ryoma forced a smile. He’d made no attempt to hide his origins, but he’d rather not hand out information unless he had to. Some details could flow freely, but others were best kept secret.

That was one of the basic tenets for handling intelligence, a principle common across all worlds. Some things, like secrets regarding national defense, were withheld, while others, like announcements of new products, were intentionally spread on social media.

When it came to controlling information, its quality mattered the most, along with the when and to what extent it should be spread. In that regard, Ryoma wanted to keep detailed facts about himself hidden. The fact that he’d come from Japan was one particular detail he’d wanted to keep under wraps. After all, much like its cuisine, a country’s geography and history tended to manifest in their martial arts.

For example, Brazil’s martial art, capoeira, mostly focused on leg techniques because before Brazil abolished slavery, the people had to fight while handcuffed. And old-styled karate focused not on swords or spears, but on staffs and scythes. That was because the majority of its practitioners were commoners from the Ryukyu islands, where the royal family had outlawed more traditional weapons.

Not counting the validity of those historical records, history and geography tended to influence martial arts. Plus, one’s country of origin also indicated their educational standards and ideology to an extent. Because of what others might glean from Ryoma’s history, it would put him at risk if people knew where he was from, even in another world.

Count Salzberg is a terribly sadistic, extremely conceited man. If he believes he has the advantage, maybe...

Ryoma needed to find out where Count Salzberg had learned this. At worst, he would have to get the Igasaki clan to silence the source.

Holding back the urge to click his tongue, Ryoma casually said, “So you knew I was summoned from Japan.”

“Of course I did. I looked into you, same as how you looked into me. I found out about it just before you came to me with the deal about the salt vein.”

“Impressive... Well, it makes sense you did that.”

In the modern world, it was normal to research your business partners and to expect them to do the same. However, in this medieval world, that kind of research and information exchange was unheard of, so it was highly unusual that Count Salzberg would have such a sense for handling intelligence.

I might have underestimated him. Not that I intended to, but I thought he was more of an adamant meathead.

Maybe the count’s stingy, philandering attitude had clouded Ryoma’s judgment, but of all the nobles Ryoma had met in this world, the count proved to be among the wisest, even in fields outside of combat. Count Salzberg understood what to reveal and what to keep under wraps, and he knew how to utilize that to his benefit. Even people in the modern age, who were more aware of information security, struggled with that.

“I see you have the same approach as me when it comes to intelligence,” Count Salzberg said.

“Yes. They say that if you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”

“Some saying from Rearth, I suppose,” Count Salzberg remarked, grinning. “Quite fitting, yet this continent is brimming with people who can’t fathom something so basic. It’s regrettable. However—”

Count Salzberg charged at Ryoma again. With a flurry of sparks, his sword skimmed past Ryoma’s right cheek, cutting into it.

Ryoma felt an intense heat, like someone had pressed a smoldering iron to his face. The wound itself didn’t look unusual at first, but it soon opened, the skin peeling off to reveal the vivid pink of Ryoma’s flesh. That only lasted a moment, then red dots surfaced from the cut and trickled down his face and chest like a crimson stream.

Ryoma didn’t feel any pain. The threat of death had sent adrenaline pumping into his veins, which had numbed him to it. The only thing that bothered him was the unpleasant wet sensation dripping from his face.

Ryoma’s heart, full of surprise and praise, beat fast. He wasn’t upset at Count Salzberg for the surprise attack, nor was he angry at himself for failing to block the slash. True, attacking in the middle of a conversation would normally be seen as cowardly, but criticizing the count’s actions would be utterly meaningless. One of the basics of combat was to use surprise attacks, underhanded tricks, and verbal warfare to shake and lure in the opponent. It was natural to employ these techniques and to expect the enemy to do the same.

After all, the two men facing off weren’t engaged in a dance. They were fighting for their lives, and there was only one outcome: one lived and the other died.

Ryoma smirked, his cheek streaked in red. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think you’d use shukuchi jutsu on me. I wasn’t being careless, yet you landed a pretty heavy blow on me.”

Though the bleeding had slowed a little due to the adrenaline pumping through his body, it hadn’t stopped. Ryoma’s cheek was still steadily oozing, which proved the cut was exceptionally deep.

“Oh, no, if anyone’s surprised, it’s me,” Count Salzberg replied with a smile of his own. “You’re a fine warrior. I can only recall a handful of warriors who could block an attack that strong and get away with a mere scratch. No matter how you look at it, my surprise attack worked perfectly, but I didn’t expect you to praise me for it.”

“Only sore losers spout excuses about cheating,” Ryoma said, shrugging.

In sports, there were rules and regulations, but there were no battles to the death. Or rather, there could be, but then the rules would be pointless. Duels with witnesses had a set procedure, but when two people tried to kill one another, it was between them and no one else. They didn’t implement guidelines before they fought, nor did they write them down to leave evidence.

If someone else were present, things would have been different, but it was just Ryoma and Count Salzberg in this room. Rules would have been useless. They only had power when there was a judge there to enforce them. As long as one feared the punishment from breaking them, they were merely a deterrent. The inability to keep to the rules was why war continued to rage across the world, even though mankind insisted it hated war.

In a duel like this one, not only was there no point in blaming the opponent for cowardice, but it would also make one lose their temper and dig their own grave. Ryoma knew this, so he had no intention of criticizing the count for his unscrupulous actions.

Count Salzberg must have really liked Ryoma’s answer, because he laughed loudly. “Good, good! That’s a truth you wouldn’t hear from knights nowadays. They just prattle on about chivalry. I can’t imagine a lad like you would understand that!”

“Well, most people seem to prefer chivalry, though,” Ryoma replied.

“Yes, I’ve heard that caused you some trouble in the civil war.”

Realizing who he was referring to, Ryoma flashed a sardonic smile. “Oh, don’t get me started on that...”

In truth, Ryoma and Count Salzberg were cut from the same cloth; they could both become monsters of coldhearted rationality, commanders who would use any means—no matter how foul—to bend things in their favor. If it had been possible, Ryoma would have prioritized bringing Count Salzberg over to his side.

It’s a shame, really. But we can’t join forces at this point.

The intentions of countless people tangled together, forcing Ryoma to make Count Salzberg’s death an absolute necessity. Ryoma might have been the leader of this army, but things were too far gone for him to change the plan on a whim.

But if the count can use shukuchi jutsu, that makes him a monster...

The attack Count Salzberg had used earlier was a special technique called shukuchi. It originated with Taoism, where immortal sages supposedly used it to warp from one point to another, but the word took on a different meaning when it was integrated into Japanese martial arts. By using quick, confusing steps, one could close the distance with their opponent and attack using the fewest movements possible.

It was considered one of the most complete martial arts techniques, a feat that required years of training and incorporated all three aspects of martial arts—heart, technique, and physique. Even Ryoma, despite being a young martial arts prodigy, wasn’t skilled enough to pull it off. In other words, Count Salzberg was a much more proficient warrior than Ryoma was.

“I guess I have no choice,” Ryoma said, sighing. “I’ll need to use my last resort.”

“Oh, so you still have something up your sleeve!” Count Salzberg looked at Ryoma with a satisfied smile. “Now, this will be interesting.”

“Yeah, I do...though I’d much rather not use it.”

Ryoma tightened his hold on Kikoku’s grip. He’d used this last resort once before at Kikoku’s beckoning, edging toward superhuman martial feats. He had attained the power to easily dispatch even the most gigantic of monsters. However, this power was so great that handling it proved difficult. And power he couldn’t properly control would eventually destroy him.

“Awaken, Kikoku, and feed on the grudges residing within you,” Ryoma silently whispered.

As if to answer Ryoma’s call, countless crimson sigils surfaced on Kikoku’s blade. The sigils flickered repeatedly, like they were breathing, and before long, the whole blade shone red as blood.

Count Salzberg felt a terrifying chill run down his spine. What is this...?! A wave of terror, the likes of which he’d never felt before, even on the battlefield, washed over him. The air was pregnant with something more than fighting spirit or bloodlust. It was thick with the wind of death, a miasma that no living thing should ever emit. It could only be described as demonic.

Hearing the faint sound of clanging metal, Count Salzberg looked down at his hands.

I’m shaking... Am I really terrified by this?

Count Salzberg was among the strongest in this world. To an extent, even Queen Lupis fell short of him. The source of his power was his overwhelming strength and skill as an individual warrior.

As a count and the ruler of northern Rhoadseria, he was certainly powerful and influential. That was simply a secondary source of power, though. Ever since he was young, he’d fought on the battlefield and slain countless people, as well as monsters in both his domain and the Wortenia Peninsula. Many opponents, counting in the tens of thousands, had died at his hand, and the power that those defeats had afforded him was overwhelming.

Because of his accumulated experience and all the prana he’d absorbed, his combat prowess exceeded even Rhoadseria’s Ivory Goddess of War, Helena Steiner. Neither Mikhail Vanash, the strongest swordsman in Rhoadseria, nor Chris Morgan, an up-and-coming warrior hailed as the Godspear, could match him. If those two were to fight Count Salzberg, they’d only get in a few blows before the count killed them.

Count Salzberg boasted that much skill, but right now, the aura of death surrounding Ryoma overwhelmed him.

“I can’t believe I’m being overpowered... That weapon, it’s more than just an ordinary thaumaturgical sword. If it holds so much power, it must be a demonic or enchanted blade of some sort. But whether you can properly control it depends on your skill.”

Count Salzberg glanced at the thaumaturgical sword passed down in his family and clicked his tongue.

Yes, this is a family heirloom, but it doesn’t hold any special power. His sword is of a higher grade than mine. The endowed thaumaturgy does make my weapon sturdy, but if we clash, his sword will certainly cut through my blade.

Swords blessed with endowed thaumaturgy were called thaumaturgical swords. Weapons with a thaumaturgical seal fed on their wielder’s prana to exhibit all sorts of effects. Swords and spears could become virtually unbreakable, and sharp blades would never go blunt. Those kinds of weapons were ideal and indispensable for warriors. Some weapons could use their seals to suck up the wind and billow flames. A weapon endowed with thaumaturgy elevated its wielder’s skill.

Nonetheless, some weapons would inevitably be better than others, and not all thaumaturgical swords were made equal. Those with especially powerful effects were given unique titles, like holy swords, godly spears, demonic swords, and enchanted blades. Their powers were varied, but they had one thing in common: whenever warriors wielded such weapons with enough skill to make use of them, they exhibited enough power to fell a gigantic monster with one strike.

“Fascinating. I felt this way when I first heard of you, but you truly are an interesting man!” Count Salzberg exclaimed, his ecstatic laughter echoing around the room.

He was relishing the way this battle was developing. Ever since he lost his knightly pride and his aristocratic dignity, his heart had thirsted for something. Not even years of extorting his subjects for taxes, bedding and toying with women, and feasting upon delicacies could satiate his thirst. He’d lived in constant restlessness for years, but now, at this moment, Count Salzberg’s heart was satisfied. He could only feel alive when he was dueling to the death.

“I’m sure you will sate my thirst,” Count Salzberg said, sheathing his sword and bending his knees.

Ryoma was familiar with this stance. “This posture... Iai. How do you know that technique?” he asked, unable to hide his confusion.

“Yes, this technique hails from your world,” Count Salzberg remarked, smirking. “An art passed down in Rearth.”

His stance was perfectly executed, so it was clear he hadn’t just come up with it on the spot.

He’s totally ready to intercept me. Attacking now would just endanger me...

Iai was a Japanese martial art that focused on unsheathing the blade while also slashing one’s opponent and then settling it back into the scabbard. An Iai slash released from a perfect stance would be so swift that it would be beyond all perception.

In Ryoma’s eyes, the area in a three meter radius around Count Salzberg looked impenetrable. Carelessly crossing into it would just result in another wound.

There’s only one thing I can do...

Ryoma silently sheathed Kikoku and assumed the same stance as Count Salzberg. He matched his perfect, impregnable territory with a sealed domain of his own. They both remained perfectly focused, their energies honed to a fine edge, as little by little they narrowed the ten meters between them.

How long did they remain this way? They couldn’t tell. But suddenly, in the space of a second, their invisible domains touched ever so slightly.

A blade danced through the air, cutting into Ryoma from his right brow across his forehead. A second stream of blood, similar to the one on his cheek, gushed out and leaked down his jaw to his chest. It was obvious at a glance that the wound was deep.

However...the fight had already been decided.

“I thought I dodged it, but you were even more skilled than the rumors said. If it wasn’t for Kikoku, I’d have lost. I should thank Gennou...”

Ryoma looked down at Count Salzberg, who lay sprawled on the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief. Both of their swings had intersected, each hoping to slay the other with a lethal move, but Ryoma Mikoshiba had emerged the victor—albeit by a very slim margin.

By using his trump card—Kikoku—Ryoma had matched the physical prowess of a warrior who’d unlocked the sixth Ajna chakra. The recoil of doing so had been heavy, though. Count Salzberg had been extraordinarily skilled. The way he’d breathed, the way he’d kept his distance, the way he’d shifted his weight—his every action had been smooth. He’d honed the skills he’d learned as a knight, elevating his swordsmanship to the highest level. Ryoma didn’t know for sure how a man from this Earth could know battojutsu, but one thing was for certain: Count Salzberg’s slash was equal to his grandfather Koichiro’s attacks.

His deceased mother probably taught him.

In heart, mind, and body, Ryoma and Count Salzberg were equals. What had decided the victor, then?

I guess I was just more prepared.

Ryoma absolutely had to survive this battle. If he’d merely sat back and done nothing, Queen Lupis would have eventually eliminated him. To avoid that outcome, he had to take control of Count Salzberg’s domain and northern Rhoadseria. Ryoma had been backed against a wall, in a manner of speaking. Furthermore, his subordinates’ lives were riding on his shoulders too, and that was a heavy weight even for Ryoma’s stout heart.

What of Count Salzberg, then? If Ryoma had faced a younger Count Salzberg, perhaps the outcome would have been different, but the count now had turned his back on the world and become a foolish noble who drowned himself in riches and depravity.

A man who’d fought for his life had wielded one blade, while a noble who’d preferred material riches had swung the other. That single distinction had decided their fates. That difference had been very slim, however, and if they were to fight again, there was no telling who would win.

Not that there ever could be a second time.

Ryoma smirked to himself. He’d thought about something that really only applied to athletes. Not that he was looking down on athletes, but a sports match was nothing like a battle. Fights to the death were a one-time-only deal, but matches were basically dry runs for a real battle that might happen at some point.

One could lose every single practice bout and there’d be no consequences. Athletes could devote their entire lives to winning tournaments, approaching these events with passion and devotion, but if they lost, they could always enter the next tournament. Some athletes put an unbelievable amount of effort into meets, but none of them actually died when they lost. Retirement didn’t cost them their futures as athletes either. In truth, no one match would threaten an athlete’s life or career, even if the athletes or their fans might not admit it.

A duel to the death was much different. Very rarely, a fight between equally matched opponents might end in a draw, or a judge who bore witness might declare them equal. Sometimes, the participants would slay each other at the same time. Those situations seldom occurred, though, so duels almost always ended with one participant dead. There was no place for “what ifs,” no point contemplating a different outcome. There were only two unchangeable realities: either the body of your opponent lay dead before you, or your own lifeless shell fell to the ground.

Ryoma gazed at Count Salzberg’s unmoving form for a long moment. He couldn’t tell if it had been seconds or minutes, but at some point, a shadow stirred behind him—one of the Igasaki clan’s ninjas.

“Milord...” the shadow said.

“What’s the situation inside the castle?” Ryoma asked without turning around. He didn’t need to check who it was. This castle was already under the control of the Igasaki ninjas and Dilphina’s elite dark elf unit.

“Everything is going as planned. Thanks to Yulia Salzberg’s assistance, we’re progressing according to schedule.”

“Good. What about Robert Bertrand?” Ryoma asked while pressing a piece of fabric he’d prepared ahead of time against his face.

“No issues to speak of. He’s still under the influence of the drug and will probably sleep until noon.”

“Very good. Treat him carefully, but also make sure to leave multiple guards with him at all times.”

“Understood.”

Ryoma saw Signus and Robert as a set of powerful pawns, and he absolutely wanted them on his side. He’d gone to great lengths to learn of Signus Galveria’s sole weakness—his wet nurse Elmada—and he’d capture her unharmed, all to bring Signus to his side. Then, after Signus chose to surrender, Ryoma had told him to drug his best friend Robert, giving Signus no choice but to sell out Robert in order to prove he’d submitted to Ryoma.

“That just leaves suppressing the riots in the castle town,” Ryoma said, gazing out the window.

They’d lit this fire, but they couldn’t very well let it rage on. The citadel city of Epirus was now part of Ryoma Mikoshiba’s domain, which went without saying at this point.

“Lady Lione has already made the preparations for that,” the shadow replied. “With Lady Yulia’s cooperation, it shouldn’t take long to suppress the riots. That is all I have to relay, milord.”

The shadow was probably eager to spread the news of Ryoma’s victory to their allies. Ryoma could feel a hint of excitement in the shadow’s voice.

Ryoma cracked a smile. “Fine, you can leave.”

The shadow bowed and melted into the darkness.

We’ve taken our first step.

It would depend on how others responded to this war’s outcome, but the ten houses of the north would likely lose much of their strength. That was the first step Ryoma referred to, but taking that step brought him closer to a showdown with an old enemy.

The question now is how Queen Lupis is going to respond to this. Will she resort to force, or...?

Strength decided everything in this world. It was a realm of endless carnage, where the strong devoured the weak, and the incredibly strong devoured them.

It’s like a poison curse...

A poison curse was a malediction said to originate in China. One would place poisonous insects in a jar, forcing them to fight and cannibalize one another until a single victor remained. Whether that curse actually had any effect, Ryoma saw this world as a poison curse’s jar. Right now, Ryoma—the strongest insect in Epirus’s jar—was preparing to slither into the larger jar of Rhoadseria. And once he consumed that jar, he intended to go even further.

But this just means I can’t back down.

Ryoma stood before Count Salzberg’s remains and brought his hands together in the only tribute he could offer to his fallen opponent.

♱

Several days had passed since Ryoma Mikoshiba defeated Count Salzberg and took over Epirus.

Along Rhoadseria’s border, to the southwest of Epirus, stood the city of Tristron. It had once flourished as one of the leading trade posts with Xarooda, and it had been known for its wealth and public order, second only to the capital itself.

“That’s a thing of the past by now,” Chris said.

Helena’s brows furrowed. She could understand the urge to complain, and Chris’s claim was correct, but her power and fame were the reasons Tristron could preserve its status quo. If she were to make an inappropriate remark about the city, there was no telling how things could fall apart. Thankfully, the only other person in the room was Chris, so this careless comment wouldn’t spread to the outside. Nevertheless, one could never be too careful, and refraining from making careless remarks to begin with was the safest thing they could do.

“I understand how you feel, Chris, but saying that here...” She trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

Helena sighed again and extended her hand to Chris, requesting the next document. She was constantly receiving reports, ranging from petitions by Tristron’s citizens to improve public safety to reinforcement requests from the guards on patrol. On top of that, the trade union that governed Tristron’s finances also sent her requests.

The result was the never-ending mountain of paperwork stacked before her—a major annoyance. It wasn’t that Helena thought she couldn’t handle it. She had experience governing occupied territories, so she was used to keeping the civilians of enemy countries under control. By comparison, governing her own country’s denizens wasn’t hard. But even though she could handle it, it didn’t change the fact that this was a burden that kept her working above and beyond her usual duties. Given the circumstances, no one would fault her for being displeased, and she much preferred to avoid any needless risks.

But if I do nothing, Tristron’s administration will be paralyzed, and we won’t be able to act if Xarooda requests aid.

Helena’s role in this city was to organize and dispatch a unit to Xarooda in case they sent another aid request. The O’ltormea Empire had withdrawn its troops from Xarooda for now, but it was obvious they would invade again soon.

Tristron didn’t have a governor to begin with, so it was under the royal house’s control. The capital would dispatch magistrates to manage such regions, so one might wonder why Helena was handling this paperwork and not the magistrate in charge of the city. The answer was that said magistrate simply didn’t have the required governing skills.

It’s no surprise no one bothered sending him any petitions.

Tristron was well known for being an unproblematic and uneventful city. A few decades ago, there had been constant fighting at the Xaroodian border, but things had since changed. In recent years, there’d been only a handful of times where it’d been necessary to mobilize the city’s soldiers for something other than standard patrols. While there was a garrison of two hundred men in Tristron, there was hardly ever a need for them all.

This city had blossomed into a trade center a fair distance from the capital. It wasn’t far enough away to be considered a backwater region, but it was far enough to be out from under the capital’s watchful gaze. It was a perfect region to send poor, low-ranking nobles to serve as magistrates, but even if Tristron were left entirely alone, the merchant firms based in Tristron would work together to make the city overall profitable.

Things had changed since Helena arrived in the city, though. The recent civil war had left its mark on the land. As one might expect, a conflict that divided Rhoadseria’s ruling class into two camps had had major repercussions, and both sides had exhausted their respective armies in the fighting.

This had harmed the country’s productivity and public order. Nevertheless, in the time that had passed, one would expect that those wounds had begun to heal. The Battle of Heraklion had seen major losses, but for a war where soldiers clashed in the tens of thousands, the casualties were surprisingly slim.

That battle wasn’t as impactful as I thought it would be.

Because Duke Gelhart had sworn fealty to Queen Lupis before the start of the battle, the siege of Heraklion had been much less damaging to the country than initially expected. They had only needed to sweep up the remnants of General Albrecht’s knights’ faction garrisoned in the city, thereby ending the war with minimal loss of life.

Unfortunately, what happened after the war—the expedition to Xarooda—had caused much more damage to the kingdom. Many farmers had been forced to neglect their fields, and refugees had started flooding both Rhoadseria’s cities and its rural areas. Consequently, public order took a turn for the worse, and the influx of refugees caused a sudden rise in bandit activities. Sadly, Tristron’s magistrate, Baron Yosef Stein, had lacked the capabilities to lead his domain through this problem. In fact, his skills, or lack thereof, had never even entered the equation because he’d locked himself up in his estate with his associates, claiming that he was stricken by illness. This had left Helena with just one choice, the result of which was the mountain of paperwork she had to contend with right now.

But I just need to wait a little longer, until the battle in Epirus ends. And then...

The other day, Count Zeleph had arrived at Helena’s doorstep for a secret discussion. What they’d talked about, no loyal subject to the queen should ever discuss, but they both knew that with the kingdom’s current state, they had to rebuild Rhoadseria from the ground up. For that reason, Helena continued putting pen to paper.

That night, slightly before the gates were scheduled to close, a runner arrived at Tristron, bearing news of Epirus’s fall. The story then traveled to Rhoadseria’s capital, Pireas, to the battlefield where countless schemes would clash and vie for supremacy.