Chapter 263 - Change, Change, Change

Since ancient times, the continent's foremost strategists, military leaders, and commanders had sought to establish magical units. In other words, they had tried to gather mages and turn them into an armed force under their command.

"An army of mages could rival a knight order!"

The first idiot to have that idea faithfully put his words into practice. He roamed the continent, gathering anyone said to know a spell or two and promising them all manner of things, from premises and supplies to resources for fulfilling their deepest aspirations.

Dozens of mages gathered into a single organization. Thus was the Devil's Womb born.

Of course, they hadn't called it anything like the Devil's Womb to begin with.

"Let us call it the Tower of Wisdom."

That was supposedly its original name, but later historians dubbed it the Devil's Womb. Why? Who knew what those mage bastards had been up to, but a demon and twelve balrogs had emerged from the place. The name was only natural.

Nameless—or at least, called the nameless demon because the humans of the time had no leisure to give it a name—the creature swept through three surrounding territories, raised an undead army, and earned itself the title Father of the Dead. The twelve balrogs serving it likewise lived up to their reputation as monsters born for combat, battle, and war.

It wasn't quite myth, but something between legend and history. And the demon still existed.

In the end, renowned knight orders from across the continent marched out to drive away the demon known as the "Father of the Dead, the Last Door of Life," or the "Door That Ends Life." After battle upon battle, the demon retreated into the Demonic Realm. That was how the demon called the Father of Death came to nest in its depths.

[Eternal and immortal, possessed of undying body and spirit, that demon shall never perish by human hands.]

Such were the words used to describe it.

It would have been nice if people had learned their lesson, but many others attempted to organize mages afterward. Some were said to have succeeded, but, well... their ends were not all pretty.

Rebellion. Runaway spells. Mages killing one another without anyone even telling them to start.

"They are an uncontrollable source of instability."

That was how the Empire unofficially characterized mages in later years. There had even been a period of witch hunts and magical persecution.

These days, most people lowered their eyes at the sight of a witch, regarding her with fear and awe. They viewed mages no differently.

What was the lesson here?

'Mages are fickle, willful troublemakers. You never know what they'll do next.'

Even so, some secretly cultivated friendships with mages or established court mage positions in their kingdoms. The prevailing view, however, was that those arrangements amounted to little more than business relationships.

Encrid mulled this over as he looked at Esther. He had just returned from taking down a Frog with the Fairy Company Commander, and the fellow was still unconscious.

And there was Esther. The panther simply stared at him, displeased about something. I'm not happy. She didn't have to say it for him to feel it.

His Sixth Sense—the new eye formed when his five senses blended and merged—and his intuition told him as much.

'What's her problem?'

"Oho."

Just before they parted, the Fairy Company Commander had uttered that cryptic exclamation.

"Until next time, my onion betrothed. I pray for the day when I have peeled away layer after layer and can finally see you naked."

Why was she directing that prayer at him? Encrid wondered, but ordinary common sense had never been any use in a conversation with her.

"Take care."

He sent her on her way without much fuss. She also said they should question the Frog together, and he agreed to that too.

Then he returned to the barracks, where Esther kept giving him that peculiar look, reminding him of the history of mages causing trouble. Wasn't she another witch who might do anything?

"What's wrong?"

So he asked. Better to ask outright than strain their relationship by talking around it. That was Encrid's way.

Again, she was a witch. A witch who could even turn into a panther. A witch who, for some reason, preferred being a panther to being human.

That was a misunderstanding. Esther had to remain in panther form because of a curse, not because she enjoyed it.

Well, everything had two sides. Where there was good, there was bound to be bad. The curse of beast transformation wasn't entirely bad, either.

For a genius witch who had opened her spell world before she was even old enough to know much of life, extracting something useful from a curse was easy. Of course, the man before her had set all of this in motion.

'Why.'

At first, there had been nothing but that question. In his arms, the power of her curse weakened. If the curse were a tangle of thread, its countless knots were unraveling on their own.

Cutting it by force would corrupt and damage her world, but finding the beginning and slowly unwinding it posed no such danger. This man could unravel the tangled threads of her curse with ease.

That was why she remained here, falling asleep and waking in his arms.

'Why?'

The question persisted. Such questions were poison to a witch. That was why she had to delve deeper, to keep thinking it through. That was the right answer.

Of course, she had plenty to do besides think. She had worked on the summon she first placed inside her spell world and obtained various items to extend the time she could spend in human form.

It still wasn't enough, but unless she dragged in someone reputed to be a master alchemist, she had acquired everything she could for now. After that, she had refined her spell world once more. She couldn't be foolish enough to fall victim to another paltry curse like this.

Esther had goals of her own, too. Things she had to do once she overcame the curse. Broadly speaking, there were two.

One was revenge. She had to go put a flaming arrow through the skull of the bastard who had done this to her.

The second was of a different nature: the ultimate purpose for which she had first sought to learn magic.

'The world must be ruled by magic.'

To build the world anew through spells. Even if that brought an age of destruction in which thousands of humans and nonhumans died, nations fell, the land rotted, and lakes turned black.

'If that is what it takes, so be it.'

When had she first taken up that goal? Back when she was called the Witch of Fire? Or when she had been known as the Blue-Eyed Sage? In any case, she had harbored that ambition ever since.

Through magic, through spells, through mystic arts, the world would be remade.

GRRR.

Lost in thought, Esther unconsciously bared the tips of her fangs. The man paid no heed, raising a hand to stroke her head.

"Are you sulking?"

She disliked his tone intensely, though, and gave his hand a little bite. It ought to have hurt, yet the blue eyes beneath his black hair only smiled.

"That hurts, you brat."

She still disliked his tone, but let it pass. Looking at that smiling face, she couldn't even stay angry. He really was ridiculously pretty.

Within Esther lay a vast, powerful determination and ambition to overturn the world. She had cherished and nurtured it. Until now, that was how she had lived, but recently her thinking had begun to change.

It was the first such change in over a hundred years. If the curse had been its beginning, this man was its end.

'Why?'

Why did watching this man make her root for him? Why did she want to see what lay ahead for him? Why did she want to help him? Why was watching him wield his blade so enjoyable?

While those thoughts multiplied, he had left for the neighboring territory. She had expected him back soon, but days passed without his return. Time dragged on: going to find him irked her, yet waiting bothered her just as much.

She needed his embrace. She needed him to suppress the curse's power again. But first, Esther had to sort out her thoughts.

'Stray thoughts are poison within a spell world.'

And they could become a truly dreadful poison. Poison that affected the mind was twice as dangerous as poison that harmed the body. Countless mages had proven that.

As she brought the poison in her heart under control and once again needed the energy residing in his embrace, he had finally slipped back. Then he had gone out again without seeking her out or even looking at her.

She had heard a Frog had come. Why, then, did he look like he had been off having fun with that pointy-ear?

'Why do I want to hit him?'

Esther didn't know why she was acting this way, but she didn't dwell on it. If it happened again, she would follow her heart.

She was a witch, a mage. They were willful creatures by nature, selfish seekers of the unknown who placed their own spell worlds above all else. Perhaps it was only natural that the man before her should have become an object of her curiosity.

'How can he be like that?'

She had met and watched dozens, hundreds of people reputed to be skilled with a sword. Yet she had never seen a human like this. Even thinking all the way back to when she was first called a witch, she had never encountered his like. How could she not be intrigued?

"Want to look around the market? I took a quick look, and they seem to be selling all sorts of things."

At those words, Esther rose. She had dispelled the poison that had entered her spell world.

'Follow my heart.'

That was what she decided to do.

When the sulking Esther rose, Encrid scooped her into his arms.

"Going to the market? Let's go together, then."

"What about the Frog?"

"Whatever he took, he's still out cold. That drug is potent."

"Have you found out what it is?"

Adjusting Esther in his arms, Encrid stepped outside and saw Rem beating Dunbachel. Audin and Teresa were sitting motionless nearby.

Should he take them along too? The thought prompted him to ask, but they all shook their heads.

"I seek the answer to a question the Lord has given me."

Audin spouted nonsense.

"I am Teresa the Wanderer. It is time to train. For our next spar."

As earnest about training as Encrid himself, Teresa was quite literally drenched in sweat.

"I'm busy. Go entertain yourself. What, you can't even go to the market without me? That's no good. People will think I'm your dad."

That crazy bastard Rem. Rather than stress that he was older, Encrid looked steadily at Dunbachel.

"Land a hit on him. You can do it."

At his encouragement, the Beastman's eyes blazed as never before.

"Your wish is my command."

"Huh? You've gone mad. Let's have some really lively training today."

Rem grinned broadly at the sight. His opponent's determination to fight seemed to delight him. He was nothing if not consistently insane.

Jaxon was nowhere to be seen. Ragna, unusually, was swinging his sword this way and that, and Encrid couldn't bring himself to interrupt.

And so they set out for the market. They could buy some of Esther's favorite seasoned jerky and a little marmalade. He had heard they had brought back several master bakers from Martai, too, so there would be plenty to eat and see.

No, that wasn't all. Until now, he had only caught glimpses while hurrying back and forth, so he hadn't noticed.

"Doesn't it seem like a lot has changed?"

Encrid scratched behind Esther's ear as he spoke. Nestled against his chest, making it bulge, she purred contentedly. Krais answered his captain offhandedly.

"You're telling me."

It had changed. Granted, he hadn't taken a close look around the market in some time.

"That Marcus fellow, well... he's truly insane."

He meant that in a good way. Krais gave a brief rundown of what he had seen and heard.

"He's been spending Krona like a colt with its rump on fire."

Sunlight shone down on their heads from a cloudless sky. The weather was exceptionally fine for a northern winter.

Several times as many people now wandered the market, and the inns were bursting at the seams. The inn called Vanes's Pumpkin Soup was even expanding. Workers were busy hauling timber and stones.

It wasn't just that inn. The streets, the gates, the walls, all manner of buildings: everywhere bustled with activity. Workers moved about in crowds.

"From what I've picked up..."

As Encrid listened to the rest of Krais's account, a vivid picture of Battalion Commander Marcus's activities took shape.

* * *

"Let's put up some more watchtowers."

"Sir?"

"Oh, and dig a moat in front of the inner castle gate."

"... We don't have the manpower. And we don't have a separate outer wall."

"Then we'll have to build one."

Marcus didn't grow angry at his adjutant's words. He was experienced, and he didn't assume everyone around him was clever.

'It would be strange if the world were full of fellows like Encrid.'

Most people were, in fact, stupid. Idiots. Marcus knew that well. So he didn't bother explaining.

"Send out the troops from the barracks."

"Huh?"

"We've had plenty of mercenaries coming in, haven't we? Hire them all. Hire them and put them to work digging."

It began in a corner of his office. Marcus knew precisely what he wanted and where he was going. He accepted no objections.

"Build the watchtowers."

Work on the moat and the watchtowers proceeded simultaneously. He razed the slums on the territory's outskirts, then hired all the poor as laborers.

"From now on, anyone who doesn't work doesn't eat or sleep."

Anyone who tried to defy him in the process? How dare they. A single word from Border Guard's Battalion Commander could now bring a bird out of the sky. Even a passing dragon might lose a scale.

Every battlefield he had shared with Encrid had strengthened his authority. Above all, the territory's recent emergence as a trading hub had caused tax revenues to soar. In other words, the territory was growing wealthy.

Marcus had lined his own pockets a little, but reinvested most of it. He dug a moat, but instead of doing something as insane as hauling water in to fill it, he simply dug it deep.

All it had to do was keep battering rams and close-range siege engines from approaching. Diverting water into it could wait.

He also sank several more wells. That work had begun long ago, before the influx of people. When a population grew, food and water had to be addressed first. Marcus had done exactly that.

He kept driving forward without mercy.

"Train archers. If any mercenaries are good with a bow, hire them and try coaxing them into the army."

He coupled his efforts with a bold strategy for developing talent.

"He says he won't come unless we hire the mercenary band he leads as well..."

"Bring them all. Give them gold."

Gold was the one thing he had to spare. He had taken Martai, and before that he had won the fight against Aspen. The territory had become a safe zone, with no immediate need to fear an attack from Aspen.

Naturally, trading companies and merchants flocked there. The mercenary bands escorting them entered the territory as well. Krona circulated. It took no time at all for the lord at the center of it to become rich.

Rapid expansion of the archer corps. Raising warhorses on top of that. Those two projects, plus more watchtowers and defensive works. He spent every bit of Krona he had.

Nor was there any shortage of talent.

"Didn't some of the fellows Encrid beat stick around?"

There were plenty. Men who had heard the rumors, challenged him, and settled down afterward. Men who had watched him fight, lost their nerve, and lingered awkwardly. More had stayed than left.

They were men who ordinarily would have threatened public order or caused trouble.

"Round them all up."

He made them slaves to gold. First, he put Krona in their hands and brought them into the fold.

Expanding the barracks was a given. That work had already begun. But they couldn't handle everything on their own.

"Contact the northern Battalion."

Border Guard's standing army originally consisted of two Battalions. The other had marched out and built barracks at its encampment facing Aspen. They were laying the foundations for an entirely new territory.

Marcus did everything his gold could pay for. He was such an accomplished administrator, politician, and operator that even Krais could only marvel and shake his head.

"And now, ta-da."

The number of watchtowers had risen to sixteen. While the walls were being repaired and the moat dug, he had also purchased countless arrows. He bought horn bows, not wooden bows.

He truly intended to spend every last copper coin of revenue on the territory's defense and development.

"Someone must have been worked to death."

Encrid posed the question as he imagined what must have happened in Marcus's office. Giving orders wasn't enough to get things done. There would be endless administrative tasks to process and organize beneath him.

Krais nodded.

"Obviously. I hear the heavy infantry company commander collapsed two days ago. Even the nobles with some knack for numbers or managing people were already on the verge of being ground down."

Marcus's specialty. Neither Encrid nor Krais knew it, but the man's greatest talent was grinding people down to get work done. He had put that talent to full use.

He gave free rein to the skill that had once earned him the name Marcus the Millstone within his family.

Border Guard was transforming brilliantly by the day. Astonishing though it was, it was also the natural course of things. This was what happened when people, Krona, and capable individuals came together.

As Encrid looked around the transformed market, he saw that there really were an extraordinary number of people. And among them was someone who slipped a knife into his belly.

Feeling the blade slide in, Encrid seized the man's wrist. Esther opened her eyes halfway.

Before him stood a hunchback who seemed to be stooping. An assassin.