Chapter 584: Old Comrades

Berland. At the city gates, a column of carriages rolled in without a sound.

The drowsy guard was jolted awake by the sudden shadow and barked,

“Who goes there?!”

“A convoy. Entering the city.”

A voice came from within the darkness.

“No. The gates are sealed tonight. No one is allowed to enter!”

“Th-then... could you make an exception?”

The speaker seemed to be reaching for something.

“No!”

The guard drew his sword halfway from his waist, even more irritated.

“Bribing a city gate guard—do you know what that—”

Thud.

A bag slammed down in front of him.

The guard lowered his head slightly and saw the corner of a thick stack of banknotes jutting from the bag. He couldn’t help swallowing.

But he snapped back quickly. No matter how much money they offered, if he let people through the gates at his post and something happened, he’d lose his head.

Especially when someone from above had specifically warned them.

“No. Take the money away. Do you think I’m—”

Thud.

Another bag.

The other party seemed to be doing it on purpose, making sure he understood just what kind of amount this was. They weren’t using a more convenient crystal card or draft. They were stacking maximum-denomination bills right in front of him, one pile after another, brazenly.

“No. I—”

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Several more bags in a row—altogether enough that the guard would never have to work again in his next life.

His body trembled slightly. His eyes went glassy. But in the end he took a deep breath and forced himself to look away.

“No!”

“Oh? You’ve got more backbone than that Xineer bastard. Impressive.”

A voice of approval came from the shadows.

Then a faint light flared.

An impossibly handsome face—and a head of dazzling blond hair—came into the guard’s view.

It was a young man wearing a gentle smile, as if he didn’t feel the slightest irritation at the failed bribe.

Of course, for the guard, the most eye-catching thing wasn’t the face or the blond hair.

It was the crest pinned to the chest of that luxurious formalwear edged with gold thread—

A dragon-slaying sword.

The House of Duke Campbell!

“Y-You are...?”

The guard went pale and hurriedly dropped to one knee.

“Campbell’s... young lord?”

“That’s right. I’m Muen Campbell—the Campbell heir.”

Muen smiled.

“Now that you know who I am, can you let me in?”

“Th-this...”

The guard was sweating buckets. He thought for a long time.

“If it’s Young Lord Campbell, then with an entry document, it can be arranged. H-How many people do you have... wait, what is—”

He was about to deliberate further, but when he used that faint light to make out the forces hidden in the shadows behind Muen, his expression froze solid.

Those silhouettes stretched on and on, all the way to the end of the road. For a moment, he couldn’t even make out how many there were.

“Y-You... bringing this many people into the city... what are you trying to do?”

The guard swallowed with difficulty. Coupled with some rumors he’d heard not long ago, a bad premonition suddenly rose in his gut.

“Easy, easy.”

Muen patted his shoulder, soothing him.

“Listen, I’ll explain. It’s like this—didn’t I get sent north a while back by His Majesty’s decree, to handle disaster relief?”

“I-Is that so?”

“Look, His Majesty’s appointment letter is still right here.”

Muen smiled as he handed over that appointment letter.

“But since I was doing relief work, bringing some refugees back to resettle is perfectly normal, right?”

“Ref... refugees?”

“Yes. Refugees.”

“But they’re all wearing armor...”

“That’s because I was worried they’d get cold. Wearing something thicker is normal, isn’t it?”

“They’re riding horses...”

“It’s a long way. If they walked the whole thing, wouldn’t they get tired?”

“And weapons—”

“Out in the wilderness, how can you not have something to protect yourself? What if you run into bandits? Everyone’s a helpless refugee, you know. They’re terrified.”

Muen spread his hands and put on a look that said he was very weak and very pitiful.

“...”

Staring at that troop’s vicious, murderous faces, the guard privately thought the ones who should be terrified were the bandits.

“So? I’m doing this for official business. Can you let me in?”

“Th-this...”

The guard ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) clenched his teeth. He knew he didn’t really have any right to refuse at a moment like this, but he still hesitated and wouldn’t loosen his grip.

“Let me talk to him.”

Just as Muen was about to say more, another steady voice came from behind.

Muen lifted a brow, said nothing, and simply stepped aside.

“Y-You are...”

The guard’s eyes widened as he stared blankly at the tall man walking out.

“Count Eller?”

“It’s me.”

Eller Campo, the border count who had helped Muen in the forest and at the frontier, nodded.

“I remember you. You served under me.”

“Yes!”

The guard’s face lit up. He snapped his feet together and hammered a fist to his chest in an extremely standard Imperial military salute.

“I once followed Your Excellency together with Lord Baron Wales. I fought in two wars against the Kingdom and witnessed your valor with my own eyes. Later I was reassigned to garrison duty in Berland, so I missed the war where you finally crushed the Kingdom’s army. It’s a great regret.”

“That bloody ‘victory’ with countless dead wasn’t worth watching.”

Eller paused, then glanced at him.

“But you’re guarding the gate here... where’s Wales?”

“Baron Wales is in charge of overall gate security. He should be patrolling elsewhere right now.”

“Have him come see me.”

“Yes!”

Before long, a man reeking of alcohol came over with a squad of soldiers.

“Wales. Without my whip to keep you in line, you’ve fallen to this?”

“Count Eller?!”

The man who had been wobbling a moment ago snapped bolt upright, as if he’d heard some law he couldn’t disobey. Alcohol flushed out with cold sweat, and he sobered up by half in an instant.

“Y-You... why are you here?”

“For the Empire. I’m making this trip.”

Eller stood before Wales. He wasn’t even larger than him, but the pressure that seemed to come from the depths of the soul made Wales’ teeth chatter, dragging him back to the terrifying days when Count Eller had personally drilled him.

“You’re in charge of the gate? No one is allowed into the city all night?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Who gave the order?”

“I-It was Count Charles.”

“Charles? Do you have His Majesty’s decree?”

“N-No.”

“No decree?”

Eller’s blade-sharp brows snapped up.

“With no decree from His Majesty, Charles—a dead fat pig who manages the upper city—can order you around?”

“B-But... he’s a count...”

Wales wiped sweat and bent forward with a placating smile.

“I can’t really—”

“Who told you to bend?! Stand up straight!”

Eller roared suddenly.

“Yes!”

Wales snapped upright. The movement was so violent Muen thought he heard his bones wail.

“With no decree, Charles suddenly orders you to seal the gates. You didn’t think that was suspicious?”

Eller’s voice stayed cold.

“Berland is the Empire’s center. Unless something huge happens, the gates don’t get sealed on a whim.”

“Th...”

Wales’ expression flickered, complicated. He didn’t look like he knew absolutely nothing.

But even if he did know a little, with his low status he couldn’t do anything about it—so he might as well drink to numb himself.

In this storm, he was too small. All he could do was drift with the current.

“How many men can you move?”

Eller asked abruptly.

“Me?”

Wales froze, then answered.

“The gate guard... about two hundred.”

“Do you want to come with us?”

Eller asked again.

“With you...”

Wales repeated the words under his breath.

He still didn’t know the full details, but he knew what Count Eller was about to do would be extremely dangerous.

And yet, when his eyes landed on that familiar, resolute face—then on the troops in the shadows, countless in number yet disciplined enough that not even a horse whinnied—something long-buried came rushing back.

Eller asked a third time, “I’ll ask again. Are you coming?”

“Yes!”

A sharp light flashed in Wales’ eyes. He lifted his head and squared his shoulders, as if he’d returned to years ago.

“I’m willing to follow Your Excellency’s command!”

“Then go gather your men.”

Eller’s tone remained icy, but a faint smile traced his mouth.

“Quickly. Don’t let me see you dragging your feet again. Otherwise you know exactly how I’ll drill you.”

Wales shuddered—but his voice stayed full.

“Yes! I’ll go right now!”

...

Wales led his men off to rally more hands.

Meanwhile, the gate had already opened, and the convoy moved in quickly and silently.

“As expected of Count Eller.”

Watching how fast the situation settled, Muen said in admiration,

“I thought it would be a lot more troublesome. I didn’t expect it to get resolved like this.”

“This is all something I learned from His Grace the Duke. It’s nothing.”

Eller turned and looked at the troop, then sighed.

“But, about this... Young Lord Muen, please forgive me. To avoid being noticed—and to prevent the Kingdom from deliberately causing trouble during this period—the forces I can mobilize are only these two thousand knights.”

“But don’t worry. Each of them is elite enough to take ten.”

“No need to apologize.”

Muen waved it off.

“Being able to pull troops from outside at all is already beyond what I expected.”

“And we’re not trying to take all of Berland. This is enough.”

“If the goal is to attack the palace, then these men can probably only serve as a feint.”

Eller’s expression was heavy. Muen had already told him the current situation in Berland, and Eller now understood just how unfavorable a position House Campbell was in.

“A feint is enough. And you’re not the only one with troops.”

Muen lifted his gaze toward the palace.

“If they were really so powerful they could blot out the sky with one hand, they wouldn’t have been forced into using that kind of method to seize the throne.”

“But...”

“It won’t be easy either.”

Muen stared toward the direction of the imperial palace.

“Soldiers against soldiers. Generals against generals. Kings against kings.”

“If any side is missing even one piece of strength, the balance of the entire battlefield could collapse.”

“Tonight is destined to be a terrifying melee—and this battle will decide the Empire’s future.”

“The Empire’s future...”

Eller gave a bitter smile.

“That’s heavy.”

“What, scared?”

Muen asked.

“Heh. Young Lord Muen, that’s an insult.”

With that, Count Eller had already swung up onto his horse. He looked toward that building of incomparable nobility in the distance. Only resolve remained on his square face.

“His Grace the Duke can face a hundred thousand demons without changing expression. I’m only here to deal with a few vermin sucking blood from the Empire’s roots.”

“What’s there to be afraid of?”