NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 205
“We have three days until the departure for battle.”
In Lord Bohenhausen’s private chamber, there was a bay window overlooking the courtyard, from which the frantic efforts of the grooms preparing the horse tack were visible. They were likely preparing to scatter in all directions to check the surrounding security.
“We should keep only the minimal number of fast horses and requisition all the rest. By rounding up the men from the nearby manors, we might exceed forty cavalry.”
“That will surely be a truly impressive sight.”
“Indeed, but most of them will only be for show. There’s a great difference between merely traveling on horseback and fighting as a proper cavalryman.”
After the order to assemble, as Lord Bohenhausen’s subordinates scattered to fulfill their roles, I was left behind and invited here with an offer of tea.
Needless to say, I wasn’t called here for idle chit-chat. The lord is a busy man; there’s no time to leisurely sip tea with an itinerant adventurer such as myself.
It was a fine room. The terrace allowed the lord’s commands to carry well across the gathered subordinates in the courtyard, and at the same time, its position ensured no line of sight could reach it except from the top of the spire, offering protection against assassination.
The furnishings were elegant enough to suit a nobleman, and should the need arise, it was prepared sufficiently to host a guest without appearing disrespectful—common among knights or lesser nobility who couldn’t boast grand reception halls. It was a room practically filled with a knight’s attentive care and functionality.
Ah, I see some members of the Sword Friends Association gathered at a corner of the courtyard. They seem to be receiving a lavish donation of bowls and goblets. There are also a good number of charming young ladies there, and Siegfried has his hand clasped by an elderly man as if in supplication.
Since we were the first to arrive after the siege was lifted and brought good news, it seems we’re being treated as minor saviors. Unlike Margit who was involved directly in escorting the lord’s son-in-law on swift horses during the siege, we didn’t engage directly, which is why everyone appears a bit perplexed.
We’re not disliked, however. Just accepting the welcome as it is will ease any tension; by remaining relaxed, we may even enhance the reputation of the Sword Friends Association. There’s no harm in that.
“Then, aside from the garrison, I will lead between fifty to eighty foot soldiers. More than half will be in charge of carrying supplies as baggage troops, but—”
“Are the provisions sufficient? It seemed you were in quite a dire situation under siege.”
Mmmph… The lord placed his hand on his chin in a somewhat troubled manner. I apologize, I may have asked too directly. Though I am a layman in such matters, it wasn’t appropriate to sound so presumptuous.
Nevertheless, even to a layman, it was apparent that Flachburg’s supplies were strained. Even the gruel served to entertain Siegfried and others was so thin it was hard to discern if it was broth or water. Moreover, the livestock sheds in the courtyard were deserted. They had been driven to such desperation that they had to slaughter even the boars meant for breeding, and the last reserves of barley were almost depleted.
According to the empire’s tax laws, common staples like wheat and rye occupied much of the grain taxes. Meanwhile, barley had a lower tax rate per acre of field, so it was often stored as a reserve. Its cost-effectiveness and ability to be cooked as gruel without milling made it very common among the empire’s people—”porridge slurpers” was the nickname the neighboring countries associated with them, often mocking their rye bread as “stone crunchers.”
Naturally, such grains were either stocked abundantly in warehouses for contingencies or were commonly available as staples for the poor.
For these to become scarce was a damning testament to their plight.
“…In any case, I have some food reserves set aside for a final push if needed—to break out of the siege and allow some of the refugees to escape. All of it is ready-to-eat.”
“That’s… a very courageous decision.”
“They keep circling us and launching attacks without demanding our surrender. If we cannot surrender, then the knight’s pride demands we fight to the death, holding out here as long as possible, while ensuring at least some of the common folk can escape. If none survive, the valor of the Bohenhausen name will not endure.”
Stroking his lush mustache, Lord Bohenhausen let out a heavy sigh across the floor. He was indeed a rugged knight from the countryside.
The knights I’d met while serving under Lady Agrippina were of a different ilk. Though they too wielded swords and rode horses, they carried an air closer to the functionaries often seen near the imperial palace.
Of course. Their main duties were more administrative—managing manors as deputies or patrolling the roads. In reality, they resembled provincial bureaucrats. When the time came to raise an army, they would naturally take the field, but with the rarity of dedicated heavy cavalry units these days, many were expected to lead conscripted levies as high-ranking officers instead.
In contrast, knights like Lord Bohenhausen in the localities act as both deputies and frontline leaders in times of conflict. They’re expected to charge first in defense of the empire, serve as front-line commanders in quelling skirmishes, and chase down bandits. Their disposition is far closer to that of warriors—proud carriers of their ancient martial traditions.
Different soil, different people. That much is clear even among bureaucrats.
“That’s why our provisions are enough. We’ve been economizing to hold out for at least a month. It’s not abundant, but it’s enough for the upcoming march.”
“But, if you use those provisions, won’t the commoners become restless?”
“Lord Marsheim is not an unmerciful man. If my letter reaches him, reinforcements will undoubtedly arrive… hopefully.”
Such optimistic thinking.
Even so, with the siege lifted, it may indeed be possible to gather wild herbs or hunt birds to replenish our food stores. Refugees won’t rush back to the manors just yet due to lingering insecurity, but those within walking distance could return to retrieve food if necessary.
Moreover, they’d surely be concerned about the fields they left behind. This is peak farming season, a crucial time for tending to crops. Letting them lie fallow for too long despite surviving would leave their minds uneasy.
Perhaps some of the less cautious would risk returning to the manor. If we use the reserves to replenish food when they do, it could help increase our stockpile somewhat.
Fortunately, the enemy has not been rampantly pillaging. While they burn after attacking the manors, they largely leave the granaries and fields untouched, as Margit mentioned. From the landlords’ strategic perspective, it seems they sought to create chaos with undead armies, sealing off inspectors and messengers with their cavalry, aiming to later leisurely seize properties abandoned after the uprising succeeds.
It was an almost successful plan, truly terrifying. Rather, one could say that despite some cracks in the plan, it was going smoothly.
It’s unclear how much of Lord Marsheim’s border territory they estimated to capture in this uprising, but they were likely generous in their offerings—”giving” it away. If the worst came to pass, it seems they were planning to cede everything west of Marsheim.
If things were allowed to continue half-heartedly, it could become a more dire situation for the empire than mere failure. A substantial number of specialized military bandits might spawn, and it’s possible that factions fleeing abroad, claiming descent from Marsheim, could garner foreign support and wage a war to reclaim lost territory.
Such scenarios were common in Western Europe in my past life. Whether it be political losers seeking refuge or forcibly abduction to forge familial ties, setting up illegitimate kingdoms could lead to conflicts akin to the War of the Spanish Succession, which could spiral into something much worse.
Thus, in the empire’s grand strategy, the endgame of this rebellion involves crushing the insurgent landowners completely in battle, eradicating any political footholds to prevent such a catastrophe.
…Well, I hope I’m not being watched warily by one of Lord Marsheim’s entourage for nosiness. Even with Lady Agrippina’s protection, it’s best to keep good relations with local powers.
“Excuse me, Lord Bohenhausen. I’ve brought the tea.”
“Ah, come in.”
As we continued looking over the courtyard in contemplative silence, a servant arrived with tea. It was the young aide who went to fetch the pigeon earlier.
Though his manner wasn’t overly refined, his actions were brisk and military-like. As a servant, he was likely a close relative of the lord, or possibly his son—there was a faint resemblance around the eyes.
“A scar?”
“Uh? Oh, this one?”
He scratched his cheek, looking embarrassed, perhaps nervous.
“Truth be told, I was shooting arrows at a wall and got caught in a counterattack.”
“Ah, but it’s not a coward’s mark. Be proud of it. Ladies often find such battle scars alluring—mark of a man who’s popular with the ladies.”
“Really?” His face turned red, and I nodded amusedly in response. Siegfried’s scars are quite prominent, and young women often touch them. In this era, a chiseled pretty face isn’t as attractive as a courageous warrior.
Perhaps because women appreciate the sense of security of knowing someone willing to fight for them.
“I don’t have such proud marks on me. I often look at myself in the mirror with a sense of lack. First impressions with strangers often leave me treated as a boy.”
In contrast, I remain unblemished thanks to the fairies’ blessings—or perhaps their curse. Even Margit’s bite marks vanish by morning. I’ve long accepted this as fate. My childhood dream of recounting tales of my war wounds remains an elusive fantasy.
“…But, I admire you, Lord Ehric.”
“EH? Why?”
“Well, not having scars means you’ve survived many battles without issue, right? And I’ve always loved the tales of heroes defeating wicked knights!”
Ah, I’ve found a fan. Delighted, I extended my right hand and he tentatively returned the gesture.
“Wow, it’s hard…”
“Practice all day with a sword, and it’ll be like this. The lord himself does so as well.”
I shook his hand firmly, which made him genuinely happy despite some discomfort. If he’s joining the campaign, I hope he survives and thrives.
When Lord Bohenhausen cleared his throat, the young man bowed and hurriedly left.
“Apologies, Lord Ehric. He’s young and can’t quite conceal his curiosity. He’s my nephew…”
“At his age, it’s appropriate. He seems well-trained—a fine nephew.”
“Our first Bohenhausen once served as a decoy for the fifth Lord Marsheim. Even after losing his right hand and eye, he managed to lead the enemy away while retreating. To shrink back from a mere scar would dishonor his legacy.”
Ah, that’s an impressive bloodline. Being a body double is dangerous, but the treatment is usually excellent. Perhaps that’s why he earned his knighthood.
“I see. There will be no shame for this bloodline in the next campaign.”
“That’s our hope.”
Lord Bohenhausen drank the black tea in one gulp. The tea was simple, almost more earthy than nuanced—it was likely roasted dandelion roots from the courtyard. Given the situation, it was the finest hospitality they could offer, so I drank respectfully.
After a while, the lord straightened his posture and looked at me earnestly.
“…In the next sortie, ride with me.”
“With your consent, I shall wield my sword with all my might.”
“I expect a battle worthy of bards.”
This is a subtle message: I trust you to a degree but not fully. Don’t take any foolish actions, or your head may not stay on your shoulders.
He seems to be a worthy master. Kind to outsiders yet unyielding, strict with his vassals but offering both reason and dreams. The hardships may abound, but the rewards far outweigh anything from my previous engagements.
“Enjoy thoroughly.”
I, on the other hand, have not been sent in as some latent poison. If he expects sincerity, then I shall fight sincerely. Acting otherwise would only invite suspicion.
…
The fortress courtyard, serving as a military hub beyond its residential functions, included practice facilities alongside daily-life amenities. Besides the mock targets for sword training, there were also bundles of straw for archery practice. Margit, away from the Sword Friends Association group, was there.
To her, the range of about thirty human paces was “point-blank.” Drawing her shortbow swiftly, she released an arrow that struck directly the center of the five-ringed target.
Ignoring the awe of the onlookers, she checked the feel in her fingertips.
No pain, and the creepy sensation of ants crawling under the skin had receded. She drew a second arrow, releasing it again.
This time, there were disappointed murmurs. The second arrow struck one ring higher, just above the first.
With unmatched concentration, Margit drew three arrows from her quiver in one motion. She crouched and shot to her left, then jumped diagonally and fired again, and finally somersaulted forward to release the third.
The rapid-fire trio silenced everyone.
More astonishingly, each arrow aligned vertically in a single line across each of the target’s rings.
As the cheers of praise slowly rose around her, Margit subtly examined her regenerating fingers. Fortunately, there was no tearing, and her once-labor-free hands retained their whiteness. Her practice involved techniques meant to avoid such injuries.
Incidentally, this movement was something she’d developed as a hunter, when left to fend alone. If her partner were here, they might have commented on her evasive shooting—but she usually stayed behind to protect Ehric, so these skills rarely came into play.
Spiderlings with superior quick-burst strength but still relatively small in stature face difficulties in melee combat—even slashing with a dagger is tricky. While clinging to a creature that doesn’t use hands might ensure victory, against humans, that wouldn’t always suffice.
Thus, being able to strike at close range while dodging attacks is an effective solution. Far from being a cowardly weapon, in skilled hands, a bow can become a spear, capable of piercing the border between white and black eyeballs.
After removing the arrows from the straw and repeating the drill, her fingers showed no tearing.
Still, doubt remained. In the heat of battle, one rarely has the perfect stance, often forcing awkward grips that strain the fingers.
The thought of splitting flesh and oozing blood remained daunting.
Pain would throw off her aim, and slippery blood would impede her grip. Though it might not immediately affect her movements, the potential was there—losing even a part of her robust physique was regrettable.
“I’ll probably struggle with climbing for a while.”
As she detached the string from the bow, a shadow fell on her hands. Someone was approaching.
She wasn’t surprised; she’d sensed someone coming. Looking up, she saw a young archer, still carrying a trace of innocence.
“Excuse me, I…this…”
Margit recognized him. During the battles, he had handled his crossbow awkwardly, so during the rare breaks, she had taught him how to use it. With the full mobilization of adult humans and humanoids among the refugees, there had been many unskilled soldiers like him.
The item he carried was a bracer. Made from deer skin, it was a protective glove used by archers, originally brought over from the East during the old fractured kingdoms period. It shielded an archer’s hand and helped stabilize the string. While Margit had her own, tailored to her size, they were worn out from the last two days of heavy use.
The fortress, naturally equipped to supply soldiers, carried bracers. Unfortunately, they were tailored for humans and human-like sizes. Given her size and youthful appearance, Margit didn’t fit the norm.
Thus, she had continued without one.
The bracer she received was amateurishly sewn but perfectly matched her child-like hands, having been deconstructed and resized.
Looking further, she noticed a few individuals hiding behind a wooden box, watching her. She recognized all of them—they had helped carry her quivers or received archery lessons. Many had likely survived thanks to her efforts.
“Thank you, it’s a good fit.”
“Good!”
The tension in his rigid face relaxed; the hidden spectators whispered their excitement.
The bracer, despite its crude craftsmanship compared to her favored one, felt strangely comfortable in her hands.
As she thanked them with a radiant smile, she internally breathed a sigh of relief.
Now she could fight optimally. Another source of anxiety had been removed. With this, she wouldn’t have to worry about cooling her reckless childhood friend’s back.
…
【Tips】
Double for the lord. Alongside food tasters, those who serve as doubles for their lords in daily life and on the battlefield are usually deeply loyal individuals, as their role requires them to draw enemy fire and potentially serve as decoys in dangerous situations. Survivors are often highly regarded and rewarded.
The fortress courtyard serves as a military facility with provisions for daily living and training equipment for various combat exercises like sword and archery practice.
【Tips】
Bracer. An accessory that became widely popular after being introduced by eastern traders during the era of small kingdoms, surpassing traditional archer gloves in convenience. It protects archers’ fingers and stabilizes the string, ensuring precision and protection for detailed work.