That’s why they were currently relying on the violent last resort of burning the fields; it was the only option left.
Honestly, she didn’t think burning the fields would work to address even the symptom. That was how far the syndicate had undermined the kingdom—it was too powerful, and it had reached its tentacles into the government.
“We’re merely buying time… If we can’t strike a target where we can turn the tables with one blow then this, too, will all be in vain…”
2
It was raining.
The sound was so intense it grated on the ears.
The kingdom’s roads weren’t built with drainage in mind, especially when it came to the backstreets. As a result, the alleys transformed into huge lakes.
The rain beating down on the surface of the water sent up little splashes. The wind whipped up the spray and filled the air with its scent. It felt as if the royal capital itself had sunk into a body of water.
In this world colored gray by whirling droplets, there was a boy.
He lived in a shack. No, it could not even be called a shack. The main beams holding it up were about as thin as an adult man’s arms. Instead of a solid roof, rags draped over the shelter to cover it, and the walls were no more than the ceiling cloths sloppily hanging down.
In this dwelling, which offered hardly any shelter from the elements outside, the boy of about six years of age lay on a thin cloth spread out on the floor, curled up like a casually tossed piece of garbage.
If one stopped to think about it—the wooden beams, the scraps that formed the ceiling and walls—it seemed like the kind of thing a child could build, even just for fun.
The only real benefit of this home was it kept the rain from falling directly on him. The endless deluge had drastically lowered the temperature and enveloped the boy in a shivery chill. His foggy exhalations provided but momentary evidence for his existence before they faded away as the air stole their warmth.
Prior to his sheltering here, the cold rain had drenched him, and his body heat was deserting him at a terrible pace.
He had no way to stop the shivering.
The single minuscule silver lining of this miserable situation was probably that the permeating chill felt good to his bruised and beaten body.
Still lying on his side, the boy looked out at the world, at the alley no one walked down anymore.
The only sounds he could hear were the rainfall and his own breathing. The scene gave him the impression there was no one else in the world. That was the extent of the calm.
Although he was young, he understood that he would likely die.
Not old enough to fully understand what death entailed, the boy wasn’t very afraid. That, and it didn’t seem that life was worth holding dear. The only reason he’d managed to hang on so far was a sentiment similar to the desire to avoid pain.
If death would come without pain, only cold—like how he felt at that very moment—then dying didn’t seem so bad.
He gradually lost feeling in his wet body, and his consciousness clouded.
It would have been better to move somewhere the wind and rain wouldn’t come in before the weather turned, but he’d run into some nasty men and received a beating, so getting back here had been all he could manage.
There was one tiny, happy thing. Did that mean everything else was sad?
The fact that he hadn’t eaten in two days was normal, so that wasn’t sad. His parents were absent, and no one else would care for him. This had been the case for a long time, so it wasn’t something to be upset about. That he was dressed in rags and smelled bad was only natural. Eating rotten food and drinking dirty water to fill his belly was all he’d ever known.
Following this train of thought, was it sad the abandoned house where he had been living had been stolen from him, the hut he’d worked hard to build had been trashed for someone’s amusement, and drunk men had beaten him, leaving injuries all over his body?
No.
The heartbreaking truth was that the boy couldn’t even understand what was sad or why.
But this was the end.
The sorrow he didn’t even understand would end here.
The grave called for the lucky and the unlucky alike.
Yes, death was absolute.
He closed his eyes.
Keeping them open was too much effort for a body that had ceased to feel even the cold.
He could hear his tiny, frail heartbeat in the darkness.
In a world where only that and the rain could be heard, another strange sound appeared. It was like something blocking the rain.
Despite his fading consciousness, he mustered the curiosity peculiar to children and urged his eyelids to move.
In the thin strip of his field of vision, he saw it.
The boy’s nearly closed eyes popped wide open.
Something beautiful.
For a moment, he couldn’t understand.
Perhaps like a jewel or like a nugget of gold were the right descriptors, but to someone who’d been abandoned, who’d lived eating half-rotten food, those words didn’t come to mind.
No.
He thought one thing.
Like the sun.
That was the most beautiful thing he knew, the most out of reach.
The world dyed gray by the rain. Dark rain clouds reigning in the sky. Was that why? Is the sun here with me because it went on a trip when no one could see it?
He wondered to himself.
It reached out its hand and caressed his face. And then—
The boy hadn’t been a person.
There had never been anyone who saw him as a person.
But that day, he became one.
3 Late Fire Moon (September) 4:15 AM
The Re-Estize Kingdom, at the royal capital…
At the innermost part of the city sat Ro-Lente Castle, which occupied an enormous space. The curtain wall around it, almost a mile long, was furnished with twelve giant cylindrical towers that formed the defense network.
The room was in one of those twelve towers.
In the not-so-large, unlit space, there was a single bed. Lying on it was a child whose age fell right at the vague border between “boy” and “young man.”
His blond hair was cropped short, and his skin glowed with a healthy tan.
Climb.
Though that was the only name he had claim to, he was a soldier attending the woman often titled “golden,” permitted closer to her than any other—a position many looked upon with envy.
He woke up early, rising before the sun.
By the time he noticed his consciousness returning from the deep, dark world of sleep, his mind was clear and his body was primed for the most part. One of the things he had pride in was how he could fall asleep and wake up with ease.
Climb’s almond-shaped eyes, with the whites visible below the iris, opened wide and revealed his iron will shining within.
Pushing back the rather heavy blanket covering his body (even in summer, nights surrounded by stone were chilly), he sat up.
He touched his face near his eyes. The fingers came away soaking wet. “…That dream again?” Climb wiped the tears off his face with his sleeves.
Maybe the heavy rain from two days ago had reminded him of his childhood.
They weren’t grieving tears.
How many people did one meet in life whom they could respect? Was everyone lucky enough to serve a person for whom they would give their life without hesitation?
That day, Climb had met a woman whom he firmly believed he could die for without a bit of regret.
What he had wiped away were tears of joy. He had cried out of gratitude for the miracle that began with that meeting.
With determination on his face, still appropriately childish for his age, Climb stood up.
In this dark world bereft of even a single light, Climb whispered in a voice hoarse from too much training. “Shine.”
In response to Climb’s ke
yword, a white light appeared in a lamp suspended from the ceiling, illuminating the room. It was a magic item imbued with Continual Light.
Although this type of item was commonly available, it was still expensive. The reason he had one wasn’t entirely due to his special position. It was unsafe to burn something, even for lighting, in a place like a stone tower where air did not circulate very well. For that reason, despite the significant initial cost, almost all the rooms were equipped with a magic light.
The floor and walls illuminated by the white light were hewn from rock. A thin rug provided as much protection as it could against the cold hardness of the floor. The other things in the room were a coarsely made wooden bed, a wardrobe that seemed large enough to hold armor, a desk with a drawer, and a wooden chair covered by a thin cushion.
Perhaps it seemed shabby to an outsider, but for someone of Climb’s rank, it was undeserved luxury.
Soldiers didn’t get private quarters, usually bedding down together in large rooms with shared bunks. The only other furnishing they were provided was a wooden lockbox to store personal belongings.
In addition, he also had white full plate armor enshrined in one corner of the room. Rank-and-file soldiers would never be supplied with such well-made gear so lustrous and unblemished it seemed to gleam from within.
This special treatment certainly wasn’t anything Climb had earned through his own actions. The gear was a token of affection from his master. It was no wonder people were jealous of him.
Opening the wardrobe, Climb removed some clothes and dressed himself using the mirror found inside.
After putting on a shirt that smelled metallic from frequent use, he donned a shirt of mail over it. Normally he’d put armor above the mail, but he didn’t do that now. Instead, he slipped on a vest lined with many pockets and a pair of pants to finish the outfit. In his hand, he carried a bucket with a towel in it.
Lastly, he checked the mirror to make sure nothing was strange and ensure nothing about his outfit was in disarray. Any failure on his part could be used to criticize his master, the Golden Princess Renner, so Climb took the utmost care. His purpose wasn’t to cause trouble for her. He was there to give his master everything he had.
He closed his eyes before the mirror and imagined her face.
The Golden Princess Renner Theiere Chardelon Ryle Vaiself…
She possessed such heavenly beauty she could easily be mistaken for a goddess. She radiated with a compassionate spirit befitting her noble blood and superior wisdom that gave birth to her government policies. She was a noble among nobles, a princess among princesses—the supreme woman.
Climb could not allow himself to put so much as a nick in the untarnished gem that sparkled like gold.
If their relationship were a ring, Renner would be a large brilliant-cut diamond, while Climb was nothing but the prongs surrounding her. Since his make was cheap, he lowered the item’s overall worth, but he couldn’t allow it to fall any further.
Climb was unable to stop the passion from building in his chest every time he thought of her. Even a devout believer in the gods could not surpass Climb’s current fervor.
He gazed at himself for a short time, nodded with the satisfaction that his appearance would not bring his master shame, and left the room.
3
3 Late Fire Moon (September) 4:35 AM
Climb headed for the large hall that occupied the tower’s entire first floor as a training area.
Usually it was filled with the body heat of soldiers, but of course, no one was there this early in the morning. The empty space was so quiet he could practically hear the silence. Because the room was enclosed in stone, Climb’s footsteps echoed loudly.
Quasi-permanent magic lights brightly illuminated the hall. Inside were standing suits of armor fastened to posts, as well as straw figures used as archery targets. Along the walls were shelves lined with a variety of dull-bladed weapons.
There was a reason a training area normally found outside had been built indoors. Valencia Palace was housed within the Ro-Lente Castle compound. If soldiers trained in the open, it was possible for visiting messengers to see them. As this was not very dignified, several facilities were built inside the towers.
It was also an option to show off the manly training soldiers as a diplomatic stratagem, but that wasn’t the kingdom’s style. The prevailing mindset was to present an elegant, gorgeous, and noble picture of the realm.
That said, there were some exercises that required being outside. These were performed stealthily in a corner of the grounds, on an athletic field beyond the walls, or removed from the capital entirely.
Climb entered the hushed room, penetrating the chilly air, and began leisurely stretching in a corner.
After a thorough thirty-minute stretch routine, Climb’s face was more than a little flushed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his exhaled breaths brimmed with excess heat.
He put a hand to his forehead and wiped off the perspiration before approaching the weapon shelf and choosing a fairly thick, large, dull iron practice sword. The hand around it was hardened from repeatedly forming and popping blisters. He tested out different swords until he found one that fit his grip perfectly.
Next, he placed lumps of metal in his pockets, buttoning them to make sure the contents wouldn’t fall out. With several pieces inside, the vest had taken on the same weight as a full suit of armor. In exchange for being sturdy, ordinary full plate armor was heavy, and the limited range of movement was also a disadvantage. If one wanted to practice under conditions similar to actual combat, training in armor was ideal. But taking out a full suit of armor just to practice wasn’t something Climb did very often. Besides, he couldn’t wear the white mail he’d been given for training. That’s why he resorted to this substitute instead.
Climb tightly gripped the iron weapon larger than a great sword. He raised it over his head and lowered it slowly as he exhaled. As its tip was about to touch the floor, he brought it up again, inhaling. Gradually increasing the speed of his practice swings, he concentrated intently, staring into space with a penetrating gaze.
He did over three hundred repetitions.
Climb was bright red, and sweat dripped down his face. The heat building up in his body dramatically raised his breath’s temperature.
Climb was a fairly well-built soldier, but the weight of the oversize great sword was still extreme. It was especially difficult slowing the sword so the tip didn’t touch the ground—the amount of strength needed for this was not insignificant.
After five hundred repetitions, both his arms began cramping, as though screaming out to him. A waterfall cascaded down his face.
Climb was aware that this was his limit. Still, he didn’t seem interested in stopping.
But—
“That’s enough, don’t you think?” someone else called out to him.
Climb was flustered as he turned to look in the direction of the voice, and he immediately noticed a man.
There was no word more fitting for him than robust. He was like steel incarnate. Because his craggy face was frowning, the ensuing mass of wrinkles made him appear older than his actual age. His bulging muscles showed he was no ordinary man.
There probably wasn’t a single soldier in the kingdom who didn’t know this figure.
“—Captain Stronoff.”
Captain of the Royal Select Gazef Stronoff. He was the strongest warrior in the country, and it was said he had no equals in neighboring realms, either.
“Any more than that is too much. No point in killing yourself.”
Climb lowered his sword and watched his spasming arms. “You’re right. I might have pushed myself a bit too hard.”
Climb expressionlessly thanked Gazef as the older man shrugged. “If you really think so, then it’d be great if you wouldn’t make me say the same thing all the time. I wonder how many times it’s been…”
“I’m sorry.”
Gazef shrugged once more at
the boy’s head bowed in apology.
The pair had exchanged these lines many times, almost like a greeting. Usually this was where it ended, and they would each become absorbed in their own training, but today was different.
“How about it, Climb? Want to try sparring?”
Climb’s expressionless mask began to crack for a moment.
Up until now, these two had met in this place before, but they never sparred. It was an unwritten law. There were no benefits to training together. No, there were benefits, but there were too many drawbacks.
At present in the kingdom, the nobles’ faction—comprising three of the six great noble families—and the king’s faction were in a struggle for power. The country’s straits were so dire that some believed the only thing holding everything together was the yearly war with the empire.
There was no way the king’s right-hand man, Captain of the Royal Select Gazef Stronoff, could possibly lose. But supposing he did, the nobles’ faction opposing them would use it as ammunition to attack the king under the present circumstances.
Likewise, if Climb lost, the nobles would probably take it as a chance to claim he couldn’t be trusted to protect the princess. The fact that a common soldier of dubious pedigree had been appointed to guard the peerlessly beautiful and unwed princess rubbed many nobles the wrong way.
And so, their respective positions would not forgive a loss.
It was out of the question to show any weakness, expose a vital point, or allow openings that could be attacked. They both acted with the utmost prudence to avoid causing any trouble for their masters, a priority they shared due to their origins as commoners.
What reason could Gazef have for breaking this rule?
Climb looked around.
It couldn’t be simply that there wasn’t anyone else there. The walls had eyes in this place. The chances were high that someone was observing from afar or watching in the shadows. But he couldn’t think of any other explanations.
Unsure if it was a good reason or a bad one, Climb was confused and shaken, though he didn’t let it show on his face.
The Men of the Kingdom Part I Page 3