by Y. R. Shin
Paseid finally looked up to find Jacalrin dripping bloody water everywhere. He walked over, suppressing a sigh. He put a string between the pages of the book and put the book down on the table. Then he threw a training towel at Jacalrin.
“Do you not know swords and armor will rust if you do not take care of them?”
Jacalrin took the towel and dabbed it on his armor.
Paseid pressed on his forehead at the sight, then gazed at Jacalrin with his fatigued eyes. Jacalrin slowly put down the bloodied towel.
“We had some conflict with the enemy scouts wandering about the Ishas region, sir. I didn’t send a messenger to report because it really wasn’t a battle.”
“What is this pressing matter?”
“Oh, the—that woman, Reuyen. What’s she doing now?”
Paseid’s face scrunched into a frown.
“What are you going to do with her?” asked Jacalrin.
“I will soon report to His Majesty following the proper procedure and reward her.”
“You’re going to send her out of the army, right?”
Sensing a certain anxiety on Jacalrin’s face that was quite unusual, Paseid quietly said,
“I would need to hear what this is about first.”
Jacalrin’s eyes suddenly landed on Paseid’s snow-white sword, Rionac, leaning against the table. He made a complicated face that Paseid could not make out the meaning of, then searched for something in his clothes.
A dagger tightly wrapped in fine red satin was neatly placed on the table. Paseid moved only his eyes to look down at the arm-length dagger Jacalrin unwrapped. The blue hilt and the design engraved on the scabbard stood out.
“It’s a dagger one of the Morganaan knights rammed into the ground near our camp, sir.”
Jacalrin waited for Paseid’s response with a mixed expression of anxiety and excitement. Paseid took the sword Jacalrin presented and held it in his hand.
His eyes flashed at the familiar intaglio he could feel with his fingertips. Disconcerted, Jacalrin pushed the soft, tightly weaved satin toward Paseid.
It was a message from Morgana.
A gift to my great sister, the conqueror of Olzore.
The conqueror of Olzore.
For no reason in particular, he thought of a woman.
“Just leave us.”
The frightened soldier who had just received Paseid’s fierce energy in its entirety was quite unfortunate. It was a sharp retort to an obligatory report. But no one could speak for the soldier.
Evinbur crossed his arms and looked down as he sat across from Paseid. It was an emergency. Tabajen and Denjak had also been ordered to drop whatever they were doing.
“So just what is this, sir?”
The knights had heard about the blue dagger and the message from Morgana written on the satin wrapping the dagger. They were all dumbfounded. Among them was someone who became extremely tense and argued that they should eradicate the root of all suspicions.
What was this dagger? There was no answer, but no one asked for it again. In truth, they knew as well that there was no one who could give a proper answer.
Sensing something, Evinbur subtly started the conversation. “Do you deem this is related to the woman, sir?”
“It sure is suspicious.”
“Sir Chesa, has she not said anything to you, either?”
“Nothing. But isn’t it possible that the dagger is unrelated to Reuyen?”
“There are more than just a few suspicious things about her to conclude that it’s unrelated. The more we investigate, the more suspicious she becomes.”
The soldier they ordered to investigate looked into every little detail about the town she lived in and all of her movements and reported back. But alas, they found nothing they didn’t already know about, such as her being born the second child of three of a war horse dealer in a town near the border, her older brother dying in combat, and the youngest in the family being here. All things she had said herself. The only new piece of information they learned from a resident of her town was that she’d lived there twenty-two years with the nickname genius.
The woman had grown up in a small town where the only ones who knew how to swordfight were volunteer guards. She was without a proper master, but apparently there was not a single weapon, whether it be bow or sword or whatever else, she could not wield.
A woman who had a far vaster knowledge than any other person of her age. A woman who had never lost a single fight with the local young men. A genius.
But that couldn’t justify all the actions she had displayed. The obsession and the unhesitant attitude, and the confidence she had shown that allowed her to be certain about something no one else knew about. And the presence of this dagger was added to the list now.
“I do not understand what this is all about,” said Paseid, shaking his head. “What did the enemy mean when they…?”
His eyes sank coldly.
Had they slandered Rarke, that took Olzore, by claiming it was like a female? No, no. If so, they would have been so polite. Incidentally, it was hard to think that the message from Morgana was intended to mock them. If it were, the Morganaans would have realized very soon that their intentions had failed.
Did he have to question the woman himself to make her talk, even though she had no Morganaan connections? But Paseid stopped that thought. Though they hadn’t explicitly announced it, due to the gag order, the biggest contributor to the taking of Olzore was that woman.
It was enough to be criticized for not treating the biggest contributor, who’d risked her life for the deed that would be talked about for generations to come, with utmost respect. Torture and questioning were unimaginable.
“But are you, Sir Calandok, not the taker of Olzore?” asked Denjak.
He did not want to hear it. “That’s no question. What is the reason you are even bothering to bring this up?”
“It’s written right here, ‘the conqueror of Olzore.’ I was not there in the valley at the time, but I am not unaware of what happened. But all the decisions and orders were made by our commander-in-chief, so it rightfully is your achievement, sir. If this dagger was gifted to you…”
“Enough.” Paseid cut him off.
Denjak lowered his gaze to hide his embarrassment. The atmosphere grew colder and colder.
Evinbur, who had remained silent, slowly opened his eyes. He could guess what Paseid was thinking, as he did not greatly rejoice at the victory over Olzore. Thousands of soldiers had all gathered to praise him as the great and wise commander-in-chief who made the decision that destroyed Olzore, but they were all hollow words to Paseid. Pursuing military contributions could be a great motivation out on the battlefield, but they were nothing to be proud of. Paseid was someone who was in charge of the battlefield with that already in mind.
As someone who was more conscious of the unidentifiable woman like a splinter than anyone, Paseid had to be extremely uncomfortable with the fact that she was the reason he’d overturned the whole operation. He was that kind of a man. And now, that decision was suspected as being in relation to Morgana. This was no longer an honor, but a disgrace.
Evinbur opened his heavy lips. “Sir Calandok.”
Paseid raised his eyes taciturnly. Evinbur paused for a moment and chose his words. Those eyes conveyed a certain conviction as unbending as Paseid’s nature. Then Evinbur changed the atmosphere by chuckling.
“Whatever happened, your decision led to the present victory and saved countless lives, sir, and there is no shame in being proud of that.”
“No more of that, sir. Back to the present matter.”
Jacalrin studied each knight, rolling around his light-green eyes like he couldn’t handle the awkward atmosphere anymore, and massaged on his temples. “By the way. The thing engraved on the dagger. I keep thinking…the…doesn’t it look the same? Er…am I the only who thinks that?”
Everyone’s eyes turned to one spot at Jacalrin’s mumbling.
&nbs
p; Rionac. They blankly stared at the white scabbard as if they were suddenly knocked out, then looked back at the blue scabbard.
Paseid grabbed the hilt of the sword. Finally, the knights snapped back to their senses and lowered their heads, like they had just committed some great crime. The heirloom had been passed on from generation to generation in House Brionake. The intaglio of a butterfly was inscribed on Rionac’s white scabbard, and the design of a butterfly with its wings spread out was engraved on the royal blue dagger. It was an unconscious comparison, between the great heirloom of the Noble House Brionake and some dagger from Morgana of which they did not know the origins.
An uneasy hunch hit them.
“Who was the commander of Morgana’s front? Was it Count Servantes?”
“I received a report last time that the head of the eastern region, Margrave Zars, is in charge of it, sir. In the latest report, they said that Count Servantes from the middle region might be appointed, but it seems as though he has been eliminated.”
Paseid glared at the dagger laid on the table, then reluctantly gave his order. Further discussion was unnecessary.
“Bring me Reuyen Detua.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was the end of the rainy season.
The Morganaan camp was truly engulfed in a turmoil of horrendous rage. Marche Carl Rovantis, the man appointed as the commander-in-chief of Morgana, could not draw a faint smile at the news that the reinforcements were at an arm’s distance now. He couldn’t even swallow a sip of water down his throat. Needless to say, his sleep was dreadful. Had he had two lives, he would have given one up already.
There had been no tragedy like this before. About a thousand of his soldiers had already died or were missing, and more than twice of that were injured. If it hadn’t been for the timely beginning of the rainy season and hence a short armistice, he couldn’t imagine how much worse the situation would have been by now.
All of these consequences became a responsibility weighing down on his shoulders. He had had a bad hunch from the silence of the Olzorean army that had promised a joint attack at the last battle, but that was days after a skirmish commenced on Rarkian territory across the cliffs. At first, he’d thought there was a misunderstanding about the timing between them and Olzore when they previously discussed the operation. But the news he’d heard when he was about to order a retreat to reorganize his soldiers was absolutely unexpected.
Olzore had fallen.
Bullshit. It had seemed like a foolish, ridiculous rumor even a three-year-old child would scoff at. But he had still dispatched a group of soldiers, for he couldn’t just ignore a report he had already received. The report was enough to put the Morganaan army in complete mayhem.
They didn’t even know how it had collapsed. They had simply heard the report that the collapse seemed to have started from the bottom section of the valley.
The reality that the entire valley had collapsed, taking with it their historic pride, had been so infuriating that he’d thought he might pass out. The news had reached the imperial palace like a swift-footed horse and enraged the emperor. The whole empire of Morgana was grief stricken.
The original plan to wear the enemy out with wars of attrition and skirmishes had gone to waste. With the Rarkian army taking even the large campsite for the Morganaan army and the Morganaan army fleeing to the southern part of Plain Ishas, he had to think of some way to turn this back around. His parched throat felt sandy. He gave a fierce cry.
“What are the enemy’s movements now? Bring Margrave Zars to me as soon as his reinforcements arrive…”
The voice drenched in desperation trailed off before he could finish his sentence. There was a sudden commotion outside his tent as busy footsteps and voices of a couple knights overlapped. Marche grew extremely on edge. It was hard to forgive those daring to ruffle his feathers when he was already so tense. But before he could order his aide-de-camp to see what was going on, the drape swung open without a warning.
“What—how dare you…?”
Marche frowned at the group of armed knights who barged in. He fixed his eyes on the knight standing in the front.
To his surprise, the knight was a woman. Even the ponderousness of the blue armor dripping water on the floor could not hide her slender figure.
Her cold turquoise eyes, revealed between the raindrops dripping down from the helmet covering her forehead, looked straight at him. Marche’s eyes carefully scanned the woman from head to toe, then stopped at the design engraved on her pauldron. He scrunched up his face.
“Hello, Marquis Rovantis. I am Eila Sinis, the Grand Master of the Order of Mariposa.”
“I did not hear that the Order of Mariposa had dispatched reinforcements. Have they arrived yet? Count Zars—”
She cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
“Count Zars is not coming.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Count Zars has returned.”
“Then who led the reinforcements here…”
Instead of a proper answer, Eila coldly but respectfully nodded, then put down a letter from the imperial family in front of him, almost like she meant to throw it.
“What impudence is this?” he sputtered.
“Please rise, sir. My lord has ordered to finish all preparations before he arrives here. From this moment on, all the corps of the main force and the reinforcements of Morgana come under the jurisdiction of the Order of Mariposa as a temporary measure, as ordered by His Imperial Majesty. Thank you for your service, sir.”
Eila’s words were simple and clear. So much so that the aide-de-camp watching them winced and moaned.
But Marche had to put all his efforts into figuring out just what was going on. The object his eyes was fixed on was most definitely a letter with the almighty imperial family’s seal. A foreboding grasped at his wrist, but he suppressed his reluctance the best he could and opened the letter. His eyes moved from side to side a couple times, then froze. The script from the emperor clearly stated his eviction.
His rough, thick fingers started to tremble like leaves. His voice that had been full of ferocious energy until just now trembled like his fingers.
“Balroid…is he dispatched too? Where is he right now?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Please rise.”
“How insolently arrogant you are, you mere wench of a knight! I have no business with you. Where is he? Is he standing by outside? Mariposaaaa!” Marche sprang up like he would run out any second.
Unflustered, Eila replied, “My lord has gone directly to the border to take care of other business.”
“I will hear from his own mouth why his subordinates are barging in and committing such insolence!”
Eila’s eyes cooled as Marche fiercely shouted at the top of his lungs. She glanced at him with indifferent eyes, then ordered the knights standing behind her.
“Prepare to greet the lord.”
The men in blue armor behind her briskly moved at Eila’s order and violently ripped off the Rovantis banner covering one side of the tent. Then one of them took out a large, neatly folded blue fabric from his armor, laid it out, and hung it on the wall. Marche tightly closed his eyes at the clear blue hue engulfing the tent, then opened them again.
The Rovantis banner of a lion holding a rose in his mouth dropped down like a piece of trash, and the bewildering sight of a blue butterfly spreading out its graceful wings hung in its place.
The flag of a wolf hung heavy with water atop the headquarters tent in the center of the Rarkian camp.
In the headquarters tent, on the map laid out for the discussion of strategy, a strange object wrapped in shiny red fabric was placed down.
“What do you know of this?”
An angry voice resounded. The knights standing on either side of the round table held their breaths and waited for the woman’s answer.
Reuyen just blinked at the unexpected situation. They’d told her to stay low, so she�
��d stayed low. They’d said they would even consider an honorary dispatch, depending on his majesty’s reply, so she’d waited for that. And now, they had suddenly called her here, sat her down, and pressured her with such a fierce atmosphere.
“Speak.”
Reuyen frowned at the abrupt, accusatory questions, then reluctantly unwrapped the satin. A blue dagger, cold to the touch, rolled out. Her eyes slid along the dagger.
A butterfly, so clearly embroidered it looked like taxidermy, lay on the satin as soft as silk. And another intaglio of a butterfly on the blue scabbard seemed almost obsessive now.
Her movements stopped at once.
“We should question her this instant instead of dilly-dallying. Make her start talking.”
Jacalrin stepped in at the protest from Denjak, who was standing on Reuyen’s right side. “Isn’t that a bit rash when nothing is certain yet, Sir Deusak?”
“Sir Chesa, you should learn when to step in or not,” Evinbur fiercely reproached. “There is a war going on, so we must follow the wartime laws. I believe we have already tolerated enough of Miss Detua’s silence. We must not let this simply pass by this time.”
Reuyen pushed all their trifling voices out of her ears. Only Jacalrin pounded his chest in frustration, clearly showing that he had had enough of her silence.
Oh, come on!
Reuyen’s eyes were still fixed on the blue dagger. She did not know the butterfly spreading out its wings. Although, it looked quite similar to something she had seen often. The man questioning her was probably aware of that too. This butterfly and the one engraved on his white sword were, even with the consideration of the miniscule differences, extremely similar.
Then, a soldier rushed into the headquarters tent. “A—an urgent report, sir!”
Jacalrin stopped pounding his breastplate and spat back at him with pent-up frustration.
“Did the order not to let anyone in go in one of your ears and out the other? Hmm?”
“A man who claims he is the commander-in-chief of Morgana just ca—came himself, sir! He said he had a business with the taker of Olzore…”