Chapter 28

Translator: Willia

The rain had stopped. The ground was muddy, making it poor terrain for riding at speed.

Still, there was a paved road beyond the north gate, so it seemed like it would be fine.

Valery loaded Snow with provisions and fodder, a waterskin, supplies for making a fire, spare clothes, a cloak, and other necessities.

For equipment, he wore chainmail over the gambeson Madam Sybil had made for him, with a surcoat over that, along with leather fighting gloves and boots. His helmet was fastened to the saddle. He was fully armed.

He fastened the cloak clasp that marked him as a Provincial Marshal near his right shoulder and wore his sword at his left hip. His right arm remained exposed, while the cloak concealed his sword.

Besides the sword, he packed an ever-useful dagger and a Hand Axe, then paused for a moment to wonder if he had forgotten anything.

But war and travel were alike in that respect, and life was much the same. No matter how perfectly one prepared, there would always be something left wanting.

What a man needed when something was lacking was the conviction that he could find his way through any trouble that arose, so Valery packed that last.

“I’ll be back.”

“May fortune go with you.”

After reporting to Tankred and bidding him farewell one last time, Valery left the citadel of Torvik.

The ground was so muddy that he did not mount Snow on his way out of the city, instead walking while holding the reins.

His feet sank all the way to the ankles with every step. Perhaps because of that, the city gate felt unusually far away.

Near the gate, the ground finally became dry. Both man and horse breathed easier.

Valery and the gate guards knew one another by sight by now, so they merely exchanged casual gestures of greeting as he passed.

Beyond the gate, an ancient paved road, still solid despite its age, stretched straight toward the west.

Unlike the damp, muddy streets inside the city, the sunlight after the rain and the dew clinging to the grass felt fresh and bright.

Only then did Valery mount Snow. Partly to let Snow work off the frustration of having been cooped up, he set off at a brisk gallop.

Clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter.

Most people traveling to and from Torvik went north or south by boat along the river, so few traveled by the eastern overland route.

Thus, after leaving Torvik that morning, Valery went almost the entire day without seeing another person. It was not until late afternoon, when he reached the outpost village of Belfort, that he finally saw anyone.

Green barley stretched out beside the paved road. The ears had already formed, and all that remained was for them to ripen golden. It looked as though the harvest would come in another month or two.

The reddish-gold sunlight just before sunset settled gently over the barley fields.

And a fragrance that could never be savored in the city delighted Valery’s nose. The distinctive rich yet fresh grassy scent of green barley filled the wind.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop......

Valery rode at a slow walk, savoring the fragrance. Before long, an uphill road appeared ahead, along with a wooden palisade and gate barring the way. It was Belfort.

The sun had yet to set, so the gate stood open, but there were no guards in sight. As Valery approached, someone came rushing out from inside.

“Who......!”

The man had been about to ask who he was, but fell silent upon seeing Valery’s cloak clasp. He had recognized it as the insignia of a Provincial Marshal. Provincial Marshals invariably passed through Belfort first.

“Can you provide somewhere for my horse to rest, along with lodging and food?”

Valery asked. Judging by appearances, there was a fair difference in age between the two, but their stations were unequal, so Valery naturally addressed the man as an inferior.

“......P-please, come in.”

Though flustered, the man also seemed somehow less than pleased. Was it because Valery looked so young? He could not tell.

“Hey! The Provincial Marshal is here!”

The man shouted as he went through the gate ahead of him.

Beyond the gate was something too small to be called a village yet too large to be merely an outpost, almost like a small fortress.

There were houses, a smithy, stables, and other buildings. It was small, but seemed to have everything it needed.

Following the road straight through would lead to a gate on the opposite side, while a sheer rock face towered immediately beside it.

A winding uphill path led to the top of the rocky rise, which flattened out again, and another wooden outpost building stood there.

The defenses were arranged in two tiers, and the fortifications were sound enough that no ordinary band of brigands would have dared attack.

The reason this place was called an outpost “village” was that the soldiers made families here and settled permanently. Their sons, in turn, inherited their fathers’ profession and lived as soldiers themselves.

When Valery entered the village, everyone who was just finishing their day’s work turned to stare. Valery swept his gaze across them from horseback and saw plenty of bows, Crossbows, and spears.

“Wow! A horse! A horse!”

“Hey! That’s dangerous!”

“Wow, look at his face. He’s a Prince, a Prince.”

“He’s a Provincial Marshal, right? Isn’t he way too young?”

Valery could not tell whether they were deliberately speaking loudly enough for him to hear, or whether they were simply talking among themselves and happened to be perfectly audible.

Valery dismounted. Someone naturally approached and took the reins from him.

“Feed him the fodder I brought first, then replenish it. Mostly dried bean stalks. Give him carrots first and brush him thoroughly. He’ll behave well if you do.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

As Valery stood there, the people continued staring openly. It was almost as though they were gawking at some different species. 'Have they never seen a Provincial Marshal before? What’s with them?'

“Where is the Outpost Commander?”

Valery asked. He wanted to get inside somewhere as quickly as possible. He was accustomed to being stared at, but having people openly gawk at him from such close range was rather uncomfortable.

“The Outpost Commander has gone some distance away. We’ll summon him at once, so I’ll see to you until then. This way, please.”

The man Valery had first met spoke.

Valery followed him up the slope, and several other men followed behind them.

As they came along, they called out various instructions to the people around them.

“Honey, make sure you check that water barrel. The wood was rotting.”

“Have the girls slaughter a few old hens and bring them over with some liquor. Hunt, take the boys and tidy up the area. Don’t forget to unstring the bows. Make sure everything’s properly maintained.”

From the way they spoke, the entire village seemed like one enormous family. A family with a clear hierarchy, with the Outpost Commander at its head.

From small children to the elderly, everyone had their own duties, and even when they did not, they helped one another without worrying about whose job was whose.

When they reached the top of the rocky rise, Valery saw a watchtower, a house, and buildings that looked like warehouses. The watchtower stood directly beside the large house, as though someone had tried to imitate a castle.

Valery was guided into the large house.

There were no separate rooms inside. The space had merely been divided with canvas curtains. He could see a fireplace, a dining table, and various household implements and weapons.

A woman who appeared to be the Outpost Commander’s wife was hurriedly clearing the table.

When she saw Valery, she wiped her hands on her apron and spoke.

“Uh, um, well, shall I bring you some porridge first?”

“No, madam. Let’s eat together when the Outpost Commander arrives.”

“Ah...... yes. All right.”

The men who had followed him inside did not stand around awkwardly, but neither did they say anything. They seemed to be communicating with one another through glances, though Valery sensed no ill intent from them.

“I’d like to have a look from the watchtower.”

Valery said. Since he had come here as a Provincial Marshal, he ought to inspect what there was to inspect.

The men showed no reluctance.

“This way, please.”

One of them guided him. When the man pulled aside a canvas curtain, a bed was revealed. A handful of little children sat there with their eyes wide, looking slightly frightened.

Then they saw Valery’s handsome face, and their eyes grew even wider.

“Wow!”

There was a side door in the space with the bed. Ignoring the children, Valery went through it and found himself directly beside the watchtower.

Valery climbed the ladder. A man was already standing watch atop the tower. He had been the first to spot Valery approaching on horseback and had passed word of his arrival, so he was not startled to see him.

The view from the watchtower was truly spectacular, open in every direction. He could see for an immense distance, and the approximate scale of the barley fields became clear.

To the north of the barley fields stretched a vast sea of trees, so broad that he could not see where it ended. Along the northern edge of the barley fields, a group of people was making its way toward them.

“Is that man the Outpost Commander?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“How many shifts do you work?”

“Three shifts during the day and four at night, My Lord.”

“Any difficulties while you’re on duty?”

“No, My Lord.”

“Are you eating well? You’re not short on food?”

“We eat well, and we are not short on anything, My Lord.”

“What is it usually like? Any danger or trouble of that sort?”

“......I’m not sure, My Lord.”

He was not sure? That was hardly a satisfactory answer. There was apparently something the man was reluctant to answer himself. Valery did not press him.

Valery asked several more routine questions, then came down from the watchtower when the Outpost Commander seemed to be drawing near.

He returned to the large house and sat waiting at the table. Several of the men remained, while others went outside. Soon afterward, the Outpost Commander entered.

He appeared middle-aged. When he came inside and removed his helmet, his short hair was plastered down with sweat, apparently from having worn it for so long.

“Are you the Provincial Marshal?”

The Outpost Commander asked while examining Valery with a slightly bewildered expression.

“I am. I’m the Provincial Marshal. My name is Wid.”

“I’m Edric. It is an honor to meet you.”

Even as he answered, the Outpost Commander named Edric continued looking Valery over.

Judging by his face and attire, Valery looked every inch a member of the nobility, yet Edric seemed somewhat disappointed, as though something did not match what he had expected.

And his name was Wid? Whether among Nordics or Astrians, that did not sound like a name belonging to the nobility.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting. The barley is ripening around this time, so we’ve been paying closer attention to the watch.”

“No need. I understand.”

“What are you lot doing? Isn’t the meal ready yet?”

“We told them to slaughter a few chickens, Outpost Commander.”

“Tell them to hurry. Why are the kids so slow these days? You must’ve seen him coming from a long way off. You should’ve started preparing then.”

“My apologies.”

The Outpost Commander turned and scolded the men who had guided Valery. Valery could not tell whether he was putting on a show for Valery’s benefit or genuinely reprimanding them.

“I’ll wash and be right back, Provincial Marshal. Honey, at least bring him some porridge first. He must be hungry after such a long road.”

“Huh? Ah, yes.”

'I said I didn’t want porridge.' Valery gave the woman a reassuring nod to let her know it was fine.

In any case, Valery’s mere presence seemed to have thrown the entire outpost village of Belfort into an uproar. Valery decided he should make himself as unobtrusive as possible.

After some time, Outpost Commander Edric returned, washed and dressed in fresh clothes. Several of the men who had guided Valery were with him as well, apparently close aides of his.

Girls who looked about thirteen or fourteen brought in cooked chicken dishes. Those were the main course, along with various roasted vegetables, other foods, and liquor. There was even expensive honey. It was quite a feast.

“This is Ale brewed from Belfort barley. It’s famous for its flavor.”

Edric filled a wooden cup with Ale and handed it over. Valery drank without refusing, but it truly tasted awful.

He was not much of a drinker in the first place, and when he did drink, it was usually wine, so Ale and beer simply did not seem to suit his palate.

On top of that, Belfort Ale was lukewarm and had such a strong sour smell that it almost reeked of piss.

Still, Valery was not so ill-mannered that he would grimace at something his host had served him.

“The taste is superb.”

“Is it? We have plenty, so drink as much as you like.”

Edric said as he filled Valery’s cup to the brim once more. 'Damn it.'

“There’s no need to trouble yourself over the likes of us, but how has His Excellency been lately?”

Edric asked once they had eaten for a while and the drink had begun to take effect.

“Now that the Ball-Ripper has been dealt with, His Excellency has been in a somewhat better mood lately. But there’s no knowing what the future will bring, so I don’t think there’s much point in trying to cater to his mood.”

“I heard about that. The Salt Prince, was it? They say he’s remarkably skilled with a sword despite his age. To think he faced the Ball-Ripper, a man practically the size of a giant, in a duel and took his head. I suppose some people really are born exceptional.”

“......Well, I suppose that’s just how such things are.”

Valery could hardly boast about himself with his own mouth, so he gave a vague answer and let the subject pass.

Still, if they could not make the connection even with the subject of the rumors sitting right in front of them, they did not seem particularly quick-witted. Or perhaps the possibility simply had never occurred to them.

“By the way, it seems the Provincial Marshals come around less and less often these days. I know the river flowing northeast is important, but around the time the barley starts ripening, those Black Teeth bastards start prowling around here. In the old days, they wouldn’t have dared show their faces. But those bastards know it too. They know the Provincial Marshals don’t come as often as they used to.”

With liquor in him, Edric began airing the grievances that had been building up inside him.

For Torvik, trade by water was practically its lifeline. Torvik stood where a river originating in the south split into two branches. The branch flowing northwest led toward Grinnen, while the one flowing northeast continued all the way to the sea.

Naturally, they had little choice but to focus their attention on managing the northeastern river. It was far more important, and far more dangerous. The comparatively safe east was easy to neglect.

That did not mean the east was unimportant, though.

“What are the Black Teeth?”

“Wildlings who tattoo not just their faces and bodies, but even their teeth. And don’t those bastards breed. There are more of them by the day, which is why I have to go out myself and guard the barley day after day. They even kidnapped several of our youngsters recently. So, what I was wondering is, perhaps......”

“Go on.”

“Could you deal with the bastards for us?”

These people clearly needed someone who could fight on horseback. Trying to protect the fields with Infantry would amount to little more than getting into close-quarters scuffles. If that resulted in casualties, it would be a serious problem.

Naturally, defending the outpost itself was no issue. The problem was that protecting the barley required going out and taking action.

That was probably why Edric had spoken as if asking for more Provincial Marshals to be sent their way, and the watchman’s evasive answer earlier had likely been because of their troubles with the Wildlings.

Edric and the others eating with him all looked at Valery. His youth made them seem doubtful of him, yet at the same time there was a trace of quiet expectation in their eyes.

Valery remembered what Tankred had told him.

‘If Marcher Knights or villagers start complaining to you about one hardship after another, just let it go in one ear and out the other. There’s nothing you can do for them.’

In truth, Provincial Marshals were not usually inclined to handle matters like this. They almost never did. Unless an outpost was actually burning or the barley crop was being completely ruined, they did not intervene.

Even if they did, it was treated as though they had merely done what was expected of them, and the deed often earned no official recognition. As a result, they had little reason to take unnecessary risks.

With bad luck, they could lose their lives. Even if they did not die, getting injured themselves or having their horse hurt would be immensely aggravating.

Valery could not help but consider the matter, but in the end, this was the sort of thing that had to be judged on the spot.

“I can’t remain here long. I’ll stay for three days. If they appear while I’m here, I’ll see what I can do about them.”

At that, Edric and the others looked half relieved and half as doubtful as ever.

And whether it was good luck or bad, the Wildlings appeared the very next day.