Rimas, having entrusted his wagon to fief-run ostler, set out with the High Rector to find lunch.
Even on the way to the inn, slaves were everywhere—repairing roads, sweeping the streets, and clearing refuse.
The maintenance of sewers and the cleaning of waste from the roads all fell to them.
Rimas recalled what Medipl had once said: without the public labor of slaves, every city and town in the Empire would cease to function.
They cleared the dung left behind by horses, oxen, donkeys, and mules, keeping the streets clean.
They dredged and cleaned the ditches where household wastewater collected, and more often than not, they were the ones who emptied the latrines as well.
Not only cities but even moderately sized villages could not be sustained without slave labor.
After ordering food and finishing their meal at the inn, they stepped outside to find a crowd gathered in the wide open space before it.
The area in front of the inn functioned as a kind of plaza.
It was usually empty, but during town events it came into use.
On market days, it turned into a bustling marketplace; at other times, the lord would gather the townspeople there to make important announcements.
Festivals and various other events were also held there, and today seemed no different.
Noticing Rimas’s curiosity, the High Rector suggested they take a look.
Since they were meant to meet Ledgetak at the inn anyway, it posed no problem.
Pushing through the crowd, they soon discovered what was happening.
A match of Chief Ball was underway.
People had gathered around a makeshift field, cheering for their respective sides.
Chief Ball was an eleven-player sport played with two balls, and it was the most popular game throughout the Empire.
This, however, was not an official match but a simplified children’s game.
Each side had only seven players, they used a single ball, and the field had been roughly marked out with lines, making it smaller than a proper pitch.
In a formal match, the Chief stood atop a truncated conical platform—an unrailed circular surface one meter in diameter, raised 2.2 meters high.
For safety, the player would be secured with a rope to prevent injury from falling.
Here, however, a boy about Rimas’s age stood atop a box no higher than an adult’s knee.
Rimas had occasionally watched others play but had never tried it himself.
Even so, he found it fascinating to watch.
As he stood absorbed in the game, someone tapped his shoulder.
Turning around, he saw Ledgetak.
“Seems you’re enjoying the show.”
As he spoke, Ledgetak gave a casual two-finger salute toward the High Rector.
The High Rector returned it with a nod.
“It’s been a while.”
“Yes, High Rector.
You’re as well as ever, I see.”
“An old man like me sees corpses every day.
Each day just brings me closer to becoming one myself—that’s about it.”
“You know clerics and mages tend to outlive warriors.”
“Hah.
Even so, I’m already sixty-one.
If I end up outliving you, that wouldn’t sit right with me.”
“Then we’ll just have to grow old together.”
“Is that so?”
“By the way, where are you headed now?”
“For the moment, I plan to go to Atal Polis.
I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we encountered a Death Knight on the way.”
Ledgetak’s expression hardened.
“Let’s move somewhere else.”
The two men led Rimas to a quieter spot along a wall, away from the crowd.
There, they spoke of the encounter.
The mere mention of a Death Knight could spread rumors and darken the mood of an entire settlement, so it was not something to discuss openly.
When the explanation was finished, Ledgetak asked,
“I see.
So you intend to go to a grand fief and notify the various branches of your order.
Since this is not an official duty, won’t it cost you?”
“It will.
But I have no intention of using the Albārum Link.
Sending letters to each branch should suffice.”
“Even without the Link, that will cost around a thousand coins.
I will contribute as well.”
“I’ll pay.”
Rimas interjected.
“You’re doing this to find my father’s killer.
Of course I should pay.
I have money.”
Ledgetak considered briefly before nodding.
“That may be best.
This is a favor from the High Rector.
Even if we offered payment, it still requires his time and effort.
It is more appropriate that you bear the cost.”
“Since it also concerns a Death Knight connected to our order, the church will likely reduce the fee somewhat.
“Even so, it will still be at least half that amount.
Please accept five hundred.”
“Very well.
This old man is not particularly wealthy either.”
“Thank you.”
“Now then,” the High Rector said, “will you watch more of the match, or return to the depot?”
At the High Rector’s question, Rimas hesitated, and Ledgetak answered in his stead.
“He seems quite interested, so I’ll let him watch a little longer and then take him to my home.
I’ll leave the wagon at the fief-run ostler for now, retrieve it tomorrow, and sell off the wagon, the mule, and the remaining goods to put toward his tuition.”
“With you handling the sale, you should fetch a decent price.
Watching the chief ball is a fine idea.
Though, if possible, it would be even better for him to try it himself… He can always come back and watch again, but he may not get another chance to work the forge.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
After agreeing, Ledgetak turned to Rimas.
“You left the goods in the wagon, but you brought the money with you, didn’t you?”
“Yes.
I took all the money from the money chest in the wagon.”
Rimas normally would have hesitated to carry such a sum, but with a high-ranking cleric who had pledged to look after him, he felt secure.
Even in the unlikely event of robbery, the High Rector would take responsibility.
“If it’s more than five hundred, give the High Rector what we discussed.”
Rimas counted out the coins and handed them over.
As Aerfey accepted them, he said,
“As promised, I swear in the name of Brinis that this money will be used to notify the branches of our order about the Death Knight we encountered.”
“I trust you without the oath.”
“You may.
But the boy has not known me long.
It is better to be certain.”
After exchanging farewells, Ledgetak took Rimas back toward the square.
The players wore blue and yellow cloths over their clothes to distinguish the teams.
“Do you have a side you’re cheering for?” Rimas asked.
“Not particularly.
The ball isn’t a proper match ball—it doesn’t bounce well.
This will be a passing game.
Though for a children’s match, that may be all they need.”
A nearby spectator cut in.
“It may be a children’s game, but the prize is ten thousand coins!
A thousand per player if they win!”
The man turned to Ledgetak, then quickly fell silent and bowed when he realized he was MOW.
Ledgetak paid him no mind and spoke quietly.
“Duke Landoran is working to win the people’s favor.”
“So the prize comes from the duke?”
“Everyone in the town knows.
The lord is ninety this year, bedridden, and unable to govern.
In other fiefs, the nobles would be fighting over succession—but here, aside from the lord, there are only three resident nobles.
One is merely a baronet, concerned with his own house.
Most likely, the title will pass to Duke Landoran.”
“If that’s the case, does he really need to win public support?”
“Politics is never that simple.”
“Instead of complicated politics.
Then let’s just watch the match.”
“Very well.”
The players wore blue and yellow headbands as they played.
A player from the blue team snatched an enemy pass with lightning speed and drove forward.
The ball, stuffed with soft material and covered in leather, was light but did not bounce well.
Moreover, this was no proper arena—just a village square marked with lines.
Though stone paving covered the ground, it offered little elasticity.
After three strides, finding no teammate nearby to receive a pass, he struck the ball against an opponent’s leg, caught the rebound, and moved another three steps.
A player could take no more than three steps without bouncing the ball; afterward, he had to either pass it to a teammate or throw it at the opposing chief.
Deciding he was within range, he hurled the ball between the arms of a defender blocking his path.
The opposing chief, standing atop a box, failed to evade it—the ball struck his thigh, scoring a point.
Beside the central referee, an adult man sitting nearby erased the score on a large wooden board with a piece of coarse bread, then added the new point.
The score was now 20–20.
An hourglass placed next to him showed that about ten minutes remained.
Someone called out the boy’s name, shouting, “Well done!
A reward of a thousand coins is yours!”
When he asked around, Rimas learned that it was already the fourth quarter—the final ten minutes.
“Wait,” Rimas said, struck by a sudden thought.
“If there are seven players and the prize is ten thousand coins, wouldn’t that be more than a thousand each?”
I started watching midway myself, so I can’t be sure, but judging from the size of the prize and what the crowd was shouting, there are probably three more players.
Chief ball is intense game, so they keep rotating players at every break as they continue playing.
In official matches, a team can have as many as thirty-five members.”
A player from the Yellow Team struck the Blue Team’s chief, bringing the score to 21–20.
The blue-team boy who had earlier hit the Yellow chief appeared to be their most skilled player, and the six boys rallied around him, exchanging passes as they launched another counterattack.
There was a rule that if a team accidentally struck its own captain with the ball, the opposing side would score and automatically gain possession.
Aside from that, however, the ball could be intercepted at any moment as long as no outright violence was involved, so players had to be careful not to lose it while passing among themselves.
With sharp passing and coordinated teamwork, the Blue Team once again struck the Yellow chief and scored a point.
As an assistant retrieved the ball that had flown out of bounds after the hit, the Blue Team quickly withdrew to their half.
With many spectators watching and assistants moving briskly, the ball was returned to play in no time, so the teams had to reset quickly.
Though now trailing by a single point, the Yellow Team—still the stronger side overall—surged forward at speed, created a perfect opening, and hurled the ball at the Blue Team’s chief.
This time, however, the Blue Team’s chief successfully defended.
He caught the ball thrown by his opponent.
Holding it firmly in both hands, he raised it high above his head.
When the referee lifted the flag straight up to signal the score, the lead changed for the first time, putting the Blue Team ahead 22–21.
If a captain catches an opponent’s throw without being struck, it counts as one point.
However, he must hold the ball above his head without dropping it until the referee confirms the score.
Simply catching it and then losing control does not count.
Once the point was awarded, the chief threw the ball far to a well-positioned teammate.
Though slower, this kind of uncontested long pass was also a way to designate and set up a favorable attacking position.
While the chief should be able to dodge incoming throws and catch them whenever possible, their role as a leader guiding the team is just as important.
In official matches, the chief stands not on a knee-high box like in these informal games, but on a platform about 2.2 meters high.
With such a vantage point, and since they are not directly involved in play while the ball is in the opponent’s half, the chief must carefully assess the situation and issue tactical instructions—making up for what their teammates may fail to see.
The chief suddenly shouted,
“The hen drinks milk and goes home!”
Since the opposing side could hear any command anyway, it was only natural for teams to establish coded phrases known only to their own players.
At that signal, the Blue Team’s standout boy from earlier slipped cleanly through a gap in the defense.
Advancing as far as he could without interference, he sprang upward with a leap far beyond his years and drove the ball straight into the opposing chief’s face.
In an official match, such a play would have been impossible due to the height of the platform, but here, with the chief standing on a mere box, it could be done.
The impact made the chief stagger; he lost his footing and jumped down, his feet touching the ground.
A thunderous roar erupted from the Blue Team’s supporters, enough to shake the square.
When a chief falls, the opposing team gains ten points, making a comeback extremely difficult.
In youth matches like this, scoring tends to be scarce early on and increase as players tire toward the end; even so, with only a few minutes remaining, games often devolve into both sides trading single points.
The ideal outcome would have been for the other side to bring down the Blue chief as well, but that was no easy task.
In the end, they failed to overturn the ten-point gap, and the Blue Team claimed victory.
A man who appeared to be from the House of Duke Landoran commended the players and praised the duke before awarding the prize money to the winners.
It seemed that a total of eight teams had competed, advancing through multiple rounds to reach today’s final, and that even the other teams received small prizes.
As soon as the awards ceremony ended, a boy from the Blue Team, the one who had played the most brilliantly, stepped forward to receive the prize money on behalf of his team.
Just then, a man who appeared to be his father ran up, hoisted the boy onto his shoulders, and spun him around.
Some men nearby — probably his friends — let out loud cheers of congratulations and hoisted their own sons, who had played in the match, onto their shoulders, parading them once around the square.
Even the boys from the losing team were being celebrated in much the same way.
On the way back after watching the game, Rimas suddenly murmured,
“That must be nice.”
To Ledgetak, it sounded less like envy of the victory itself and more like words spoken while picturing that father and son rejoicing together, the father lifting his boy high and carrying him on his shoulders.
Ledgetak reached out and silently ruffled Rimas’s hair.
Rimas seemed to realize what his words had implied, gave his head a brisk shake, and said,
“The chief-ball match was fun in itself, but I think what I liked most was watching boys my age out there on the field, working up a sweat.
Especially that last moment, when one boy hit the opposing chief and knocked him out of the box for a thrilling come-from-behind win — I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
“Yes, I thought that was some impressive skill as well.”
“It was such an exciting match.
Today was actually my first time really watching a proper chief-ball game.”
“So you’ve never come to the city during the farming off-season.”
“No.
Somehow, every time I came into town there just weren’t any matches on.”
“Well, they only ever hold matches like that when the fields are quiet.
If you wanted people who play chief-ball for a living and regular matches all year round, you’d have to go to a grand fief.”
“So in the cities of the grand fiefs, do they hold chief-ball matches often?”
“Even in a grand dominion, I wouldn’t quite call it often.
In a royal capital, yes, very often.
And in the Imperial Capital, they’re held every single day.
You’ll be living there soon enough for your studies, so you can watch as often as you like—so long as you don’t neglect your lessons and your training.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Seeing Rimas’s mood brighten a little, Ledgetak gently changed the subject.
“If you don’t mind, how about we go to the fief-run ostler now and sell your wagon, your mule, and the goods you’ve loaded?
I know it’s a bit sudden, but if you’re going off to school, I think it’s best to turn it all into money.”
“Teacher Medipl told me the same thing.
Sell everything, put the money in the Imperial Bank, keep only a little on me, and then, once I’ve enrolled, use it for whatever I need.”
“Good.
Buccaneer School gives its students some of the best support you’ll find, but even so, it’s better to have at least a bit of your own money set aside.