After the meal, partly to settle it, Hans and the boy went out for a walk.
Belborn was a city planned in the past for the administration of the north, and for a long time it had served as the supply depot propping up the city of Bahama. With the victory in the war it had now become a safe rear city. True to its history as a planned city, its drainage and sewerage were well built, and it was famous as a city without a stink.
Noblewomen walking pet dogs along the clean streets, and children from what looked like wealthy households running about at play — it was a peaceful scene.
Walking at his leisure with the boy and taking in this and that about the city, Hans found himself thinking.
'Was it a victory and a peace for the nobles, then?'
It is the nobles who enjoy clean facilities and safety. The commoners contribute where no one sees them. The guards they had just passed keep the city's peace on a tight wage. One block in off the main street, heads of households who have finished a day's labor will be dragging their tired bodies home.
'For them, happiness runs to a full meal and enough sleep.'
Thinking this did not particularly carry through into hostility toward the ruling class.
Hans himself, country though it was, had grown up in a comfortable household and gone without nothing.
The army had made a man of a boy, and the war had taught him to hold to a cynical way of thinking. He had been broken in by the age, and that was all it was.
He turned his head and looked at the boy walking along beside him.
'His posture is straight and his step is steady.'
The knights he had seen on the battlefield were like this. Back held upright, gaze fixed at a fifteen-degree angle to the front, stride always kept at a steady length. Soldiers are the opposite. No strength in the shoulders, the back stooped. The stride uneven, the walk distracted.
"You weren't a knight, were you?"
The boy stared blankly at Hans, then cocked his head to the side. And then he took his eyes away without a word. He had been ignored outright.
Hans turned his own gaze away as if embarrassed and said.
"I'm sleepy. Let's go back."
The boy changed the direction of his steps. He would not go out of his way to exchange words, but neither did he go against what Hans wanted. Someone who did not know, Hans thought, would take him for a younger brother who did as his big brother said.
Before he knew it the sun had set, and stars glittered in the darkened sky. Far off, a meteor shower fell.
The starlight shone like jewels, as though it might come pouring down.
'Stars, glittering...... mm?'
The glittering stars came pouring down. As fire arrows.
"Take cover! Get away from the wooden buildings!"
"This way — press against this stone wall here!"
Guards ran about getting people to cover. Hans ducked low, dodged the fire arrows and took shelter in an alley, and then realized the boy was nowhere in sight and looked around him.
"Oh, no......."
He saw the boy standing blankly in the middle of the main street. Hans moved toward him.
"Ten-Commander Hans, what are you doing. Can you not read the situation!"
—Flinch.
At a voice his ear knew, Hans turned his head slowly and shouted with astonished eyes.
"Hundred-Commander?"
It felt as though time were running slowly.
"Hey, Commander Hans. Get hold of yourself!"
Hundred-Commander Tomius glared and shouted. When the hundred-commander seized his shoulders and shook him, Hans's head snapped back and forth.
"Commander Tomius......."
Hans could not get his wits together.
Just then a great ball of fire came down out of the sky with a roar.
—FWEEEEE.
—KABOOM.
The blast wave knocked them over, and debris came pattering down on top of them.
"A fireball? Is a fireball this big? Hellfire?"
Magic had declined; it survived only in fields close to combat support or daily convenience, such as healing or traps. Hellfire was a thing out of legend.
Hans looked wildly around him. In a hollowed-out crater he saw the boy's worn clothing and scraps of flesh. Hans picked up the arm that was left of him and stood there, mind gone blank.
—FWEEEEENG.
Another great ball of fire came down out of the sky. But Hans only stood there, vacant.
"Oh, no...... Ten-Commander Hans!"
Hundred-Commander Tomius threw his arms around Hans and rolled with him.
—KABOOOM.
The fireball flew in and burst on the spot the two of them had rolled off.
—Patter, patter.
For all the earth pouring down on him, both of Hans's eyes followed the fireball's arc.
'The sky. It's in the sky.'
In the dark sky the silhouette of some great thing was hovering, and the fire was being spat from there.
'A d...... a dragon?'
The way Hans's pupils shook showed plainly enough how badly shaken he was.
"Commander, what is that? Exploding balls of fire — what on earth......."
Hans asked it with confusion in his face, but Hundred-Commander Tomius stared at him with bloodshot eyes and shouted.
"Ten-Commander Hans! Get hold of yourself. Think of the men who died. Don't waver — come back to being yourself."
"......?"
In that urgent moment, with the two of them saying entirely different things, Hans caught hold of the thread of reason.
"The war is over. How long do you mean to go on dreaming a pointless dream?"
"C-Commander."
Hundred-Commander Tomius nodded and smiled.
"You have to live for your fallen comrades' shares as well."
Tears ran from Hans's eyes.
In that instant blood spread across Hundred-Commander Tomius's chest. It widened like a rose blooming red, and it caught fire.
"Commander."
For all Hans's startled cry the fire spread further, burning Hundred-Commander Tomius, eating into everything around him and coming on toward Hans.
"Commander!"
Hans's arm burned away, and the boy's arm in his hand burned away too, into white ash.
Hans's field of vision went white as well.
—CRASH, BANG.
Flung upright, Hans rolled off the bed onto the floor.
"Huff, huff, huff."
The harsh light of the afternoon fell across a face gone white.
"Another day gone......."
***
—Clack.
As the teacup was set down in front of him a faint fragrance spread.
"Hmm...... hoo."
Meaning to breathe in deeply the jasmine scent that is said to settle the mind, he came out looking as though he were sighing instead, and felt awkward about it.
"It is a good tea."
The quick-witted Lord Chamberlain opened his mouth to cover his sovereign's embarrassment.
"You are always considerate of me, Chamberlain."
"How can you say such a thing? It is entirely natural for a faithful servant to think of his lord first."
"There will be a reward for that loyalty of yours one day."
"A reward? You shame me. I beg you to withdraw the words."
The king turned his head and looked down at the garden below the terrace. The King's Garden, into which the gardeners had poured their hearts, was at the height of its autumn feeling.
"Beautiful."
"The nobles have been meeting often of late, Your Majesty."
"Because of Marquis Offenhauts?"
"Yes. Among the great nobles holding office in the capital there are those with domains that took part in the war."
"Ah — those who appoint a branch relative as viscount and rule by proxy?"
The kingdom's great nobles divide broadly into two sorts.
One is the margrave, who holds a large domain on the frontier and, with his taxes remitted, builds up forces and guards the border.
The other is the sort who appoints a branch relative as viscount to govern the domain by proxy, while he himself holds office in the capital and enjoys power through political activity.
"It is said that the nobles who committed their domains' forces to the Four-Year War have met."
"Who are they?"
"Count Gordon, Count Mueller and Count Dyson."
"Not men to be taken lightly."
"Even before this, without going so far as open hostility, the mood between them has been one of mutual checking, but......."
—Nod.
"Left as it is, it could develop into an armed clash."
"That will not do."
The Lord Chamberlain looked puzzled and read the king's face.
"A sovereign cannot stand by and permit a civil war. I am not that far gone yet."
"Your servant has overstepped. Forgive the discourtesy."
"It is well. Public feeling in the capital turning against the marquis is fine. But that is exactly as far as it goes."
"I shall drop a suitable word."
"We set the mood and wait. And keep gathering information."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The young king set down the cooled cup and turned his gaze again.
"Autumn has fully arrived. They say this year is a good harvest, happily?"
"Yes. The reports say the yield is thirty percent greater than last year's."
"Good. Then we can remit this year's taxes for the families of the fallen."
At a king who thought of his people's position even in a troubled political situation, the Lord Chamberlain turned a look of respect.
"That sort of look is a burden, Chamberlain."
"Ah — forgive the discourtesy."
"Hahaha."
The young king turned away with his face considerably more at ease. But once it was hidden from the Lord Chamberlain's view, it darkened again.
'Tax relief may be granted to the people of the crown lands, but the subjects in each noble's domain.......'
***
Having eaten a late lunch, Hans helped with the unloading at the caravan branch, partly to earn his board. A body that had been itching for somewhere to put its strength found its settlement that way.
His barging in out of nowhere tangled the order of things for a moment, but he soon caught the rhythm with practiced ease. Half of army life was combat and the other half was labor.
The work foreman, in good spirits because the unloading finished ahead of schedule, handed Hans a beer and struck up a conversation.
"You're not bad at this."
Hans shrugged, took the mug and drained it down.
—Gulp, gulp.
The laborers who had come over wondering where this fellow had rolled in from did not bother pressing any closer once Hans said little in return.
Whatever the place and whatever the position, nobody can find fault with a man who does his full share. It is precisely that sort of man who is free of the rules.
Driving the body hard means a tired body presses down an aching heart. Hans's bared torso gleamed with dust and sweat. Emily appreciated his well-balanced build with a peculiar look in her eye.
'A discharged soldier has plenty of uses.'
Watching Hans put out more work than the average laborer, Emily nodded. Her uncle's judgment had been right, as usual.
Then she looked at the boy beside her, watching Hans along with her.
'But what on earth is this cute little thing, exactly?'
The boy must have felt her gaze, because he turned his head and met her eyes. He was so sweet that Emily wanted to bite those firm cheeks.
"......!"
Sensing a dangerous look, the boy sidled backward.
When afternoon came the city's plaza grew busy. Hans, his late lunch digested, went down to the square with the boy. The stallholders seemed to be laying out their boards and getting ready for trade.
Driving his body hard and then getting buried in a crowd and pushed this way and that put his mind at ease. It seemed to be the same for the boy, who followed along without losing him.
"Wheat bread! Wheat bread slathered in honey, one coin!"
"Sweet roasted corn, two for a coin!"
"Come now, lay your money down and take money home. Which way does the water beetle swim?"
There were peddlers and shell-game men calling for custom, and now and then the sound of a quarrel breaking out. To some it was noise; to Hans it was the sound of people living.
Feeling of a sudden that something behind him was missing, Hans turned his head and looked at the boy, stopped some way back.
"......."
Hans stopped in front of a peddler and held out a coin.
"Two, please."
"Thank you, sir. Here you are."
He bought two sticks with sweets strung along them, gave one to the boy and put the other in his own mouth.
Having confirmed the happy look that passed across the boy's face with the sweet in his mouth, Hans seemed not to have noticed that his own expression was the same.
Feeling the heat of something all at once, Hans turned his head.
"Mm?"
—Murmur, murmur.
People had gathered in the middle of the plaza and were murmuring. They kept crowding in and in, as though a circus performance were going on.
Within the ring the crowd had drawn, two men faced each other off, and one man stood between them. Outside them, one attendant apiece stood on either side, and some way off a lady could be seen with an attendant and a maid holding a parasol.
A knight pulled off a glove and threw it in his opponent's face.
—SLAP.
"I challenge you to a duel."
It was a formality agreed upon in advance of the duel.
His opponent took the glove on his face, and the duel was made.
"I accept."