Episode 75. The Slowest War in the World
Binaeril asked Bapaluga with anticipation.
“Do you know what it is?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Damn you, brat!”
The knights who had been watching Bapaluga’s mouth smacked him on the head and berated him.
It seemed that smacking heads was something of a tradition in the duke’s house.
But Bapaluga was unfazed. Only the knight who had struck him clutched his hand and let out a low groan.
“It is crude, but I can tell it is far more delicately crafted than it appears. Still, this necklace is no mere accessory, is it?”
“How did you know?”
Bapaluga twitched his beard and answered.
“We Dwarves are excellent appraisers as well. What exactly do you wish to know?”
Binaeril was curious about the identity of the power within the necklace.
Processed in the Myo tribe’s way, he could not properly discern the origin of that power.
He had guessed it might be the power of a Spirit and asked Eden, but Eden had said he did not know either.
“A special power dwells within that makes the wearer’s body lighter. The problem is that even I, a mage, cannot grasp its principle.”
Binaeril extended his hand and spoke.
“If you do not know, that is fine. There is no problem, so I shall just use it, I suppose.”
Bapaluga did not return the item. He answered with the air of someone who had made up his mind about something.
“You said you received this item from the Myo tribe?”
“Yes. It is an item I received as a gift from a Myo warrior.”
“Hoo… A technician who cannot even discern a Myo tribe’s item would be laughed at by his kin.”
His eyes were already burning with Dwarven pride.
“Sir Binaeril! Please lend this to me for just a moment. I shall discern exactly how the Myo tribe processed it and the principle of the embedded ability down to the last detail and return it to you!”
Binaeril was momentarily overwhelmed by Bapaluga’s strange intensity.
“V-very well.”
He refused even the remaining beer and immediately rose, running off somewhere.
The duke was given a few days’ grace before departing once more for Rotpalen.
Soldiers to stop the multiplying undead, and knights to escort him to the heart of Rotpalen.
The duke seemed terribly busy arranging their armaments, supplies, movements, and so on.
Not even Binaeril had been idle all this time. No, to be precise, he had not been able to.
The knights of Vintsburg, having heard the rumors, had flocked to him regardless of rank and challenged him to spars.
Within days, Binaeril, the knights, and spectators gathered like clockwork in the grounds of Vintsburg for sparring.
Even in the midst of this, Binaeril had not lost a single match.
The knights who had initially doubted his skill all acknowledged him after Binaeril achieved some twenty-something consecutive victories.
“Victory to Sir Binaeril Dalheim, Viscount!”
Binaeril, who had just added one more victory to his tally.
The duke’s knights did not all use the same uniform Imperial swordsmanship.
There were knights who used maces, lances, and whips, and those who primarily wielded bows.
This was because most of them were mercenaries who had fought alongside the duke on the northern front.
Thanks to them, Binaeril could learn how to counter various weapons.
Though it was hard on his body…….
Having lived with the Myo necklace on for some time, it now felt rather awkward without it.
“Sir Binaeril!”
One of the duke’s retainers ran to the sparring grounds calling Binaeril’s name.
“As expected, you were here.”
“What is it?”
“The expedition preparations are complete. The Duke has sent word that he will depart at dawn tomorrow.”
He had finished his preparations early the previous evening. Binaeril did not have much luggage.
“You are joining this expedition as well, Sir. That is reassuring.”
Knight Beron approached and spoke.
“Will you be participating as well, Sir Beron?”
“Yes. Asdal and the others are coming too.”
Looking back, several were smiling at Binaeril. Most were knights he had already become acquainted with on the way from Essen.
“It seems these kinds of expeditions happen often?”
The selected knights did not look particularly nervous. Perhaps they were used to it.
They exuded the composure of those who had been through many battles.
“The duchy is vast, and problems are plentiful. But this expedition is different. Fighting undead is on a completely different level from fighting ordinary bandits or monsters.”
“I suppose so. They are immortal beings.”
“You must also prepare yourself thoroughly, Sir.”
Binaeril suddenly grew curious.
Elfenbein taught methods for dealing with all sorts of monsters.
Among them, of course, was how to fight the undead.
What moved the undead was either a strong grudge or a host that had forcibly raised them.
In the latter case, Elfenbein presented the method of dealing with the undead by eliminating the host—usually a black mage.
Because undead were literally beings that did not die even if killed.
Then how had the duke’s knights been fighting the undead?
To that question, Sir Beron answered.
“You cannot kill them. They move even if their heads are cut off or their chests are pierced.”
“Then what do you do?”
“Burn them one by one, or sever their limbs and bury them deep in the earth so they cannot crawl out again. Undead are weak in strength and cannot overcome the earth’s pressure.”
“That sounds extremely troublesome.”
“It is troublesome, but in truth, there is something harder than that.”
“What is it?”
Sir Beron let out a sigh.
“Where do you think the undead come from? From the graveyard. They rise from every tomb in Rotpalen and advance.”
“Among them are those who have not completely rotted and retain their appearance from when they were alive. Though they are strangers, many soldiers who fight them suffer trauma.”
Knight Asdal added a word after gauging the mood.
“The worst part is that you might meet the comrade who died beside you yesterday on the battlefield today.”
Binaeril felt as though his breath was caught in his throat.
Hearing the testimony of those with experience, he realized this expedition was far more grave than he had anticipated.
“I hope this tragedy ends with this expedition.”
“I will make sure it does.”
The others did not know, but Binaeril knew the cause of this tragedy.
The Page of Veritas was clearly the culprit behind all of this.
While Binaeril and the knights were conversing, another figure came running from the other side of the sparring grounds.
Binaeril thought that quite a lot of people were looking for him today.
“What is it, Sir Bapaluga?”
“I have finished appraising the necklace.”
He spoke, brandishing the Myo necklace in his hand.
“Really? Did you find something out?”
Binaeril had not had high hopes for him from the start.
It was not an item made by Dwarves, and it seemed unlikely that Bapaluga would discover what Binaeril could not.
Still, out of courtesy, he pretended to be curious and asked.
“It was simpler than I thought. Why did I not think of it before! This is an item containing the Myo’s Origin.”
“Origin?”
Bapaluga seemed to expect that one word would explain everything.
But it did not. Seeing Binaeril still making a puzzled expression, Bapaluga asked in confusion.
“Do you not know what Origin is?”
“What is it?”
“By the Earth God! How can a mage not know of Origin?”
Binaeril wondered if his common knowledge was lacking and looked around at the other knights.
But they too were making blank expressions.
Binaeril was certain he was not the only one who did not know.
“I have never heard of it.”
“This is why you long-legged races—!”
Snap!
The knights’ angry expressions turned toward the Dwarf.
Realizing those words belittled everyone around him and not just himself, Bapaluga quickly added an explanation.
“Origin is the power containing the roots of each race!”
“Uh… is that not the same thing?”
“Is it? Origin and roots… Damn it! Let me explain with examples.”
Bapaluga spoke, mixing in thick hand gestures.
“The Myo make their homes in forests and leap between trees, do they not?”
“We Dwarves dig into the earth and forge weapons. Each race has abilities befitting their kind. Innate differences, you see.”
“I see.”
“Among Dwarves, there are those who are exceptionally gifted. We call them Meisters. Meisters serve the Earth God and produce the finest weapons.”
There were such beings in the Myo village as well.
Spirit priests like Jineulbaram. Those revered by all the Myo.
“Dwarves forge weapons, and the Myo revere the spirits… These foundations that become the essence of each race, we call the ‘Racial Soul,’ or ‘Origin.’”
Listening to his explanation, one question came to Binaeril.
“Then humans do not have such an Origin?”
Bapaluga looked at Binaeril with an expression that asked what kind of foolish question that was.
It had been a long time since anyone other than Veritas had treated him like a fool.
“Sir Binaeril, you are the very possessor of that Origin, so what do you mean?”
“The Origin of humans is obviously magic, is it not?”
The expeditionary force arranged by Duke Dukseu departed from Vintsburg Castle at dawn.
Many knights and even more soldiers were mobilized, along with horses matching their numbers.
Vivian Dukseu had publicly declared she would follow Binaeril, but her declaration was immediately nullified by the roar of the domain’s highest commander.
Indeed, the identity of the domain’s highest commander was not Duke Dukseu.
It was Duchess Melina.
Vivian was so heartbroken that she did not even appear at the departure ceremony.
Binaeril thought it was rather fortunate.
He had not wanted to see the face of the duke crying and wailing over parting with his daughter from early in the morning.
The Rotpalen expeditionary force was composed of hundreds of soldiers.
The duke advanced slowly.
“Why are we not moving as quickly as when we headed to the duchy?”
Sir Beron answered Binaeril’s question.
“Before it was a return march; now it is an advance to battle. We must preserve the soldiers’ stamina as much as possible.”
“Our destination is Rotpalen, but not all troops are heading there.”
“The front line against the undead is widely formed. Once we reach the appropriate distance, the forces will split up and scatter to support their assigned fronts.”
“Then those heading to the heart of Rotpalen are…….”
“His Grace the Duke, Sir Binaeril, and perhaps a few knights, I imagine.”
Sir Beron winked, as if to say, “Of course, I am included there as well.”
“War against the undead is very different from other wars. They do not flee, nor do they have tactics. They merely endlessly push forward with bodies that do not die.”
Sir Beron glanced toward the duke at the head of the column and continued.
“This is, so to speak, the slowest war in the world. Only humans tire. His Grace knows this, which is why he suppresses his desire to rush ahead and advances slowly.”
Binaeril chewed over his words.
The slowest war in the world.
But in the heart of the duke who led this war, it seemed to be a fiercer battle than anything.
Binaeril felt he wanted to comfort him, even with clumsy words.
Binaeril spurred his horse and approached the duke’s side.
“Hm? What is it, Sir Binaeril?”
“The beer in Vintsburg was quite good.”
“…You’ve become quite the drinker in just a few days.”
“When this expedition ends, I would like to return and share a drink with Your Grace.”
The duke turned his gaze away from Binaeril and stared at the distant horizon.
After a brief pause, he answered.
“Let’s do just that.”