Chapter 39 - 4-3
During the brief window of time when His Majesty the King of Siddim had gone out to celebrate the construction of a new church within the city of Malfa, a young man had slipped into the King's bedroom.
It was Laicanel Thora.
Laicanel was currently, with a strained smile, stroking the belly of the Queen, who lay languidly in her undergarments. The belly of a pregnant woman, nurturing a brand-new life.
A belly that might contain Laicanel's child.
—Steel your nerves. There is no way His Majesty will notice.
So said Queen Yumeria Alish.
"I shall make this child the King."
She spoke as she looked upon her swollen belly with an expression of happiness. According to the Queen, the child in her womb was certainly a boy.
—You've got to be joking.
Laicanel could not bear such a terrifying thing as secretly severing the lineage of the Holy King. History would condemn Laicanel. For all eternity, Laicanel's name would be laughed at as a man who stole another's woman.
"If it were to be discovered, you mean, right? Laika, do you not find this child lovely?"
When they had a disagreement, the Queen had also said this.
Stupid woman, he thought.
The lineage of the royal house is something so absolute that there is no room to insert the affection you direct toward a child.
How can you make a mockery of all of Siddim, of Siddim's past and future?
Even now, as he stroked her belly, Laicanel had wanted to say so. However, he had not come here today to say such things.
"I want to do something about Yugis."
Laicanel spoke of an entirely different matter.
"Who?"
"The son of the Margrave of Carossa."
"Ah, that mustache. So his son is in the royal capital." The Queen's eyes suddenly widened. "Do you know? That the Kosa people are coming to attack. His Majesty and your father say so. In that event, they say the eastern troops will be deployed first. Is that not wonderful? Let the mustachioed son handle it. I would not wish to see you killed by barbarians."
"If Yugis were to drive the Kosa people away, it would be problematic."
"You do not want to hand over the credit? If Siddim is saved, who does it should not be important, surely."
"Do not forget that Siddim exists thanks to the Thora family," Laicanel said boldly. "It is not a good thing for Siddim if Yugis gains credit and the East regains its power."
"Are you saying you will give the orders to the eastern troops? Can you win?"
For this moment alone, Laicanel was able to smile fearlessly. "Nelly, the royal army is strong, you know? Whether I can win? Of course."
Just as he had done with another woman two hours prior, Laicanel kissed the Queen gently, without losing his air of innocence. His hand was already moving to undo the belt at her waist with practiced motions.
"Whether I can win?"
Norbert Kabert looked up at the boy.
As he moved his face, sweat flowed into his eyes. He wiped it away with his palm.
He was in the middle of teaching the construction of battering rams to the followers who were children of vassals. Currently, they were on a break.
Kabert was one of those brazen middle-aged men who had stopped worrying about others. It was far better than agonizing over how one is perceived by others. Though he was lonely, being able to live while staring only at his own convictions was simple, clear, and refreshing.
However, he had to admit one detrimental effect: because he stopped caring about the eyes of others, his clothing and the perspective of keeping his body clean tended to be neglected. In his youth, he had been a tidy man. Now, he could smell his own sour body odor.
"Rather than whether I can win—" The one who asked was a black-haired boy—Yugis Necrat. He stood holding wooden cups in both hands.
He had tidied his heavy black hair, and traces of effort to project as much cleanliness as possible could be seen.
"There is no way you can win. If you are asking such a question."
—Does he admire me?
Kabert looked up at Yugis with suspicion. Me, a loser? He's a dull one.
From what Kabert could see, this boy named Yugis was an optimist. One could call him a kind of fool. He sat down casually and easily next to Kabert, who was sitting on a fallen log, with an unbothered face. He handed over a cup. The contents were black tea.
Reluctantly, he accepted the cup.
"Then I will change the question. What must be done to win?"
"Declare war on the Kingdom of Pushan or something."
He answered while gazing at the training grounds. The snow that fell in the morning remained without melting. It was a cold day. The heat of the black tea felt as if it were searing his chest, which was pleasant.
Since there was no reply, he looked at Yugis.
Yugis was bewildered, having taken the joke seriously.
Kabert enjoyed that face.
—This guy would die on the spot if luck abandoned him.
That is what he thought.
This black-haired boy had, at least once, made that Sedias Thora swallow his demands. He had accomplished what Norbert could not do even by risking his life.
This boy surely does not yet know how great his luck is.
"In short, it is a matter of experience, Necrat. The enemy is even now fighting a war where lives are at stake. They are learning in the field. They are racking their brains and evolving the methods to obtain victory. On the other hand, what are you lot? I hear you receive classroom learning."
Yugis Necrat made a bitter face. "There is a teacher in the city of Argis who lectures on the latest tactics. We are all pooling our money to call him to the city of Malfa."
"The one who knows war best in this country is not that fellow. It is Marquis Sedias Thora. I believe the Commander-in-Chief is in a place close to the essence of it. After all, he is a man with abundant experience in war. However, even that Commander-in-Chief..."
—Could not win against the Kosa cavalry.
He did not say that.
"Your father, the instructor—"
"That's right. He fought the Thora family and was defeated. Two of my older brothers also died in battle on that same battlefield," Kabert stated briskly. "Current peace exists upon such sacrifices. I hold no grudge against anyone. However, I will not forgive those who destroy this peace. Necrat, you aren't thinking of anything foolish, are you?"
"I believe I have reconciled with the Thora family. Now, I am only thinking about how to fight the Kosa army. Because that is the role I have been given. Thanks to the instructor, I have come up with one good idea."
"Throw away such an idea. No matter what someone like you does, the impossible is impossible. If you wish to preserve the royal house, you have no choice but to rely on diplomatic negotiations to avoid war with Kosa."
"But instructor—"
"Do not call me instructor. I am not your instructor right now." Kabert stood up and thrust the wooden cup back at Yugis. "Kabert is fine."
"It would be problematic if you expected diplomatic negotiations."
Prime Minister Gilma of the Kingdom of Siddim said curtly.
Gilma Rigardie did not own a mansion within the city of Malfa. He was lent a room in Malfa Castle. He had brought five people from his home country—three servants, a female cook, and a young maid—to attend to his personal needs. Additionally, he employed an old woman named Mia as his personal secretary. For this point alone, Gilma was seen as an eccentric.
Currently, those sitting at the dining table were Gilma and one other, a big shot of Eastern Siddim, Marquis Paishal Anavis of Ganlord. On the table were a carelessly placed bottle of wine and a lit candelabra.
"What is it you intend to negotiate with the Kosa people?" Gilma enjoyed the scent of the wine before slowly drinking it. "Surrender or war. That is all those people have. As soon as they join the Kosa nation. If accepted, a surrender without injury; if rejected, a bloody war. Since the time of the Great King Aframa, that is all they have."
Marquis Paishal Anavis was a burly man whose golden chest hair overflowed from his collar.
He sat in the chair, huddling his large body. He spoke, making a guu sound from the back of his throat.
"I am aware of that, Gilma. What I am saying is, for example, if we were to surrender, would autonomy be permitted, or could the royal house survive, and such things."
"Ah, I see. There is plenty of room for negotiation there. Especially regarding the royal house, I shall ensure its survival. That is the one thing that should not be conceded. Also, there is no option of surrender. One character: War. Until the arrows are exhausted and the swords are broken—it is a cliché way of putting it, but we fight. Because if Siddim falls, the entire North falls."
"It sounds as if you are telling me to throw away my life for the sake of Eber."
Hmph, the Eberite Gilma snorted with his large nose. "For the sake of Eber and the entire North. No, for the sake of the nations of the entire world who tremble at Kosa. Siddim bears that responsibility."
"Now, whether such a thing exists..."
"I believe it does. There are not many nations that can fight a proper war against the Kosa cavalry. Siddim can fight. After all, is Siddim not the leader of the Five Northern Nations? It should remain in that position in the future. To do that, there is no choice but to fight."
"However, that, the money, seventeen hundred million Gilan, however—"
"I would like you to bear the burden. Joining the royal army was the wish of the people of the East, was it not? Marquis Sedias Thora of Delroy would pay it."
Paishal Anavis's throat made a guu sound again.
Gilma suppressed the urge to laugh and delivered a finishing blow.
"Also, please hurry the construction of the fortress groups in the southeast. The Kosa cavalry has speed. How about arranging the forts to take wide squares and draw a net?"
Marquis Anavis of Ganlord became completely silent and rose from his seat.
"Are you leaving?" Just as he was about to stand up in high spirits, he saw Paishal Anavis's complexion.
Gilma could not stand. The bearded face of the Marquis of Ganlord was pale. He was terrified.
Sitting in the chair in a daze, Gilma remembered.
Marquis Laiel Gilmond of Kraff had shown a similar terror. When the topic of the Kosa people came up in a casual conversation, Elder Gilmond had become restless and turned pale just like that.
—I had a strange impression back then as well.
It was not decided that the Kosa people were attacking. Gilma viewed it as still being at the stage of possibility.
The Kosa people were in the middle of fighting other nomads on the plateau. Unification had not yet been achieved, and a "Kosa Nation" had not even been established, had it not?
Why were they so terrified?
The only one who remained composed among that group was Urgil Necrat.
The next morning, the old secretary Mia, with the corners of her mouth curled up,
"Did you bully His Excellency the Marquis of Ganlord last night?"
she said in a salty voice.
"Umu."
"How pitiful. Please go easy on him."
"Mia, let us thoroughly investigate the lords of the East. There is something about them. They are hiding something regarding the Kosa people. Contact the home country and have someone sent over."
"Understood. —Count, are the Kosa coming to attack?"
"They might come. I have such a feeling."
Remembering the way Paishal Anavis had been terrified, Gilma answered so.
"Are the Kosa people coming to attack? They ain't coming."
Hearing such a voice amidst the clamor of the tavern, Ludo Matinee looked back.
There were people chatting. He did not know the owner of the voice. Tables of people laughing with wide mouths, tables of people exchanging drinks, tables that seemed to be having serious discussions, the blazing fireplace, the dim interior of the shop, the steam from the food, the foam of the beer, the white-fogged window glass; when the light of the candelabra flickered, it was as if light and shadow were holding hands and dancing. Matinee looked at them in turn.
He had come to sear this sight into his eyes.
For a while, he would leave Siddim and go on a journey.
—I wonder if everyone knows about the Kosa people.
Matinee remembered the princess.
Her Highness Luchentin Alish—Princess Lucy. She might be the most beautiful person in the North. No matter when he looked, no matter how many times he looked, he never grew used to it. He never tired of looking. Every time they met, she gave him a fresh surprise.
Matinee had painted a portrait of Princess Lucy. It was not his first time painting a portrait.
If it was an energetic person, Matinee intended to paint their vitality. If it was a person of elegance, their education and modesty; if an old person, he wanted to paint their life, and if a youth, he intended to paint their hope.
Princess Lucy did not have such an interior. She was simply, purely, beautiful like a doll.
Therefore, Matinee simply painted her beautifully.
To put it bluntly, the princess was a person of beauty alone. Even so, Matinee did not feel contempt. She was a natural creation, and painting this was a challenge for him. The charm that appears in expression by accumulating virtue and polishing the interior—until now, he had painted that. But such things were, after all, fabrications. Not the real thing. Acquired things.
—Value lies in innate beauty.
After meeting the princess, Matinee easily converted his beliefs. Normally, he would not even think such things. He had been lightly intoxicated, affected by the toxicity of the princess's beauty.
Seeking the root of beauty, running to extremes, and in a state of mind that had morally retired, Matinee constructed a world for only himself and the princess, and moved his brush.
I understand you best of all.
He spoke to the princess in his heart. Painting while heightening his mood in that way was Matinee's production stance.
However, in the middle of production, the princess's expression changed dramatically.
Shadows formed in her features, and the brilliance of her eyes, which had been like scattering stars, became a single, moist point of light like the moon. She had become mature, just a little, in the blink of an eye.
—This is not what we agreed upon.
He thought. Those shadows were the princess's interior. If the interior appeared, it would be ruined. Princess Lucy had become even more beautiful. She had become beautiful to the point of being bewitching.
Give me back my Highness!
Matinee had wanted to say. He felt betrayed. Princess Lucy, who until then had looked at Matinee with curiosity, was now looking at someone, some other person. Even if her gaze was directed here, she was not looking at the painter.
More than that, the time constraint was the problem. The princess inside the canvas had become like a colorless young girl. However, there was no time to repaint. He had no choice but to correct it little by little. Matinee painted, and as a result, he completed a portrait of a person who seemed to have no bones.
—A failure. Even though it was a perfect opportunity to establish myself.
He thought so, but the deadline arrived. Matinee had no choice but to show the finished product to the princess. The princess and the white-haired lady-in-waiting praised Matinee's painting excessively. He received praise that felt redundant.
He felt a sense of remorse.
—I am not a painter of this level.
He should have been able to paint more. If only the princess had not slipped from the painter's palm and gone far away. If there had been more time, something amazing would have been created.
Having received a reward based on an excessive evaluation, he was asked by the princess.
"What will you do from now on?"
I will leave Siddim and head south, Matinee answered impulsively. He suddenly thought of going on a journey. It would be a consolation for the failure of his work. Matinee would use the resin of southern acacias as glue, mixing it with pigments to make paint. Going to harvest that resin with his own hands would surely not be bad.
Princess Lucy and the white-haired lady-in-waiting looked at each other anxiously.
"You must not tell others what I am about to say. If you do, people will be confused."
With that preface, what he was taught by the princess was about the Kosa people.
She said that the barbarians of the East were actively taking invasive actions.
"The Kosa people are said to attack southern cities. Be sufficiently careful."
Princess Lucy said. Matinee took his leave of the princess and left the detached palace.
Returning to his rented house, he suddenly thought of it. "Fate."
The princess was not a hollow person who was merely beautiful, from the very beginning.
She was clad in fate.
Princess Lucy had not yet found her fate, and fate had not yet found the princess. If that were the case, what then?
It was an intuition with no basis, but once he thought of it, it couldn't be helped.
Matinee suddenly took charcoal and began to draw on a canvas.
As usual, it did not become a painting he was satisfied with, but it was far better than the work he had delivered.
Since then, he had carried that sketch with him. Every time he remembered, he would spread it out to look, and even now, he gazed at that painting while drinking alcohol. He wanted to try and complete it.
—It might become the work of my lifetime.
If he could seal that beauty here, it would undoubtedly become his greatest masterpiece.
Perhaps due to the alcohol, Matinee felt energized.
I'll leave as soon as the snow melts. Southern painting is advanced, so I might find new colors of paint.
At this time, Matinee did not yet know that that fate—and a bizarre fate at that—lay upon none other than himself.