Chapter 72 - 6-11
Ludo Matinee has left Koroi and is heading for a city further south.
Having been bought back from Master Banja, he had finally escaped his status as a slave.
To Matinee's surprise, Master Banja had shed tears.
"I was able to build a genuine relationship with you."
The Master's emotional state must have been influenced by the political situation of that time.
Koroi was tense.
First, news arrived that the city of Attaik had fallen.
In response, the Koroi army marched out, accompanied by heroic music and many send-offs. They were a first-class army, spoken of alongside a brilliant war record. The Koroi army deployed widely, as if to surround the Kosa army led by Geraha Wolf.
And yet, in just about ten days, rumors of defeat reached the city of Koroi.
Stories that such-and-such army had been crushed, or that such-and-such general had been defeated.
The citizens spoke less, and everyone frowned, gazing toward the horizon. Not a single enemy shadow was visible there. And yet, everyone felt an invisible pressure.
Many fled from Koroi. Even so, most citizens remained optimistic. After all, they were drawing the enemy toward them. Soon, the Koroi army would take the enemy's rear, cut off their communications, and surround them—
Everyone, including Master Banja, spoke this way.
The demeanor of the citizens changed clearly after General Saville's central army was crushed. The air in the town sank, and even the scenery seemed to look darkened. Strangely, however, even after that news arrived, many citizens still believed in the Koroi army.
—Rather, it starts now.
People like Master Banja would say such things.
Matinee finally felt a sense of crisis, paid Master Banja, and was released from his status as a slave.
"However, you should stay at my house for a while. In this situation, there is no place that is safe no matter where you go."
It was three days later. Koroi declared its surrender to the Kosa army.
The Master rushed into the street, infuriated in words that Matinee did not understand. It seemed many citizens were driven by similar passions.
By this time, information had reached Koroi that Prince Sitris had been brutally murdered in Attaik and his body desecrated. All the citizens were worried about their beloved Koroi Emperor, His Majesty Abinail.
Matinee couldn't help but think of the youth named Yugis Necrat.
—I hope he is fleeing.
It was a useless thing to think about. However, as a premonition, Matinee couldn't believe that the youth would die. He wanted to convey the state of the Kosa people's war to Siddim. If that feeling remained intact, he would have withdrawn somewhere without becoming immersed in the war.
Regarding things other than Yugis, Matinee viewed them from the perspective of an outsider. Thinking as a third party, he felt that surrender might not be a bad choice. Surrender is fine, surrender is great. It is peaceful and good.
However, what happened after that was not very peaceful.
Instead of deploying the regular army of Koroi to face the enemy, Emperor Abinail of Koroi began the oppression of his own people. He began cracking down on mercenary groups and volunteers who opposed the surrender.
"The soldiers are crying," Master Banja would often complain to Matinee while drinking heavily during that time. "In truth, they want to fight the enemy. However, no one can speak of it. They shouldn't. His Majesty the Emperor is also in a painful position."
"I think it is truly pitiful."
"Your home country is not unrelated either," the Master glared at Matinee with drunken eyes. "If Koroi surrenders, those fellows will strike the North without hesitation. They will trample the frozen lands of the North, head west, and aim for the sea."
"What will the Kosa people do at the sea? Will they take a bath or something?"
"It is to seize the ports and dominate maritime transport. You know nothing, do you? Their business is to safely circulate people and goods. Every time someone moves goods, they extort taxes."
"Taxes are charged even now. Rather, isn't it quite good since it's safe?"
"There are always those with such shallow thinking, in every era. What the Kosa people sacrifice for hegemony is not human lives. It is the legitimacy of an ethnic group. Depending on the case, this is something more important than human lives."
Uuu, uuu, uuu.
Master Banja collapsed onto the table and began to cry.
Matinee didn't quite understand. People and people, countries and countries connecting, becoming able to move safely. Does that not mean that Matinee, for example, could go sightsee in the mysterious countries of the East?
That would be exciting.
"You don't understand," the Master said repeatedly. "From now on, you must live not as yourself, but always pretending to be someone else. You can only live by deceiving yourself. Koroi will become another country's land. They will be forced to do so."
Master Banja was terribly drunk. Matinee had to carry the Master to the bedroom.
What Master Banja said might have been correct.
The end of the war due to Koroi's surrender was declared, and the Kosa occupation army entered Koroi.
The Kosa army, wearing yellow uniforms, blocked the ports first.
If he couldn't board a ship, he couldn't return to Siddim. However, Matinee wanted to travel and see distant countries rather than return to his hometown right now.
When the situation settled, Matinee decided to bid farewell to Master Banja and his fellow slaves.
"It is an era with many hardships, but you must not lose heart."
The Master's voice was deep and solemn. He wanted to say "please cheer up," but saying that felt irresponsible. It was a fact that he had been given a good experience thanks to the Master. In the end, Matinee also left Koroi while shedding tears.
Regardless, it was the first step of an adventurous journey taken by the painter Matinee. Although his travel funds were not sufficient, if they became lacking, he only had to earn money with his paintbrush. The world was as beautiful as ever, waiting expectantly to touch the eyes of Ludo Matinee.
On the second day after his departure, Matinee spotted a Kosa person cooling off in the shade of a tree.
He had no intention of getting involved.
In Matinee's thinking, Kosa people were also human. They should have human common sense and human warmth. He just had to nod and pass by.
"Are you a traveler?"
A young Kosa person called out to him in the Enagamo language. Matinee's politeness and his feeling of expectation toward humanity would not allow him to ignore it. "Yes, that's right."
"Your companions?"
"I am alone."
"Traveler, I will share some fruit with you, so you should rest here in the shade of this tree."
Matinee was cautious and did not approach them.
There were eight Kosa people. All of them had serious faces and were huddled together, talking about something in a language Matinee did not know.
"You are not doing well," the youth who first called out said. "It is not good to travel alone at a time like this."
"Yes, that's true."
Matinee, too, intended to travel together if he met a group heading in the same direction.
"Travel in a large group, stay together. We will escort you to where other travelers are. Where is your destination?"
Matinee told them his destination.
"Then, let us search for travelers heading that way."
The Kosa people nodded to Matinee with smiles. There was no ulterior motive in those smiles. They sensed a simple situation and were presenting a simple solution. The reason for doing so seemed to be simple kindness.
"Th-thank you." Matinee could only be simply moved.
It was Matinee's first time riding a horse.
He had heard from Yugis Necrat that Kosa saddles were long vertically, and if one moved forward, two people could ride. Matinee rode double, pressed close to the youth who first spoke to him, and enjoyed the speed and swaying of the horse, and the passing scenery.
"My name is Matinee. And you?"
Matinee asked when the horse's speed slowed.
"Ginsha. Matinee-san, why are you going south?"
"I want to see the whole world and draw it in paintings."
"Draw paintings? Why?"
"That is my job."
The youth who called himself Ginsha laughed brightly. "No way, there's no such job."
"If I draw and show a rare landscape, I can surprise people, right? There are people who pay money for such paintings."
"That's quite strange, isn't it."
Ginsha seemed amazed.
Even if it wasn't a rare landscape, if it was a skillfully drawn painting, it could surprise people. Matinee wanted him to understand that such things have value.
When it became noon, the eight Kosa people and one Siddim person decided to rest in the shade of a tree by the roadside. This was a good opportunity to make them understand the value of painting. Matinee thought it would be better to have them actually see the paintings rather than explain. The effect was immediate.
The eight men huddled together, greedily looking at the sketches Matinee had accumulated.
"No way. It must be a lie. How can such a thing be made?"
Ginsha muttered while looking at a painting of a giant sailing ship.
"No. It can be made," Matinee explained proudly. "These dotted black shadows are—"
"I get it, I get it. They're people, right? Which means—is it true? Even if you made something this big, it wouldn't move, right? It would sink, wouldn't it?"
"It floats properly on the sea, catches the wind, and sails."
Ginsha translated Matinee's words to the other companions in the Kosa language.
The Kosa people stared at Matinee with sparkling eyes and said things one after another. They must be pleased.
"How is it? If you turn it into a painting like this, you can convey things about a place even if you aren't there. You can share information with various people."
When Ginsha translated, everyone nodded with solemn expressions. They seemed impressed.
However, when they saw the next painting, the expressions of the Kosa people suddenly clouded.
Matinee let out a gasp. It was a painting copying Yugis's notes. A painting of Kosa people. The Kosa people's horse gear and weapons, and even the arrangement of the Kosa army's soldiers as Yugis predicted, were drawn in detail.
"Uh, that is..."
"What is this?" Ginsha looked at Matinee with a harsh expression. "What is written? Something is written, right?"
The Kosa illustrations also had accompanying notes.
"Yes, no, no—"
The eight Kosa people began to discuss something fervently in their own language. Occasionally, the glances they cast toward Matinee were hostile. Matinee felt a danger to his person. Because of that, his judgment dulled, and he did the thing he should not have done most.
He ran away.
He intended to run desperately, but suddenly, his body stopped moving forward. Looking down at his own body, a loop of rope was digging into his stomach. He had been caught by a lasso. Matinee knew well that Kosa people used lassos.
In an instant, Matinee was pulled back to the original shade of the tree.
"You've done it now. A spy who pries into Kosa is beheaded."
Ginsha had a terrifying face.
Matinee could only respond with a scream of "Hieee!"
The Kosa people began to converse in the Kosa language again.
"As I thought, I'll take you to the Great King," Ginsha eventually said. "I'll get a reward from the Great King, and then you'll be beheaded."
Hieee.
Matinee answered with a scream again.
Great King Geraha Wolf is very close to the great city of Koroi.
Without entering the city, he was meeting with Koroi's envoys inside a tent.
The delegation consisted of scrawny, clever-looking southerners. They were stating Koroi's claims with dark, dull expressions. In their claims, there was a strangely eerie feeling, a mixture of dependence and arrogance.
—Since they surrendered.
It was as if they were saying to overlook things to a certain extent.
What on earth was this sticky, pushy nature of the Koroi envoys?
—They are experienced,
Geraha thought. In this era, the invasion of the Kosa army might be a fresh event. However, Koroi is a great empire that has continued since ancient times. In history, they have already experienced similar perils. Probably, the way to handle them is preserved as documents.
The bureaucrats of Koroi have likely studied those documents thoroughly.
In short, the delegation was trying to push Koroi's way onto them. They probably pride themselves on their way as an advanced system, a refined solution. However, it does not suit Geraha's country. Koroi is aging.
It seems Koroi has a great library that collected literature from all over the world.
—Should I just burn such a thing?
Old knowledge is nothing but poison.
But even if he burned it, there was no pretext. The enemy had surrendered.
For Geraha, Koroi's military strength was also a source of headache.
The Kosa army had won brilliantly. It could be called a crushing blow, it could be called a blitzkrieg.
When they defeated the central army,
"If you are to issue a demand for surrender, it is now and here,"
the staff officers, including Nahal Bas, had told him. Geraha had taken that advice. As expected, the Koroi Emperor complied with the surrender.
The work of King Kushitante of the Tawaru in Attaik had also been effective.
Koroi feared becoming a repeat of Attaik.
It was a progression of events as intended, and in truth, he should be happy. However, Geraha regretted it. He should have dealt a devastating blow to the Koroi army. The power of the Koroi army was still intact. Disarming this would not be easy.
The only conceivable conclusion was—
—To use the Koroi army for the conquest of the North.
That was the hand. Once the South was settled, next was the North. It was necessary to strike the five northern countries and solidify the foothold toward the western countries. If he used Koroi's military strength, the North could be acquired.
What weighed on his mind was the effort for that.
The time and cost to move southern soldiers to the remote regions of the North.
There was a limit to the number of people in transport by ship. He couldn't have them go on foot. He absolutely had to move them by horse.
If they were Kosa people, it would be no problem. For Kosa people, riding horses was daily life, and the sheep that served as fodder moved on their own feet. They could carry their lifestyle with them. They could go anywhere. Moreover, they were fast.
Regarding this, he just had to change his mindset. Sighing wouldn't do anything. It wasn't that southerners couldn't ride horses. Even if it was troublesome, he would have to do it.
If the western region fell into Geraha's hands, the Kosa Great Empire would be completed, ruling the entire continent from the eastern sea to the western sea.
Before that, there was Koroi in front of him. Whether it was Koroi's system or Koroi's army, they were not dead. They were surviving stubbornly. He should not have picked up a half-hearted victory. He should have won by searing a vivid impression into the people. He should have broken the core of Koroi.
The core of Koroi was probably the Emperor and his clan.
He could carry out the beheading of the Koroi Emperor in front of the masses. However, if he did that, Koroi would cease to be Koroi. It would split into countless countries. He would have to be prepared for a quagmire of war with those countries.
"Listen for a moment,"
Geraha interrupted the representative of the Koroi envoys, who was speaking with a gloomy expression.
"Can you not call the Koroi Emperor Abinail here, to this tent?"
"No way. That is unthinkable,"
the representative of the envoys answered with the sleepy, expressionless face common to highly intelligent people.
"There must be a way."
"—His Majesty is confined to bed due to illness."
"Hmm," Geraha muttered, withdrawing the proposal even though he had brought it up himself.
His intuition told him that he had no choice but to take his time.
If it were Kushitante of the Tawaru, he would tackle this problem with his tenacious personality.
However, Geraha doubted whether the Tawaru would still be subordinate to Kosa after they solved the problem and brought Koroi under their control.
Geraha did not feel refreshed.
Everything was going well. And yet, not a single thing was going well.
That was the feeling.
Even though it was something he did himself, it felt as if it wasn't something he did.
As if he were being made to do it by someone without noticing. He felt as if he were being moved by someone's preparations.
After the delegation's petition ended, Geraha returned to his tent.
Looking, a man bound with rope was sitting on the ground as if blocking the entrance. Around him were eight men.
"Great King!" The eight knelt upon seeing Geraha.
"What happened?"
"This one is," one man with red cheeks pointed to a chubby man with a round face who was tied up. "A spy who was prying into Kosa. He stubbornly refuses to speak as to whose man he is."
"What is your name?"
"I am called Ginsha."
"Ginsha, why do you know this man is a spy? The evidence?"
"Here."
The man, who looked to be in his twenties, handed a bundle of papers to Geraha.
He unintentionally laughed. "Not bad."
Paintings were drawn. They seemed to be observations about Kosa people.
The bound man was of a country that couldn't be identified.
"Did you draw this?" Geraha spoke in the Enagamo language.
"Yes, Great King-sama." Perhaps realizing the language was understood, the spy's face brightened.
"Then it cannot be helped. First, cut off his arms, then behead him. Ginsha, I will give you sheep as a reward. Whether you increase them or eat them, do as you like."
"Please wait! I beg you!" the round-faced man shouted. "At least, let me draw a painting, then you will see, everything is a misunderstanding!"
"Very well. Then as mercy, I permit you to draw one painting. After that, drop the arms and behead him."
After finishing a task, he entered the tent. Even though the sun was still high, the generals of the Kosa army had begun a banquet. Geraha was greeted with voices of welcome. For the past few days, banquets had been held almost every night. These boisterous revelries were the Great King's gratitude to his subordinates, which always occurred after a great victory. It was not a matter of a breakdown in military discipline.
However, Geraha was troubled by a sense of discomfort.
Did he really want to do this kind of thing?
Did Big Brother Astai and Father Radoba die for this kind of thing?
—If Big Brother were alive, what would he have said?
Regarding the unpleasant feeling Geraha couldn't wipe away, the discomfort he had felt from the very beginning,
"I don't know," Tenge would probably say.
"If you feel it's not going well, then it's not going well. No matter what the people of the world say. Geraha, in the end, it's you. I knew you would become the Great King. That's why I kept saying so even when I was mocked."
—It's just that.
Or something like that.
That's right, Geraha whispered in his heart. Big Brother didn't believe in the stars. He didn't believe in Geraha either. He believed in himself.
As the outside grew dark, three black shadows quietly approached Geraha's side.
They were the old men. Geraha beckoned and said.
"I will no longer receive your treatment."
The old men showed surprise on their faces.
To tell the truth, the thing between Geraha's legs had become slightly smaller. However, whether there was practical benefit or not, he simply couldn't like the fishiness he felt from the old men.
Geraha told them in a tone that allowed no argument.
"You shall return to the place where you originally were."
"Ah... our legs and hips have grown weak," Grandpa Manam said. "We will not be selfish. At least, let us be by your side."
"I understand. Then I will provide for your daily care. However, I forbid treating anyone within the Kosa Empire. Can you keep this?"
The old men bowed deeply with faces that looked as if they were about to cry.
Geraha felt a modest satisfaction. It was a small thing, but it was undoubtedly a decision he made believing in himself.
The next morning, upon leaving the tent, he spotted nearly ten figures a short distance from the Great King's tent. One was sitting on the ground, diligently moving his hands. He seemed to be drawing a painting on paper placed on his lap. It was yesterday's spy.
The eight men surrounded the spy, who was moving his hands with single-minded devotion, in various postures. It seemed the painting was not yet finished. Since bonfires were lit around the Great King's tent, they must have relied on that light during the night.
Geraha headed toward the meeting tent for discussions. While holding a meeting about the governance of Koroi that reached no conclusion, it became noon, then afternoon, then evening.
—Did I waste a whole day?
He looked back on this day with a surprising feeling.
Geraha stood up. He had a large body that seemed to darken the inside of the tent.
"Everyone, listen," Geraha said. Even if he didn't intend to, his voice became loud.
"Everyone's thoughts have been exhausted, and I think I must finally put an end to this discussion. The following is an order. I entrust Koroi to Kushitante and the Tawaru. That is all."
"What do you mean by entrust?" Nahal Bas said.
"Everything in Koroi. The treatment of the Koroi army, the system of Koroi, the Koroi Emperor. I will let Kushitante do whatever he wants."
"You must not, Great King!"
Nahal stood up as if jumping.
"I told you it was an order."
"But—the King of the Tawaru is a capable person. He will surely make Koroi his subordinate."
"If the Tawaru are there, Koroi cannot expand, and since they cannot leave Koroi unattended, the Tawaru will be pinned down in the South. That is fine for a while."
"But, what about after that?"
"I will think about it then."
"That is postponing the problem."
Nahal was correct. This was postponing the problem.
Kushitante would probably privatize Koroi.
If the governance of Koroi went well, the territory of the Tawaru would become two or three times larger, pressing against the Kandasyata Plateau. If that was the conclusion of this war, Geraha would no longer be qualified to be called the Great King.
Even so, Geraha believed his intuition.
Koroi was a quagmire that had become uselessly complicated. If handled carefully, it would rob him of vast amounts of time and effort. This was not the time to have his feet caught in such a thing. A Kosa person who had his feet caught and couldn't move could not be called a Kosa person.
—In short, that's it.
Koroi was unpleasant. He didn't know why. However, there was a sluggish flow of time in Koroi, the exact opposite of the way of life on the grasslands, and he felt that it did not suit Kosa.
"The decision will not change. I leave it to Kushitante."
Geraha felt refreshed.
—I will probably be wrong.
From now on, he would probably be wrong many times.
That was fine. It was much better than things going well without knowing why. If he didn't walk while stumbling and falling, it would conversely be dangerous.
He felt as if the various things piled up on his giant back had dissipated like mist. This was fine. It was a refreshing feeling, as if he had finally regained himself.
As he tried to return to the Great King's tent, Geraha noticed that spy again.
He was still drawing.
Geraha approached. "It's taking quite a long time."
"I am sorry, Great King," Ginsha said, and all the men except the round-faced spy stood up.
"What is this fellow drawing?"
"That is..." Ginsha scratched his head. "Well, I can't tell even by looking. He's just drawing lines haphazardly and insisting that it's a painting."
"It will be finished soon."
The round-faced spy said so in the Enagamo language. He was moving a writing tool like charcoal with rough movements.
"Do this here, and this, and this... look, it's finished."
The round-faced foreigner flipped the paper over and showed the painting to Geraha. Some black mass was drawn. Then, the spy turned the painting upside down. Then he understood. It was the face of a filthy, monstrous man. The spy had drawn Geraha's face.
It wasn't that he didn't know he was ugly. Even so, this was a monster.
"Are you satisfied?" Geraha asked in a voice that seemed to echo from the bottom of the earth.
The eight men also came behind Geraha and gazed at the painting. They probably didn't expect such a painting; the men froze.
Only the spy man was smiling.
"Yes, I am satisfied. Do you understand, this is you, Great King. It is your face. The face of an ugly and lonely man. I draw what I see. My eyes cannot be deceived. Your disgusting face will not change no matter what you do. —However, you have a better face than yesterday... did something happen?"
"Hmm. I had a few thoughts."
The spy shook his head and stood up.
"Such things don't matter anymore."
The round-faced man tore the painting he held in two, then in four, slammed it onto the ground, and further trampled it. "Now, do as you like."
Feeling the bloodlust of Ginsha and the others on his skin, Geraha extended his hand to the side. "Now wait. What are you? Are you not a spy?"
"I am a painter! I've said so many times!"
"Do you live your life playing at drawing paintings?"
"That's right."
Looking at the round face that had become that of a painter, Geraha burst out laughing. "I see. So you just drew what you saw, is that it?"
The current Geraha could understand the brilliance of this man.
This man had asserted his will until the moment before death.
"Your smile is becoming even more eerie. Now, please kill me."
"I understand, I understand. I was wrong. The beheading is cancelled. Ginsha."
When Geraha turned around, Ginsha, bathed in the setting sun, had dyed not only his cheeks but his entire face red. Only his trembling lips were white.
"I will not scold you. I was the one who was wrong. I will praise you for not executing him on the spot as a spy and bringing him to me. Find my nephew named Tulsi and receive sheep as a reward. Painter."
The painter had a stunned expression.
"Your name?"
"Matinee... no, Lu, Ludo, Ludo Matinee, Great King-sama."
"Matinee, you might be sleepy, but please accept my apology. I shall invite you to the banquet."
When the night had deepened, Nahal Bas came to the banquet.
After greeting people here and there, he came to Geraha and said.
"Everyone was persistent that the Great King should apologize. However, I will not apologize. I will not say 'Great King, please reconsider.' But please convince me."
"What is it. Are you already drunk?"
"A little."
"More than that, look at this."
Geraha handed a piece of paper to Nahal.
"This is a ship. —A ship? This. It's unusually huge."
"It seems we had only seen half of Koroi," Geraha said. "Only the form of Koroi as seen from the North. If you look at Koroi from the South, ships like this are everywhere. Koroi is a country of maritime transport."
"—Indeed. I knew that southerners drove ships, but that they were this large. Come to think of it, I heard the Tawaru fellows seized the ports first. I see, indeed. Koroi is a maritime transport country... They become exhausted if their maritime transport is obstructed. As long as there is a base to obstruct Koroi's maritime transport, it might not be that scary even if the Tawaru integrate with Koroi. For that purpose, we make some port our own. Is that right?"
"Hmm."
"I see, that is a good idea. I hear there are good ports in the West. The distance to Koroi is also close. We may have to run to the North immediately and open the road to the West—by the way, what is this painting?"
"That man drew it." Geraha looked at Matinee, who was sprawled out on the cloth. "A painter in the middle of a journey."
"Ah, I see." Nahal bowed toward Geraha. "Great King, I will go to Attaik and convey this to Mozu-sama."
Geraha nodded.
Nahal left the tent with his eyes shining vividly.
Setting the painting of the ship aside, Geraha spread another painting. It was a painting he had already seen many times, but he wanted to see it once more.
'This is the Princess of the Siddim Kingdom, Her Highness Lushetin Alish,' a drunken Matinee had told him cheerfully. 'She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. No, there might be no woman more beautiful than Princess Lucy-hime.'
—That may be so.
Geraha felt blood rush to his cheeks. He blushed every time he saw this painting.
Looking into the eyes of the woman in the painting, he felt as if he might melt away.
For reasons he didn't quite understand, he was seized by a feeling of embarrassment. He was so embarrassed he wanted to writhe.
—If I were stared at by the real thing.
What on earth would happen?
While immersed in an indescribable sweet feeling, he felt a gaze from behind.
When he turned around, the three old men instantly averted their eyes and looked elsewhere.
—No, no.
A person who is the Great King must not have his heart captured by a drawn beautiful girl. Geraha rolled up the painting, put it back, and placed it in his bosom.
—I will look at it once more when I am alone. And then I will end it.
Geraha vowed to himself.