“Whose household are you from! Answer me!!”
In response to my inquiry, all I received was silent malice.
Three armored cavalrymen approached at full gallop, their horses’ breaths heavy, long lances in hand. I clicked my tongue once and unsheathed the “Sending Wolf.”
It seems my luck has rotted yet again today. Curse the Dice Goddess who surely swings the pendulum during our travels, and bless the God of Fixed Numbers.
After roughly an hour’s ride toward the deputy office where Margit and the others had gone, a fleeting shadow of cavalry appeared on the eastern horizon.
Raising my fist, I signaled the rear guard to slow down— our formation was prepared for a surprise attack, maintaining space in a vertical line as we marched cautiously.
It makes sense that either enemies or imperial patrols would have scouts and outriders roaming all around. After all, cavalry is the most adept at both transmitting and blocking information.
However, it’s impossible to tell which faction they belong to from the distance and their visible equipment alone. This isn’t the modern era where uniforms are perfectly standardized, especially for knights and riders who value showy attire and often flaunt their personal styles— unless they’re flying a banner, it’s difficult to confirm their allegiance.
If I were to flee now, no matter which group these cavalrymen belong to, I’d be pursued and suspected. Thus, I decided to address the approaching riders.
If these are the frontier baron’s subordinates, I have a letter from the head of the manor, so there wouldn’t be suspicion, and I would likely gain some information. I made this two-fold gamble.
And as you can see, this is the result.
By the way, I also recall how bets on coin flips never went well for me. I rarely got the first move in card games. Even in rock-paper-scissors as a child, fighting over leftover lunch or milk, I never seemed to win.
Perhaps I was born under such a star.
Still, I suppose this feigned approach of friendliness is somewhat better. Based on my experience, preemptive attacks are easier to stop than ambushes or deception.
Unfastening the reins of the packhorse to lighten myself, I use the <Invisible Hand> to draw the shield strapped to the saddle. My comrades attribute all my magic to “Sword of Desire,” making my maneuvers quite convenient.
Kicking the side of my faithful steed’s abdomen boosts our speed. As we accelerate toward one another, the distance between us shortens rapidly, until I can even distinguish between whites and blacks of our opponent’s eyes.
The enemy approaches on a trajectory passing by my right side. Their control over the horse shows no instability even as they hold the lance, clearly skilled hands.
It seemed as if the point of the lance was wavering, considering where to strike. I waved my shield to provoke the attack. Just as I expected, the thrust came towards my neck at an angle easy to deflect.
Excellent! The <Shield Parry> is an inexpensive and basic skill, but since it involves a <Dexterity> check, it grants me defense modifiers comparable to high-tier skills when I use it. A precisely aimed blow coming to the desired spot is no longer an attack—it’s a feast.
Parrying the thrust with the shield, I slashed upward with the “Sending Wolf” under the enemy’s right flank, utilizing the incredible acceleration provided by the horse to magnify the cut and impact. A heavy feeling confirmed that the delicate silk under the enemy’s armpit was decisively severed.
Their dominant hand is likely useless now, the pain making it impossible to guide the horse properly.
In preparation for the second rider following up should the first stumble, I strike them with an Eastern-style crossbow operated by the <Invisible Hand>. The bolt, capable of piercing even plate armor at close range, easily penetrates the light armor focused on mobility, causing the rider to tumble from the saddle.
Ah, one foot is still caught in the stirrup, dragging the rider mercilessly along the ground. Poor fellow, though I hope he didn’t die. One can strip rewards from corpses, but dead bodies yield no information.
The third rider’s horse’s hooves faltered, perhaps unnerved by the sight of the two leading riders easily slain.
For a moment, I hesitated whether to charge forward or retreat, but that hesitation cost him dearly.
Thinking the range was still too long for a melee attack, the third rider underestimated me. I hurled the “Sending Wolf” at him. The rider, struck on the helmet with a bolted iron mass under compounded speed, collapsed unconscious, falling backward.
The horse, having lost its rider’s direction, whinnied in confusion as it galloped away, bringing the brief skirmish to an end.
“…Is that all?”
The fallen enemies are being secured by comrades who have caught up. I struck quite mercilessly, so they must have suffered significant injuries, but if they aren’t dead, Lady Kaya might save their lives.
Still, meeting scouts so close to the manor. Even in a harassment war, the extent to which they have successfully disrupted our allies’ communication lines suggests our opponents aren’t merely a group excelling in necromancy.
Margit and the others must have endured quite a hardship. They had to avoid conflict while burdened with an incapable heir to the manor, so they must have been forced to take considerable detours.
“…Don’t hog everything alone.”
“Sorry, priority on speed. Are they alive?”
“Yeah, though some might be better off dead already. The light cuirasses resulted in mangled backs.”
Taking the reins and report handed to me with a complaint from Siegfried, who retrieved our abandoned packhorse — good, everyone survived. That’s quite favorable, considering the potential loss of those who can speak.
We’ve secured a decent gift for the deputy office…
[TIPS] Though the brilliance and destructive power of cavalry charges remain, cavalry in the Threefold Empire of Rain is nowadays primarily considered responsible for maintaining order, reconnaissance, dispatch, and pursuing retreating foes rather than as the heroics described in legends.
The smell of battle filled the air. A mix of blood and feces, along with the charred scent of flesh and wood.
“…Hey, it’s not fallen, is it?”
“The flag of the empire is still there from what I can see… and the one beside it is the deputy’s, right?”
“Cross-shaped swords with a border within the horned shield… yep… a stag… probably.”
After twice encountering the enemy on our journey, we reached the deputy office of Flachburg, where the scene indeed resembled a battlefield. The homes of the fief’s residents surrounding the besieged fortress in the distance were burned down, and makeshift defensive positions had been hastily assembled, creating a ghastly sight.
Under a sun nearing its zenith, people were at work, seemingly transporting corpses, though it was impossible to tell from afar whether they were alive or merely animating corpses pretending to be alive.
Would this indeed be a stronghold still under the deputy’s governance, or a fallen castle holding on to the empire’s flag as bait?
In a conventional war, a captured castle would quickly replace its banner to boast of its conquest, and neither side would use deception to lure enemies, for fear of moral condemnation and the ensuing chaos on the frontlines.
However, we’re now in the midst of an unconventional war within the empire. The landlords would resort to even the dirtiest tricks to deplete the empire’s forces. They’ve already stooped to using the dead in ways rarely seen, allowing no room for optimism.
I wonder if the magical transmission device concealed in the earring works from this distance. Unfortunately, my skills couldn’t craft a world-spanning teleportation system that could connect everywhere, so it only works if we’re within the range of the same town or so.
Of course, I could cautiously approach until I’m within range…
As I was pondering, a single arrow flew quite close.
The shaft was buried nearly vertically in the underbrush and dirt, indicating it was fired from a great distance.
“What!? What’s going on!?”
“Shit! It’s fallen after all, right!?”
“Hey, De, isn’t it that we’re mistaken for enemies because we’re looking this way!?”
My subordinates moved to hastily turn their horses, but I raised my voice to calm them down.
This wasn’t an attempt on our lives. There’s no way they’d fire just one arrow and have it land this close.
Why would they deliberately tie a message to an antiquated arrow?
Extending the <Invisible Hand>, I retrieved the arrow. Upon examination, a letter was attached to the base of the arrowhead. Carefully unwrapping it to minimize air resistance, soft, feminine handwriting greeted my eyes.
“South-east tower…”
The single-word message was written in a very familiar script. Following the direction, I saw movement atop a distant spire.
To the human eye, it’s impossible to tell what exactly it was, but only a select few could achieve such an act, leaving little room for speculation. Their visor-like hair accessory that fuses a monocle and a human lens grants vision that sometimes surpasses even a true spider.
“We’ve received the most reliable invitation scroll in the world. That castle hasn’t fallen. Let’s go.”
While invisible to me, I’m certainly seen from their side. I waved back. I could send a long-range vision spell to see her precious face, but let’s save the fun for later…
[TIPS] Some spider-like beings are blessed with vision akin to a千里眼that extends to great distances despite their innate acute dynamic vision and wide visual field angles.
The most valuable thing in a fortress gasping for breath: supplies, of course, but above everything else, information.
“Thank heavens, there’s a manor still resisting! It feels as if we’ve gained ten thousand allies!”
Naturally, within a castle, no outside information can penetrate. Neither scouts nor messengers can be sent outside, and while carrier pigeons or magic could be used, the besieging forces would naturally attempt to disrupt such communications.
Therefore, our first visitors after the siege lifting, bearing presents no less, were received with great joy. The deputy, moreover, a knight of the empire overseeing several manors, clasped my arms and let out emotional exclamations, tears streaming down his face.
Lord Bohenhausen stood head and a half taller than me, with a robust figure that matched his plate armor, but he looked severely worn down, his cheeks sunken and complexion pale. It seems we share the same boat, caught in circumstances without foreknowledge of the empire’s plans, as desperate as he must be if even a mere adventurer is someone to cling onto.
Of course, despair would set in if you find yourself besieged by endless hordes of the dead with insufficient provisions in the castle while it’s not even wartime. Still, the fact that he managed to withstand and wait for relief without losing hope indicates what a capable commander he truly is.
“Lord Bohenhausen’s survival is the best news for us. The people of Mottenheim will find some solace.”
“So you say. I appreciate your words. Sending people out to repel the barbarians was neglected, and even warning of danger was fruitless, leaving me in endless regret. Most of my couriers, it seems, failed to reach and were slain… I dared to hope due to the loose encirclement… but alas.”
With sunken eyes streaming with tears, the knight wiped his face with a dirtied gauntlet. As a commander, showing too much emotion isn’t ideal, but now, he’s deliberately disclosing it to calm others as well. Without the superior being calm, subordinates cannot settle.
“I humbly plead that you don’t blame yourself, my lord. Now, please, take a look at who they are.”
“Indeed, indeed…! Incredible, you’ve captured twice as many prisoners as yourselves! Such dedication will not be forgotten—I’ll see to it that a commendation is drafted!”
“I’m deeply grateful. Siegfried, can you manage?”
“Yeah. Here, this way, Lord Bohenhausen.”
To the exceptional reception waiting for us at the city gates, Siegfried led Lord Bohenhausen to the prisoners we gathered along the way. We had quite the ordeal, rounding nine individuals into bondage. It’s certainly unusual to capture more prisoners than allies.
Still, the more prisoners, the better—corpses don’t speak, you know. If these are people riding horses, the value of the knowledge inside their heads far outweighs what a simple footsoldier could ever carry, and knights or their subordinates undoubtedly hold richer information.
Convincing Siegfried and the others, who suggested we kill them and bury them there reasonably, wasn’t easy—it was only possible because our destination was near. Frankly, I wouldn’t be able to travel safely with more prisoners than lookouts, always fearing their escape or counterattack.
So, you bunch looking at me with such hostility, almost biting through the gag to glare at me—it’s misplaced resentment. Normally, you’d have been abandoned there and had your armor sold without any questions.
I don’t know what fate awaits you from here, but now, there’s at least hope your remains could be returned to your family when everything settles. Honestly, I was tempted to immediately start torturing and cut down numbers.
“…Why, isn’t that Lord Heider! What’s someone entrusted with northern protection doing here?”
Apparently, there’s at least one familiar face. Good, let them reunite, reminisce to their heart’s content. I have my own matters to discuss with Lord Bohenhausen, but there’s much to attend to beforehand.
“Then, we’ll formally hand them over.”
“Ho! Acknowledged! Now, give those warhorses plenty of fodder and water! We’ll need them dispatched quickly, so be generous!”
I handed over all the additional warhorses seized from the prisoners to the groom standing by. We couldn’t handle more, and with the siege lifted, they’ll need to send messengers all over—no matter how many excellent warhorses they have, they’ll never have enough.
This also ended up as quite the side income. I have no intention of serving, so commendations wouldn’t add much to my wallet, but the warhorses were bought back at a price above market value due to the emergency—excellent considering the quality ones are still worth ten gold coins. This allows me to give the group a raise.
As I watched the horses being led away with my subordinates to the stables in the courtyard, a shadow came running toward me. Two black, energetic figures charged over the ground with an impressive force.
“Castor! Pollux!”
At a speed that made me fearful of some grand collision, here came my beloved mounts I had entrusted as guards. They snorted loudly and rammed their muzzles against my face with such strength. Whether out of affection, who knows, but one licked my face until water was dripping down with Pollux, and Castor managed to gnaw at my tied hair, making it untied.
“Fine, fine! I’m happy to see you too, but settle down! Good boys, good boys!”
Rejoicing in our reunion, I hugged their heads when a cold sensation ran down my neck. And I mean physically cold, not just figuratively.
“…I suppose I lose.”
“Indeed, one white mark returned as promised.”
Popping out from the side wasn’t a finely honed knife—oh no—but a worn-out, bent metal cup, its bottom blackened from repeated roasting during our field encampments.
Damn it, she had Pollux or Castor sneak to my blind spots from the side and close in at once, taking advantage of my lowered guard in the happiness of the moment.
To my old friend’s unexpected attack, I raised both hands to surrender, and she, too, threw her arms up.
Why would there be any reason to refuse Margit’s outstretched welcoming embrace?
[TIPS] Warhorses, valued for both military supplies and lineage, are strictly prohibited from general circulation. As such, they are significantly more expensive than riding or workhorses.
I finally managed to update after finishing a segment of the book’s preparation process.
Tried randomly rolling a travel table, it seemed like we encountered maximum attempts plus tough enemies, leaving me wondering, “What was the point of preparing everything to make it easier to escape?”
