Tales of Leo Attiel ~Portrait of the Headless Prince~

Volume 2, Chapter 4: Pale Flames

Part 1

One of the castle lords who defended Atall’s eastern border had received a letter from Dytiann, the gist of which was that they wished to send envoys to Atall’s capital city, Tiwana. The letter was immediately forwarded to Sovereign-Prince Magrid.

More problems? The sovereign-prince felt like clutching his head.

Just when he thought that they had weathered the storm with Allion to the west, here came Dytiann from the east.

“We wish to give praise to Lord Leo for his wise and decisive judgement in bowing his head before the Lord’s teachings. We wish also to request a chance to meet him in person and to converse with him,” stated the message.

Leo had only been setting up measures to use against Allion, so the intervention of this new power was a problem for him too. Depending on how things went, it might force him to revise part of his plans.

In any case, they needed to probe around to find out what really lay behind Dytiann’s request to send envoys.

Since the other side has suggested it, should I meet them in person? The thought flickered through his mind.

Besides, he did have a desire to appear on the political scene, where the situation appeared to be constantly fluctuating. His thoughts were similar to Percy’s just after he had experienced his first campaign, yet Leo also felt that he had already stood out too much in the matter at Guinbar. So if he stepped forward and declared that he would meet the envoys, it would not be favourably received.

If negative rumours such as the prince is meddling unnecessarily again were to spread, he would encounter difficulties in implementing his plans from here on. Yet even if he didn’t meet with them himself, he needed to have a firm grasp on Dytiann’s actual intentions.

So Camus headed towards Tiwana, holding in his hand a letter from Leo stating that, “I am sending a monk of the Cross Faith in my place. Would it be acceptable to have him sit in at the meeting?”

Dytiann was a group of countries tied together by the Cross Faith. If Camus was given the position of representative of Conscon Temple, then there would be nothing unusual about him attending the meeting, especially since, in all likelihood, Dytiann’s business would be related to the temple. Lord Leo’s conversion simply offered them a chance to seek out talks and was, so to speak, no more than a pretext.

Having arrived at that point, the one thing which caused Leo concern was Camus. When informed about the issue, he had seemed to brood over something for a moment. This usually responsive man had been plunged in thought with an almost agonised expression on his face, and even deeper wrinkles than usual carved into his brow. In the end, he had agreed, “if it’s an order.”

Camus had gathered skilled builders from throughout the land and had only just returned to the prince’s side in Guinbar, so perhaps he really didn’t like receiving orders in such quick succession, or else he wouldn’t have been so reluctant.

Equally curious was that Sarah showed the same reaction. Even though she had not been ordered to do so, she accompanied her brother. Her normal way of doing things was to do whatever she pleased, but this time, she silently huddled close to her brother, whereas Camus made no objection to having his sister come along.

“They’re exactly like soldiers going off to fight a hopeless battle,” said Leo from on top of the castle ramparts as he watched the siblings leave. He probably meant that there was a sense of despair about them. Percy was with him on the ramparts, and they exchanged an anxious glance.

Camus and Sarah continued across the plain in almost complete silence. That night, lying in a room of an inn at a relay-station town, within the pitch darkness, Camus stared up at the ceiling.

Dytiann, huh?

There were feelings he had been unable to stifle ever since Lord Leo had ordered them to attend the meeting. Confusion, and no small amount of sadness. At times, when he forgot to hide it, fierce anger showed in his face. The strongest feeling of all, however, was probably homesickness.

They had not yet revealed it to anyone, but Camus and Sarah were born in Dytiann.

To be more precise, they were from a small country which belonged to the Dytiann federation. Moreover, they did not come from the street: their father was from a powerful family which was close to the king, and he was also a domain lord who had established his hall in a village. Although they were a noble family, they were not very rich, yet even so, the two siblings, Camus and Sarah, lived a life in which they never lacked food or a warm bed.

Camus worked hard at his studies every day, whereas Sarah tended to slip away from her boring classes to run and play with the village children until she was covered in dirt.

Their own country included, almost all of the surrounding powers, whether large or small, had the Cross Faith as their national religion. Most of them were affiliated to the Church organisation that was centred around Dytiann Cathedral, forming a coalition that was both religious and military. The country where Camus and Sarah had been born and raised was no exception.

Yet when a power grows oversized, even one bound together by religious convictions, internal strife is sure to arise.

“The upper echelons of Dytiann’s church reek of corruption and greed.” With their slogan of “wresting God’s teachings back from those in power,” movements opposing the church started to spring up all around. This was the first step that would later lead to the creation of the ‘Holy Dytiann Alliance’, and that initial stage brought with it the worst civil strife.

Camus and Sarah’s country was also embroiled in the turmoil. The fires of war burned throughout the land and swallowed up countless lives.

The king entrusted Camus’ father with a thousand soldiers to go and suppress those fires, but he fell into an enemy trap and perished in combat. Their hall was surrounded by enemy soldiers. In its front garden, their mother was burned at the stake.

The siblings were not yet ten years old, and attendants led them out of the castle to flee. In the end, however, they were still captured. They were declared, “agents of the corrupt Church of Dytiann, guilty of despoiling the people,” and were almost executed.

However, unable to watch such young children be executed, a priest of the anti-Church faction took them under his wing.

His name was Tom. He brought Camus to the monastery where he was abbot, and had Sarah placed in a somewhat remote nunnery that also fell under his jurisdiction.

At first, Camus had furiously rejected the teachings that were handed down to them. Whatever flowery rhetoric you dressed them up in, weren’t these the precepts that had killed his father and burned his mother alive?

He opposed Abbot Tom in every way, was constantly planning his escape, and was willing to use violence, yet the abbot patiently kept him company. He would scold him harshly, but he would also shed tears with him. Every time he cried, the abbot would hold the boy close; Camus could still remember the feel and warmth of Tom’s woollen habit.

A year passed, then two.

It wasn’t that he had forgotten the sorrow and anger of losing his parents, but the target of those emotions was changing. It was no longer aimed at a specific power, a specific teaching, or a specific person.

Why do people – especially people who claim to call upon the same god – wage war like that? Why do they take from others like that, why do they satisfy themselves like that?

It expanded wider, and even into the realm of the philosophical.

Wasn’t the simple life at the monastery enough? Every day, their stomachs were more than half full. They were assured of a place to sleep. Every day, they would pray during the pauses in manual labour, meditate, read the holy scriptures, debate the interpretations of ancient teachings – wasn’t that enough, or rather, wasn’t that the only way for humans to live?

For a kid, I was a convincing sophist.

When he thought about the past like this, Camus still unconsciously wanted to look away from the contradictions that had existed within him.

Although it looked as though the brunt of his anger had changed, he could not reconcile that with the bubbling, boiling blood that coursed within him. When he remembered their hall engulfed in flames, when he remembered his mother’s screams, when he remembered how he had run barefoot along the flagstones, pulling his little sister by the hand, his irrepressible bitterness and his seething blood drove Camus to agony. There was no one he could blame, no one he could hate, no one he could hurt – at that thought, his feelings, having lost their target raged inside him.

When Camus was thirteen, a certain group came to the monastery asking for lodgings. They were priests travelling on a pilgrimage, but with them were also mercenaries who had been hired to escort them. One of them was a master at the spear. One morning, before the sun had fully risen and when he was returning to the cloister after the early prayers, Camus came across the sight of the mercenary training on a hilltop.

His body outlined by the day’s first, faint rays of light, he vigorously went through his motions. Just when it looked as though he was moving as fiercely and incessantly as the wind, he would sometimes suddenly stop still. Camus watched, transfixed, as ‘motion’ turned to ‘stillness’, and ‘stillness’ to ‘motion’ in swift succession. Rather than being violent, to Camus’ eyes, it looked holy and sublime. Every time the spear whistled as it was thrust through the air, it felt to him as though it was smashing the conflicts and doubts within him.

Before he realised it, he had drawn closer as he gazed at the man in fascination. “It’s dangerous, boy.” – He had not even noticed how close he had gotten until the mercenary rebuked him.

And it was also largely unconsciously that he had prostrated himself before the man and begged him to take him as his disciple. The mercenary was already about to turn fifty, and he turned down the “boy’s” request like he found it bothersome, but when Camus repeated his plea, as though on a whim, he decided that it might be interesting.

They started to wield spears together.

Fortunately – well, that word can't really be used here, but anyway; the destination that the pilgrims’ party was headed towards was in the middle of an insurrection at the time. Let’s see how things turn out – they said, and decided to stay at the monastery a bit longer.

Even so, they remained for less than a month. During that short period, Camus absorbed as many of the techniques that the mercenary drilled into him as he could. He was so absorbed in his training that he would pass out in the middle of it. His daily religious duties were also affected.

“How could you have dozed off in the middle of mass?” – The fact that he was learning spearmanship from the mercenary was something that he naturally kept hidden from those around him, the abbot included, so he was on the receiving end of more than a few sharp scoldings.

“I slacked off,” he would reply before eventually ending up in a cramped cell in solitary confinement.

Yet he did not abandon the spear. He did feel guilty about desecrating the sanctity of the place, but he felt that when he brandished a spear, the tempestuous feelings raging inside him were expelled from its tip. Imagining the ‘enemy’s’ figure and predicting that ‘enemy’s’ movements, he leapt left and right, backwards and forwards. When he saw the perfect chance, he once again thrust with the spear.

Right, in this case, the ‘enemy’ is none other than me myself.

I’m not wielding this spear to destroy anyone except myself. I thrust this spear to defeat my own weak heart.

In which case, couldn’t this also be seen as a way to bring his body and mind closer to God’s teachings?

That was what he told himself to assuage his feelings of guilt.

On the last day, the mercenary practically didn’t say a word and carefully watched from the side as Camus wielded a spear. Just as Camus lunged into the last thrust... in that moment, the mercenary was right before him. Camus was startled, but the mercenary effortlessly repelled his spear, then lunged into a jab of his own.

For a moment, Camus lost the awareness of control over his own body. He avoided the attack with the defensive moves that had been hammered into him in the past month, while preparing at the same time to jump towards the mercenary’s flank, his waist and arms moving together to thrust forward the spear.

The sequence of movements was carried out without a single pause.

The mercenary shook his head and was about to parry, but then just before doing so, he leaped backwards. Drops of blood scattered and flew. There was a narrow scratch on the mercenary’s left cheek. He wiped the blood away with his hand, licking it afterwards.

“You did it,” he laughed. “How old are you again? Thirteen? If you were a bit bigger in size, that strike just now would honestly have given me the shivers.”

After the mercenary left, Camus continued to train hard.

Before long, he turned fourteen.

Life at the monastery continued peacefully, but all around them, the fighting only intensified. Dytiann Cathedral, the centre of the Church, had already been captured by the anti-Church faction, which meant that what had previously been the “anti-Church faction” now transformed into the “Church faction”, while conversely, the “Church faction”, which had, until then, controlled that entire area, was being ousted as the “anti-Church faction”.

That group, the “Old Church faction”, so to speak, started to regain strength in the region in which Camus lived. It was at around about that time that he and Sarah, his younger sister, met once more. Apparently, she had fled the convent after it had been attacked by “Old Church” soldiers.

The soldiers had neither faith, nor doctrine, nor ideals. Or perhaps it would be better to say that ideals had never had a place in this war. The Church of Dytiann was by then ruled by a man who claimed the title of “King of the Allied Countries” and by his younger brother, who called himself the Pope – and as you know, even the two of them would eventually quarrel in the future – and they were busy hunting down the remnants of the defeated armies, or else using that pretext to sweep away any opposition within the many churches that were dotted around the allied countries.

The troops of the “Old Church” approached increasingly near to the monastery. To Camus’ despair, Abbot Tom was unable to put any measures in place before the enemy had closed in on them. He merely sent messengers to try and talk to them, which meant that nobody was able either to fight or to flee.

Camus watched as that fortress of ideals and of faith in God easily collapsed.

It was set ablaze by enemy hands. Camus and his sister escaped together; it was the second time that they had run into the night, pursued by flames.

Anger welled up within him.

Abbot Tom was a truly good man, strong of heart and mind, but he was also the exact opposite of the soldiers who were laying waste to the land: a man of ideals only. Camus wondered if, when it came down to it, that wasn’t the same as having no ideals at all.

No matter how righteous the words or how pure the teachings, if all they’re good for is to wait to be burned in flames, then they can never be turned into ‘power’.

He faced the soldiers who were chasing after them, and for the first time, he swung his spear with the intent to kill. He did not feel that he was going against divine doctrine. It would be more correct to say that he did not have leisure to think, however – If it can be forced into surrender by savages, then being holy isn’t enough. Camus had twice been made to flee, and that thought now started to emerge within him.

His hands that grasped the spear was full of strength. They were stained with the blood that was trickling from its tip.

I need ‘power’. To do what is right, I need unstoppable ‘power’.

Afterwards, Camus and Sarah left the countries within Dytiann’s sphere and entered the Principality of Atall. While they were wandering around the various towns, constantly hungry, they heard about a land belonging to the Cross Faith that was independent from any other country and which even had the power to arm themselves when needed.

Conscon Temple.

The siblings’ steps were naturally drawn to it. It was there that Camus met Bishop Rogress, who shared the same opinion as he did.

“To oppose power with power is both sorrowful and foolish, however power cannot be allowed to trample over our teachings.”

Camus engraved that new ideal in his heart.

That was five years ago.

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

And now, after five years, he was going to meet with the past.

The meeting was held in a town in the east of Atall. The envoys had hoped to call on Tiwana, but the sovereign-prince had refused, stating that “this isn’t a good time”.

Allion was sure to pick up on any large-scale reception. Rather than it being a case of Atall being afraid Allion might learn of it – after all, even if Atall wanted to conceal it, if Dytiann had no such intention, then the news would soon leak out – it would be better to say that this was a defensive measure for when the information would eventually be known. At the very least, Atall wanted to show consideration towards Allion by demonstrating a difference in the way the envoys were received.

It was an almost painful effort to have to make, but that kind of consideration was crucial for a small country.

On Atall’s side, the envoy was an elderly aristocrat acting as the sovereign-prince’s representative. Assisting him were several retainers who resided in Tiwana, the patriarch of the Laumarl family being one of them, and Camus, who had joined up with them.

Camus’ position there was given as “a novice monk from Conscon Temple and Lord Leo’s surrogate, acting as a representative to Guinbar Church, which will soon become the base of activity for the Cross Faith in Atall.”

Camus and Sarah returned to Guinbar ten days after departing from it.

When they had left, they had been strangely quiet, but by the time they got back, Camus was entirely back to being the same as before.

In other words, he was angry. Appropriately for the warrior monk with the savage soul, his eyebrows were bristling, and his face was flushed scarlet. Once they arrived back, he grabbed a spear and dove straight into training by himself, sweat flying, like he used to do every morning at Conscon Temple.

Once he was done, he headed to the room in the castle where Leo had summoned. There, the usual faces – Percy, Kuon and Sarah – were all lined up in row. After Leo had thanked the siblings for their trouble and treated them all to a meal, he asked them to go into detail about the meeting.

First came the members of Dytiann’s delegation.

There was the commander of the Sergaia Holy Rose Division, Arthur Causebulk, a twenty-seven-year-old military man who was part of Dytiann’s crusader army. According to Sarah, he was “very sexy,” but, at the same time, “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still very naïve and doesn’t know much about the world.”

Staring fixedly at his sister, Camus took up the story.

“The one you really need to keep an eye on is probably the bishop who was acting as his assistant.”

He had introduced himself as Baal, a diocesan bishop. Smiling gently the whole time, he had taken the lead in all the aspects that Arthur, the official representative, neglected to address.

At first, the Dytiann side had talked about how delighted they were about Lord Leo’s baptism and about the prospects for the friendly relationship they hoped to establish with the growing Church in Guinbar, for example by creating an environment where monks and priests could travel both ways, or by transferring relics.

After that, they broached the main topic.

“We intend to send reinforcements to Conscon Temple and would, if possible, want to leave them stationed there,” Dytiann had said.

“When we send the soldiers of our crusader army, we would very much appreciate it if you could let them pass through your country,” they had unequivocally requested of Atall.

It was within predictions.

Actually, when Percy had gone to the temple, Bishop Rogress’ calm demeanour had made him suspect that there might be reinforcements coming from Dytiann.

Camus, however, was boiling with anger, as though to demand why only now?

Dytiann’s national religion and the doctrine preached at Conscon Temple originated from the same faith. Upon hearing that the temple was being besieged by Allion’s troops and was at risk of annihilation, opinion in Dytiann should have leaned towards sending armed relief. Still, it was hard to imagine that they would gain anything from clashing with Allion’s military. And besides, the temple was sure to fall before long. Rather than risk playing a poor hand and earning Allion’s enmity... better by far to wait and see.

However – the temple held out longer than expected.

For some reason or another, it seemed that Allion was unable to get the upper hand. At which point, perhaps the upper echelons of Dytiann had started to think that “we could make use of this.”

Rumours that Allion was planning a large-scale eastern expedition never seemed to entirely die out, so the ‘use’ to be made of was as a foothold to block any advance to the east. If Dytiann could send a steady stream of soldiers and provisions to the temple, this might one day be able to serve as frontline base against Allion.

Naturally, that plan required Atall’s involvement. Going by geography, the quickest route by which to send staff and supplies was through the principality’s territory.

“We would very much appreciate it if you could let us pass through your country.” – Although the tone was courteous, beneath it was a combination of threats and urging:

Sooner or later, Atall will also be drawn into war. You’d better be prepared for it. If you leave things be, one of these days, Allion will gobble you up whole. Or perhaps not... maybe they’ll peck away at you first.

Furthermore, if Atall stood by and did nothing for the temple, the pressure from Dytiann would increase, on the grounds that “your country bears responsibility for the fact that we were unable to protect our brethren of the same faith.”

The problem was that given their situation, whether they cooperated with Dytiann or, conversely, whether they joined Allion against Dytiann, the one which would pay the heaviest price in terms of victims would unmistakably be Atall. Given that two huge powers were at a standoff against each other on either side of this small country, if ever it came to war, there was a very good chance that Atall’s territory would be the stage on which they would fight.

The representatives from Atall had spent the entire time in a cold sweat.

Camus had tightly pursed his lips and remained silent; he understood that he was not in a position to offer any remarks of his own. Nevertheless, a thousand words were welling inside him, and he desperately held down the impulse to thrust them like a blade at Dytiann.

Even though up until now, you stayed indifferent to the suffering of the people at the temple, now that you see a benefit in it, you come barging in. And you even claim to be God’s good faithful. How are you going to face those who died in battle? Ah, no – bastards like you would just stand in front of those endless rows of gravestones with tragic looks on your faces as you pray for their happiness in the next world. And all the while, you’ll be counting the cost of each word of prayer.

His shoulders shook. The muscles in his arms bulged. He had always been a man whose emotions were easily aroused, and now, they were about to be unbottled.

Nothing’s changed since five years ago. The powerful all dress up like servants of God while all they’re looking for is their own gain. They burn down those who oppose them and force those who might be useful to them to obey. How am I supposed to believe that lot follows the same God!

Without his realising it, Camus’ closed lips were about to open.

It was then that a girl who was waiting on the table used for the meeting pretended to clear away a cup and softly touched him on the shoulder.

When Camus looked up in surprise, it was Sarah. He had been about to lose his composure, but Sarah, while placing a fresh cup of tea before him, winked at her older brother. She had no doubt managed to slip in by using her position as “younger sister to the prince’s representative.” It wasn’t hard to imagine that she had been worried Camus might get emotionally carried away, which was honestly disgraceful for him as the older sibling. That thought helped him calm down a little.

“Rest assured that we will, without fail, convey your country’s request to Sovereign-Prince Magrid.” For the time being, the delegation from Atall wanted to bring the talks to a close.

However, they did not have much time.

The Holy Dytiann Alliance demanded an answer within half a month at the latest.

Part 2

Hayden Swift arrived at a fortress built near Allion’s eastern border.

It was the very same fortress that had been constructed to capture the temple, and he had kept about eight hundred soldiers stationed there. His cloak fluttering as he returned, the ‘commander’ received the reports of what had happened during his absence, although he barely registered them. His eyes were fixed on something far beyond the temple.

He had not obtained the king’s permission to invade Atall. At the time, he had played the part of the understanding vassal, but there was of course no way that this man would have given up.

From here on, I’ll focus everything on having Conscon Temple surrender. His eyes gleaming like a newly-sharpened blade, Hayden once more pictured the plan that he would carrying out from there onwards. Then, once the temple becomes a military base for Allion, I’ll have soldiers garrisoned there ‘for our defence’...

Hayden himself would stay on, as he planned to draw Atall’s nobles to him. Then, he would have those who responded to his call rise in rebellion, on the pretext that “the sovereign-prince is acting as high-handedly as he pleases, as though the country belongs to him.”

With his armed force stationed near the border, Hayden would be able to immediately send in soldiers, on the grounds that he was “assisting those who have risen in righteous indignation.” He would fan the fires of civil war, and use their flames to capture Atall’s capital city. Given that Atall would have fallen with very little effort, the king was unlikely to say anything even if he only received the report when everything was already almost over...

– Such were Hayden’s plan for the immediate future.

He felt that, no matter what work I try out, it isn’t ever difficult.

First, capture the temple.

That was nothing. I just need to crush them with the difference in strength.

If Allion’s military commanders could hear him, they would burst into laughter, exclaiming that, Hayden really thinks he can actually pull it off? And as a matter of fact, rumours had reached him that a certain general had said something very similar.

But after all, they only had the limited intelligence of army men. To be sure, Conscon Temple was currently still going strong, but that was neither because of a mistake on Hayden’s part, nor because he did not know how to attack. It would also be wrong to say that he had at first been overly cautious, out of fear of losing more soldiers than was strictly necessary.

The reason for all of it was simply that’s what I wanted.

And that was all.

Hayden had changed.

All those who were close to him were agreed on that, and he himself was aware of it.

Nor is there any need to repeat what had caused that change – it was Florrie Anglatt.

The moment he first laid eyes on her, he had felt as though a throbbing new pulse had started flowing through his rusted blood vessels. As though time, which had seemed to stand still around him, had started moving to the creak of cogwheels turning.

Hayden had a wife and children, and before his marriage – as well as after it, too – he had accumulated who knows how many trysts with ladies serving at court and so on, yet he had never been fully engrossed in any of them. Whether it was romantic love such as it was celebrated in songs, or the stories told by his peers about how blind love had been their undoing, they were just wild and fantastic stories to him.

Yet the second he beheld Florrie singing unskilfully but still trying her best, Hayden’s mass of hard, coagulated emotions was instantly smashed. The plain truth is that it was his first love. And it was no directed so much towards the current Florrie as it was towards what Florrie would become in a few years time, when she would perfectly correspond to Hayden’s ideal.

And that was why he was so impatient.

If it had been just an ordinary first love, he could have built a closer relationship with her father, Claude Anglatt, while concealing his feelings, and then, with time, he could have become more intimate with Florrie as well. A few years later, once Florrie had grown up, it would not have been very difficult to steal her heart.

However, it was the future Florrie that Hayden was so deeply in love with. Although one could assume that she would continue to safely mature into that ideal future version of herself, there was still that small chance of a ‘mistake’ occurring during the process of her growth into adulthood. The still incomplete Florrie was so close to his ideal that Hayden wanted nothing less than unimpeachable ‘perfection’.

I have to have her by me, he resolved to himself. He would monitor Florrie’s growth from close by so that it could continue unhindered by any static noise. He would cut away anything unsuitable as though pruning a plant, and would encourage the growth of what was pleasing to the eye.

Florrie’s father, however, had obstructed that plan. He had turned down Hayden’s offer of “having Florrie receive an education at the capital,” and to make matters worse, he had confided that Florrie seemed to already have her heart set on someone. He had even hinted that the man in question was Leo Attiel.

As far as Claude was aware, there was no truth in what he had said about Leo and Florrie having feelings for one another. It was simply that he expected Hayden would give up if he were told that “her betrothal to the Atallese prince will soon be settled.”

Hayden realised that static noise was already interfering with her progress towards his ideal, but even so –

It’s not too late yet. It absolutely isn’t.

Exactly contrary to Claude’s hopes, Hayden’s love flared up even more strongly.

After that, he went to Conscon Temple as a mediator meant to mend the worsening relationship, although he returned to his own country shortly afterwards.

That was where it had all begun.

First of all, Hayden decided to make use of the temple. He pretended that the mediation had failed, and spread the rumours that Bishop Rogress had rained curses down on the royal family.

It was Hayden also who had persuaded the king to attack the temple. “You definitely have to show them,” he had urged. In that way that he had built up antagonism between Allion and the temple. Next, he had gotten Atall involved in their relations.

And for that, Oswell Taholin, one of the vassal-lords who shared the southern part of the country, had been most helpful.

When Hayden had been working out a plan to seize hold of Florrie, he had met with several of the commanders who had been involved in the war against Atall seven years ago. He had been groping about for as many of the principality’s weaknesses as he could find, which was why he had gone to see Hawking, who had been in charge of gathering intelligence about Atall’s internal situation.

At the banquet, when Leo had spoken with some of the vassal-lords, one of them, Bernard, had admitted being invited into a scheme from Allion, and Hawking... well, Hawking was the very person who had been behind it.

It was rare for Hayden, whose sense of self-importance was ridiculously inflated, to take the trouble of initiating action, yet he had personally galloped to Hawking’s residence to hear what the man had to say.

Hawking, a military commander, had lost his left leg in an earlier war than the one against Atall, so he no longer stood on the battlefield. However, thanks to his sharp mind, he had switched to espionage, and the king placed a lot of trust in him.

“Atall’s vassal-lords are a weak spot,” Hawking had opined. The sovereign-prince’s authority was teetering and since the vassal-lords were highly aware that they now had to protect their lands and people by themselves, it made them susceptible to plans from the outside.

That was especially true of Oswell Taholin, who appeared to be a man who could easily be swayed. Seven years ago, during the war, “if the time had come and we had given him the order, he would even have risen to cause trouble from inside the country,” said Hawking.

In the end, Atall had surrendered without there being any need to use that scheme, but Hawking had judged that Oswell might well be useful in the future, so they had continued to exchange letters and envoys. The commander was a man with a lot of foresight.

“Then, would you write a missive to this Oswell for me?” Hayden’s eyes gleamed.

“Oh? It looks like you’re thinking of something interesting. Very well, I’ll get in touch with Oswell and inform him about you, Sir Hayden. In exchange, and should it ever come to actual warfare, would you take my boy as a squire?” The commander replied, his eyes gleaming also.

Hawking had a sixteen-year-old son. The boy had a good physique and there would have been nothing unusual about his having already been to the battlefield. Yet even though wars followed one after another in Allion, by some inexplicable stroke of misfortune, he had never had the opportunity to be called to the front. His name was Randius.

At present, he was serving as an apprentice to Hayden and had taken an active part in the campaign against Conscon by mixing in with the marauders.

It was in that way that Hayden got Hawking’s cooperation and was able to approach the Atallese vassal-lord. He enticed Oswell with the prospect of funds and favourable treatment by Allion, and drew him into the plan. Not long after, Oswell urged Sovereign-Prince Magrid to send reinforcements to Conscon Temple.

Conveniently for Hayden, when pressure from Darren and others forced the previous sovereign-prince from the throne, Oswell had been one of those who had supported Magrid in taking over the position. Consequently, the sovereign-prince felt a debt of gratitude towards him, and besides that, Oswell was an eloquent speaker, so Magrid accepted the plan and sent soldiers to the temple.

In other words, even that had been part of Hayden’s scheme.

He had two goals.

First, after deliberately exposing the fact that Atall had sent reinforcements, Lord Leo’s position in Allion, where he was being kept hostage, would deteriorate.

The second was to spread slanderous rumours to the effect that, “General Claude, who is in charge of Leo, is linked to Atall and the temple through that self-same Leo,” in order to put the general in a difficult position.

Being an upstart, Claude had very few allies. If Hayden then approached him, Claude would have no choice but to rely on him.

That was all. In order to remove a rival in love and to place Florrie’s father deeply in his debt – and for those reasons alone – Hayden Swift had caused the chaos at the temple. And not only that: one day, he was determined that one day, he would cast the Principality of Atall into the flames.

During the initial stage that was the fight to seize Conscon Temple, Leo and Florrie had fled to Atall, which inevitably meant that he had needed to rethink his plan. Yet Hayden’s thoughts on that was that in a way, I don’t mind.

His ardent desire for Florrie was no different from before, but another, greater, part of Hayden Swift had changed. Ambition such as he had never felt up until then had flared up within him.

I’m sure I have what it takes to leave my name in history.

Naturally, walking alongside him down his glorious path would be the by-then adult Florrie Anglatt.

Why not aim for an exhilarating future? For a heart-pounding daydream?

Life was going to be very enjoyable.

And for that, Conscon Temple comes first.

Now that the war had been stretched out, there was no longer any need to drive Leo and Claude into a corner. They would be swallowed up.

Still, if he recklessly dived head first, even though victory was assured, there would inevitably be casualties.

Thereafter, Hayden would prepare for war against Atall. Since his plan could not yet be openly revealed, he refrained from asking the king for reinforcements, so it was necessary to keep victims and sacrifices to a minimum.

I will obtain a swift and brilliant victory with almost no losses.

Of that, Hayden was certain.

Part 3

There was more to Camus’ report. The warrior monk of the Cross Faith had received firm instructions beforehand from Lord Leo:

“Don’t say a word during the meeting, and hand over a letter once it finishes.”

The meeting proved a test of Camus’ self-control but, with help from his little sister, he was able to get through it and, at the end, he handed over the letter, saying that it was “from the prince”, just as he had been told to.

Even though it was no more than a excuse, Dytiann’s ostensible motive was “to meet Lord Leo”, so given that he had not attended the talks, there was nothing surprising about the fact that he had entrusted a letter of greeting to his representative. Yet seeing Leo checking with Camus that “You definitely handed over the letter, right?”, Percy guessed that there had been more to the contents than just simple salutations.

What was in it? He would find out a few days later, when the usual group was once again lined up in one of the castle rooms.

“The day after tomorrow, I’ll be going to Bernard’s castle,” said Leo.

This lay east of Savan’s territory, and you had to cross Darren’s domains to get to it. Leo explained that he had arranged to meet directly with Dytiann’s envoys over there.

“Then, Your Highness, the letter that was handed to the envoys was about that?”

“Exactly. I told them that I wanted to meet with them and fixed a date to do so.”

The envoys from Dytiann were currently staying in a town in the east of Atall, while waiting for a reply from the sovereign-prince. Yesterday, Leo had received a reply in which they agreed to see him.

As for what was going to be said during those talks...

“I intend to request reinforcements from Dytiann,” Lord Leo stated plainly.

Camus objected right from the start.

“That lot cloak themselves in God’s teachings, but in the end, they’re only thinking about filling their own purses. Even if their reinforcements are useful for a while, sooner or later, they’ll prey on the temple and on Atall.”

Meanwhile, Percy tackled the issue from a different angle.

“Are the reinforcements a request from His Majesty?”

As soon as he had asked the question, Leo sent him a sharp glance. It was a gesture that was clearly saying, “don’t ask anymore.”

Don’t tell me the prince decided that on his own! Percy was struck speechless.

Sovereign-Prince Magrid was probably still hesitating: stuck between Allion and Dytiann, he couldn’t give his answer thoughtlessly. Yet Leo, who had been given no diplomatic responsibilities, was saying that he wanted to join forces with Dytiann.

“Your Highness, please wait a moment,” Percy’s expression and tone of voice of course grew firm. “My prince, previously, you said that our only enemy was Hayden Swift. And that you were going to fight him and win. I... no, everyone here, believed those words. But if you allow Dytiann to intervene, then the war front will certainly shift. If several states are involved, then any attempt to bring things to an end will be vastly more complicated, and we probably won’t be able to avoid a full-scale war. This goes beyond defending the temple, and could lead Atall into an even worse crisis.”

“That won’t happen. I won’t let it happen,” Lord Leo’s expression had remained fixed for some time now.

For a moment, Percy did not know how to deal with this aristocrat who was younger than he was. Is he ecstatic because a few things have gone as he hoped? He wondered uneasily.

It would be great if he was simply restless; that was common in boyhood, after all. The problem was that Leo was seriously concerned about the country’s future. And because he was brooding so seriously, the boy could not see his surroundings. He believed that he had to carry Atall’s weight alone, and that only he was serious about protecting the country. But a boy’s earnestness could sometimes give rise to danger.

Leo stuck his hand out before him as though to hold back Percy’s fears.

“Won’t you hear me out first?” said the prince.

While Percy, Camus, Kuon and Sarah listened in attentive silence, Leo Attiel talked about how he saw what would happen from now on.

Percy Leegan was astounded.

Back in that room at an inn in Tiwana, when Leo had revealed that he would be luring in Darren’s soldiers and defeating them in order to obtain allies and soldiers of his own, Percy had genuinely been amazed. This time, it went beyond that. It was no longer simply on the level of worrying that the prince was selfishly allying himself with Dytiann, or that he was calling for reinforcements without consulting anyone. Percy didn’t realise it, but his hands were shaking.

Sarah was staring wide-eyed, and even Kuon, who was usually indifferent during these kinds of talks, could not hide his astonished expression.

Leo had revealed to them all of his plans.

“You can’t!”

It was Camus who vigorously leapt to his face in that instant. He had not been seized by sudden fury. Actually, Percy thought that he had endured remarkably well to have listened until Leo had finished talking.

Leo, for his part, responded with perfect calm.

“Why can’t I?”

“That... That goes too far. It’s too despicable! And Dytiann, who is being asked for reinforcements... and Bishop Rogress...”

Camus was so worked up that his words weren’t coming out clearly. Yet Percy, and all of those to whom Leo had confided his ploys, understood what he was trying to say.

At the same time, Percy Leegan was at a loss.

Was the young man who was taking Camus’ anger head on really the same one they had rescued in the mountains of Allion? His figure simply did not overlap with the forlorn boy who had descended the steep paths while pulling Florrie by the hand.

“I-If by some complete fluke that actually worked, then with that kind of battle, those who fought and died for the belief that God’s authority would one day shine upon the whole world wouldn’t be able to rest in peace.”

“Oh, ‘won’t be able to rest in peace’? Then would the souls of the dead find comfort from charging into what they know is a hopeless fight, armed with their faith alone, only to be annihilated?”

“That’s...”

“You yourselves once told me this: fighting is great and all, but there’s no meaning to it if you don’t win. So I tried to find a path to victory. And other than this, there is no way to defeat Hayden Swift and to prevent the front lines from extending any further.”

“B-But... It’s going too far. Your way of doing things is even worse than that godless Allion, or than Dytiann, which pretends to love God just so that it can profit from it. I can’t go along with it.”

Camus was almost grinding his teeth. Opposite him, Leo stretched his hand out towards the armed monk while pressing him verbally.

“Then, Camus, tell me. If there is a way to win without losing any lives except enemy ones – so: a method without bloodshed in which everyone would agree to lay down their spears – please, by all means, tell me what it is.”

“I don’t know!”

In a way, it was almost invigorating; Camus let out that single yell before turning his back on Leo so swiftly it almost caused a breeze.

“Where are you going?”

“I have no answer to your question. I can’t come up with any other plan that would work. But at the same time, I can’t betray my own beliefs. I can’t work with you any longer. I’m taking my spear back to the temple. I’ll fight in my own way. And you can laugh that it’ll just mean dying in vain... dying defeated. I bid you farewell.”

“Wait.”

Faster than Percy or Sarah could cry out to him, Leo had shouted out and thrown himself in front of Camus. When the warrior monk tried to pass to his left or his right, Leo moved to stand directly in his way. It would have been a comic scene, and completely inappropriate for the atmosphere, except that both of them were facing off against one another as though there were drawn blades between them.

“Please move aside!”

“I won’t.”

Their expressions were filled with the hostility of those facing an enemy.

“Camus, you seem to think that it doesn’t matter if your own blood is spilt, but how many lives do you think you can save with just the blood spilt from your body? Even if you are all resolved to sacrifice your lives so that there will be no other victims, the end result will be that you won’t have saved anybody.”

“Are you saying I should look at the big picture? What do you think a sheltered, ignorant noble can teach me?”

“Right now, I’m seeing more than you are, Camus.”

“What does a lordling who has never seen his friends die in front of his eyes think that he understands?”

Percy half-rose to his feet. The quarrel was going around in circles.

Wasn’t it strange? Previously, Camus had cursed at the vassal-lords, calling them “blind” for not seeing that Allion was a threat. Yet now that it was time to fight, it was Camus who was indignant after having been shown a path to victory, and who was being criticised by Lord Leo for being “blind”.

Percy didn’t know what was right in this situation, either. Confused emotions were running rampant in that room. Anyway, what everyone, himself included, needed right now was time to cool their heads. As Percy was watching, trying to find a chance to intervene, he saw Leo’s hand go to his waist and unsheathe his sword. The blade was one of those slender and curved ones that were widely used in Atall.

Camus, on the other hand, was unarmed. Given that he was not an Atallese soldier, it was only natural that would not be allowed to carry a weapon into the castle. For a second, his expression went stiff before turning into a faint and eerie smile.

“You’re going to kill me? Fine, do it. If you kill those who won’t do as you say, then you’re no better than Allion.”

“Big Brother!” Sarah shouted out.

Kuon was also in position to spring up.

Percy held his breath.

“No,” Leo smiled and turned the sword around, pushing the grip into Camus’ hand.

The warrior monk’s thick eyebrows drew together at almost the same moment that Leo let go of the grip. Out of reflex, Camus caught the sword which was about to fall to the ground. Again almost at the same time, Leo’s two hands covered Camus’ so that it looked like the two of them were holding the sword together. Whereupon, Leo took a step forward, placing himself in a position where it looked like the blade was resting on top of his shoulder. Before Camus had time to react in surprise, it was already too late.

“You will kill me,” said Leo.

Part 4

“W-What?” Camus blinked in confusion.

Leo stared straight into his eyes.

“I revealed my whole plan to you. Since you object to it, I cannot allow you to leave. But having said that, I can’t kill the protector who saved my life, either.”

“T-That’s ridiculous. Do you think I’m the kind of man who would spread word around? I won’t tell anyone. So...”

“No. I can’t put this plan into effect without everyone’s approval. I absolutely need all of you to lend me your help. So if you’re saying that you can’t endorse the plan – since it means following the same fate anyway – I would rather you killed me here and now.”

“W-What are you talking about? You’re probably thinking I won’t do it. How like a noble, with your exaggerated play-acting to make you look...”

“Kill me, Camus.”

Leo took another step forward. The downturned blade pressed against his neck. Even when Camus hurriedly tried to step back, Leo followed after him.

Camus’ back hit the wall. And Leo still continued to advance.

Bah – Seething with irritation, Camus tried to forcefully tear the blade away from Leo. Camus was by far the stronger of the two, but Leo was desperate. He firmly planted his legs on the ground and put his strength into his shoulders. The tip of the curved blade grazed his cheek and ear, swiftly opening a red line along its path, from which thick drops of blood started to trickle down.

Even Camus’ blood ran cold and he stopped moving.

“Prince!” Several voices overlapped.

“Show me, Camus,” Leo, on the other hand, spoke quietly. “I’ve already shown you my resolve. Now it’s your turn to prove your determination. If you have enough determination to cut me down here and now, to be chased out of Atall and yet still head towards the temple to die a brilliant death, then prove it to me.”

“P-Prince, stop,” Camus groaned as Leo took yet another step forward. The tip of the sword was now at the nape of the prince's neck.

“It would be one thing if you were the only one to die. But what does defeat mean in this case? It means this country will fall, the temple will go up in flames and countless people will face death and destruction. If you claim that you’re willing to bear that responsibility, then prove that your resolve is greater than mine, O Monk,” said Leo.

Percy could no longer utter a sound as he watched this scene unfold. It was then that he noticed that the two who were facing off so closely had something in common.

Camus was gritting his teeth and looked as though he was in the middle of enacting a fight to the death, but he was, at heart, a very honest man. While his emotions were raging, what lay under the surface was easy to see: showing beneath his expression was a vulnerability – a sense of inferiority, so to speak – born from the fact that he could not offer a straight rebuttal or counterargument to the prince’s plan.

Then, there was Lord Leo Attiel. His usually gentle countenance had changed entirely, and he looked close to anger. Yet if one looked closely, his eyes which were supposed to be glaring sharply, and his lips which were supposed to be set firmly were all trembling ever so slightly.

In terms of their positions, their opinions and the road they were following, the two were completely different. It was as if those very differences were what had caused them to clash with each other. And yet –

Their positions and their opinions are different, but at the very least, the inner conflict that they both feel is probably the same. They can clearly see the road they're going to follow. They're also prepared for the need for sacrifices to be able to take a step along it. And they're probably a lot alike in how they biterly regret that they can't pay the price of sacrifice alone, thought Percy.

It occurred to him that it wasn't limited to those two, and that there was a part of him that also overlapped with them. Oh, I get it.

With that thought, a light suddenly flickered within his mind.

There was another scene like this... When Lord Leo said that he was going to 'defeat Darren so as to fight Allion', Camus' response at the time...

Percy had felt that those two might one day cause calamity to befall Atall. He had felt impatient. It would not have been surprising if he himself , exactly like Camus was right now, had outright opposed the prince and stood before him.

Yet back then, for some reason, Percy has not given vent to his emotions.

What he now got was what that reason had been.

Percy stood up and stepped towards the two of them.

Camus' eyes turned towards him; drenched in sweat, the monk seemed to be pleading for help.

“Get the prince away from me, Percy. I'll never tell anyone what I saw and heard here. True, we haven't known each other long, but you must know me enough to believe me when I say that. So let me go!”

Leo's eyes also looked towards Percy. Both their gazes were definitely alike.

Percy got so close to the two of them that he could feel their breath. And from there, he did something completely different from what Camus had hoped and Leo had expected.

He clapped them both on the shoulders. “Interesting,” he added, as he did so.

“What is?” Camus glared, his face covered in sweat. The anger he had been directing at Leo now seemed to be turned at full force against Percy.

Who remained undaunted.

“Don't you think so, Camus? Or actually, you might have thought it more than once. Back then, you know. Back on Mount Conscon, when were giving our all in a fight that we couldn't see the end of, and I suggested attacking Allion's headquarters. Thinking about it now, that was a really reckless, and foolish, and childish suggestion, huh? Well, no, there's no 'thinking about it now' about it. We already knew it back then. Me, you, Kuon, Sarah – everyone understood it. But... everyone thought it sounded interesting, right? Better to do something outrageous than to gradually let ourselves be driven into a corner. Rather than sit around waiting to be killed, better to give our lives of our own free will.”

On either side of the blade, Camus and Leo's gazes were now turned solely towards Percy. Kuon and Sarah were the same.

“And it was the same when you, Prince, Camus, were agreeing excitedly about going to defeat Darren's soldiers. I should have stopped you. Deliberately inviting internal conflict when the country was in danger was simply too stupid. I should have objected clearly, just like Camus is now. But... I couldn't do it. You understand, don't you Camus? Back then, you probably went along with the prince because you were thinking the same thing. Yep – that it was 'interesting'.” Percy smiled without even realising it. Although he had felt danger emanating from the prince until just a few moments ago, Percy was now in a position akin to that of supporting the prince as he walked along a narrow tightrope. Or perhaps it was better to say that he would advance with him, ready to cross the rope together.

Anything’s fine, I don’t mind.

He could perceive his own true feelings. He could tell what he should do, and what he wanted to do. What could be more joyful for a young man?

“I hit the bull’s eye, didn’t I, Camus? True, we haven’t known each other long, but I least know you well enough for that. Yeah. ‘Interesting’. I thought so again too. This is Lord Leo, who flew over the predictions made by the sovereign-prince and the vassal-lords, and who was going to stand alone against Allion. No matter how far it went off the beaten track, no matter how ludicrous it seemed, you thought that was far more ‘interesting’ than not doing anything, and just waiting for some change to happen in a situation that was created by someone else.”

At some point, Percy’s hands had extended towards Camus and the prince’s shoulders, and gradually started forcing the two apart.

Percy then abruptly asked Camus a question.

“Camus, what do you fight for?”

“W-What do you mean, ‘what’? At this point, ‘what’... that’s,” while Camus’ tongue was getting itself tangled up, Percy substituted in his own words.

“To win,” he finished the sentence. “I also want to fight to win. I want to bet my life believing that victory is within reach. I have no wish to fight if victory is impossible; if I died in that situation, it would just be dying in vain.”

Camus’ eyes were dark with anger. He breathed in, looking like he was about to give an immediate retort, yet his voice did not come out, and all he exhaled was a helpless sigh.

Percy did not miss that cue. He pushed hard on Camus and Leo’s shoulders, forcing them away from one another. As their entangled hands separated, there was the sound of the sword clattering to the floor. The noise was unexpectedly loud and, in response to it, a voice came from behind the door.

“Your Highness, is something wrong!” The soldier on sentry duty burst in.

He was still very young, and Percy remembered his red hair and freckled face.

“It’s nothing, Rhoda. We were just playing about a bit,” Lord Leo laughed and picked up the sword which had fallen to the ground, returning it to his waist.

The boy called Rhoda was one of the militiamen who had been recruited in one of the villages. Despite his gentle appearance, he proved to be quite skilled, so he was even made a commanding officer. Most of the farmers had returned to work in their villages until they received orders, but a few of them, Rhoda included, had been hired to help guard the castle’s surroundings.

It was obvious to any onlooker that he adored the prince who had changed his life. He gazed at him as he would a god. Although the red-haired boy wasn’t happy with it – he had heard angry voices coming from inside the room – since it was the prince’s command, he obediently withdrew.

“Your Highness, the blood...”

When Percy pointed it out, Leo brought his hand to his cheek. His skin had been slightly torn, and blood was oozing out from under it. He quickly wiped it away with his hand.

That same hand was suddenly seized hold of by Camus. The gesture appeared insolent, but Leo said nothing. Camus bowed his head. He seemed to squeeze a few words out, but not even the nearby Percy could make out what they were. Camus spoke once again, this time opening his mouth wide.

“You’re asking me to betray them,” he said. “The temple, the bishop, my native land... And my own future, I who had dedicated myself entirely to God.”

His native land? Percy frowned. This was the first time that he had reason to guess that Camus might have been born in Dytiann.

“And you’re threatening me with the fact that if I don’t betray them, it’ll usher in even greater destruction.”

“...”

Camus kept his face turned down, without as much as looking at Leo, who was nodding silently, as he painfully bit out his next words.

“Victory.”

Then –

“Can you promise victory, boy?” he continued.

Percy was on the verge of reproving him for his insolence, but Leo answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“I promise.”

“You’re telling the truth, right?” Camus gripped his hand with all his strength. Leo’s expression became ever so slightly distorted. “I... I can’t take any more. I can’t run away a third time. I would rather die than run away again. But... like Percy said, it would probably just be a useless death. But, boy... To win... You say that there’s a way to win. There’s a way to finish this without having the true teachings and the righteous way of doing things be burned and smashed and destroyed?”

“Of course,” through the sound of bones cracking and crunching, Leo nodded with no change in his expression. “But in exchange, please lend me your help, all of you. I am powerless, so please give me your recklessness and your strength.”

Who’s the reckless one here? Percy thought, but out loud, he answered with a clear “Aye,” and placed his hand over theirs.

Camus’ was shaking. Finally –

“In that case, I pledge this body of mine... no, I will even entrust you with my soul, Your Highness. Forgive my rudeness.” As he said that, he fell to his knees, completely drained of all strength. Since their hands were still clasped, it looked from the outside as though Camus was kneeling before Leo Attiel.

Percy felt stimulated, as though the warmth from the overlapping hands had entered into his bloodstream and was coursing through him.

“Come over, Kuon. Sarah,” he called out to the two who were half rising to their feet.

He took both their hands and placed them on top of the ones which were covering Lord Leo’s.

“It really is interesting. Don’t you think so, Camus? Kuon? Sarah? A ‘powerless’ prince is asking for help from us ‘reckless’ ones. And he says that even though nobody has ever heard of us, he can win against Allion with our assistance. Isn’t that interesting?”

As he uttered those words, Percy felt happy from the bottom of his heart.