* * *

The destruction of the peat guild in just two days sent a considerable shock through Gringen.

People took the rise and fall of assorted gangs as a matter of course, but the peat guild had existed in the city for years, and its leadership had passed down through two generations like a family business.

People now understood exactly what retribution awaited anyone who crossed the Frog Company. They understood the power behind that retribution, too, and the brutality of its results.

Authority inevitably gathered wherever there was strength and money. Valeri had both, and once he proved it, he became someone no one dared defy.

The first to recognize this and act was a man named Edmund, master of the jewelers' guild.

As though he had been waiting for the moment, he visited the company's headquarters and requested an audience with Valeri.

One might have expected the master of the jewelers' guild to dress extravagantly, but Edmund did not. He looked more like a skilled craftsman. His clothes were not silk, and he wore no gold or jeweled ornaments at all.

Seated across the table from Valeri, Edmund set down a ruby half the size of a fist.

"This ruby is called 'Tears of Blood.' It is the most valuable gemstone ever mined in Gringen."

Knut, Arne, Skard, and Yorik were not seated with Valeri. They had made themselves comfortable around the room, standing or perching on chests of drawers. Apart from Knut, all of them stared wide-eyed.

The value of a flawless, top-quality gem that large was almost impossible to estimate. Could there even be another like it in the entire kingdom?

Selling such a gem, however, was another matter. How much could one possibly ask for it, and who could afford to buy it?

Then Edmund said something astonishing.

"I would like you to have it."

Valeri considered this in silence. It was plainly a gesture of surrender. They had never fought, but Edmund was, so to speak, bowing his head without being told.

Still, Valeri thought there must be some purpose or desire behind his offering such a thing.

"What do you want?"

"Before I tell you what I want, can you bear this burden? The tears of blood shed by Gringen, I mean."

Edmund was speaking figuratively. Gringen was little better than a city of criminals, and those tears of blood embodied all the resentment, sorrow, suffering, and grief it had endured.

But Valeri's reply was cold.

"Do not expect that of me. I am no savior. In the end, each person must wipe away their own tears of blood and rise from where they have fallen. Let me ask you a question instead. What have you been doing all this time, to come to me only now and ask whether I can bear that burden?"

Valeri's words struck home, and Edmund smiled bitterly.

"Unlike many others here, my guild members and I did not come from elsewhere. We are natives of Gringen. You must know of the two great wars in the past, Captain. At first, this city was a refuge. Now it has become something more like a hideout. To be honest, shameful as it is to admit, we lacked the ability to cope."

Before the wars, Edmund's family had belonged to the Astrian nobility. They had ruled Gringen.

But the refugees who flooded in during those two great wars, and the criminals who followed, had stripped them of their rights. They had somehow managed to survive, but their former noble standing was gone.

Valeri nodded in understanding.

He was not so coldhearted toward someone honest enough to expose his own shame.

"I am neither a king of criminals nor a king of slaves. I will do what I must, and each of you must do the rest for yourselves. Treat me with respect, and I will treat you with respect in return. Take the gem with you."

Edmund nodded his understanding, rose, and bowed at the waist. It was not quite an oath of fealty, but it was an acknowledgment of Valeri's authority.

Then he left, leaving Tears of Blood on the table.

Valeri picked up Tears of Blood and examined it. The gem was so large that it felt a little unreal. It glittered in the light coming through a gap in the window, but rather than beautiful, it looked somehow sad.

"Can I hold it too?"

Knut asked. When Valeri passed it to him, the others crowded around as though they had been waiting for their chance to look.

Valeri had now brought both of the city's greatest powers under his control. He had decapitated the peat guild and seized all its assets and manpower, but he treated the jewelers' guild with respect.

He sent Skard to sweep away the remaining petty gangs—the small fry who had been collecting protection money.

Afterward, he continued providing people with work, money, food, and reliable public order.

Once things were running reasonably well, a market formed on its own, and commerce began to develop without further prompting. It had been a city to begin with, after all.

It was like giving a little water to a person who lay dying, only to see them regain their strength and stand.

Next, Valeri mobilized the people to repair the city's defenses. Gringen's marshes and river formed natural defensive lines, while a wooden palisade guarded the west, its only overland approach. The work involved replacing that palisade with a stone wall.

Time passed, and summer arrived. Northern summers were cool, much like spring in the south.

By the time even that summer was nearing its end, all of Eldeira's forces had finally assembled. It had taken roughly four months.

The army numbered about a thousand. Gringen's entire population was only around two thousand.

An army in this age was less a single body under one unified structure than a coalition of separate groups.

As if to illustrate that fact, many different banners fluttered over the fields some distance from Torvik.

Colorful tents and large pavilions that could accommodate several men dotted the encampment, with people moving between them.

One cart was piled with freshly butchered meat. In the field kitchens, numerous women chopped meat and vegetables to prepare meals.

When an army gathered, one could expect three or four times as many noncombatants to gather with it: the families of knights and soldiers, merchants, and others of that sort.

Thus, although the entire fighting strength of the Duchy of Eldeira fell short of a thousand men, the people traveling with it numbered four or five thousand.

Were these people going to farm or trade while gathered here? Simply feeding them for a day cost an enormous sum.

On top of that, spirits had to be kept high for the sake of morale, so feasts were held daily, with food and drink supplied on a scale worthy of a festival.

Even counting only the knights' and soldiers' pay and the cost of food and drink, waging war was a truly ruinous financial undertaking.

Duke Sven bore almost all these costs himself. As a duke, his power and resources were certainly considerable. But if he failed to produce results—if he actually lost—even a duke would struggle to deal with the aftermath.

After four long months, nearly everyone seemed to have assembled. It was time to stop laughing and making merry.

The duke therefore held a council in the command pavilion. His eldest son Gunnar, the captain of his bodyguard, his military officer, the earls of Winslow, Windale, and Revi, and the other commanders responsible for individual contingents gathered there.

Harald sat in a chair placed at the edge of the gathering, with Gidwin standing guard beside him.

The duke's bodyguard captain outlined the plan by way of opening remarks.

"As you all know, an attack by land requires us to pass through the Margrave of Dunbria's territory. That means there is a possibility of a clash. We have therefore also considered opening a route through the marshes to give us more than one avenue of attack. The waterways are difficult, since the enemy could use peat to set our boats alight. I propose that we advance along both of these land routes."

"..."

Given the gravity of the matter, the pavilion was silent apart from the noise drifting in from outside. The earls in particular kept their faces blank, as though seated at a high-stakes gambling table.

"As for opening the marsh route, we would like the Earl of Revi to take charge of that."

"... Why me?"

"Pardon?"

"There are two other earls here. Why must that task fall to me, of all people?"

"Well, because you have the fewest knights..."

Winslow had about seven knights, including the earl himself. Windale had roughly eight, counting the earl, his son, his baron, and his frontier knights.

The Earl of Revi had the fewest, at five, because his territory was the smallest.

Duke Sven was said to have around forty knights, but when they were actually mustered, only about thirty appeared.

Some were frontier knights in name only, not real knights at all, like the man at Moltontower whom Valeri had visited during his patrol.

Even including the four knights who had died with the second young lord, the total fell short of forty.

"So you intend to discriminate against me? Is this Your Grace's wish?"

The Earl of Revi turned toward Duke Sven at the head of the gathering. Displeased, Sven nevertheless forced a smile.

"Why would I discriminate against you? The bodyguard captain and military officer devised this plan together. They are experienced men. Hear them out."

"If that is Your Grace's wish, then as your vassal I must of course obey. But what of the right to plunder?"

Even plundering could not be done however one pleased. An order might be established, or a time limit imposed. It might even be forbidden entirely. Such decisions were also the commander-in-chief's responsibility.

"I will grant you half a day."

"Grant me a full day."

"..."

Commanding an army was this difficult. Brilliant plans, clever stratagems, and fighting strength were not enough. Before anything could happen, one had to get the bastards to listen.

Men did sometimes pack up and leave in the middle of a war because something displeased them.

That was why a ruler's ability mattered above all else. Whether by crushing opposition or winning men over, he needed personal charisma to lead these rough men.

Unfortunately, although the duke knew how to devise malicious plots and schemes, he lacked the ability to command the whole gathering.

The Earl of Revi was not simply rebelling out of nowhere. Such refusals and demands were commonplace when leading an army.

"... Very well. You shall have a day."

"Thank you."

The duke's bodyguard captain surveyed the gathering before continuing.

"Once we bring the army safely within striking distance of Gringen by land, the matter should be all but settled. We will offer them the chance to surrender. If they refuse, we will assault the defenses with ladders. They have only a wooden palisade, so if we use our numbers to storm it all at once, we should be able to take the city in half a day."

"Isn't reaching it the problem? The road is narrow and runs through rough, rocky ground. If the Margrave of Dunbria's army appears along the way and attacks our flank, how do you intend to deal with it?"

The question came from Æthelred, Earl of Winslow.

"We will have each soldier carry a stake and plant it beside the road. As long as we do not climb up to engage them, we should be fine. The Highlanders are formidable because they are accustomed to rugged terrain. If they come down onto level ground, they are no match for knights."

The Highlanders did not, in fact, ride horses. One of their distinguishing features was their use of very large swords. They were accustomed to the highlands, and their courage and stamina were exceptional, but as the bodyguard captain said, they were no match for knights on ordinary level ground.

"What about our supply lines?"

This time it was the Earl of Windale.

"As I explained..."

"No, let us say we plant stakes as we advance. If, by some chance, Gringen does not fall immediately, how will we transport food? If the margrave's army cuts our supply lines, won't we be isolated in enemy territory? Carts can barely get through there as it is."

Unable to think of an immediate answer, the bodyguard captain looked toward the duke.

"I will guard the rear. You need not worry about that."

"Do you mean Your Grace will not be accompanying us?"

"My eldest son will lead the advance and take the city."

"..."

What was he talking about? The three earls were speechless. It defied common sense for the man waging the war not to accompany his army.

Even if he did not fight on the front line, a ruler or commander-in-chief was expected to be present on the battlefield. Symbolically and practically, he needed to be there.

Knights and soldiers would risk their lives in a charge because their lord held his ground and watched the battle. Otherwise, what were they supposed to put their faith in? And how could they expect fair rewards for their achievements unless their lord witnessed them himself?

War put lives at stake. Fighting with one's life on the line was not something people did simply because they were told to.

The three earls felt that something about this was decidedly wrong, but they said nothing. They looked at Gunnar. He had a fine physique, but there was nothing reassuring about his appearance. His reputation was hardly good, either.

"I will hire mercenaries and send them to you. We have already made contact, and the contract is all but settled. You may rely on that. They are the famed Silverrich Company. Taking a place like Gringen should take them no more than three days at most."

The Silverrich Company was well known throughout the north. Originally a band of Nord warriors, it had since accepted people of various races and expanded its numbers.

It fielded roughly five hundred combatants, including about ten who fought on horseback. Its strength effectively exceeded an earl's, though its members normally lived scattered apart and assembled when work became available.

"..."

Those attending the war council were not entirely happy with the situation, but they could hardly refuse to proceed at this point.

At any rate, that was how the meeting ended.

The Earl of Winslow left the pavilion and was about to return to his own tent with Harald, his knight, and Gidwin.

He had not gone far when someone called to him.

"A moment, Earl of Winslow."

He turned to find the Earl of Windale. The man was famous for his ignorance, but ignorance alone could hardly have enabled him to govern an earldom.

He was alone, without an escort. Æthelred therefore addressed Harald and the others around him.

"Go on ahead."

Assuming the two had something serious to discuss, they acknowledged the order and withdrew.

An earl facing an earl. A private audience of sorts.

Æthelred asked,

"... What is it?"

"What do you think of the long-standing feud between our houses?"

Æthelred wondered what had prompted this sudden question, but the man clearly had something in mind.

"With Nords ruling the world, what meaning is there in an old grudge?"

The houses of Winslow and Windale had originally sprung from the same roots. Each had claimed the other's lands as its own, and they had been enemies for generations.

After the War of Conquest, however, they had become merely distant. Incidentally, they had survived that war because the Nords had recognized their valor. Those who had made halfhearted surrenders had all been killed.

"I agree. Which brings me to my point: what if the two of us joined hands?"

"In what sense?"

"I am not suggesting we do anything immediately. But the more I think about this, the less confidence I have. If something goes wrong, at least the two of us should weather it together. That is what I mean."

Even if they had to retreat, their chances of survival would be much higher if they stayed together.

And from what the Earl of Windale had seen since arriving at the encampment, neither the duke, who could not even keep his own son in line, nor his stupid eldest son inspired any confidence. Frankly, they both seemed like fucking idiots.

The irony was that his old enemy seemed more trustworthy.

"We may have put the old grudge behind us, but isn't it too soon to speak of trust between us?"

Æthelred asked another question.

"You have a legitimate firstborn son, and I have a daughter, do I not?"

He was proposing a marriage alliance. In that instant, Æthelred recalled something Valeri had said.

["Form an alliance with the Earl of Windale. Harald is not yet betrothed, so you can use his marriage as an important diplomatic asset. If you bring the Earl of Revi into the alliance as well, the duke will not be able to treat you lightly. Should the need arise, you might even raise an army and challenge his strength."]

Many thoughts flashed through Æthelred's mind. Even from afar, he had heard the news that Valeri had slain the Ballsack Opener. More recently, he had also heard about Valeri freeing the third young lord and hiding in Gringen.

He had no idea what Valeri had hoped to achieve by it, but his feelings were complicated.

One thing was clear: as Valeri had said, he himself was not equal to the task.

But for the sake of his house and his family, he had to make a decision. This war offered only two possibilities: be swept away by the storm, or survive it and seize an opportunity.

His deliberation was surprisingly brief. Earl Æthelred answered,

"Very well."