“They’re all so weak!” He howled, thinking of the nobles no more intelligent than goblins who could see only the food dangling in front of their eyes. “But—what should I do? Think!”
Breathing raggedly, he racked his brain.
He had to think of a way to keep the kingdom going despite the ordeals that were sure to continue.
“First, the upcoming war with the empire is a significant risk. Ainz Ooal Gown is said to be quite powerful. We should assume we’ll take at least ten thousand losses and think about where to go from there. At the same time, we need to get the next king into power…”
He organized his thoughts by saying them aloud. Really, he would have liked to have someone to consult with. That was precisely why he was supporting Prince Zanac.
The second prince was Raeven’s sole ally in the royal family—well, he had found another in Princess Renner. Their alliance worked because they understood the current dangers in the same way and plotted their course accordingly with an eye on the future.
If he could get Prince Zanac onto the throne, at the very least the weight on his right shoulder would be lifted.
“…He said he would make me his prime minister, and it probably wasn’t a joke, so the weight on my left shoulder will probably stay the same. Even so, the kingdom’s situation should improve.”
Marquis Raeven’s goal for the near future was to ensure Prince Zanac became king. If he failed, the kingdom would be one step closer to ruin.
“Now I have Princess Renner’s help, so things should become slightly easier in the future…”
Muttering his ideas and strategies as he pondered, Marquis Raeven sighed deeply.
Sometimes he wanted to leave it all behind.
On more than one or two occasions, he entertained the idea of simply destroying everything out of frustration.
He was building a castle in the sand, but there were children running amok. Under those circumstances, destructive desires probably couldn’t be helped. But there was a reason he was able to endure.
Knock, knock.
The sound came from lower on the door. For a moment, Marquis Raeven’s face was completely out of character. It was almost like his expression had melted—the corners of his eyes lowered and his lips relaxed.
“Oops, that won’t do. Can’t be looking like that.”
He forced himself to pull it together, smacked his cheeks lightly, and fixed his messy hair. Then he raised his voice so the person on the other side of the metallic door would be able to hear. He made sure his voice was gentle and not angry.
“Come in.”
The speed at which the heavy door opened indicated how much the person who pushed it had waited for that moment.
A child appeared.
The adorable, innocent boy’s cheeks stood out pretty and pink against his white skin. He was probably around five years old. He ran across the room to Marquis Raeven’s lap.
“It’s not very becoming to run indoors,” a woman’s voice called after him.
Her face was beautiful, but there was something melancholic about her. The most fitting word was perhaps cheerless. The quality of her clothing was good, but the dress was a somewhat somber color.
She bowed her head to Marquis Raeven and then smiled faintly.
When was it that my wife finally began to smile?
He suddenly recalled how things used to be.
When the marquis was younger, there was a time when he harbored the ambition that any talented youth would: acquiring the throne.
The irreverent dream of usurping the crown.
To a young marquis who was confident in his quick wits, that was what he considered the most appropriate life goal. He devoted himself to his ambitions. He expanded his influence, collected wealth, made connections, defeated his political rivals…
Taking a wife had been merely another means to an end. If being married would increase his standing, he didn’t care what sort of woman became his bride. In the end, it was a beautiful yet cheerless person who came to him, but he didn’t mind; the important thing was the connection to her parents.
Their life as a married couple was normal.
Rather, it was Marquis Raeven’s personal idea of normal. When he married her, he paid her the attention he would give any other tool, but there was no love at all.
Then something had changed him.
The marquis’s gaze shifted to the child at his knees.
When he had first heard they were having a baby, all he felt was that it would be but one more tool. But when the newborn squeezed his finger, something inside him broke.
The baby reminded him less of a squishy miniature human and more of a monkey. Raeven never thought he was cute or anything like that. But when he felt that faint warmth through his finger, somehow everything else seemed absurd.
He suddenly felt like the throne was no better than garbage.
At some point, without his realizing it, the man who had once burned with ambition was dead.
He also recalled his wife’s expression when he thanked her—he could never tell her, but it made him laugh whenever he remembered it. The thought, Who are you? had been plain on her face.
Of course, at first, she probably thought it was merely a temporary change because she had borne him an heir. But the difference in how he acted eventually became so strange that she began to wonder if the marquis had gone mad.
Apparently, given a choice between her husband up until that point and her changed husband, she preferred the latter. Her mood had begun to change as well. Essentially, they became a normal couple.
At the moment, his child was trying to scrabble up, so Marquis Raeven picked him up.
The boy laughed as the marquis brought him into his lap. He felt the high temperature particular to small children through his clothes. The moderate weight felt comfortable, and a peaceful satisfaction filled his heart.
Now Marquis Raeven had only one goal.
I want to pass on my domain in perfect condition. It was a typical goal of a noble father.
He gazed gently at his child in his lap and asked, “What’sa matter, Baby Lee? Smooch, smooch!” There were only two people in the world who had seen the great noble scrunch up his lips and say, “Smooch, smooch.”
One of them, the child, squealed in delight.
“Dear, using baby talk with children isn’t good for their language development.”
“Hmph! Nonsense. That’s only an unfounded rumor.”
Though that’s what he said, internally he knew he shouldn’t do anything that might harm his son’s education.
He was sure that since this was his child, the boy was bound to be gifted. Well, it was perfectly fine if his son wasn’t, but it was only natural for a parent to want to encourage their child’s strengths. At the same time, he certainly didn’t want to be a bad influence on his son. But the one thing he couldn’t give up was the loving nickname.
Avoiding his wife and her slightly troubled expression in his field of vision, Raeven addressed his son again. “C’mon, Baby Lee. Hmm? What’s wrong? Is there something you wanna tell Daddy?”
“Eh-heh-heh-heh. Umm…”
The child cupped his hands to his mouth as if he was sipping tea, intending to tell a secret. Seeing this adorable act, Marquis Raeven felt the corners of his mouth soften affectionately. Nobody would believe that this face belonged to the man known by many as a snake.
“What is it? Will you tell Daddy? Ohh, I wonder what it is.”
“So for dinner today…”
“Uh-huh?”
“…we’re having something you like!”
“Wowww! That makes Daddy soooo happy! …What is it that we’re having tonight?”
“Gabura fish meunière,” his wife responded.
“I see. Oh, what’s da matter, Baby Lee?!” he asked in a hurry upon noticing the boy’s sulky face.
“I wanted to tell you!”
Marquis Raeven felt like he had been struck by lightn
ing from behind.
“Oh nooo… Er, I see. Sorry, Baby Lee, that was all Daddy’s fault… Why did you tell me that?”
In response to his furrowed brow and question, his wife put a hand over her face—the gesture seemed to say, What am I going to do with you?
“Baby Lee, will you tell me, then?”
The pouting boy turned his head away. In response, Marquis Raeven put on a violently shocked face full of such despair it seemed like he might choose death.
“Sorry, Baby Lee. Daddy’s a dummy and already forgot. Could you tell me?”
From the way the boy was peeking at him, he could tell it would take only a little more coaxing.
“Can you tell Daddy? I might cry!”
“Okay, umm, it’s your favorite fish.”
“Oh! Daddy’s so happy!” He smothered his boy’s pink cheeks with kisses. It must have tickled, because the child giggled innocently.
“Oookay. Let’s go eat!”
“The meal has not been prepared yet.”
“Ah.” After all the buildup, it was a bit of a disappointment, and he looked discontent. It would be simple to tell the cook to hurry it up, but preparing a meal involved various steps and doing things in order with the correct pacing. The cook couldn’t make an excellent meal for him if he threw off that rhythm out of pure selfishness.
Dissatisfied though he was, he didn’t give any orders. He wanted to feed his son food at its best.
“All right, your father is busy working. Let’s be on our way.”
“Okay!”
Marquis Raeven couldn’t hide how lonely he felt when the boy’s energetic voice rang out.
“Oh-ho! Hold it right there. I finished my work already.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. It’s already done.”
“…Is that true? You’re not just putting it off until tomorrow?”
“…”
Though his wife’s eyes were icy, he didn’t move to put the boy down. On the contrary, he squeezed his son tight. He felt the child’s body heat—so warm.
“…I was getting bogged down anyway. There’s nothing left that needs to be done today.”
It wasn’t just an excuse. It was true he didn’t have any pressing matters that needed attending.
Perhaps his wife sensed that. She nodded a few times.
“I see… It seems like things have been rough.”
“They are. I don’t need any more manual laborers, just brains.”
“What about my younger brother?”
“He’s quite the brilliant fellow, but he’s busy taking care of your home estate, isn’t he? I couldn’t call him here and put him to work. Is there anyone else you can think of who could help out?”
He’d asked her this over and over, and the response was always the same: There weren’t any nobles who could handle things with skill comparable to Raeven.
If there were, he wouldn’t be struggling so much. His only other option was to comb through the people. If they had a national education program like the empire’s, things may have been different, but without that, it was painstaking to search out hidden genius. All he could do was follow up on rumors of exceptionally bright individuals, then negotiate with the master of the domain they resided in.
How much time and effort would that take? As he was sitting there disappointed, his son in his lap piped up to say he had an idea.
“I know, Daddy! I’ll help you with your work!”
“Wow! Thanks, Baby Lee! Ahh, I love you so much!”
The cute remark brought another flurry of kisses to the boy’s cheeks. This time was sheer bliss for the marquis.
These moments allowed him to relax and forget the demands of his day-to-day tasks.
He wouldn’t hesitate to give his life to protect it.
2
Two months after the empire’s declaration, it was the season of white breaths.
In villages around the kingdom, the people had transitioned from outdoor to indoor work, and there weren’t many out and about. Not many of them were busy during these months. That was true for adventurers as well, even if it seemed like they worked year-round without taking time off.
Occasionally a starving magical beast would appear in a village or a sudden job would come in, but in general, there were not many requests. Searching for uncharted ruins or exploring secluded regions was too dangerous at this time of year, too. That made it the adventurers’ off-season. They put their efforts into training, leisure, or side jobs.
But in Fortress City E-Rantel, things were different. It was filled with a heated confusion.
That said, it wasn’t occupied by the same hustle and bustle as other cities in the kingdom. The excitement was born not of liveliness but a different emotion.
The source was the outermost of E-Rantel’s three walls.
Countless people had gathered there. Most of them didn’t look very impressive. The majority were probably commoners. But their numbers were astounding. There had to be two hundred and fifty thousand people.
It wasn’t as if E-Rantel always had that many residents.
Certainly, as a city that stood on land where three countries met, there was a lot of traffic: Goods, people, money, and all variety of other things were coming and going. A city like that inevitably grew.
Even so, two hundred and fifty thousand in a single district was unrealistic.
Why were so many people gathering there?
Watching some of the young people provided a simple explanation.
Many of them were training with bladeless spears. Outfitted with dented steel armor and shields, they practiced thrusting into wooden and straw targets.
They were training for war. Yes, the people gathered there—two hundred and fifty thousand of the kingdom’s subjects—were conscripts for the war against the empire.
Energetic cries overlapped in the air. Of course, there weren’t many who shouted eagerly. Most were frightened of the upcoming deadly battle and felt compelled to train by the knowledge that they wouldn’t make it home alive if they didn’t.
But not everyone was taking the exercises seriously.
War with the empire happened every year. That left many people feeling despondent. Lacking any motivation, one person was simply lying on the cobblestones in an inconspicuous corner. The gloomy man next to him was complaining. Another had curled up, hugging his knees.
There were more of that sort in the older age brackets.
These soldiers had no fighting spirit; their only wish was to make it home alive.
That was the reality of the kingdom’s army. But what could be done? They had been ordered to come, robbed of their time, and forced to participate in a fight to the death that entailed very little reward. Even if they made it back alive, the instability in their basic lifestyle would continue to grow due to the time they lost—it was like a rope tightening around their necks.
Surviving meant only that they were destined for a slower death.
A wagon drove past the soldiers. The cargo bed bulged with a huge amount of foodstuffs.
Common sense would say accommodating 3 percent of the kingdom’s entire population in one city and supplying them was practically impossible, but E-Rantel was the forward-most base in the fight against the empire and the place where the kingdom’s troops were being mustered.
The conflict with the empire had been repeated so many times that making preparations for two hundred and fifty thousand people had become laughably routine. The food storehouse was massive. It was probably the largest building in the city.
There was a constant stream of supplies being carted out.
The lethargic people eyed the wagon with fear, as if they were watching a god of death drift past.
That was the mood that possessed those who knew what was about to happen.
Transporting so much food could mean only one thing.
War with the empire was near.
E-Rantel, within the innermost w
all…
The mansion of Mayor Panasolei Grouzé Day Rettenmaier stood in a central location. It was a splendid residence, worthy of someone with the mayor’s status, but it was several grades inferior when compared to the building next door.
That was the city’s magnificent, honored guesthouse. It was opened only when the king or an equally important personage visited.
Currently occupying one of the rooms within was a group of men made up chiefly of Ramposa III and the great nobles.
Gazef stood silently next to the king, who sat on a simple throne.
In the center of the room was a large desk around which mainly nobles gathered, frowning at a large map that had been laid out. On top of the map were several markers, as well as countless scattered papers—the list of commanders, reports from reconnaissance units, records of previous battles, information about monsters that appeared in the area, and more. Almost no water was left in the jug the server standing by in the back of the room held.
That was an indication of how heated the debate had gotten.
In fact, the great nobles’ faces, which were dignified and shaped by history, seemed deeply fatigued. The bigger the army became, the more meetings—and a greater variety of them—were required. Basic things could be delegated to the staff serving under them, but for matters the nobles had to arrange themselves, the leaders needed to have detailed discussions.
Their honor was on the line; they couldn’t bear to bring shame upon themselves, so there had been a considerable amount of work to do.
But that was finally over.
The one who showed the least fatigue of all present, Marquis Raeven, spoke.
Rather, he was always the one speaking out front. They may have called him a bat that flitted from one side to the other, but no one doubted his intelligence. These bipartisan meetings always went the most smoothly when he presided over them.
“I know you’ve all been busy, so thank you for coming. With this, our current round of preparations has been completed on time. Now, let’s make our plans for this war with the empire.”
The Caster of Destruction Page 11
