By the time Walm had begun to grow accustomed to life in the naval port city of Anxio, a formal request arrived from the Highserk Empire army, summoning him to the castle in his capacity as Guardian Chief. The request had been issued by the ruling house of the Mayard territory. Although he had been visiting the castle frequently for treatment, his path had always been limited to traveling back and forth between the chapel and the barracks. Casually strolling through the main residence of Mayard’s ruler had never been an option, and as a result he knew almost nothing about the structure of the main keep.

Following behind his guide, who had come to escort him to the church, Walm advanced through a passageway that had been tightly sealed off. His eyes naturally moved, noting the thickness of the studded doors, the height and angle of the arrow slits, and whether there were concealed hiding spots. Even though he had no intention of probing the defenses, his mind automatically viewed everything from the perspective of an attacker. Walm suffered from a bad habit, one that had seeped so deeply into him it operated unconsciously. It was the sort of thing one might call an occupational disease.

There were a few characteristics unique to the region, but nothing outside the scope of what he had already encountered during castle assaults or sieges. Nothing particularly new caught his eye. The cold designs of stone architecture continued in an unbroken line.

After turning a single corner, however, the scenery changed.

Sunlight streamed into the gloomy corridor through a series of cleverly arranged windows meant for lighting. The hallway shone in scattered patches, almost as if inviting him forward. The closer he drew to the entrance, the more he felt being wrapped in light. Squinting against the brightness, Walm stepped through an arched opening, and his view suddenly widened.

Before him lay a garden set within the castle’s inner courtyard. If he had to describe it in a single word, it would be vivid.

Faced with a space overflowing with a dazzling variety of colors, how many people could pass through without having their eyes stolen by the sight? Carefully maintained trees and blooming plants greeted visitors both visually and through their fragrance. Walm had no intention of pretending to be a cultured man, but even to an amateur’s eye, the garden stretching before him was undeniably beautiful, something worthy of being praised without reservation.

“Good heavens…”

The fortresses and castles of the northern nations that Walm had seen during his time as a soldier were all products of siegecraft refined through bloody, real combat. Comfort and appearance had been completely discarded. If there was space to plant flowers, it would be more useful to plant potatoes instead. That was the thinking of the people of the Highserk Empire.

One could call it rational, but there was no soil there where culture could bloom. The harsh reality of being surrounded by enemies on all sides had stripped the Highserk Empire of such richness, or perhaps it had never possessed it to begin with.

The ability to enjoy luxuries and goods that were irrational, inefficient, and unnecessary for survival… that was proof that a nation was prosperous.

How much territory had they seized? How many tens of thousands of enemy soldiers had they crushed? Those were certainly great military achievements, but how much richer had the country and its people actually become because of them? The current state of the empire spoke for itself.

“Amazing.”

Even Walm, who possessed something like a vaccination in the form of memories from his previous life, found himself shaken by the sight. The Mayard Grand Duchy’s surprise attack had been quite effective.

“This is surprising. The people from Highserk who passed through this garden until now either frowned or ignored it entirely. Yet you, Guardian Chief, are clearly enjoying the view.”

“Even in Highserk, wildflowers bloom.”

“Wildflowers, you say? I see. To be honest, I’m surprised that someone from Highserk would find value in flowers or plants.”

Was that sarcasm? Calling them barbarians?

Annoyed, Walm narrowed his eyes in protest and glared at the man. The demon mask he wore seemed to join in, vibrating intensely as if urging him to teach the man a lesson. What nonsense. After being immersed in battle for so long, even his thoughts were beginning to be influenced by the demon mask.

“Please don’t glare at me like that. I might start trembling.”

It sounded half like a joke, half serious. The effects and the side effects of his treatment were troublesome. The pain had unconsciously suppressed his cursed eyes before, but now that the pain had eased, they surfaced far too easily.

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m just happy that the people of Highserk and we of Mayard can deepen our ties through things like appreciation and trade, and not only through the exchange of swords and fists.”

The man in front of him wasn’t mocking him. He seemed genuinely surprised and pleased. It would have been easy to dismiss his words as nonsense, but considering the actions of Walm’s homeland, he could hardly laugh them off.

After all, the Highserk way of interaction had always been an exchange of iron weapons, conversations conducted through the language of flesh and violence. One could say it was the Empire’s primary language.

“It’s easy to say we lack the spare resources, but Highserk has neglected everything outside of military affairs. Still… perhaps if we were to learn about culture from the Mayard territory, the two nations might be able to prosper together for a hundred… even two hundred years. Though that’s just the ramblings of a simple Guardian Chief.”

At first, Walm had assumed the man was nothing more than a soldier. But his perspective was sharp, and he clearly was educated. Most likely he was a knight or attendant tasked with both guiding and probing him.

Satisfied with Walm’s reply, the man nodded and resumed leading the way. Walm cast one final glance at the garden before following behind. In stark contrast to the peaceful garden, the interior of the residence welcomed Walm with the strictest security found anywhere in the castle.

“Please, they are waiting for you inside.”

The soldier stopped in front of a room and addressed him. The door decorated with silver ornaments was opened, and Walm stepped inside.

Works of art, brilliant yet not excessively flashy, immediately caught his eye. The ceiling was so high that even a great demon stretching its arms upward wouldn’t come close to reaching it. In the center of the room was a long carved table that seemed to divide the space. Beyond that boundary sat a young girl and an elderly man.

“I am Walm, Guardian Chief of the Highserk imperial army. It is an honor to meet you, Grand Duchess.”

Feigning the formality of a first meeting, he introduced himself and spoke her name. Rita Mayard, the woman who now ruled the Grand Duchy. This was their third encounter.

The frail impression she had once given was gone. Her eyes stared straight at Walm, unwavering. His gaze then shifted to the elderly knight standing beside her, Lutwidge.

Two years had passed since they had stood as enemies among the ramparts, yet the sharpness of the old knight’s eyes had not dulled in the slightest. If anything, time had only deepened the experienced aura about him.

“I, too, am pleased that we can meet again like this.”

“Don’t play dumb” that was the meaning behind her words. There was a dignity and gravity about her that only those destined to stand above others possessed. The childish innocence of their first meeting and the dangerous fragility of the second had vanished as though they had never existed.

The sorrow of a fallen nation had likely acted as a powerful catalyst, one strong enough to transform a young girl into a Grand Duchess. Why had she summoned a Guardian Chief of Highserk? Walm braced himself for the words to come.

“What I am about to say is not spoken as the Grand Duchess of Mayard territory, but as Rita Mayard, the individual.”

It was a kind of precautionary disclaimer. The tense air in the room relaxed slightly.

“If I had not been spared that first time in Aidenberg, I would not be here now. At the very least, after the capital had fallen into enemy hands, there would have been no way for me to escape from someone known as the wielder of Demon Fire like you. Even if it was nothing more than a momentary whim or passing fancy… I still remember the meal I ate during my life on the run.”

Walm had suspected she might be someone connected to the nobility, but he had deliberately ignored that suspicion, letting his personal feelings guide him. If he had known then that she was the daughter of the previous Grand Duke who died in battle… would he have spared her?

“The second time was on the ramparts attached to Sarajevo Fortress. When you turned that killing intent and those blue flames toward me, I must admit I was shaken. They were so fierce that I wondered if you were truly the same man as before. Since then, I have tried to learn about the many different sides that people and nations possess… no, perhaps it would be more accurate to say I’m still learning.”

He had shown mercy to a girl once, yet he had also tried to kill that same girl later. Was that contradiction madness? No. People, including Walm, carried countless struggles and contradictions within themselves. Conscience, malice, reason, instinct… there was no end to them.

Among those conflicts, Walm had tried not to abandon the morality he had cultivated in his previous world, but those morals were wearing thin in this world. Still, he tried to keep the pendulum from swinging too far to either side. It was his way of preserving his mental balance, and with that, his humanity. He drowned himself in alcohol to blur reality and filled his lungs with purple smoke. He knew well enough that it was a form of escapism. At least he was self-aware enough to admit that.

“There are very few people who can live with firm convictions and no contradictions. I find it enviable… even dazzling.”

Walm attempted to keep his face expressionless, but he wondered how well he had succeeded. If there had been a mirror, he would surely see the bitterness leaking through.

“…From here on, I speak as the Grand Duchess of Mayard.”

The girl paused, then resumed with the authority of a ruler.

“Just as friendships between people can be ruined by trivial matters, friendships between nations can be lost just as easily. During the Four-Nation Alliance, I was powerless without strength or experience. Even now, that may not have changed much. Still, I now possess firm resolve. No matter who they are, I will not forgive anyone who harbors ill intent toward the Mayard territory. There were misunderstandings and irreconcilable reasons between our nations. Even now, not everything has been erased. But precisely because of that, this alliance must endure for a long time. Both personally and as a soldier… Guardian Chief Walm, I place my expectations on you.”

Having heard both Rita Mayard’s personal feelings and her stance as a ruler, Walm discarded the formalities, and answered honestly.

“Whether I want to or not, I’m a man who only knows how to break things and kill.”

The old knight’s glare sharpened, but the Grand Duchess stopped him with a gesture. Regardless of personal tastes or morals, the skills Walm had learned on the battlefield had proven useful and effective.

“But that’s the one thing I can say I’m good at. If there’s anyone who threatens the peace and prosperity of Highserk and Mayard as we walk forward together… then I’ll fight them with everything I have. Even if my eyes are destroyed, even if my organs are torn apart… I sincerely wish for our two nations to walk together for a long time.”

Because people were powerless, they wished and resisted. Walm was no exception.

◆

“I heard that you had a little tryst with the Grand Duchess.”

Walm was called out as he stood in one corner of the training ground connected to the barracks. The voice was booming with energy. From that alone, it was easy to imagine just how much vitality its owner had to spare.

“The kind of tryst I know doesn’t come with an old knight tagging along. Is that some kind of custom among couples where you’re from?”

A towering figure, easily a head taller than most grown men, laughed. It was Deborah, one of the key figures in the defense of the improvised ramparts. Though she was already approaching middle age, her body looked like a walking boulder.

“Haha! I didn’t have a guardian tagging along, but every time I went on a date with my husband, monsters were always part of the package.”

A couple whose date spot was the monster-infested demonic territory? They were certainly an outrageous pair. On the battlefield, though, people like that were undeniably reliable.

“That’s a relief. So, what about your training? Your recruits look lonely.”

When Walm glanced over, he saw Mayard’s new recruits piled up like corpses across the training ground. They were pitiful youths who had built up their stamina with running drills, only to end up “playing” with Deborah afterward. The moment Walm looked their way, they turned pale, clearly begging him not to report them.

“There are plenty of cute ones, but not many with real backbone.”

Middle-aged people who had lived long enough always seemed to have a fondness for the young. Judging by how thoroughly the recruits had been rolled around, that was certainly the case here. Looking more closely, Walm noticed that a few clever ones had already begun “playing in the dirt.” They deliberately smeared their clothes and pretended to collapse on the ground as if exhausted. Whether the chief instructor was intentionally overlooking it or not was unclear, but pointing it out now would be tactless, so Walm chose to pretend he hadn’t noticed.

“Not much of a challenge. Walm, what do you say?”
Caught off guard, Walm doubted his ears. Deborah pointed toward the training ground. Surely she wasn’t inviting him on a “date” in front of everyone? The demon mask seemed to grow impatiently excited, chattering away in his mind, which only made it more irritating.

“That’d be unfair to your husband.”

“Hah, you don’t mind, do you?”

“If it’s you Walm, you’re more than welcome. Escort my wife.”

The man with the perpetually unfortunate-looking face, Yogim, who served as the assistant to the chief instructor, readily agreed. Encouraging polyandry was quite the radical stance. Even their son, Moiz, began smilingly guiding Walm toward the field.

“Well, it’s an invitation from my elders. Hard to refuse outright.”

“As expected of a fine man.”

Deborah grinned fiercely, baring her teeth. Resigned, Walm began removing his equipment.

“Guardian Chief, allow me to assist, however little I may help.”

Soldiers under Friug appeared from somewhere and efficiently removed Walm’s gauntlets and knee guards, hanging them neatly over a chair they had somehow produced. Walm felt a headache coming on. At some point, he would need to discuss proper methods of instructing subordinates with a company commander of the Highserk Empire. To make matters worse, the recruits began cheering like it was a harvest festival. He really should have reported them earlier for pretending.

“So what are the rules? Hand-to-hand sparring, right?”

Now stripped down to little more than his clothes and half-boots, Walm stretched his arms and addressed the ruler of the training ground.

“If it ends when someone’s back hits the ground, that’s no fun.”

“Then that means…”

““First one to cry uncle.””

“…Right.”

“Exactly.”

With that, the two reached an agreement. All that remained was a lively Highserk-style exchange of physical language. Refusing to simply be beaten around, Walm made a suggestion.

“Since it’s a match, it’d be dull without stakes.”

“What is it? Want to bet some alcohol?”

Walm had recently begun shifting toward a gentler abstinence from drinking. But refusing would almost certainly lead to “What, you won’t drink my liquor?” and spiral straight into a bad ending.

“That works.”

With that, the wager was set.

The two slowly took their stances. There was no need to wonder how the match would begin. After all, a father and son could be seen holding up a mace wrapped in cloth as a makeshift gong and a breastplate for striking it. They looked thoroughly dragged around by Deborah’s antics, yet they seemed to be enjoying life quite a bit. Then again, perhaps that kind of spirit was exactly what it took to survive somewhere like Dandurg Castle.

Soon, the training ground filled with the cheers of soldiers, the rhythmic stomping of feet, and synchronized clapping. At last, the crude gong rang out.

Would the dance be a passionate tango? Or a breathless flamenco? Either way, the curtain had risen on a stage where those who missed a step would end up flat on the ground.

Translator – Lyxxna