Episode 137 Small Incident - The Saga of Lioncourt

At the fringes of the Bachelard territory, a minor incident unfolded. In the eastern part of the former Canal region, within the Boza knight domain, lived a young shepherd boy. One day, as part of his daily routine, the young shepherd headed to the pasture only to find the elderly shepherd from the neighboring village had beat him to it and was already grazing his flock there. Good pasture lands were invaluable, so naturally, the young shepherd protested. "This is my pasture. The brook marking the boundary is over there. Get out of here!" However, the elderly shepherd was not one to remain silent. "What are you saying? This hill has been my family's pasture since time immemorial. You should be the one to leave." The truth was, neither of their claims was incorrect. The brook separating their pastures had, for some unknown reason, altered its course, skirting around the hill. It was a rare occurrence for a natural stream to change its flow, but both were oblivious to this. Stubbornly clinging to their claims, their dispute eventually escalated into a fight involving the use of their staffs. The young shepherd emerged victorious, causing the old shepherd to flee with a broken arm. This was a trivial dispute, hardly worthy of being called an incident. However, the shepherds as property holders were bona fide commoners. Things could not be left as they were. In Amoros, only slaves would silently endure being beaten. Naturally, reprisals would follow—far more severe than mere "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth" retaliation. Any sign of being underestimated by outsiders meant being preyed upon. Inevitably, the retaliation became extreme. The sons of the injured shepherd, incensed, lay in wait the following day, ambushing the young shepherd. They brutally attacked him, hewing off both his arms with an axe. In these harsh times, losing both arms was a death sentence. For the village where the shepherd lived, it was as good as losing a young worker. Consequently, the villagers armed themselves and attacked the shepherd’s household, killing everyone within, and seized all their possessions and sheep as “compensation.” Farmers of this era frequently went to war, and many were used to violence. They had experienced murder and banditry countless times, having no hesitation about it. They executed quickly and withdrew swiftly—by the time the villagers realized something was amiss, it was all over. This incident couldn't be ignored by the shepherd's village, either. They petitioned their lord, demanding retribution for the neighboring village's lawlessness. Villages and settlers paid taxes so that in times of need, they could be protected by their lord. The influence and significance of a village's plea were not insignificant. The lord promptly promised retaliation and began amassing troops. That lord was none other than Viscount Casta—Simon. As Simon started gathering forces, the Boza knight family also mobilized their troops, resulting in a standoff. By then, it was tantamount to war, albeit small-scale. Simon's Viscount Casta family may bear the title of viscount, but in reality, his domain was not much different from that of an indigenous lord. The forces were evenly matched: Simon commanded around 200 men, and the Boza knights had approximately 250, leading to a clash. It was a full-scale conflict, not mere skirmishes. Usually, when such a show of force occurred, it satisfied both domains' subjects, calming tensions, and from there, negotiations between the lords would ensue. Armed conflict was rare. Killing each other over mere disputes between subjects would be endless, so typically an agreement was reached with a semblance of a resolution, swept under the rug. In this instance too, it should have been settled by having the Boza domain compensate the shepherd's family who was slaughtered and reestablish a new boundary. However, Simon's fierce temperament and fighting spirit would not allow such a resolution. In essence, war-loving Simon clashed with the Boza knights who had merely gathered troops for appearance's sake, decisively defeating them and pillaging the Boza domain. Faced with this defeat, the Boza knights couldn’t simply acquiesce and appealed to the other lords of the former Canal region for reinforcements. The situation rapidly snowballed like a boulder down a hill. The surrounding lords were astonished by this unexpected upheaval. Lords within Bachelard, including Baron Ge, who was on friendly terms with Simon, also sent reinforcements, causing both forces to swell rapidly. After all, Simon was the king’s firstborn. If he died in defeat, there was no telling what kind of repercussions might follow. The quarrel over a shepherd’s pasture unexpectedly spiraled into a grand conflict, drawing in many others. In this war, Simon heroically stepped up as the commander to face the enemy. News of this significant event would not reach me until a little later. Meanwhile, at that time... I was making udon with my family. "Hey, Ima, don't play with the food." "I'm not playing." Ima puffed up in protest when I softly admonished her. With her red hair, Ima looked like a miniature version of Kiara, incredibly adorable. At just five years old, Ima seemed to enjoy kneading the flour, her face dusted white with flour. Her elder sister, Rina, appeared to be diligently working alongside Kiara. "Mom, you're so good at this!" "Really! Kiara is amazing!" Ima and Rina cheered while watching Kiara. For some mysterious reason, all my children except for my biological child, Ima, referred to Kiara as "Kiara-chan." Kiara, rubbing her nose bashfully at the praise, ended up with flour on her face, causing the children to squeal in laughter. Indeed, it was quite the ruckus. We weren’t just playing around, though. Since I had been choking on food during meals lately, I thought of making something smooth to swallow, leading to our udon-making venture. By now, I had successfully made udon several times and had grown accustomed to it. Even while babysitting like this, it posed no challenge. In truth, making udon is not particularly difficult. Mixing flour, water, and salt in the right proportions and kneading them well is key. Here, my skills shine thanks to my hobbies in pottery and tile crafting. Once a suitable consistency is achieved and the dough comes together, let it rest. Then, using dusting flour, roll it out and cut it into thin strips. The cut noodles are then boiled in ample water, and voila—a complete dish. While one might imagine rinsing the boiled noodles with water afterward, the raw water in Lioncourt wasn't ideal for drinking, so I passed on that. With no miso, soy sauce, or bonito flakes available, I settled for using a fish sauce to create a broth. Perhaps due to the flour, the texture of the noodles left something to be desired, but udon was nonetheless udon. While I had forgotten the taste of authentic Japanese udon, this version proved fairly delicious in its own right. In Amoros, there were neither chopsticks nor forks, so we resorted to eating with 'sporks.' These were crafted by me, whittling grooves into wooden spoons. The sporks were well-received, as grabbing the thick noodles with one's hands was rather inconvenient. Once we mastered dough-making, we ventured into variations, like turning leftover udon into wontons, for fun. Whether other regions boasted noodles or not was unknown to me, but in Lioncourt, at least, we were the only ones enjoying this novelty. I hadn’t engaged in this type of family activity often—circumstances being what they were, I was frequently away due to the wars, leaving little room for family service. Lately, as my health has deteriorated, I've found myself reflecting more on my life thus far. This introspection often leads to a sense of unease. One of these concerns is whether Rina and Ima will remember me after I'm gone. When I think about it, I realize I spent more quality time with my older children—taking them on trips, for instance—compared to the limited time I’ve had with these two. Maybe it’s this anxiety that drives me to engage in these uncharacteristic activities. We all gathered, including Sumina, to enjoy the freshly made udon. It was just past noon—a time for meals that would have been unthinkable in Lioncourt until recently. Meal times in Lioncourt have been shifting, gradually embracing the idea of "lunch." Whereas before, the meals were limited to a "late breakfast" and "dinner," we've now started evolving towards three meals a day: a "light breakfast," a "lunch after some morning work," and "dinner." Perhaps due to the leftover habit of a late breakfast, the morning meal is usually simple—just rye bread and a bit of cheese—saving a more substantial meal for lunch. The Holy Heaven Church preaches moderation as one of the nine virtues, stating that "one meal a day is the saint's diet, two meals are for humans, anything more is a pig's feast." Yet, among the affluent, the practice of three meals a day is slowly taking root. This may seem minor, but it's a definite mark I've left on Lioncourt—a point of pride for me. "Udon is truly delicious. This soup pairs so well with the bread," Sumina said, enjoying the wonton-filled udon while soaking bread in the soup, delighting in what amounted to a carb feast. Well, I was the one who added the wontons. Such leisurely moments are short-lived. Just as we finished our meal, a servant informed us of the arrival of an urgent messenger carrying news of the disturbance to the west. The peaceful times were drawing to a close, and a new era of turmoil was about to begin.