Episode 142 The Pride of the Knight - The Saga of Lioncourt

The battle had concluded, and now the cleanup had begun. While the soldiers eagerly reveled in their looting, I found myself unable to share in their enthusiasm. I had captured Count Barkasisik. The count, attempting to flee with his family, was caught unawares by a surprise attack from the Lioncour army and had no choice but to surrender. He was captured by Knight Cocteau, the younger brother of the now-Baron Cocteau and a knight in my service. I am inclined to reward this single man by offering my half-sister’s hand in marriage—not that I intend to burden him with her. Their mother was among my father’s collection of stunning concubines, so my sisters are all quite pleasing to the eye. My father’s facial scars are severe, but his features aren’t entirely unappealing. The sister in question is only eleven years old, which seems slightly criminal, but if we arrange the engagement and she marries him at thirteen, it should suffice. Now, as for Count Barkasisik—he's a gentleman, probably in his early thirties, somewhat meek-seeming. His appearance is painfully average: brown hair, a modest mustache—far from an imposing figure, but also not quite destitute-looking. With him are a plump wife and two sons and daughters, still clinging to their childhood—all of whom were captured as well. The daughters, at around ten, are certainly out of my range, but the wife is quite a beauty. Her figure bears the soft curves of a mother of many, which is strangely appealing. ...Yes, not bad at all... Depending on the count’s demeanor, I might even engage in a little romantic abduction of my own. We're in a room within Barka Castle, accompanied only by the guards from the brotherhood and Rolo—a setting nearly intimate enough for a clandestine talk. Everyone else is participating in the town raid—a lucrative endeavor for them, and not one I wish to interrupt. My plan was to conclude this meeting with Count Barkasisik while they enjoyed their plundering. The key to successful looting is to act promptly and move swiftly to the next task. I have no intention of wasting time here. “Count Barkasisik, although our meeting is steeped in misfortune, it is but the way of warriors. I beg your pardon,” I addressed him, and he grimaced bitterly, looking down. “...King Lioncour, please spare my wife and children. As for myself...” His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but he didn't appear frightened. Perhaps he was feeling unwell. “I apologize, Eloise... This is all... my fault...!” “Please, say no more,” The count, tears streaming down his face, embraced his wife and children. The melodramatic dialogue was blatantly insincere. What a farce. Left to my own devices, I cleared my throat, drawing the count’s attention—for whatever that's worth. Apparently, his wife’s name is Eloise, an oddly seductive name. “I'm sorry to intrude, but… let us move forward with our discussion.” As I spoke, Count Barkasisik stepped forward with dignity, shielding his family, and faced me head-on. ...Interesting? Has his love for his family somehow strengthened him...? Having observed the prior scene, my instincts warned me that something was amiss. “Count, let me first say, I have no intentions of seizing your lands,” I spoke as calmly as possible, my tone gentle and deliberate. It felt akin to coaxing a wild animal, “Come now, there’s no need for fear.” “Think about it. My stronghold is far away in Lioncour. Even if I gained this territory, direct governance would be impossible.” “...I suppose that’s true...” The count regarded me with a suspicious gaze, visibly perplexed by my unexpectedly gentle approach. In truth, even without direct governance, it’s possible to rule indirectly through delegates. But that isn’t information he needs to know. “Moreover, as I stated earlier, our skirmish was merely a matter of military custom. We are not sworn enemies burdened with grudges, are we?” Even though this battle could indeed warrant a grudge... I suppose that's irrelevant now. “I'm sure you're aware, Count, that this conflict arose from an unfortunate misunderstanding. It was not my intention for it to escalate.” “...What do you desire?” Listening to my words, Count Barkasisik posed a question. It’s clear he possesses enough wit to contemplate my intentions. “Very well, to the point. In exchange for allowing you to keep your lands, I ask that you persuade the lords of the old Carnar region, with whom you hold favor, to align themselves with us.” “...You expect me to trust the very one who deceived and ambushed us?” Bitterly, with furrowed brows, the count spat the words at me. From my perspective, it seemed needlessly petty, clinging so tightly to past slights. “I cannot trust King Lioncour’s words, having deceived my brother (the clergyman), and sullied our promise...” The count began a monologue about “honor” and “chivalry.” While the talk was grand, the point eluded me entirely. ...Blaming others for being fooled... Is this man stupid...? I was exasperated. The Barkasisik siblings must both dwell in a world of their own delusions. In truth, I have no reason to keep the count alive. It had simply occurred to me that through him, I might manage to draw a few people over to my side, should he convey an offer of surrender. If he's unwilling to cooperate, keeping him alive has no benefit, though perhaps he misunderstood my intentions as a plea for assistance. “Do you understand?! I will not resort to cowardice for personal gain! I will not dishonor my pride!” The count’s eyes flared wide, arms outstretched, as he looked to the heavens. His mood seemed almost narcotic. His pupils dilated. “...I see. You place honor above all else. Even above your family and your own life.” “Indeed! Before a count, I am a knight!” A headache began to throb. Though we conversed, we were on entirely different wavelengths. Does he understand the current situation? Placing some abstract knightly honor above the lives of his family—could he be a psychopath? He’s dangerous. This notion of “chivalry,” or rather, this concept of “honor-bound conduct,” has existed for quite some time. It might be akin to "manliness" or "the noble aesthetic" in simpler terms. The count seemed deeply entangled in this mindset, though occasionally, one finds people willing to stake their lives on such beliefs. Even in Lioncour, one finds the occasional fight undertaken barely clothed, likely also a manifestation of the same. Though the individual may find it gratifying, the family caught up in it garners some sympathy. If actual “noble knights” from stories popular among commoners existed, they would likely resemble this. The count’s tirade on chivalry grew feverish, spittle flying like a madman’s rant. “I’m through with this. Restrain them,” I commanded the guards beside me. The count and his family were shoved to the ground and bound. The count’s protests became lost to me. “I can’t deal with this any longer. Just execute them and display their heads,” I uttered, dismissing them. The count, in a state of rage, challenged me to a duel. It was nonsensical. I wanted him removed as soon as possible; the mere thought of dealing with him was repulsive. Even my earlier lustful thoughts for the wife waned away completely. This was unexpected… Perhaps I am falling sick after all. ...Thinking back, even when I flattened my father-in-law’s head during the Belle incident, I stood unwavering. I’m not as young as I once was... Watching Eloise, the count's wife, being dragged away, I drifted into memories of the past. ...The child conceived back then is sixteen now... It's only natural I've aged... Reflecting on those days brings about a wave of nostalgia—a realization that the youthful fervor I had will never return. When the count and his family were led out, only a heavy, awkward silence remained among those of us still present. Everyone wore a look of exhaustion. "Sorry about that. Had I known he was like that, I wouldn't have attempted to reason with him," I offered, slightly sheepish. “Haha, that was something else... Well, impaling and displaying them serves as a clear message: ‘This is what happens if you oppose us,’” Rolo reassured me. But my attempt at subtle negotiation had gone awry, leading to unnecessary complications. “Could one perceive him as admirable in his own right...? I’m tired; could I get some water?” Parched, I took a horn cup of water and swallowed it down. Yet a sudden discomfort in my chest made me cough violently, spewing the water out in a spray. "Ugh, gah... cough!" I doubled over with a stomach-churning sensation, repeatedly emptying my stomach's contents. Lately, I've been regurgitating much of what I eat, but choking on water was a first. ...No, this is bad... After several rounds of vomiting, a hot sensation welled up from the pit of my stomach, now devoid of contents. “Gaah...” Blood emerged from my mouth, leaving me momentarily stunned. Then understanding seized me as goosebumps rippled across my skin—I had vomited blood. ...Blood, vomiting blood... Mallory-Weiss syndrome, perhaps...?! “Master Varian! Master Varian! Please, compose yourself!” Rolo was at my side, urgently calling out. Though my mind remained clear, breathing was taxing. Trying to respond brought forth a strange, high-pitched noise from my throat. ...I’m just 34 years old... Surely, it’s too soon for cancer... ‘Stomach cancer.’ That was Tanaka’s cause of death—a colleague of mine. I recalled Mallory-Weiss syndrome as a symptom related to stomach cancer: vomiting followed by hematemesis. To me, cancer equates strongly with a terminal image. Mallory-Weiss syndrome results from violent vomiting, raising abdominal pressure that causes tears in the lower esophagus or upper stomach, leading to bleeding. ...No, the pain is in my chest, not my stomach... It’s not stomach cancer... Reassuring myself that it wasn’t stomach cancer, I focused on calming down. The effort of sitting had become burdensome, so I lay back on the floor to steady my breathing. I waved to Rolo in a reassuring gesture, indicating I was fine. I was hardly fine, but summoning a medic would be futile. The problem lay in having my escort witness the episode. For a brief moment, the thought of ‘silencing them’ crossed my mind, but killing my guards would inevitably cause an uproar. My only choice was to hush them lightly and assertively show vigor to dispel any rumors. Sooner or later, rumors of my illness would spread. Though I trust my brotherhood, such things are unavoidable. The only solution is to overwhelm the gossip with displays of health. ...Showing off my vigor... It sounds absurd... A faint laugh escaped me as I mentally critiqued my own logic. “...Summon Maurice and Pierre. We’ll occupy Barkasisik for a while, using it as a pretext to rest,” I instructed. “Ah, I see. Perhaps send an envoy to Amoros? Present ourselves as unfazed, awaiting them at Barka Castle—an image that maintains our stance.” Rolo’s tone was surprisingly upbeat. He, too, knew that panic would accomplish nothing at this point. In this era, in this world, "disease is incurable." For the afflicted, it becomes a source of distress, but often those around them remain nonchalant. Surviving would be seen as divine favor, dying, a divine decree. I also wish for divine favor. Thus, the Lioncour army found itself unintentionally stationed at Barka Castle. How much time I have left is uncertain, but I am eager to conclude matters here and return to Lioncour. Returning means countless opportunities to speak with my sons, plan my legacy with my retainers. Here in the field, announcing the general’s critical health is unwise. Endurance is key. Fortunately, I shouldn't be on the brink of death just yet. Next year... My life likely hinges on next year. What I can accomplish before then is all that matters. If worst comes to worst, I might need to follow in my mentor’s footsteps.