The Hunt of Arrogance
Following slowly behind Ulrich, Roberta glanced sideways at the carriages. She hadn't noticed from afar, but up close, the ones he pointed out clearly bore traces not found on the others. Decorations had been removed, paint crudely layered over—deliberate attempts to make them look plain.
"You have a sharp eye," she whispered softly.
"It's experience. Once you've seen enough, you start noticing things at a glance."
The two slowed their horses, creating some distance from the procession.
"What do you think the reason is?"
The reason for the alterations was obvious—to conceal their appearance.
She wanted to answer that since seven carriages shared the same form, they would have stood out if not disguised. But he wouldn't be asking something so simple.
"Probably… some high-ranking noble, judging by the number of carriages."
Ulrich replied, "Yes," and continued,
"And quite a number of riders as well."
Not many could afford to travel with seven passenger carriages. Some did so for display, but in times like these, it would be like saying, 'Here I am—come and get me.'
"This merchant caravan departed from a city that belongs to neither Kormilius nor Jokuster, but the merchants leading it are favorable to Kormilius. You can tell just from how they treat me and the route they've chosen."
After all, they wouldn't spend days traveling alongside those who supported an opposing faction.
"So the owner of those carriages is also a noble aligned with Kormilius?"
"I don't know who or why they're traveling like this, though."
Even staring at the windows, they were all tightly shut—no way to see the passengers inside.
"How did you predict there would be an attack, Ulrich?"
"For the same reason you just mentioned."
"The same reason?"
She tilted her head and looked at him.
"We don't know who the owner is or why they're here. Judging by appearances, they're no fool. They disguised themselves because they understand the danger, and they even hid it from the merchants—that means they're experienced. Someone worthy of that position. Now, such a person risks coming out here… do you really think they'll finish this journey safely?"
"…So it was just a guess? You didn't actually figure out who they are?"
Ulrich took the reins and guided his horse toward the rear, where Fritz was.
"This, too, is experience."
Watching his back as he moved away, she almost said "again," but swallowed the words.
If it was him speaking of experience, what could she possibly argue?
Whenever the caravan stopped to rest, those riding in the carriages would step outside to breathe in the winter air. Roberta observed them closely. Yet none stood out enough for her to think, This is the one.
There were seven carriages, and more than just one or two people came out. Their appearances were deliberately plain—nothing remarkable about any of them.
There was a limit to what she could discern just by watching. She couldn't interrogate them either, so she chose not to think too deeply about it. As Ulrich had said, if an attack occurred, she would find out whether she liked it or not.
"I was just thinking things were too quiet…"
That was on the fifth day.
They had passed through low hills and entered an open plain when a lone figure appeared beyond the horizon. A man on horseback. He watched the caravan as if observing it, then disappeared again—only to return with a group behind him.
"No matter how you look at it, they're not bandits."
"They're coming this way. They're targeting us."
As if rising from beneath the earth, a group suddenly appeared. The merchants hurriedly brought the procession to a halt.
The guards moved to the front, forming ranks. The travelers who had joined the caravan also drew their weapons, preparing for battle. The caravan now numbered close to a thousand—thanks to picking up more people at several settlements over the past five days.
But there was no relief.
The approaching group, though only a tenth of their size, consisted of heavily armed knights—each one of them. A large banner fluttered, and the tips of long spears pointed toward the sky.
"…Knights. I'd rather it were bandits."
One merchant muttered bitterly.
Their armor gleamed even from a distance under the sunlight. It looked as though they could lower their lances and charge at any moment. No matter how many guards the caravan had, most were infantry. A single cavalry charge would shatter them.
As the enemy drew closer step by step, the merchants murmured among themselves. Was it coincidence that they met here in such a vast plain? Of course not. Bandits, perhaps—but not knights.
The merchants threw out various guesses about why the knights had appeared. None were correct. It seemed no one had noticed the disguised carriages.
Eventually, the opposing force stopped at a distance ideal for charging.
"State where you came from."
One knight stepped forward and shouted.
A plump-cheeked merchant dismounted.
"We are merchants. We merely found ourselves traveling the same road and decided to accompany one another."
"Stop dodging the question and answer properly. Some among you joined at Torido City."
The merchant bent low, almost prostrating himself.
"That is true, but…"
Without replying, the knight turned his head.
Among the ranks of knights stood an older man. He gave a slight nod.
"We'll verify it ourselves. Everyone, lay down your weapons and prostrate yourselves."
"W-wait a moment! There must be some misunderstanding!"
"Enough! By order of His Majesty Emperor Edgar, we are pursuing a criminal. We have also heard that the criminal joined this caravan at Torido."
The merchant's eyes widened as he swallowed hard.
"If you are not hiding anything, you have nothing to fear. Lay down your arms at once!"
The knights moved. Splitting into two groups, they rode to either side of the caravan, encircling it.
Hesitating, the merchant finally gave in to the growing thunder of hooves.
"Drop your weapons!"
The guards threw down their weapons and lay face down on the ground. The travelers had already done so before them.
Roberta glanced at Ulrich. He set down the sheathed sword at his waist but did not lie down. The knights glanced briefly at him, Fritz, and Roberta before passing by.
Soon, the carriages were surrounded.
Among the sixty wagons, the seven Ulrich had identified were encircled by nearly a hundred riders, their spears and swords leveled.
The target was clear—yet they had not precisely identified the disguised ones.
While everyone else had disarmed, the guards of those seven carriages did the opposite.
About thirty of them, all mounted—and they were not hired by the merchants.
They faced off against the approaching knights.
"You can no longer escape, Your Highness."
The older knight raised his voice as he looked at the closed carriage.
"Come out at once. Do you intend to let your loyal subjects die again?"
At that, the door opened. It was the middle carriage among the seven.
The one who appeared was a young man. He looked about the same age as Roberta. His skin was a deep brown, and both his hair and eyes were brown as well.
"If I come out, will you spare us?"
"Of course. If you do not resist, Your Highness and your retainers will be safely—"
"That's enough nonsense. You sound like a barking dog."
The young man, addressed as Your Highness, stood crookedly on the carriage step and swept his gaze over the surroundings.
"You just called me a criminal, didn't you?"
Hearing the mocking tone, the old knight cleared his throat.
"Did you not commit treason, Your Highness? His Majesty acknowledged your claim to the throne, yet you chose to pledge loyalty to a false bloodline. If that does not make you a criminal, then what does?"
"And who acknowledged the crown sitting on Edgar's head?"
The young man raised one corner of his mouth.
"The one who receives the crown from the Pope is the emperor. Edgar went barefoot to the Pantheon and received the imperial throne. If we're talking legitimacy, then the one who deserves blame isn't me for joining hands with Kormilius—but that unfilial wretch who betrayed his own family."
"Such foul language, Your Highness."
"Am I wrong? You go on about legitimacy, but all you really want is an obedient dog. I was thrown away because I'm a dog that doesn't obey."
The old knight let out a rough breath and shook his head.
"If that is how you see it, then there is nothing more to say. My duty is simply to escort Your Highness back to your homeland. You are no longer young enough to be taught propriety at this point."
"Escort me back? That's a refined way of saying you'll shove me into a lizard's jaws."
The young man leapt down from the carriage.
"If I'm going to be eaten, I'd rather die fighting!"
The hammer in his hand smashed into a knight's head.
With a dull crack, the helmet caved in, and the knight fell from his saddle.
"You've made a regrettable choice."
The old knight's expression twisted.
"Kill him! No need to capture him alive! Just bring back his head!"
The knights moved. They thrust their spears and blades toward the prince who had broken from the group.
Their weapons were blocked by others swinging from different directions. The prince's guards struck back with equal force, protecting their lord. Without hesitation, they charged at the knights.
The travelers screamed and fled. Even if they had surrendered, there was no guarantee they would survive once blood had been spilled.
Some merchants grabbed their wagons and ran, while others fled with only their guards.
Amid the chaotic scene where all kinds of people were entangled, Roberta picked up her discarded sword and fastened it to her waist. The battle had just begun—but the outcome was already clear.
They'll lose quickly.
There were nearly a hundred knights—about three times the number of the prince's guards—and they were better equipped. While the guards wore padded or chain armor, the emperor's knights were fully clad in plate.
Individually, the prince's side was stronger, so for the moment the fight was even—but only for a moment. The balance would soon tip decisively.
The guards knew it too. One of them tried to hand over the reins to their lord and send him away.
But the emperor had not sent only knights.
Beside the old knight stood a very young man—a mage.
At the mage's gesture, just as the prince was about to mount, his horse collapsed. Even escape was cut off.
"Fritz."
Amid the chaos, Roberta heard Ulrich's voice.
At some point, he had drawn his sword. After saying something to Fritz, he began walking toward the carriage.
Fritz pressed his forehead against a branch of the spirit tree and murmured, moving mana. A massive flow of mana stirred the air in an instant. A winter wind swept across the previously still plain, and the ground trembled.
Those surrounding the carriage staggered, struggling to keep their balance. The clash halted, and all eyes turned toward the boy.
A mage appearing out of nowhere. He had not declared a side, but in a situation where one side held the advantage, his intervention was like throwing cold water onto the battlefield.
"So there was a mage among them."
The old knight gestured with his chin.
The opposing mage moved his hand again. A small wand was in his grip, and mana gathered in response to his motion.
A stronger wind than before surged forth. Watching the boy, the aged yet youthful-looking mage smiled.
At that moment, the flow of mana abruptly cut off.
The wind ceased.
Like waking from an illusion, everything that had been felt just moments ago vanished.
The mage covered his face with both hands and hunched over. The skin on the back of his hands lost its vitality, becoming dry and shriveled. Letting out a strained gasp through his fingers, his entire body trembled violently.
"…Hm?"
The old knight frowned, glancing between the two mages. To him, it appeared as though the older mage had overwhelmed the younger one.
Failing to grasp the reality, he gestured impatiently.
Four knights turned and charged forward.
Ulrich happened to be walking directly in their path.
The four knights, assuming he would protect the boy, raised their swords and hammers—then hesitated.
As if struck by something within, shock spread across their faces.
Ulrich moved his blade in that instant.
"My apologies. I can't afford to go easy."
Though the mana coating his blade was invisible, the plate armor split smoothly the moment it was struck.
Blood seeped through the gaps.
The four knights collapsed, clutching their wrists and calves.
"That sword… is it a relic?"
The old knight asked, his face filled with disbelief.
"If you call something passed down from a predecessor a relic, then no."
"…So not a relic, but an extraordinary sword, then."
The old knight snorted and drew his blade. A faint glow shimmered along its edge.
Raising it high as if to strike down, he kicked off the ground.
The distance between them—more than ten paces—closed in an instant.
The light vanished.
The glow covering the blade disappeared like a mirage.
At the same time, the old knight faltered—just like the four before him—and the same expression of shock spread across his face.
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