Chapter 118: Prepare for the Storm (2)

Standing across from Hardin was old man Paul.

He looked back and forth between the scribbles—or rather, the blueprint—in his hand and Hardin’s face, then spoke with a look full of confusion.

“You’re saying… you want to plate that ship with iron?”

“That’s right, that’s exactly what I want.”

W-What?

Sweat beaded on the foreheads of the carpenters as they exchanged bewildered glances.

Paul scratched his head awkwardly, then asked Hardin again.

“B-But, Young Master. If we cover the ship with iron plates that heavy, it’ll be difficult for it to gain any speed. At this rate, even with multiple sails, I’m not sure it’ll be able to move forward at all…”

Refit the ship according to Hardin’s blueprint?

The result was as clear as the verses of a third-rate bard or the prayer of a novice priest.

Regardless of whether it was good or bad, doing something like this would render the ship incapable of functioning as a ‘ship’ in the first place.

It was only natural for the carpenters to be flustered.

With a troubled expression, Paul stroked his beard and asked,

“Are you perhaps planning to use these ships against the Count of Tread?”

“Well, yes, that’s right.”

Could it be that’s what he’s thinking…

“A ship with extremely high defense to block the front of the port?”

Since they were in a defensive position anyway, the operational range of those ships wouldn’t need to be very wide.

Sacrificing mobility for defense might, at a glance, be a strategic decision.

But still…

“Even so, this is overkill.”

Even if the defense was enhanced with iron plating… a ship still needed at least minimal maneuverability, didn’t it?

If they followed Hardin’s blueprint, not only would it lack mobility—it would barely even float on water.

“This… this has to be stopped.”

For the sake of the Young Master… no, for the family.

Paul spoke carefully, wearing a troubled expression.

“Young Master, I understand your intention behind this design.”

“Oh, really? As expected of you, old man Paul. You’re sharp.”

Hardin smiled gently and nodded, and Paul quickly responded.

“B-But… to stay true to that objective, I think it would be better to remove the iron plating from the stern and reduce the weight a bit. That way, at least some mobility could be retained for more strategic use—”

“Oh, that part.”

Hardin casually cut Paul off.

“Forget mobility or whatever else. I don’t need it.”

“…Excuse me?”

“It just needs to float on the water.”

“A-Are you being serious? At that point, it’s not a ship—it’s practically just a chunk of metal floating on water!”

Hardin raised his thumb with a sharp gesture.

“Exactly. That’s it.”

“…What?”

“A chunk of metal floating on water—that’s exactly what I’m aiming for.”

H-He was serious about all that?

Paul’s eyes twitched, and Hardin raised the corners of his lips into a sly grin.

Tap, tap!

Hardin patted Paul on the shoulder and said,

“Anyway, I’ll leave it to you. If you need anything, just let the knights know anytime.”

“But—”

“Well then, I’ll be off.”

“Y-Young Master?”

Without another word, Hardin turned his back and walked away.

“Hahhh…”

Paul and the watching carpenters wore expressions thick with bewilderment.

A young carpenter asked Paul with a puzzled look,

“Sir Paul, is this really okay?”

“I… I’m not so sure myself.”

But what could they do?

It was the Young Master Hardin’s firm order.

They had no choice but to… follow it.

“Haaaaaa…”

What on earth was going to come of all this?

Everyone let out a collective sigh of exasperation.

---

Whoooosh!

On a patch of land swept by tumbleweeds and sandstorms, with sparse trees scattered here and there—

Jagged rock formations towered around, the air dry enough to parch one’s mouth… it was a desolate place in the northeastern region of the Empire that felt barren just by looking at it.

Splat!

Blood and flesh were splattered across that arid earth.

“Graaagh!”

A tattoo-covered figure collapsed to the ground with a thud, blood gushing from his severed neck.

“Huuuuuh…”

Behind him, a white-haired woman lowered her stance, tightly gripping her sword as she caught her breath.

Princess Medeia.

The Fourth Princess of the Fabian Empire’s imperial family, and the deputy commander of the 17th Unit in charge of subjugating the barbarians along the eastern border.

When Medeia looked straight ahead, she could see hundreds of barbarians emerging from rocky hills and underground tunnels in the distance.

“Bastu-ta!”

“Lehendaaaah!”

Shouting in incomprehensible tongues, their eyes bloodshot, the barbarians charged forward.

In their hands were spears and axes, and their bodies were covered with grotesque tattoos, rushing in like a stampede of bulls.

“D-Damn it…”

“These lunatics…”

The soldiers behind them, drawing their longbows, wore expressions tense with anxiety.

It wasn’t just the thunderous footsteps or the overwhelming number of enemies.

Fwhoosh! Fwhoosh!

“Gahk!”

“Urghh!”

Some of the barbarians struck by the soldiers’ arrows collapsed backward.

But…

“Grrrrraaaaah!”

“Gehehndaa!”

What in the world was going on?

As if nothing had happened, the barbarians twisted their bodies and staggered back to their feet.

Then, with bloodshot eyes… they charged forward again.

“What the hell is happening!”

“Why do they keep getting up!”

They were clearly living humans.

Yet they kept rising again and again like zombies or ghouls.

It was the very image of berserkers.

So, of course, everyone was terrified.

“Graaaaah!”

The barbarians eventually broke through the hail of arrows and closed the distance even further.

One of them hurled the spear in his hand with all his might.

Craaaack!

Maybe he had put too much strength into it—

The arm that had thrown the spear suddenly broke and bent in the opposite direction with an unnatural movement.

And then came the thunderbolt it unleashed.

Screeeeeeech! Crack!

“Gahhh!”

A soldier’s chest was pierced in an instant, without even a moment to react.

A sorrowful, grief-stricken face of the dead.

“Hiiiek! A m-monster!”

The soldier standing next to him collapsed on the spot, paralyzed by fear.

But there was no time to mourn the dead or to help the terrified.

Instead—

“Knight Order, charge!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Princess Medeia and her escort knights surged forward without hesitation.

At the same time—

Craaaack!

“Guhhh!”

The blue sword strikes they unleashed tore through the barbarians’ flesh, shredding them into pieces and scattering them into the air.

So thoroughly that resurrection was no longer a possibility.

“Do not stop! Increase the pace!”

Faster, fiercer.

At Medeia’s command, the knights advanced, slashing, cutting, and cutting again.

Until the dry earth was soaked red with blood.

Until it was clear who ruled this battlefield.

Then—

“Support the Princess!”

“Uwaaaaah!”

Perhaps emboldened—

The frightened soldiers, now filled with fury, rushed forward.

Crash!

“Aaaargh!”

“Gerdoan!”

“Diiieeeee!”

The screams of soldiers.

The screams of barbarians.

The sound of flesh being pierced.

The sound of bodies being destroyed.

All kinds of gruesome sounds overlapped again and again atop the dry ground.

How long had it continued like that?

“…Huuu.”

Thud.

Princess Medeia, her silver hair now stained red, let out a breath and drove her sword into the ground.

Then… after closing and opening her eyes, she looked around.

Hundreds of corpses lay sprawled on the ground, soaked in red.

“You’ve done well, Your Highness.”

One of the knights behind her, face weary, wiped the sweat from his forehead and spoke. Medeia turned to him and asked,

“Casualties?”

As she turned her head, she saw wounded and dead being carried out on stretchers.

The knight frowned slightly and replied,

“Fifty-five conscripts and three knights were wounded, and nineteen conscripts were killed.”

“That’s not a small toll.”

“No, considering the opponent…”

Medeia frowned in silence as she thought.

‘…Troublesome.’

The barbarians who lived in the vast wilderness between the Eastern Continent and the Fabian Empire—

Though their traits and characteristics varied widely, most lacked formal military training, and mana users were exceedingly rare.

Their invasions were, to the Fabian Empire, no different than the occasional monster wave.

The problem was that recently, their aggression had grown noticeably more intense.

The continued losses suffered by the border fortresses and military forces, and the eventual formation of this large-scale subjugation force—there was no doubt it all had something to do with the scene she had witnessed today.

Swish.

Medeia sat down and began rummaging through the corpse of one of the barbarians.

“Your Highness, there’s no need for you to handle this personally…”

As a knight tried to dissuade her, Medeia lightly raised her hand to stop him… then pulled something out from the barbarian’s pouch.

“Do you know what this is?”

“I’ve never seen such an item before.”

What Medeia held between her fingers was a dark crimson plant.

No—calling it a plant didn’t quite fit. It was an unsettling object, with multiple tendrils twisted together around a small skull-shaped form.

No one here had ever seen anything like it.

‘Disgusting.’

Medeia’s brow furrowed.

All she had done was touch the plant with her skin, yet it felt like her fingers were burning, as if seared by fire.

‘The barbarians turning into berserkers… it might be connected to this plant.’

Letting out a deep sigh, Medeia handed the item over to the knight behind her and said,

“Send it via carrier pigeon. Have it analyzed.”

“Ah, yes!”

The knight bowed and quickly tucked the item into a small pouch.

It was then—

“……”

Amid the heap of bloodied barbarian corpses—

Swish.

One barbarian, his entire body soaked in blood, quietly rose and began to approach Medeia.

Crack. Crack.

His face twisted with rage, he limped forward and grabbed an axe lying nearby.

And then—

Taaah!

He lunged straight at Medeia’s back, swinging the axe.

At that moment—

Crack!

“…?”

With the sound of bones breaking, the barbarian’s head fell to the ground.

Without even turning her head, Medeia spoke.

“Finished your task, Benjamin?”

“…Yes. I just returned.”

Swish, tap.

Behind her, Lieutenant Benjamin calmly wiped the blood from his sword with a handkerchief and sheathed it.

Only then did Medeia turn around and ask,

“What’s the situation?”

“Looks like we’ll be fighting the Count of Tread. Just as Young Master Hardin intended.”

For the first time, Medeia’s eyes—until now unshaken even amidst bloodshed—wavered.

“A fight? With the Count of Tread?”

“Yes. That seems to be the case.”

“But isn’t the Count of Tread’s military power overwhelmingly superior?”

“As far as I know, yes… but it was his decision.”

“……”

Medeia furrowed her brow and brushed her hair back with slender fingers.

Seeing this, Benjamin, who had been silently watching, spoke.

“Does it trouble you?”

“It’s not that. But… why?”

Benjamin slowly shook his head.

“I don’t know either. Whether he’s doing this with a real plan in mind… or if it’s just reckless bravado.”

Medeia stiffened her expression, then briefly looked down at the silver bracelet on her wrist.

“Do you have something you want me to pass on to him?”

“……”

Medeia parted her lips for a moment, then turned her gaze away and said,

“No. Nothing.”

Then, after staring blankly into the air for a moment, she called out.

“Everyone, get up. We move on with the subjugation—quickly.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

At that—

‘…So that’s how it is.’

Benjamin, who had been quietly watching her, slowly nodded.

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