Chapter 270: The Fall of the Border 6

Around the same time Liliana, Riley, and Gild infiltrated the enemy-occupied fortress, a visitor appeared at the command tent of Margrave Beverly Calvert.

"Pardon the intrusion," a voice called out.

Though guards stood stationed around the tent, the visitor addressed her directly, likely due to Beverly having given prior instructions. Recognizing the familiar voice, Beverly broke into an amused smile.

"Come in, please," Beverly replied.

Granted permission to enter, the figure promptly stepped inside. While Beverly had shown no reaction during their initial public reunion, there was no one else in the tent now. Her smile deepening, Beverly rose from her simple folding chair, walked briskly over to the visitor, and wrapped her arms around the figure in a warm embrace.

"It has been far too long. I am so glad to see you well, Olga," Beverly said warmly.

"It has been a long time, my lady," Olga replied politely.

"Oh my, why so formal? Speak to me as you used to, please."

Hearing the nostalgic address, Beverly let out a merry laugh—a bright, lilting sound reminiscent of a young girl.

Beverly gestured for Olga to take a seat. Sitting across from her, she personally brewed tea. Given that they were on a battlefield, the tea set was utilitarian, but Olga accepted the cup with a word of thanks and sipped the tea brewed by the margrave without the slightest hesitation. Normally, anyone would be overwhelmed with modesty in such a situation, yet Olga showed no sign of discomfort. Far from taking offense, Beverly beamed with pure delight.

"To think you were serving as Lady Liliana's personal guard. I was quite surprised when I first heard."

"It was only because you taught me how to wield the magic sword that I was able to make a living as a mercenary," Olga replied. "I am truly grateful to you."

"My, you remain as dutiful as ever."

Beverly chuckled warmly. Disregarding their immediate surroundings, one might have thought she was enjoying an elegant tea party in her margravial manor or a royal salon. Despite the dead of night and the enemy's close proximity, she displayed not a shred of tension.

Beverly took a sip from her teacup, moistening her throat.

"I first heard about you from Danhill, you know," she said. "He told me you faced each other in the martial tournament."

"When I heard my opponent was Lord Danhill Calvert, I recalled that he was your son," Olga replied evenly.

"Still as indifferent as ever, I see. Though I suppose that is just like you."

"Such knowledge is useless to a mercenary."

When Beverly narrowed her eyes in questioning, Olga offered a placid reply, her expression unreadable. After gazing at Olga in mock reproof for a moment, Beverly's shoulders began to tremble with suppressed laughter.

"You truly have grown in that regard too. When we first met, every single thought was written plain across your face."

"...I was still a child back then," Olga murmured.

"Indeed you were. How quickly time flies."

Beverly murmured reminiscingly. For a fleeting moment, a flicker of loneliness and nostalgia crossed her profile, but Olga pretended not to notice.

Beverly and Olga had first crossed paths in the Yunatian Imperial State. Back then, Beverly was not yet the Margrave Calvert, wandering from region to region while concealing her aristocratic heritage. An ordinary noble son or daughter would never have survived wandering alone—they would have been swiftly kidnapped, starved to death for lack of provisions, or torn apart by wild beasts and monsters.

Yet none of those fates had befallen Beverly. She possessed more than enough martial prowess to repel any disaster that crossed her path. And in the midst of those travels, she had encountered the young Olga.

"Danhill told me all about it," Beverly remarked. "He said you conceded the victory to him, and he was quite vexed by it."

At her words, the corners of Olga's lips curled upward—a rare expression for the typically stoic mercenary. Beverly, however, took the subtle change in stride. If anything, her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward slightly.

"I knew it. You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"I considered the possibility that you might already know I was guarding My Lady," Olga explained. "Even so, I wanted to ensure you knew my whereabouts. Had I sent a letter as a mere mercenary, I doubted anyone in the Calvert Margravate would have recognized my name."

Olga's reasoning was entirely sound.

For someone without a family name like Olga, the likelihood of a letter safely reaching the margrave was exceedingly low. Had Beverly held a minor peerage where the head of the house personally inspected every piece of mail, it might have been different, but the correspondence Beverly reviewed personally as Margrave Calvert was strictly filtered.

Under such circumstances, any letter sent by Olga was virtually guaranteed to be discarded long before it ever reached Beverly's eyes.

For that reason, Olga had chosen to make use of the martial tournament. And just as she had anticipated, Danhill, having been handed the win, reported Olga's presence directly to Beverly.

"In truth, I expected to hear from you sooner," Olga admitted.

"Indeed, I had thought of sending you a letter earlier," Beverly conceded. "However, I was waiting to see how things unfolded."

"How things unfolded?" Olga asked.

"Yes," Beverly affirmed.

As Olga tilted her head in curiosity, Beverly gave a solemn nod. A brief silence descended between them. Olga waited for an explanation, but Beverly refrained from stating directly what situation she had been observing. Instead, lowering her voice, she began to speak of the political climate within the kingdom.

"Are you aware of the unrest stirring throughout the kingdom over these past few years?" Beverly asked.

"...I am," Olga nodded.

Mercenaries cared little for noble society, but that did not mean they could afford to ignore highborn affairs. The movements of nobility directly affected the fate of the nation. If war was brewing, it was prime time to earn a livelihood; if hired as a mercenary, one sought to sell one's sword at a premium to whichever noble was favored to win. And if the danger proved too great, one evacuated the territory posthaste. Such was the art of survival for a mercenary.

Seeming to have anticipated Olga's response, Beverly gave a single nod and quietly continued.

"Good, that makes this quicker. In broad strokes, ever since His Majesty fell ill, the nobility has fractured into three factions: the Grand Duke's Faction, the Crown Prince's Faction, and the bystanders who align with neither."

After the king fell ill—in truth, struck down by a curse—a fierce dispute had erupted among the nobility regarding the succession. While the majority adopted a wait-and-see approach, deeming it impossible to judge at the time, a successor had to be decided when no one knew when His Majesty might pass away. Should the king die without an established heir, the realm would descend into chaos, inviting an invasion from neighboring powers.

At the same time, it was an undeniable truth that neither candidate had been deemed truly suitable for the throne.

In terms of bloodline, the crown prince held the strongest claim, but Riley had been far too young at the time, giving Grand Duke Franklin Slibegrad the edge in terms of age. The grand duke, however, lacked the competence to govern. Had the Advisory Council been able to rein him in, it might have worked, but his haughty pride made him too troublesome to use as a puppet monarch. The crown prince was therefore deemed the preferable option—in other words, even if he grew into a fool, there would be ample time to mold him into a puppet.

"Fortunately, the crown prince grew into an exceptional young man," Beverly noted. "Thanks in no small part to the tutelage of Marchioness Finch, he possesses all the makings of a true monarch."

Olga did not interject. Beyond mere rumors and intelligence, she had observed Riley's character firsthand while accompanying Liliana as a guard. Though she had never met the grand duke, she had no reservations about Riley ascending the throne as the next king.

Unbothered by Olga's silence, Beverly continued speaking.

"The tide shifted right around the time of the martial tournament," Beverly explained. "Until then, the Alcasia Faction had kept their stance ambiguous regarding whom they supported as the next monarch. Naturally so, given that Duke Ealdred had not made his intentions clear."

The Alcasia Faction was a colossal political bloc led by the Ducal House of Ealdred. They were occasionally referred to as the Former Royalist Faction. While strictly distinct, the noble houses comprising each were so nearly identical that they were effectively considered one and the same.

The primary distinction was that every member of the Alcasia Faction deferred entirely to the will of House Ealdred. In other words, if House Ealdred swore allegiance to the crown, they would bow their heads to the royal family; yet if House Ealdred ever raised the banner of rebellion, the entire faction would mobilize for revolt without hesitation.

Meanwhile, the Former Royalist Faction was the faction asserting that legitimacy to the throne belonged not to the House of Slibegrad ruling the Kingdom of Slibegrandia today, but to the Ducal House of Ealdred.

"However, around the time of the martial tournament, they formally declared their support for the crown prince. And so, the nobles of the Alcasia Faction followed suit."

Even so, problems remained. Beverly continued with a grave expression.

"While I do not belong to the Alcasia Faction, my sentiments align with House Ealdred," Beverly stated. "I believe the crown prince is the one truly fit to become our next king."

Yet there were those who felt otherwise. Those who openly professed their allegiance to the Grand Duke's Faction were manageable; the true danger lay in those who feigned loyalty to Riley while harboring treason in their hearts.

"What is more, some appear to be plotting to seize power by forging ties with our neighboring empire," Beverly added. "We have yet to secure concrete evidence or expose every traitor, however."

"In other words, with traitors lurking in unknown corners, you could not afford to make contact recklessly... is that it?" Olga surmised.

Having listened in silence until now, Olga finally spoke. Hearing her concise summary, Beverly smiled and nodded.

"Precisely. When we cannot discern who is colluding with whom, showing our hand prematurely would be utter folly. In that sense, this turn of events is a blessing in disguise. I was able to make contact with you without drawing anyone's suspicion."

"You overestimate my worth," Olga muttered.

"My, not at all! I speak entirely from the heart."

Beverly shrugged lightly. Then, with a serious expression, she locked eyes with Olga.

"To be completely frank, reclaiming that fortress with our current Calvert Knight forces alone would stretch us to our absolute limits. It wouldn't be impossible, but a staggering number of our men would have been slaughtered."

Olga gave a quiet nod. As a guard, she had been present during the council of war alongside Riley and the others. Based on the discussions held there, the disadvantage facing the Calvert Knights was glaringly obvious. While they ought to have relied on reinforcements from neighboring lords and the royal capital, some nefarious scheming had ensured that no meaningful aid could be expected.

When the Kennys Margravate had been attacked in the past, their fortress had not fallen into enemy hands, allowing the Empire to dismiss the incident as the reckless rogue action of a single border lord. This time, however, the fortress was fully occupied. Regardless of whatever diplomatic excuses the neighboring empire made, failing to reclaim it would severely erode the nation's strength.

Fortunately, news of the margravate's crisis had reached Riley's ears. And by a stroke of luck, Riley's party happened to be close enough to arrive immediately, bringing with them formidable fighting strength.

"Under normal circumstances, an extra few dozen guards wouldn't make a dent in the tide of battle," Beverly noted. "Yet the fighting power of your group is far too absurd to dismiss as mere bodyguards."

"Well, you do have Gild and myself," Olga replied calmly.

"Indeed. And His Highness and Lord Austin are more than capable combatants in their own right."

Both of them would likely rank among the elite even if pitted against the finest knights of the Calvert order.

Beverly stated this with absolute conviction.

It was common knowledge that superior numbers conferred an advantage on the battlefield. Even more crucial, however, was having commanders capable of rallying forces, which greatly expanded tactical flexibility. With only one commander, an army remained a single monolithic mass; with two, a pincer movement became possible. Specialists skilled in infiltration could dismantle defenses from within, and a small elite unit could execute diversions.

"Regardless, all we can do is tackle the tasks directly before us," Olga said. "We have no choice but to give it our all."

Beverly nodded at Olga's words.

"You must have grown remarkably strong yourself," Beverly mused. "Back then, I never imagined I would live to witness your growth with my own eyes."

Olga did not reply to her affectionate tone, though the tension in her cheeks softened. Facing that rare expression, Beverly smiled all the more warmly before posing a question.

"Now then, Olga, would you care for another cup of tea?"

—-

Toc