Episode 33
The Battle of Black and White. A proxy war between two great dukes, fought under the names of mere barons.
The tale of that day’s battle, known as the ‘Battle of Black-and-white,’ spread like wildfire, carried on the wings of rumor.
Not long after, the story, exaggerated and passed from mouth to mouth, became an unintended yet brilliant piece of propaganda for Dale.
A young boy, leading the charge on the front lines, slaughtering enemy knights with divine strategy, orchestrating a grand victory with a masterful encirclement… And at the end of it all, showing no mercy to the enemies who begged for their lives.
A mountain of corpses, pecked at by crows for a week without diminishing, and a sea of blood flooding like a deluge.
This was the tale of the ‘Black Prince’s’ great victory and cruelty, as told by the people of the Empire.
A legend, a mix of truth and fiction, exaggerated to suit the tastes of the storytellers.
The son of the Black Duke, the Black Prince.
“Like father, like son.”
This was not unrelated to why Dale’s father had become a figure of fear.
Stories always tend to be exaggerated.
After all, the tale of the Black Duke’s son mercilessly executing surrendered enemies is far more compelling than the mundane truth of a unit being wiped out due to an incompetent commander.
“A gift for your eleventh birthday.”
Some time later, in the Duke of Saxon’s study.
With Dale’s birthday approaching, his father, the Black Duke, spoke.
“On the official occasion celebrating your birthday, you will be appointed as a Viscount of the Saxon Duchy.”
“…!”
A truly golden gift.
“From then on, you will assist me as the ‘Duke’s Deputy,’ managing the affairs of the duchy.”
A viscount, strictly speaking, is not a ‘true noble’ like a count or baron. It’s more of an honorary title, acting as a deputy in the lord’s domain without owning land independently.
“As the Duke’s Deputy, you will have the authority to summon the knights of the Saxon family and demand their service, including military duties.”
But not all viscounts are created equal.
Being a deputy to a mere count is worlds apart from being a deputy to a great duke like the Duke of Saxon.
Moreover, Dale was the heir to the duchy. What the Black Duke promised Dale was something incomparable to a few minor titles or lands.
“Thank you, Father.”
Dale bowed his head in gratitude.
The Black Duke’s promise to respect him as an equal head of the Saxon family. He kept that promise.
“And since you’ve said so, Father…”
With that promise as his foundation, Dale spoke.
“I have something I wish to undertake as the Duke’s Deputy, though it may be sudden.”
Not long after.
Dale turned eleven and was granted the title of Viscount, assisting the Duke of Saxon in his duties.
Around that time, a letter was sent to the church, announcing that the Black Prince of the Saxon family was preparing for a ‘pilgrimage’ to the land of the goddess.
“A pilgrimage to the Sistine Papal State?”
The Black Duke was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected words.
“Yes.”
The Sistine Papal State. Once known as the ‘Holy Nation,’ it was the heart of the goddess’s faith and home to the White Tower, the self-proclaimed handmaidens of the gods.
“People say that during the battle, the Black Prince showed no mercy, not sparing a single prisoner.”
Dale continued.
“The knights armed with the faith of the goddess fell victim to my cruelty, which the church would not take kindly to.”
The Holy Knights and the Order of Saint Magdalene, known as the standard-bearers of the goddess’s faith, were slaughtered, leaving a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood. The result of that day was the infamous reputation of the Black Prince, as gossiped by the idle.
The outcome of the Battle of Black-and-white was a devastating defeat that could only be explained in such terms. As Dale said, it was not something the church would welcome.
“Fear is a great asset, unmatched by anything else.”
Yet the Duke of Saxon questioned, unable to understand.
“Are you planning to deny your infamy and appease the church?”
“They are a power worth the concession.”
Dale nodded without hesitation.
“As the eldest son of the Saxon family and the ‘Duke’s Deputy,’ embarking on a pilgrimage to seek divine forgiveness…”
He nodded and continued.
“The church will have to show a corresponding sincerity.”
“Do you have something else in mind?”
The Black Duke asked, and Dale nodded without hesitation.
“I intend to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
Along with acquiring a few ‘forbidden magical texts’ while he’s there.
The border between the Greenbelt Barony and the Perker Barony, where the Battle of Black-and-white took place.
Here, the northern region of the Empire ends, and the central area, beyond the influence of the Duke of Saxon, begins.
The devastating defeat of that day’s battle was not only experienced by the knights of the count’s family. The bandit knight turned baron, Perker, who gained his title by chance, was no exception.
Having lost most of his trusted subordinates from his mercenary days, and having to pay a hefty ransom to the Saxon family for his own release, the baron found his lands barren of wine and women, and his scorched domain had nothing left to squeeze out.
Thus, the impoverished Baron Perker had only one course of action.
Banditry.
True to his reputation as a notorious bandit knight, robbing those who dared to traverse his lands was a long-standing tradition in the Perker Barony.
──That day was no different.
A group of travelers, foolish enough to enter the barony, caught the eye of the baron’s men.
“Fire!”
Arrows whistled through the air, breaking the silence. From the hills perfect for ambush, from the front and back of the road the travelers were on, from all directions.
Neigh!
The sudden attack startled the travelers’ horses.
“How dare you pass through Baron Perker’s lands without permission!”
As the bandits surrounded the area, a traveler in a cloak stepped forward to speak.
“What do you want?”
A young, innocent voice.
“Isn’t it common sense to pay a toll to pass through a noble’s land?”
“…Understood.”
Despite the bandit’s threats, the traveler nodded calmly, as if unsurprised.
Clink.
He pulled out a pouch heavy with coins from his cloak.
“I’ve prepared a sum to pay the toll.”
“Ah, you seem to know a thing or two.”
The baron’s man grinned, snatching the pouch and inspecting its contents, nodding in satisfaction. It was a substantial amount.
“Very well, in light of your sincerity, we’ll let you pass!”
As one bandit shouted, pretending to show great generosity, the others retreated, exchanging meaningful glances and smirking.
A few hours later.
Just before dusk settled over the western hills, before the travelers had even crossed a single ridge.
The same band of bandits appeared before them again, now swelled to a size incomparable to before.
“Stop!”
The leader of the bandits, Baron Perker himself, had joined with his few remaining knights.
“Make way for Baron Perker!”
“Show respect before the baron!”
“How dare you pass through my lands without paying the toll!”
Their armor, faded and rusted, was a far cry from the equipment of the Night Raven Knights, but more than sufficient to deal with a group of travelers.
“Toll, you say.”
The traveler addressed Baron Perker.
“We paid your subordinate earlier.”
Speaking calmly, as if puzzled.
“Isn’t it illegal under imperial law to collect tolls more than once in a single domain?”
“Paid, you say? What nonsense are you spouting in broad daylight!”
The baron’s man laughed, raising his voice.
“We’ve only just met!”
“Indeed, we are the most law-abiding of men!”
As if they had no memory of their encounter just hours ago, the bandits burst into mocking laughter.
In this world, threats lurk everywhere, and the word ‘law’ doesn’t carry much weight.
The law is distant, but the sword is near. That’s the kind of world this is.
“Do you know who this baron is?”
“The one who fought the infamous ‘Black Prince’ to a standstill…!”
“Yes, indeed! The seasoned warrior who survived the famous Battle of Black-and-white, Baron Perker himself!”
“If you value your life, hand over your belongings!”
However.
‘…What?’
Ignoring his men’s boastful chatter, Baron Perker swallowed hard, sensing something amiss.
‘No, it can’t be.’
The Black Prince, that battlefield, the familiar voice of the boy. It couldn’t be.
“A seasoned warrior, indeed.”
The young traveler’s voice continued, lifting the hood that had been pulled low over his face.
“That’s quite different from what I remember.”
The youthful face of the eleven-year-old boy made Baron Purker’s expression turn ashen.
“Oh, oh no…”
By now, the other travelers had dismounted, drawing the swords hanging at their waists.
“Give us your orders, my lord.”
Each blade was enveloped in a jet-black aura, the mark of the Night Raven Knights.
How could anyone forget? Those very aura blades had mercilessly slaughtered Baron Purker’s soldiers on the left flank of the battlefield that day.
These were not the swords of mere travelers, desperate to protect themselves. They were the merciless black blades of the Saxon family, devoid of pity or remorse.
It was the return of a nightmare, impossible to forget even if one wished to.