Chapter 141

The Siege Begins

Klaus von Botmer.

Baron Botmer.

His real name had not been Klaus.

Klaus was the family name his parents had adopted after fleeing the Republic following the revolution.

From the moment his parents, seeking survival, purchased the fallen collateral branch of House Goethe—the Botmer family—

their ill-fated connection with Goethe had been all but predetermined.

Of course, neither Klaus nor anyone else could have known that this enmity would endure so stubbornly, for so long, even until he reached this age....

Klaus himself had never imagined it.

It had taken a long time to establish a merchant company, accumulate wealth, win the favor of the parliamentary faction and the Second Prince, and persuade Goethe's collateral branches and vassals.

Now, he was undeniably the man who had built the most powerful force in the North.

Within this Northern Duchy, excluding the Second Prince, who effectively ruled the North, there was no one who surpassed Klaus in either wealth or military power.

Everyone except Count Goethe and Marquis Oton either obeyed him or tacitly sided with him.

As for Marquis Oton, he was a noble with the temperament of a merchant, constantly weighing the balance between the royalists and the parliamentary faction.

If it benefited him, he could always be persuaded.

Count Goethe, on the other hand, was like a rock.

A lifeless object devoid of emotion or agitation.

Before the war had reached its current stage, Klaus had thrown countless lures before Count Goethe.

Not once had he taken the bait.

Thinking about it now, it was almost laughable.

Would a rock bite at bait?

Had the Count bitten even once—had he shown the slightest interest—the battlefield that would become the seed of civil war would not have been the North.

There would have been no need for that.

"There truly was no need for it."

The elderly man with silver-gray hair spoke.

"You may not believe it, Count, but I rather liked you. I am an ordinary man who cannot use magic or aura, but I excel at reading human desires. That's why I know this well. The human heart is like dry grass, swaying helplessly with the wind. But you were different. You were simply a rock."

"..."

Count Goethe merely stared at Klaus von Botmer with an indifferent gaze.

"This berry wine. Do you remember it? When I offered to arrange a meeting with the Second Prince, you sent me this wine. I still remember how unpleasant I felt at the time, yet the taste was remarkably good. Perhaps because of that, I found myself seeking this wine whenever there was an important occasion. Of course, wine brewed directly at Goethe Manor isn't available on the market, so I had to settle for obtaining it from Bern City."

"What purpose is there in speaking of the past?"

"Because this truly is the end. When this war ends, one of us will be thrown into an abyss from which there is no escape. And most likely, that will be you, Count."

"There is no eternal house. Only history remains."

"Truly, you haven't changed at all."

Baron Botmer shook his head, wearing an expression that was somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

Count Goethe's composure never wavered.

The foul odor coming from him, the monster blood covering his body, the wounds scattered across his skin, the fur coat that was little better than rags—

none of it mattered.

Nor did the sight of five thousand troops encamped here, the expensive leather goods, the finely crafted magic tools and weapons, the black-armored knights standing in formation, or the atmosphere sharp as thin ice.

None of it mattered to him.

Count Goethe was a rock.

A rock neither feels fear nor avoids it.

It simply exists where it was always meant to be.

That attitude, more than anything else, made Baron Botmer's display of power seem pitiful.

"If I were a fifth-class mage like you, Count, I certainly wouldn't have lived as you do."

"If you have nothing more to say, I'll be leaving. As you can see, we're so poor that we have to scrape together every last coin just to prepare for this war."

"We still haven't heard any news of the First Prince's mobilization."

As the Count rose from his seat, the Baron finally came to the main point.

"What concern is that of yours?"

"Whether you ask for help or not, the First Prince will ultimately have no choice but to mobilize. It's only a matter of time. The First Prince is a fearful man. If the civil war leads to Imperial intervention, there is a chance that an elective monarchy could rise in place of the current hereditary system. Should that happen, even House Goethe, which still retains its status as an Elector in name, would possess an important vote."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm offering you a way out. Ask the First Prince for help, Count. At the very least, even if you lose Winterband, you'll have a chance to save your life."

The Baron stared directly into the Count's eyes as he spoke.

The honorifics had disappeared.

To begin with, even when he used them, the Baron had never truly respected the Count.

"I know well enough your upright character—the kind that would face death rather than allow civil war and Imperial interference. But this war cannot be avoided. Even if you die gloriously here, the First Prince will simply make your child the next Goethe and turn them into his pawn, his obedient hand and foot. Your stubbornness will only drag Winterband's innocent soldiers and subjects toward destruction."

"..."

"You must live to protect your people, mustn't you? No matter what justification either of us claims, they're all lies. This war exists because you and I are merely flints meant to ignite a great blaze. Once we've been used, we'll be discarded. I want you to survive. In this kingdom filled with nothing but dry husks and withered weeds, rocks as steadfast as you are rare."

"I'll be going."

The Count rose and left the command tent.

"I'll give you one day."

The Baron called out to the Count's retreating back.

The Count turned and looked at him.

The military tent was guarded by ten aura users.

Seated at its center, the Baron looked almost like a king.

Yet the Count regarded him with the same detached gaze as always.

"There is one thing you're mistaken about, Baron."

"Hm?"

"I am not fighting because I'm willing to die."

The Count's eyes remained calm.

"I'm fighting because I intend to win."

"...Send a messenger to the First Prince before the day is over. Tomorrow morning, the attack begins."

The Count slowly walked across Botmer's camp.

"Father, shouldn't we just kill him?"

One of the ten knights spoke.

It was Evervine, the red-haired knight.

"Leave it be. The Count's steadfastness may be an obstacle to the plan, but it is also because of that steadfastness that this plan can succeed in the first place."

A 5th-Class mage.

Baron Botmer had witnessed the destructive power possessed by such a mage only once.

Once had been enough.

That alone was sufficient for him to understand why the royal family continued to uphold the restrictions placed upon House Goethe, citing events from nearly a century ago.

There were only three 5th-Class mages in the kingdom.

Clavius, the king's advisor and teacher, known as the Sage.

Kreutz, master of the Blue Magic Tower.

And Count Goethe.

And both Clavius and Kreutz spoke with one voice.

The classification system was merely an artificial standard created by magical scholars.

Mages could be categorized according to the links they forged, but from the 5th Class onward, the system itself became virtually meaningless.

Even among 5th-Class mages, the differences in ability were vast.

It was the path of those knocking upon the door of transcendence.

Those who walked that path saw what other mages could not see and heard what others could not hear.

Because of that, they understood better than anyone how great the differences between their realms truly were.

Count Goethe had reached the very edge of the 5th Class.

His path was entirely different from that of Clavius and Kreutz, who had only barely entered the 5th Class in their later years.

Count Goethe had reached the 5th Class in his early thirties and was now in his mid-thirties.

Even if one searched the entire continent, would there be another mage who could stand beside him?

That was the assessment of Clavius and Kreutz.

Every mage possessed some twisted aspect of their character, and for Count Goethe, it was his obsessive devotion to principles and convictions.

How fortunate that was for the kingdom—the fools in the capital would never understand.

The old mages always repeated the same words.

"If he would just die here, I'd certainly be grateful."

Klaus von Botmer watched Count Goethe's retreating figure as it gradually disappeared into the distance beyond the command tent.

Baron Ripe, who happened to be passing by, saw the Count and collapsed onto the ground in shock.

The Count did not even spare a glance for the vassal who had betrayed him and simply continued walking at his leisurely pace.

Even if death stood directly before him, Count Goethe would likely cling to his principles and convictions.

Perhaps that stubbornness was the very mental foundation that allowed him to maintain his sanity even after reaching the 5th-Class realm.

That was why the Baron could not employ underhanded tricks against the Count.

Only by tightening the noose in a manner that violated neither honor nor principle would the Count accept his death.

"What a shame."

Klaus von Botmer smacked his lips.

Something he desired had to be destroyed by his own hands.

To obtain something greater, he had always placed matters upon the scales and made his choice.

What needed to be discarded, he discarded without hesitation.

But this time, he suspected he would feel genuine regret.

"Father. The trebuchets have been assembled."

The Baron's eldest son made his report.

"Have they?"

The Baron replied absentmindedly without even turning his gaze toward him.

"And regarding Vinfelt."

"Hm?"

The Baron's eyes shifted.

"They've mobilized."

"Mobilized? Baron Vinfelt?"

"Yes. He's gathered mercenaries and is marching this way."

"How many?"

"Combining the mercenaries and the remnants of Büchtner's forces, approximately four hundred in total. Shall I go deal with them?"

"..."

The Baron gazed toward the houses of Winterband lying five hundred paces away.

Beyond them stood the city walls.

Though lower than the outer walls protecting the northern frontier, the inner walls were much thicker.

He knew that Dimezitrium had been mixed into the mortar in preparation for a siege.

They were not walls that could be easily destroyed through magic alone.

"If there are no thrushes, we'll have to settle for starlings."

"I'll give you five hundred men. Go with the forces of Baron Hauzen and Baron Mark. That should put your numbers well above a thousand."

"Isn't that excessive?"

"Take three knights as well, including Evervine."

"We already outnumber them overwhelmingly."

"Our soldiers are exhausted from marching. And Kyle is with Vinfelt. Ordinary soldiers would be slaughtered if they faced him."

"...Understood."

"Do not disappoint me this time, Karl."

"Yes."

His eldest son, Karl, bowed his head.

"Oh, and one more thing. Baron Vinfelt must be brought back alive."

The Baron added the remark as though it had only just occurred to him.

Baron Vinfelt.

Isaac von Vinfelt Goethe was a brat worth taking the effort to kill properly.

Conversely, that also meant he was worth keeping alive.

Dawn was breaking.

The Count had not sent a messenger beyond the walls.

No signs of life could be felt from the houses south of Winterband.

The area was silent as a grave.

The residents had long since evacuated into the fortress.

Watchmen stood atop the walls, observing Botmer's encampment.

"Higher! Raise it higher! We need to get it inside the fortress!"

The trebuchet captain shouted.

The counterweight was being slowly raised.

"The projectiles are loaded."

Three massive wooden-and-iron siege engines stood upon the plain.

"Fire."

The Baron nodded.

"Fire!"

The moment the engineer severed the release rope with an axe, the counterweights of the three trebuchets dropped one after another.

The earth rumbled with a heavy boom as three bundles of netting packed with leather sacks soared through the air toward the walls.

The projectiles flew over even the inner fortress walls.

Soon, white smoke began rising above the walls like winter fog.

Screams echoed from beyond the battlements.