Antidote Chapter 15.1 - Strubin and Soedergran

Finally, Slan recalled the promise he had made to Jiyod.

*

It was a clear morning, as bright as Kallak’s future.

Yopius had just returned to Kallak. He brought with him a lengthy report on the progress of fortress and harbor construction in northern Kallak. Additionally, he carried a report on the ocean-going vessels being newly built in Ipsen. Yopius, who had lost the ring and index fingers of his left hand and the thumb of his right hand in the past, always traveled with a scribe due to the difficulty of writing. However, these reports contained so much confidential information that he endured the inconvenience and wrote them himself.

Slan carefully reviewed the report, written in a barely legible scrawl. He recalled Yopius’s once-beautiful handwriting. A time when the hunchbacked man, with a delicate and elegant script unbefitting his appearance, had a hobby of transcribing poems and ballads…

He sent Soderik to summon Yopius. While waiting for Yopius to arrive, Slan sat on the balcony for a moment, writing a letter to Ipsen.

Yopius arrived quickly.

A knock came first. Slan didn’t keep him waiting long and immediately told him to enter.

Soon, the hunchbacked man entered with a slightly waddling gait.

He was dressed in fine navy silk clothing. Over it, he wore a long-sleeved, loose-fitting velvet robe that seemed a bit warm for the current season, but knowing Yopius’s desire to conceal his body as much as possible, Slan said nothing.

Yopius’s complexion was neither better nor worse than before. Last year, he had been captured by Kirdara’s forces in the Black Continent and endured hardships, but he looked better now than he had then.

“Good to see you, Yopius.”

“What did you call me for?”

Yopius attempted to bow respectfully at Slan’s feet, but Slan personally grabbed his shoulders to stop him.

“Come, sit here. The sunlight’s nice.”

Slan took Yopius’s hand and led him to the balcony. The balcony, connected to the greenhouse, was filled with blooming flowers, their fragrance wafting from all directions. On the marble table lay the letter Slan had been writing earlier. He didn’t bother hiding it, simply pushing it to one side.

When Slan even pulled out a chair for him, Yopius’s stern face flushed a mottled reddish-black. It looked almost like anger, but Slan knew it was merely embarrassment and paid it no mind.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What’s that?”

With a cheerful mood, Slan pulled out the chair for him and sat down across from him.

Soon, a servant entered and placed simple refreshments before them.

“What’s the matter?”

Yopius asked again.

Slan didn’t waste time. They were both busy men.

“The talks with the capital went well.”

“I heard. The conversation with the court wizard went smoothly, they say. That’s fortunate. With everything happening in northern Kallak, and frankly, at this point, falling out with the capital would do us no good.”

Yopius responded with a loyal and submissive expression.

Slan continued in a lively tone.

“Exactly. We’ve agreed to hold another meeting next spring. The location is tentatively Iota in Kirdara’s territory, but that’s not finalized yet. There’s someone who really doesn’t like the idea of me entering Kirdara’s lands.”

“Lord Ipsen?”

The hunchbacked man twisted the corner of his mouth into what might have looked like an angry expression at a glance. But it was a smile, and Slan knew him well.

“Well, whether Jiyod likes it or not…”

Slan leaned slightly over the table, bringing his face closer to Yopius. Naturally, Yopius tensed, swallowing hard, wondering what Slan was about to say.

“I’m going to open Kallak, Yopius.”

Slan whispered softly.

Yopius heard it clearly.

In an instant, his face was flooded with a mix of tension, joy, anticipation, fear, curiosity, and excitement.

Opening Kallak. It was one of the long-cherished dreams they had held for years!

“Finally…!”

Yopius let out a murmur like a gasp. His heart raced with excitement, his shoulders heaving, and his face flushed a deep reddish-black, as if it might burst.

“What should I do, Lord Kallak?”

“First, we need to prepare the budget. I read your report thoroughly. It seems the silver mine development will cost quite a bit. For now, I’m not planning to extend the repayment deadline for York’s bonds this year.”

Yopius’s face took on a worried expression.

“There’ll be pushback from York. There’s been no default on interest, and there haven’t been any significant diplomatic issues, so they’ll naturally assume we’ll extend the repayment as usual…”

“Of course they will. That’s why I’m sending Hainz to York this time. Hainz has connections among their nobles, so he’ll be better than most at persuading and appeasing them.”

“Then I…”

“As for the funds coming in from northern Kallak, we need to set aside some reserves. This month, we need to send wheat and warhorses to Romberg. This much.”

Slan continued speaking. Refined steel, warhorses and provisions, fast-moving wagons, purchasing brimstone to increase gunpowder production… Listening to this, Yopius hesitated for a moment before finally speaking up.

“Lord Kallak. I… thought this was a peace negotiation.”

Slan smiled faintly.

“It is a peace negotiation. Everything we’ll do from now on is related to exchange and trade.”

“But what you’re talking about now…”

Indeed. Everything Slan mentioned was about war. Warhorses, provisions, steel, wagons, gunpowder. If these weren’t for preparing for war, what were they for?

Slan, still smiling, said again.

“I told you. I’m going to open Kallak.”

“Yes, I heard, but…”

“Starting next year, southern merchant ships will come to Ipsen. Those ships will depart from Cat’s Ear Cape in the Black Continent, pass through northern Kallak, and enter Ipsen via the northern route, then go on to Romberg or York before reaching the Erta Archipelago in the south.”

The existing sea routes to and from the Black Continent via Port Town are heavily affected by seasonal winds, making their limitations clear. However, the northern route from Ipsen has stable trade winds in both directions and, thanks to stronger ocean currents, allows for shorter travel times.

“And at the same time, we’ll open the Kallak mainland through the great bridge.”

“The mainland…”

Yopius swallowed hard, then quickly began pouring out words.

“There’ll be a huge backlash. There’ll be opposition, and since the bridge still needs more time and funding to be completed, for now, it would be better to gradually expand trade with the Black Continent through Ipsen’s bay harbor…”

“Of course, we’ll need phased adjustments. But Yopius, the change will be swift and radical. Those who oppose will say we need more preparation. But look at our Kallak now. We’ve been preparing for a thousand years.”

Slan’s blue eyes sparkled as if gazing into the distance. And as if seeing the same thing Slan saw, Yopius’s eyes gleamed as well.

Then Slan grinned.

“But before that, there’s something we need to settle first.”

“Something to settle?”

“Lord Strubin.”

Strubin and Soedergran were once formidable enemies of Kallak, then loyal vassals. But he was no longer either. He was now merely a splinter under a fingernail. Something that could not be ignored, nor should be.

After a long silence, Yopius finally spoke.

“Time is on our side, Lord Kallak. Lord Strubin is old, and his only living kin is Lord Ipsen, so even if we leave him be, it’s a fight we’ll win…”

“No.”

Slan firmly cut off Yopius’s words.

“I won’t repeat the same mistake.”

“Mistake? Lord Kallak, you…”

Instead of answering, Slan quietly shook his head once.

In the past, he had dismissed the chancellor as non-threatening, avoided antagonizing the general in hopes of winning him over, and trusted Glenberg too much, tolerating their relationship with the Triumvirate. What was the result? Glenberg betrayed him, the general poisoned him, and the chancellor remained silent despite knowing everything. Almost everyone he loved, and who loved him, was dead.

But no longer would he walk with a thorn in his shoe.

“No more rotten roots will undermine my footing.”

Slan muttered softly to himself.

Yopius heard it but merely bowed his head in silence.

A moment later, Slan shrugged.

“Well, Lord Strubin is docile for now. He’s keeping a low profile. But there’s still a chance he could join hands with Kirdara. After all, they’re tied by blood, just like us.”

“Would Kirdara act so rashly now?”

“Lord Kirdara probably doesn’t intend to. But Kirdara’s succession isn’t secure yet. And Lord Kirdara has two young, healthy brothers with armies and lands, both in their prime. Who can guarantee one of them won’t ally with Lord Strubin?”

“Ha.”

Yopius let out a trembling sigh. A mix of excitement and worry crossed the hunchbacked man’s wrinkled face.

“Then what about Sir Jiyod…”

“He’ll find out soon. Even I can’t grant a title without the person present, can I?”

Slan gave a slight smile.

“By the way, Yopius. I heard something recently.”

Yopius quickly noticed the change in topic and straightened his posture. The corners of Slan’s mouth rose higher, his smile deepening, but his eyes turned cold.

“They say the moral climate in Ipsen has been rather poor lately?”

“…Pardon?”

“Well, it’s been a while since York’s ships started docking in Ipsen, and welcoming new cultures is a good thing. But that doesn’t mean we should accept everything, even the depraved stuff, right?”

“…Well, some of York’s more shocking customs have been trickling in.”

Yopius, unable to grasp Slan’s intentions, floundered. Slan, smiling faintly, began slowly tapping the armrest of his chair with his fingertips.

“I suppose I trusted Lord Ipsen too much.”

“…What?!”

Now Yopius was truly horrified.

Lord Ipsen was Slan’s greatest ally. Hadn’t Yopius himself witnessed all the hardships Ipsen endured to save Slan and restore him to his position? For there to be a rift between them now, or worse, was Slan saying that now that the hunt was over, he’d cook the hunting dog…? Yopius’s thoughts were interrupted by Slan’s next words.

“We need some discipline. I mean… things that encourage moral decay. Lewd performances, that sort of thing…”

The sharp mind of the seasoned merchant began to race. It didn’t take long for him to reach a conclusion. It wasn’t a difficult one.

Clasping his hands together and bowing his head, he looked up at Slan meekly.

“York’s culture is quite open, so there are things we Kallakians find hard to accept. Being a port, there are rough types, and… ahem, lewd… performances do happen. I understand your concerns, Lord Kallak, but…”

“When you return to the Black Continent, take some soldiers with you. Let’s call them… the Kallak Direct Security Force. Their mission will be to curb moral decay in Ipsen and maintain public order.”

Then Slan threw Yopius a perfectly charming smile laced with a threat.

“Got it? Make sure to tell Lord Ipsen clearly.”

*

Since retaking Kallak and beheading the general, Slan had left the position vacant. Thus, the command of the Kallak castle garrison, traditionally led by the general, remained entirely in Slan’s hands. With Slan, who currently had no direct relatives, also holding the lordships of Romberg and Guntram, their private armies were also under his control. Additionally, the private army of Glenberg, where Slan was effectively acting as regent, was his as well.

At this moment, Kallak’s military power was concentrated in one person’s hands to an extent unprecedented in its history.

Traditionally, Kallak’s military power was divided. The Kallak army consisted of the court knights and the Kallak castle garrison, centered around the private armies of Glenberg, Guntram, and Romberg, which defended Kallak from three sides. The Lord of Kallak held command only over the court knights, which were themselves akin to a full-fledged army, and since no army could enter Kallak castle, this had never been an issue until now.

“But an issue has arisen.”

Slan thought calmly to himself.

“It was a good opportunity.”

He continued his thoughts.

To unify the divided military power, a strong catalyst was needed. The betrayal of the general and the court knights provided sufficient cause.

“The position of general is no longer needed in Kallak.”

He recalled the capital’s army he had encountered in the Black Continent. The capital’s system, where the court wizard also served as the supreme commander, had left a deep impression on Slan.

“I don’t need to wield a sword myself and lead from the front, but I do need to hold military power. I can’t rely solely on the court knights.”

As he concluded these thoughts and rose from his seat, Ismion entered. The door was wide open, so Ismion announced his arrival with a few light coughs instead of knocking.

“Come in.”

At Slan’s light words, Ismion entered the inner chamber.

He was holding a long silver tray in both hands, on which were a large medicine bottle, a cup with a sealed lid, soft cotton, and leather bandages.

Ismion’s face was stiff with tension and worry. Seeing it, Slan couldn’t help but let out a small cough instead of laughing.

“What’s with that face?”

“What’s with it?”

Ismion retorted irritably. But immediately after, he sighed, realizing once again that getting angry was pointless.

As he set the tray on the table, Slan walked over and sat comfortably on the couch. Ismion knelt on the floor and carefully placed his hand on Slan’s left foot.

Throughout the process of applying medicine to Slan’s ankle, wrapping it with soft cotton, and securing it tightly with a leather bandage, Ismion’s face remained rigid.

Unable to bear it, Slan finally spoke up.

“It’s fine.”

Ismion lowered his head curtly and didn’t respond.

“My ankle isn’t bad enough for you to worry like that.”

“It’s not your ankle I’m worried about.”

Indeed. Ismion’s concern wasn’t merely about an ankle. Even if it was the most noble ankle in Kallak…

“It’ll be over quickly. Well, if things go according to my plan.”

“How can a war go exactly as planned?”

“It mostly has so far.”

The archlord of Kallak gave a nonchalant, almost arrogant reply. Ismion, speechless, opened and closed his mouth several times before sighing.

“Even so… there was no need for you to go yourself. You could have left it to others, or even to Sir Jiyod…”

“Haha! Ismion! This is a gift for Jiyod. A promise I made long ago. How could I leave something like that to Sir Jiyod?”

Ismion silently averted his gaze sideways.

Slan, in a softer, gentler voice, whispered quietly.

“You know, Ismion. I like the court wizard.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

The wizard replied in a slightly dazed voice, maintaining a minimal level of curtness.

Slan’s face remained warm and kind.

“Think about it. If I had that kind of power, I could never have been a pacifist.”

“You’re not a pacifist now, Slan-nim. What do you think you’re about to do?”

The wizard, facing his lord about to march to war, questioned him sharply.

Instead of answering, Slan gave a faint smile. Then he leaned down, tightened the leather brace on his ankle himself, and stood up briskly.

Soderik, who had been holding Slan’s cloak and boots from behind, approached with a mournful expression and helped Slan put them on. He, too, remained somber throughout.

Seeing their reactions, as if they were watching him walk into a death trap, Slan finally shook his head.

Instead of reassuring them, he simply walked out.

The assembled army was waiting for him.

*

There were two routes to advance an army toward Strubin.

One was through Soedergran, an old road that had existed since before the lords of Strubin and Soedergran knelt before Kallak’s conquering lord. After Strubin and Soedergran were subjugated by Kallak, this route was primarily used for trade with lands beyond the Great Canyon.

The other was a path from Romberg through eastern Ipsen. This road was relatively new but had the drawback of a long supply line, as there were no major cities along the way to serve as supply bases.

Three hundred years ago, Slan’s ancestor, the great conquering lord, had first taken Soedergran to use it as a rear supply base before launching a siege on Strubin. Slan had no intention of doing the same.

The military wagons Kallak had used until then had a chronic flaw: when driven above a certain speed or over rough terrain, the axles would gradually bend and break under the strain. Wooden wheels were prone to damage, requiring a large stock of spares.

But the six-wheeled wagon Slan had personally improved formed a trapezoidal frame around a double axle, distributing the pressure and preventing deformation even at high speeds. The wheel rims were triple-layered, with the middle layer made of corkwood imported from York, reducing weight and absorbing shocks.

This dramatically increased the speed of military wagons.

Thanks to this, Slan was able to advance the army from Romberg with minimal rest, at a speed no one—not even Ismion, who was with him—could have predicted, crushing all of Strubin’s defensive strongholds in just seventeen days and reaching the gates of Strubin’s main castle.

No one, friend or foe, had expected Slan to move so quickly, so Strubin was unprepared. And that was exactly what Slan had aimed for.

By the time Slan reached the point where Strubin’s defensive walls were visible, dusk was settling in.

In case Lord Strubin led his army out—though it was unlikely—Slan set up camp on a hill overlooking a wide clearing suitable for a pitched battle. If Lord Strubin did come out, Slan intended to face him honorably.

Of course, Lord Strubin was no fool, and the castle gates remained firmly shut.

Slan sent a herald.

“Lord Strubin is my kin, and Lord Ipsen, his only living relative, is my loyal vassal.”

He wrote the letter as he spoke. It stated that if Lord Strubin surrendered now and relinquished his title, his status would be guaranteed, and his remaining years would be provided for.

Folding the letter and placing it in a leather envelope, he dripped wax onto it and stamped it with the Kallak seal. As soon as the herald carrying the sealed letter departed from the encampment, Slan immediately ordered the siege cannons to be unloaded from the wagons and the gunpowder prepared.

One of the two escort knights serving as his adjutant couldn’t hold back and asked.

“Aren’t you waiting for Lord Strubin’s reply?”

“There’s nothing to wait for.”

Naturally, Slan already knew the answer.

He turned his head to look at Strubin’s long defensive wall. In the dim twilight, the line of the tall wall appeared like a faint, slanted stroke.

Kallak’s triple wall was modeled after it.

While Kallak’s defensive wall had existed for a thousand years, it only truly became a triple wall after the conquering lord took Strubin. The conquering lord reinforced the weaknesses of Strubin’s triple wall, constructing a formidable barrier around eastern Kallak. For three hundred years afterward, eastern Kallak endured numerous civil wars but was never breached. Until Slan brought it down.

Slan imagines the time three hundred years ago when his ancestor conquered this place.

The great conquering lord who forced the bloodlines of Strubin and Soedergran, rulers of the vast lands from Romberg to south of the Tavros Mountains, to kneel. And the moment when he, one by one, stripped those families of their lands, wealth, and lives, finally scaling that wall.

Slan would likely not be called a conquering lord. Perhaps a worse infamy awaited him. Or maybe the opposite…

He inspected the siege cannons.

The range of the mobile siege cannons far exceeded that of defensive crossbows, and their destructive power was unmatched. Their firing rate was faster than when they had toppled Kallak’s walls, and their stability had improved.

This would usher in a new era of siege warfare.

As Slan, lost in a strange sense of regret, gazed down at the gleaming array of siege machines, the herald returned with Lord Strubin’s reply.

The response was exactly as Slan had expected.

As you say, Lord Ipsen is my only kin, so why does the archlord rush?

Slan laughed silently.

It was absurd that a foolish man who had spent his life trying to kill his illegitimate son now, with an army poised to destroy him, finally acknowledged their kinship.

With a smile, Slan crumpled the letter and tossed it to the ground, raising his head.

“Well then, shall I, like my ancestor, scale that wall once more?”

By the time Jiyod arrived, everything was over.

Instead of the grandeur of the triple wall dividing earth and sky, the ruins of Strubin’s collapsed wall, like the spine of a great beast, greeted him.

Stunned, he let out a hollow laugh.

When he received the first herald summon, it announced Slan’s campaign. Naturally, he immediately rallied the Ipsen cavalry. By the time he led the cavalry out of Ipsen and reached Archibald in southwestern Strubin, he received the second herald. It stated that Slan’s army had already reached Strubin.

And the third herald came just yesterday.

Before Jiyod could even arrive in Strubin, Slan had scaled the wall alone.

It was too fast. Moving an army this quickly, passing three defensive strongholds before reaching Strubin, and scaling Strubin’s wall in just three days.

Jiyod gazed at the base of a defensive spire, its top completely shattered and collapsed. The upper half of the massive spire had been cleanly blown away, scattering brick fragments and metal shards in all directions. Beneath the ruins of the spire, soldiers bustled about, moving supplies and repairing the road.

An adjutant following Jiyod spoke in a voice filled with awe.

“This… it’s faster than the records of the old conquering lord. Even bypassing Soedergran, to do it in such a short time…”

“Of course. Who do we serve?”

Their lord was a man capable of charging toward the entire continent as he had toward Strubin. But instead of unleashing a bloodstorm across the continent, he chose another path. A different title would be affixed to his name, not that of a conquering lord.

Ignoring the young adjutant knight’s face, stained with loyalty and awe, Jiyod spurred his horse and galloped swiftly toward Strubin’s main castle.

The road was relatively undamaged, but the castle gate was utterly destroyed.

Jiyod halted his horse before the gate.

“You join the Kallak central army and assist with the cleanup.”

“Don’t you need an escort?”

“Here, now?”

Jiyod laughed, and the adjutant gave an awkward chuckle in return.

They were too late. The Ipsen cavalry wouldn’t even get to lift a spoon in Strubin’s fall.

After sending the adjutant away, Jiyod entered Strubin’s main castle alone.

The castle showed little sign of damage. Much of it was as he remembered.

Bronze pillars and granite bulwarks. The high ceiling sparkled like a night sky, studded with sapphires and luminous pearls instead of stars.

It had been a long time since Jiyod had come to this castle.

He recalled the first time he was here. Ten years old? Eleven, perhaps. Maybe nine. In any case, it was when his father could no longer ignore his existence.

The towering ceiling had loomed over him, crushing him with its vastness, and everything—living or not—rejected and intimidated him.

But look now. The castle was empty, reeking of blood, dust, death, and defeat.

Jiyod gave a small chuckle to himself and walked faster.

Endless rows of bronze pillars passed by him.

War, war, new wars. Countless hired killings, conspiracies, schemes, and threats. Victory led to another war, returned as greater opposition, and through it all, he survived and grew.

“There was a time I thought that was all I had.”

Thinking this, Jiyod finally reached Strubin’s throne room and stopped.

Before him was a wide hall and a semicircular staircase that took up half of it. The carpet that once covered the stairs had been removed, revealing a clean marble floor.

Jiyod gazed down at the staircase for a moment. He had never once climbed it.

Soon, he began ascending the stairs slowly.

At the top, in the center, stood the Strubin throne. Above it was a magnificent sapphire canopy, present since before this land was subjugated to eastern Kallak, casting a radiant blue glow over the throne.

Slan stood alone before the throne, gazing up at the canopy.

Jiyod imagined Slan’s expression.

“Slan.”

At his call, Slan turned around.

And his expression seemed slightly awkward and flustered, a face Jiyod had never imagined in such a situation.

“You know, this sapphire canopy feels a bit tacky…”

“What?”

Jiyod asked in disbelief, and Slan, still wearing that awkward expression, replied.

“It’s, like, super famous, right? The conquering lord went to such lengths to get this canopy but couldn’t even break it or take it back to Kallak… Anyway.”

“Are you going to move it to Kallak?”

“No? Didn’t you hear me? I said it’s tacky. How about smashing it and making a new crown and scepter instead?”

Jiyod thought for a moment before answering.

“Hmm. The canopy’s a bit big for that. How about selling the leftovers to those York pigs for a high price?”

Only then did Slan let out a small laugh.

“By the way, you’re later than I expected, Lord Ipsen. Or should I call you the archlord of northern Strubin and Soedergran now?”

“That name’s too long.”

“Then Lord Strubin?”

For a moment, Jiyod felt an intense sense of déjà vu. As if they had had this conversation before, he even knew what he would say next. The reply came naturally.

“Just call me by my name. You knighted me, after all.”

“Right. Sir Jiyod.”

And Slan smiled calmly, as if he knew everything.

He extended his hand toward Jiyod. The light from the sapphire canopy fell across the surface of his blue eyes, scattering beautiful reflections in all directions. Entranced, Jiyod leaped up the remaining steps in one bound and stood before him.

Slan held out the crown taken from his father’s corpse.

“How about it? Want to try it on?”

Jiyod gazed down at the crown. Slan’s white hand, the blood-stained silver crown, and the throne behind him. The dazzling turquoise glow pouring from the sapphire canopy. Strubin and Soedergran, which Slan had once promised him.

He looked up and met Slan’s gaze.

A smile rested on the archlord’s beautiful face, serene and calm. Slowly, laughter began to escape from Jiyod.

“You really keep your promises.”

Slan blinked and asked back.

“Why say something if I’m not going to do it?”

At that reply, Jiyod burst into laughter.

This man, broken, shattered, ruined, and risen again, was still the same Slan he had fallen for ten years ago in the quartz mines, on the roads of Mannerheim, beneath the arches of the Great Canyon.

He took the blood-stained crown from Slan.

With this, all of Slan’s promises to Jiyod were fulfilled.