Guillaumevalt still did not want to accept reality.
Count Lantarik had never been a warm and loving father. But that was just how noble father-son relationships were.
For Guillaumevalt, who had always been subtly looked down upon for his lack of swordsmanship and unattractive appearance, his only sources of pride were being a descendant of the Yaegas Divine Clan and the son of Count Lantarik.
But now, the father who had given him life was not only an evil man, but he had also denied his very existence, intending to pass everything down to the youngest, Adler. And to make matters worse, all the vassals had known about this except for him.
Not only had all his efforts to develop the competence befitting the Count Lantarik been in vain, but he had also been unknowingly playing the fool in front of the vassals. The humiliation was unbearable.
What was even more disgraceful in this situation was how quickly his body grew fatigued.
"H-Hard work, isn't it? Shall we take a short break?"
Despite being a knight, Guillaumevalt could not even ride a horse properly. Absorbing the impact of the galloping horse against the ground with his leg muscles had drained his energy, making him want to rest again.
"You're resting too often."
Midiam grumbled.
She, on the other hand, was riding a mountain goat, which bounced around far more than a horse, yet she absorbed the shocks with ease. She even performed acrobatic feats—standing on the saddle with both feet, then using the goat's jumps to propel herself into the air.
After leaping high into the air to survey the surroundings, Midiam landed gracefully and gave Guillaumevalt a look of utter disappointment.
That, more than anything, was humiliating for him. A young girl was effortlessly handling a mountain goat, while he was the first to get exhausted riding a mere horse. If he could, he would have rather bitten his tongue and died than admit defeat. But he simply couldn't endure it.
Azadin, noticing Guillaumevalt's silent suffering, intervened to stop Midiam.
"Don't be too harsh on him. So, did you see anything unusual when you jumped up?"
"Oh. The road ahead is blocked."
"The road is blocked?"
"Yes. There are soldiers setting up barricades."
Just as Midiam had said, after they crested the hill, they saw soldiers erecting barricades.
"What's going on? Let's at least go up to where the road is blocked and take a break there."
Azadin took the lead, guiding the way forward.
***
On the wide Imperial Road, built by Emperor Yaeslat, a barricade had been set up. Around it, soldiers, sergeants, and refugees had gathered, setting up tents and camping.
Beyond the barricade, a thick fog blanketed the road. Even if a single carriage-length of distance was created, anything beyond it would be swallowed by the mist. The area was a basin, so it was possible that the fog was naturally settling there, but even so, it was unnaturally dense.
'There's mana in it.'
Azadin clicked his tongue, sensing a strong magic presence emanating from the fog.
"Halt!"
"Whoa there!"
Soldiers stopped Azadin's group.
"You cannot pass beyond this point."
"Turn back! Go back now!"
At this, merchants and travelers who had arrived earlier than Azadin's group began to protest.
"You need to at least give us a reason!"
"Well, that's…"
The soldiers hesitated, glancing at someone for guidance. A middle-aged man, clad in armor, was staggering around, a bottle of liquor in one hand and a gleaming sword in the other, which he waved aimlessly through the air.
"Urrgh… That damn wife of mine! How could she do this to me?! You lot! Go back! I said, go back! Don't you see the fog?! If you enter that fog, I can't guarantee your lives!"
He was blocking the road, behaving tyrannically toward the merchants and travelers.
"…Sir Brock?"
"Huh?"
Guillaumevalt recognized the man and was taken aback.
"Y-Young Master Guillaumevalt,?!"
The man, referred to as Brock, also recognized Guillaumevalt and recoiled in shock. His drunkenness seemed to vanish instantly, as he straightened his posture, suggesting that he still held Guillaumevalt in high regard.
'Judging by his attitude toward Guillaumevalt, he must be one of the sworn knights. But wasn't he among the vassals who betrayed him?'
Azadin found it curious.
"What are you doing here? Aren't you Count Lantarik's vassal, the lord of Sinop Fortress and its surrounding estates? Why are you out here instead? And why is there a barricade?"
"Ah, well, you see…"
The knight, called Brock, hesitated awkwardly before replying.
"It's nothing."
"Nothing? Then why are you blocking the road? And that fog—it's clearly unnatural."
"..."
"Answer properly. You mentioned your 'wife.' Did something happen to your wife?"
"Well… That is…"
Brock let out a deep sigh, pressing his lips together firmly.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
It was an obvious lie. So obvious, in fact, that Guillaumevalt was left stunned.
'Is this fool looking down on me just because I've fallen from grace?'
But that didn't seem to be the case. The vassals who had betrayed him back at the stronghold had not sent a beacon signal or a flag message. They might have sent a courier at most.
"Yes. Suddenly, an ominous fog descended and swallowed Sinop Fortress. I managed to escape with the residents, but unfortunately, my wife is still inside."
"That's impossible. This is the Imperial Road. The king's virtue is strong here—evil magic shouldn't be able to take hold."
"I don't know. It all happened so suddenly."
At that moment, some of the merchants who had been protesting the roadblock approached Azadin.
"Huh?!"
Among them were members of the Korasar Peddlers' Guild—the herald clan.
"Oh. You're from the Korasar Peddlers' Guild."
Azadin recognized them and stepped forward.
"Shall we have a word?"
That knight was clearly hiding something from Guillaumevalt.
Even as Guillaumevalt pressed him for answers, he merely wobbled his head like a mute who had swallowed honey. Even in his drunken state, he kept his mouth shut tightly. He was never going to talk.
Judging this to be the case, Azadin left Brock to Guillaumevalt and decided to exchange information with the other Aragasas.
***
"But before that, I have a question. Who is that Holy Knight?"
The members of the Peddlers' Guild were wary of Zebeck.
"Let's just say he's an ally."
"An ally? How did a Holy Knight become your ally?"
'If I said it was because my cause is righteous and that's why I gained allies, they'd just think I was boasting.'
Azadin refrained from making such a careless remark in front of the Peddlers' Guild members.
"If a Holy Knight found himself in trouble with his superiors and was about to be expelled from the Order, would that explanation make sense to you?"
"Well, even if that were the case, wouldn't he still try to return to the Order at some point?"
"So you're saying that while he's an ally now, we should be cautious because he might part ways with us later?"
"Yes."
"That makes sense. Let's talk a little farther away, then."
Azadin put some distance between himself and Zebeck in preparation for their conversation.
"Oh, one more thing before we continue. Are you with the Elders' faction, or the Arael's faction?"
The servants of the Korasar Peddlers' Guild abruptly asked Azadin this.
"The Arael's faction?"
Azadin noticed that their wording was quite neutral. If they were hostile to Arael, they would have called them traitors or rebels, yet they simply referred to them as the Arael's faction.
"Hey, hey, this guy—he's that guy! You know, that guy! The Eyeless Azadin."
"Oh, the Eyeless Azadin? The younger brother of Lady Arael? Then he must be part of the Arael's faction."
"We're actually considering switching to the Arael's faction. As servants, it's hard enough making a living in different regions, so if they lower taxes, why not?"
"If they establish a country for the Aragasas, that wouldn't be too bad either. Hehehe."
"..."
Azadin clicked his tongue at their words.
"Why do you assume I belong to the Arael's faction?"
It made him sick to his stomach that they automatically thought of him as one of Arael's supporters, convinced that, in the end, he would take his sister's side just because they shared blood.
After everything Arael had done to him.
He had never had eyes to begin with, so the ordeal had merely left scars on his face. But if he had been born with eyes, and she had actually gouged them out, slicing through his face to do so—could they really believe he would still call her his sister and live in harmony with her?
And yet, these people dismissed the scars on his face as nothing more than a childhood squabble. Because he had never had eyes to begin with. Because Azadin had always been a peculiar sight without them.
They assumed such wounds were something he could laugh off. They assumed that since Arael had now gained power and status, Azadin would eventually smile and take her hand.
Their shallowness disgusted him. The resolve with which he had chosen to hate Arael—these people belittled it as if it were a trivial matter, and that infuriated him.
"Oh."
"Haha, we were just testing you. We're, of course, with the Elders' faction. We only asked because we were concerned, since you share blood with Arael."
"There's no way a rebel could ever succeed! No matter how powerful Arael is, she'll only shine for a moment. In the end, the Elders' faction will prevail."
Seeing Azadin's anger, they quickly changed their stance. But such an obvious switch—how blatant.
'It seems those who couldn't become heralds and had to work as merchants instead have their own way of thinking.'
In the end, their allegiance would be decided by whoever won. They would shake hands with the victor when the time came.
Neither Arael nor the Elders' faction could afford to ignore the merchants who handled the external affairs and income of the Herald Clan. For Azadin, this was a good thing.
"So, what exactly is happening here? Why is the road blocked? And why is that knight drunkenly waving his sword around while keeping his mouth shut about the real situation?"
When Azadin asked the merchants, they chuckled and answered.
"Well, apparently, that knight's wife became a cultist and performed some kind of ritual."
"A cultist? Which faction?"
"That, we don't know. Are you thinking of investigating? That fog makes it seem like a bad idea to go in."
"Hm."
After exchanging information with the Peddlers' Guild members, Azadin returned to his companions.
***
"This is unbelievable. Sir Brock was known for his diligence and piety. Among my vassals, he was one of the most composed and devout, which is why I entrusted him with the taxation of Sinop Fortress and its attached fiefdoms… And isn't this the Continental Road?"
Azadin knew that this road was officially called the Imperial Road, as it had been constructed by Emperor Yaeslat. However, those associated with the King's Church often referred to it as the King's Road or the Continental Road.
"The king's virtue is waning."
Scott McGreen, who had been keeping up with the forced march in his wheelchair without any issues, spoke smugly. He seemed pleased that his claims had been proven correct, though to Zebeck, the Holy Knight, it was an infuriating remark.
"I am realizing just how lacking my spiritual discipline is. Even though I know the truth, hearing it spoken aloud still makes me angry."
"It's fine. I understand. It's not uncommon for lesser-intelligence races to get swept up in emotion. Even among orcs, there are those who, after giving up on their future, choose to rely solely on brute strength, and their brains become nothing more than muscle."
"..."
That remark was even more infuriating.