On the northern edge of the hero’s territory, the margrave’s city was filled with joy and festivities, their army having made a triumphant return. The orcish soldiers who had smashed through the pesky human forces now proudly paraded down the main street.
Boldly presented at the head of this procession were the severed heads of three fearsome monsters, hoisted high by fifty gunners. These heads were all that remained of the vile dragons that had terrorized the northern settlements, and a symbol of the brave militia who had brought about their end. The militia’s uniforms, marred by bullet holes, mud, and shoddy patchwork, gave them the appearance of seasoned veterans, despite their being a long way from the standing army. In exchange for their service, they would receive tax exemption and a claim to the wastelands of the north. Their martial achievements aside, they were always fighting to protect their own homes, so their motivation was generally more passionate than that of the average soldier.
The militia was followed by the many soldiers who had taken part in the great battle—a battle that had yet to be given a formal name.
The standing army appeared about halfway down the procession. Unlike the soldiers who tramped along ahead of them, the standing army marched in perfect unison. They were made up of the elites of the margrave’s army, and in the great battle, they were the ones who had demolished the human cavalry and thus cemented victory. When these elites showed up with their spoils—a parade float piled high with helmets stripped off of human heads—the onlookers erupted into cheers.
But the real climax came after that. The float was immediately followed by a white steed ridden by the army’s supreme commander, and then a study cage on wheels with a single human inside. Judging by their ornamented gear, this prisoner was presumably of high status. Watched over by the very best of the standing army, this captive was the true centerpiece of the parade. A mix of cheers for the commander and angry roars toward the prisoner filled the air.
This noise reached all the way beyond the city’s walls to the distant army barracks.
It was there that the Black Dog listened to the commotion with gritted teeth. Why, the supreme commander hadn’t been anywhere near the battlefield. It was absurd to even call this a victory.
Yes, the orcs had managed to defeat their enemies in that battle, but they had failed their objective of breaching the valley, and many villages had fallen victim to dragon attacks. Consequently, farmers turned refugees had flooded into the city and were likely unwilling to return to their farms. There had been casualties in regions previously considered relatively safe from air raids. Fearing more such raids, a good number of people had abandoned perfectly intact villages to flee here. The city couldn’t depend on previous harvests to feed these many refugees, and with many farmlands decimated or abandoned, the yield of the margrave’s territory would inevitably fall into sharp decline.
Large-scale rationing had been implemented to address the worsening food shortage. The city had even been forced to access the army’s food reserves, and because of this, major military deployment would likely be impossible for a while to come.
Still, even if it had been a victory of sorts, why was a key figure like the Black Dog here at the barracks and not a participant in the celebration? The answer was simple. He and his riders, as well as all the other mercenary tribes, had been prohibited from appearing in the parade. There was no doubt in his mind that this was handiwork of the margrave’s lazy son.
“Barbarians shall not be allowed within the margrave’s walls,” was the official reason, despite the imperial law that proclaimed all people were equal before the emperor. Surely if the margrave had heard of this exclusion, he would have given him a good kick in the rear, no matter how much he doted on his son.
Unfortunately, the margrave had been bedridden from illness for a while now. The Black Dog had heard rumors that his time of death was near. These rumors had crushed his spirit. Like the others of his tribe, the Black Dog had been raised on the heroic tales of distant ancestors. There’d been a time when his ancestors, riding their fearsome aquilup mounts, had laid waste to the countries of the plains. Some had even claimed land of their own and become rulers. The Black Dog still looked up to the heroes of those days.
Of course, those days were no more than a dream now. It had been several hundred years since his tribe had bent their knees to the empire. He had long since abandoned his grandiose dream of forming a kingdom of his own, but his ambition had yet to fade fully. His desire to make a name for himself still burned within him, and it was not impossible for him to achieve renown on the battlefield. Plenty of his tribe had managed it, including his great-uncle.
During the last civil war, his great-uncle had been hired by the previous emperor—only a prince at the time—and had ended up as His Majesty’s right-hand man. His great-uncle went on to become a count and lead the Imperial Aquilup Regiment. Despite hailing from a border tribe, he had paved a path to his own success. The Black Dog aspired to be like him one day. And yet, by the time he’d left his homeland, chasing the dreams of his great-uncle, the wars were already ending. He’d gone from land to land, hunting down bandits and the remnants of the revolts. The group he’d formed with his ten closest friends had grown into an aquilup cavalry fifty riders strong, and yet the grand battles he hoped for still weren’t there. The wars were over, and the ashes had gone cold. The bandits were few and far between. As far as the empire was concerned, mercenaries like him were no longer needed.
The Black Dog had finally found his place here, in the northern territory. On the undeveloped plain where the hairless monkeys ran rampant, he had finally gained a proper mission.
By piling up numerous successes against the humans, he had earned the trust of the margrave and his staff. On the last large-scale expedition, he had essentially been entrusted with the command of the entire army. In those northern lands, he had almost fulfilled his dreams, but his status had ultimately proved a candle in the wind. One might say it had been an anomaly for him to have been welcomed so warmly in the first place.
The margrave’s son wasn’t as kind to him as the father had been. The son plainly hated the Black Dog, being too small-minded to even acknowledge the achievements of one who had been such an asset. His noble lineage made him even more of a pest.
But this didn’t mean the Black Dog could simply leave these lands. The east and west had largely stabilized, and public order was improving all throughout the lands. Despite having distinguished himself in skirmishes with the humans, that hadn’t been enough to net him a high position. His great accomplishment, of tipping the scales in the battle, had somehow become the margrave’s son’s accomplishment.
There was also the fact that he had renewed his mercenary contract only the year before, since he hadn’t expected the margrave’s condition to take such a turn. Ending such a contract prematurely would be a lethal blow to his credibility. Therefore, he was obligated to work for at least another five years under that idiot son. Still, he sometimes contemplated just throwing everything away and returning home. After all, he had enough funds to buy a small farm, and he could find himself a wife and spend his days tilling the fields. One day, he could sit down by the fireplace and tell his kids and grandkids about his past adventures.
But this idyllic dream was impossible, and the Black Dog knew it. He had learned the enticing taste of what lay between life and death. At this point, he would no longer be able to endure such a bucolic life. The doors to such a destiny were all closed. Was there nothing he could do but remain here and be worked to death by the idiot son? As the Black Dog reflected fatalistically about his future, a messenger came from the margrave. This was one of the margrave’s closest aides, and the Black Dog knew him well.
The aide said, “Our lord has regained consciousness, and he’s calling for you.”
Having relayed the message, the aide immediately turned and urged the Black Dog to follow.