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No matter how righteous a cause the Three Dukes wrapped their rebellion in, war ultimately came down to a matter of numbers.
The ice of Edelweiss, the shadows of Schwarz, and the vast reserves of Graus were no more than castles in the air without enough hands to wield them. Thus, each of the three houses issued calls to arms throughout their domains. Not only human landholders, but also the demi-humans living within their territories were summoned equally.
As mentioned before, in the original history, the demi-humans oppressed by the Racial Hierarchy Act answered that summons in overwhelming numbers.
As was the fate of vanguards, they were the first to die in the foremost trenches and the first to return to the soil. By the time the Three Houses emerged victorious, some of their villages were said to be inhabited almost entirely by the elderly and widows.
This war, however, did not follow that script.
The response of the demi-humans to the Three Dukes’ summons was eerily sluggish.
The reason lay in the Imperial Capital.
More precisely, it lay in the policy shift of the Imperial Chancellor, Zigitaris Ira Malicia.
Those who paid close attention had noticed that over the past year, the enforcement of the Racial Hierarchy Act had gradually been eased.
Tax collection on demi-human traits was overlooked more frequently. Mandatory labor assignments had visibly decreased. Even the number of guards harassing people for being out at night had dwindled.
When the hand tightening around one’s throat loosens even slightly, people can breathe.
And people who can breathe have little desire to march off and die on someone else’s battlefield.
The demi-humans living in the Imperial Capital were no longer truly oppressed. At most, they found themselves merely somewhat discriminated against. Their circumstances had settled at that level.
Moreover, rumors had begun to spread that the policies would be relaxed even further in the future.
The ones left clutching their heads were the Three Dukes.
Naturally, they had counted on having the same number of pieces as in the original history.
Pieces called demi-humans. Cheap, obedient, and easily replaceable.
Yet when they looked at the board, nearly half the pieces they had expected to place there had somehow fallen away.
When Helmine reviewed the recruitment reports that reached her, she reportedly fell silent for a time at the poverty of the numbers.
Eventually, she muttered to herself:
「Once people grow accustomed to peace, they are surprisingly reluctant to move」
As for the old fox Klaus of the southwest, he simply accepted the shortage of demi-human soldiers he had been counting on with a single family maxim.
It is better not to lose than to win.
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Incidentally, the Aster Ducal House, one of the most prestigious noble houses in the Imperial Capital, had suffered a decline during the reign of its previous head, Damian, so severe that it was as though someone had smeared filth across the family name.
Recently, however, it seemed to have recovered considerably.
A large portion of the debts owed across various quarters had been repaid, and merchants who had long avoided doing business with the Aster Ducal House had begun returning in significant numbers.
Furthermore──.
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In the commercial district of the Imperial Capital, Guynesfried, there stands an establishment known as the White Heron Pavilion.
It is too refined to be called a restaurant, yet too quiet to be called a social club. A uniquely distinctive place that discreetly opens its gates only for the chosen elite. Its proprietor belongs neither to any ducal house nor to any merchant guild, making a living solely through the prestige of the meals and chambers he provides. In other words, it belongs to no one’s territory.
The story begins several days earlier.
A meticulously courteous letter arrived at the Aster Ducal Residence. The sender was the Sarkai Company. The purpose was a request for a business meeting, expressing a strong desire to be granted an audience with the Lady of the House.
There was one additional request attached to the end of the letter, both humble and earnest.
If possible, they would also be honored by the presence of her son, Hein-sama.
For a ducal house to personally visit a mere merchant would be improper. If a merchant had business with them, they could simply be summoned to the estate. Such was the custom of the world.
Helga naturally intended to do exactly that, but the old butler, Graman, opposed the idea.
His reasoning was simple.
If a merchant were invited into the Aster estate, it would leave a visible record that the Aster Ducal House had chosen to favor that merchant company.
And if such a record existed, there would inevitably be those who sniffed it out.
Most notably, the Clausewitz Company, which until recently had held a noose of debt around the ducal house’s throat.
Needlessly provoking the Empire’s largest commercial consortium could hardly be called wise.
On the other hand, rejecting the offer outright would mean swatting away a hand that had been extended in goodwill and potentially creating an unnecessary enemy.
In the end, a compromise was reached.
Thus, an entire private room on the second floor of the White Heron Pavilion was reserved exclusively for a single merchant.
As for Hein himself, he made no effort to hide the expression that clearly declared that sharing a meal with a mere merchant disgusted him.
Still, if Mother was personally attending, then he could accept it.
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The one who welcomed the mother and son from across the table was none other than Rikyu Sarkai himself.
This man was a true commoner who had risen through his own efforts.
A remarkable individual who had built the Sarkai Company into one of the Empire’s greatest commercial fortunes, yet his appearance was anything but that of a wealthy merchant. He possessed neither the prosperous fullness of a successful trader nor the gaudy extravagance of newly acquired wealth. Instead, he was a thin, elderly man, as gaunt as a withered branch. His head was cleanly shaven, making him look more like a monk than a merchant.
The meal was lavish.
There was roasted beast meat seasoned with spices imported from southern ports and a dish of silver-scaled fish, said to be found only in the northern lakes, chilled upon ice.
The fact that every server attending the room was a demi-human revealed the man’s shrewdness.
Once the hospitality had been fully extended and the edges of small talk had been suitably smoothed away, Helga chose to speak plainly.
「Sarkai-dono. We are deeply grateful for today’s invitation. However──why is it that you seek the patronage of our house now, of all times?」
Rikyu’s thin cheeks curled into a gentle smile.
「My Lady, are you aware of what currently occupies the minds of the Empire’s nobility more than anything else these days?」
Helga tilted her head slightly.
「You mean the Chancellor’s recent policy changes, perhaps?」
「No, My Lady」 Rikyu replied.
Reaching into his robes, he produced a wrapped cloth bundle and gently unfolded it upon the table.
Inside was a single clasp.
It was nothing more than a fastening for the breast of a cloak, an entirely ordinary piece of hardware. However, what made it extraordinary was the craftsmanship.
The metal itself was an alloy forged from mithril silver and blazing gold, yet not a single seam could be found anywhere upon it. Its surface possessed a smoothness as though a god had taken a single lump of metal and shaped it with nothing more than the brush of a fingertip.
A vine pattern was engraved across its face, and not a single line wavered or faltered.
Without question, it was the work of a master.
「To speak of the sums that collectors in the Imperial Capital have offered for such an item would surely be in poor taste」
Over the past six months, items like this had begun appearing throughout the city one after another.
And every time one appeared, it was purchased at an absurd price.
Some were rings and necklaces adorned with gemstones. Others, like this clasp, were simple metalworks without a single jewel.
The styles varied wildly, and nowhere could one find the name of either patron or craftsman.
Only two things were common among them.
Their exceptionally high level of craftsmanship.
And a peculiar sense of incompleteness hidden within that perfection.
A color would be ever so slightly off.
A dimension would be ever so slightly narrow.
Some connoisseurs had even begun revering these deliberate imperfections as the creator’s signature, driving the prices higher still.
「I investigated them. For a merchant, tracing the origin of a product is easier than breathing. Following the trail through pawnshops and storefronts, retracing the hands through which these pieces passed, the thread ultimately led to──the rear gate of the Aster Ducal Residence」
Rikyu’s investigation was correct.
This man was undoubtedly a hunting hound.
And an excellent hound could accurately follow the scent of its prey.
Yet there was one thing that even his nose had failed to uncover.
The clasp before him, along with the rings and necklaces that had stirred the entire capital into a frenzy, had all been created for the sole purpose of pleasing one person in this world.
Every one of them had been discarded as a failed work because their creator had looked upon them and concluded:
「They are not worthy of Mother.」
The story began on Mother’s Day.
It was during that period when Hein polished gemstones, kneaded precious metals with his own hands, and piled mountains of unsatisfactory prototypes throughout his room while searching for the perfect gift for his mother.
Where those failures ended up, whose fingers they adorned, and what became of them afterward were matters of complete indifference to him.
In the original history, Hein had never crafted so much as a single ornament throughout his entire life.
There had never been anyone he wished to please.
The fingers of the monster who had never known the warmth of his mother’s hand learned only how to crush others.
But in this world, those same fingers had learned how to carve a clasp meant as an offering to Mother.
And because they had learned that, the discarded failures of those efforts were now being fought over by the greedy hands of the entire Imperial Capital.
As for the creator himself, he gave the clasp being presented so reverently upon the table a single glance before speaking in a tone that suggested he could not possibly care less.
「That is something I made. A failed gift intended for Mother. I had it disposed of for next to nothing──yet for a great merchant to treasure such a thing so dearly, it would seem the eyes of a master trader are little more than ornaments. More importantly, to show my shame before Mother, you have quite the nerve──」
「Hein! My apologies, Rikyu-dono… Um, Hein can be a little… well…」
Helga hastily apologized to Rikyu with a thoroughly troubled expression.
Seeing that, even Hein was forced to realize that he had made a mistake.
「M-my apologies, Mother… Hm, yes… Merchant. The item you brought is not entirely without merit… I suppose. Tch! In any case, um… what exactly are you trying to accomplish by showing such a thing… to us?」
「I-I see. Well, that certainly explains things… So this is one of Hein-dono’s creations…」
Rikyu looked at Hein with clear disbelief.
Yet after meeting his eyes, he judged that the claim was genuine.
The reason was simple.
There was not the slightest trace of pride in them.
「Is that true, Hein?」
「Yes, more or less」
For a reply directed toward Helga, Hein’s answer was unusually curt.
A memory suddenly surfaced in Helga’s mind.
Back when Hein had still been very young, he had once tried desperately to hide the fact that he had wet the bed.
Her gaze drifted to her left hand.
A black ring rested upon her ring finger.
It was the gift Hein had placed there on Mother’s Day.
The jet-black gem seemed to swallow the surrounding light, while the pair of dragons offering it upward in their jaws possessed a vitality that made them appear as though they might move at any moment.
At times, she found its unusual weight somewhat bothersome.
Even so, because it was a gift from her son, Helga had not removed it a single time since the day he had placed it on her finger.
Even the failed works had caused such a commotion.
Then what about this?
A question brushed across Helga’s heart.
This ring that her son had proudly declared a masterpiece before placing upon her finger.
Just how valuable was it?
──For that matter, what is it even made of?
Helga did not know the answer.
Nor could she possibly imagine what the boy sitting beside her, resting his cheek upon one hand in apparent boredom, had carved out from within his own chest in order to adorn his mother’s finger.
The truth was that the black jewel’s very substance was none other than the boy’s own heart.
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