Editing Tales of Leo Attiel:Volume2 Chapter4 (section)

===Part 1===


One of the castle lords who defended Atall’s eastern border had received a letter from Dytiann, the gist of which was that they wished to send envoys to Atall’s capital city, Tiwana. The letter was immediately forwarded to Sovereign-Prince Magrid.

''More problems?'' The sovereign-prince felt like clutching his head.

Just when he thought that they had weathered the storm with Allion to the west, here came Dytiann from the east.

“We wish to give praise to Lord Leo for his wise and decisive judgement in bowing his head before the Lord’s teachings. We wish also to request a chance to meet him in person and to converse with him,” stated the message.

Leo had only been setting up measures to use against Allion, so the intervention of this new power was a problem for him too. Depending on how things went, it might force him to revise part of his plans.

In any case, they needed to probe around to find out what really lay behind Dytiann’s request to send envoys.

''Since the other side has suggested it, should I meet them in person?'' The thought flickered through his mind.

Besides, he did have a desire to appear on the political scene, where the situation appeared to be constantly fluctuating. His thoughts were similar to Percy’s just after he had experienced his first campaign, yet Leo also felt that he had already stood out too much in the matter at Guinbar. So if he stepped forward and declared that he would meet the envoys, it would not be favourably received.

If negative rumours such as ''the prince is meddling unnecessarily again'' were to spread, he would encounter difficulties in implementing his plans from here on. Yet even if he didn’t meet with them himself, he needed to have a firm grasp on Dytiann’s actual intentions.

So Camus headed towards Tiwana, holding in his hand a letter from Leo stating that, “I am sending a monk of the Cross Faith in my place. Would it be acceptable to have him sit in at the meeting?”

Dytiann was a group of countries tied together by the Cross Faith. If Camus was given the position of representative of Conscon Temple, then there would be nothing unusual about him attending the meeting, especially since, in all likelihood, Dytiann’s business would be related to the temple. Lord Leo’s conversion simply offered them a chance to seek out talks and was, so to speak, no more than a pretext.

Having arrived at that point, the one thing which caused Leo concern was Camus. When informed about the issue, he had seemed to brood over something for a moment. This usually responsive man had been plunged in thought with an almost agonised expression on his face, and even deeper wrinkles than usual carved into his brow. In the end, he had agreed, “if it’s an order.”

Camus had gathered skilled builders from throughout the land and had only just returned to the prince’s side in Guinbar, so perhaps he really didn’t like receiving orders in such quick succession, or else he wouldn’t have been so reluctant.

Equally curious was that Sarah showed the same reaction. Even though she had not been ordered to do so, she accompanied her brother. Her normal way of doing things was to do whatever she pleased, but this time, she silently huddled close to her brother, whereas Camus made no objection to having his sister come along.

“They’re exactly like soldiers going off to fight a hopeless battle,” said Leo from on top of the castle ramparts as he watched the siblings leave. He probably meant that there was a sense of despair about them.
Percy was with him on the ramparts, and they exchanged an anxious glance.



Camus and Sarah continued across the plain in almost complete silence. That night, lying in a room of an inn at a relay-station town, within the pitch darkness, Camus stared up at the ceiling.

''Dytiann, huh?''

There were feelings he had been unable to stifle ever since Lord Leo had ordered them to attend the meeting. Confusion, and no small amount of sadness. At times, when he forgot to hide it, fierce anger showed in his face. The strongest feeling of all, however, was probably homesickness. 

They had not yet revealed it to anyone, but Camus and Sarah were born in Dytiann.

To be more precise, they were from a small country which belonged to the Dytiann federation. Moreover, they did not come from the street: their father was from a powerful family which was close to the king, and he was also a domain lord who had established his hall in a village. Although they were a noble family, they were not very rich, yet even so, the two siblings, Camus and Sarah, lived a life in which they never lacked food or a warm bed.

Camus worked hard at his studies every day, whereas Sarah tended to slip away from her boring classes to run and play with the village children until she was covered in dirt.

Their own country included, almost all of the surrounding powers, whether large or small, had the Cross Faith as their national religion. Most of them were affiliated to the Church organisation that was centred around Dytiann Cathedral, forming a coalition that was both religious and military. The country where Camus and Sarah had been born and raised was no exception.

Yet when a power grows oversized, even one bound together by religious convictions, internal strife is sure to arise.

“The upper echelons of Dytiann’s church reek of corruption and greed.” With their slogan of “wresting God’s teachings back from those in power,” movements opposing the church started to spring up all around. This was the first step that would later lead to the creation of the ‘Holy Dytiann Alliance’, and that initial stage brought with it the worst civil strife. 

Camus and Sarah’s country was also embroiled in the turmoil. The fires of war burned throughout the land and swallowed up countless lives.

The king entrusted Camus’ father with a thousand soldiers to go and suppress those fires, but he fell into an enemy trap and perished in combat. Their hall was surrounded by enemy soldiers. In its front garden, their mother was burned at the stake.

The siblings were not yet ten years old, and attendants led them out of the castle to flee. In the end, however, they were still captured. They were declared, “agents of the corrupt Church of Dytiann, guilty of despoiling the people,” and were almost executed.

However, unable to watch such young children be executed, a priest of the anti-Church faction took them under his wing. 

His name was Tom. He brought Camus to the monastery where he was abbot, and had Sarah placed in a somewhat remote nunnery that also fell under his jurisdiction.

At first, Camus had furiously rejected the teachings that were handed down to them. Whatever flowery rhetoric you dressed them up in, weren’t these the precepts that had killed his father and burned his mother alive? 

He opposed Abbot Tom in every way, was constantly planning his escape, and was willing to use violence, yet the abbot patiently kept him company. He would scold him harshly, but he would also shed tears with him. Every time he cried, the abbot would hold the boy close; Camus could still remember the feel and warmth of Tom’s woollen habit.

A year passed, then two. 

It wasn’t that he had forgotten the sorrow and anger of losing his parents, but the target of those emotions was changing. It was no longer aimed at a specific power, a specific teaching, or a specific person.

''Why do people – especially people who claim to call upon the same god – wage war like that? Why do they take from others like that, why do they satisfy themselves like that?''

It expanded wider, and even into the realm of the philosophical.

Wasn’t the simple life at the monastery enough? Every day, their stomachs were more than half full. They were assured of a place to sleep. Every day, they would pray during the pauses in manual labour, meditate, read the holy scriptures, debate the interpretations of ancient teachings – wasn’t that enough, or rather, wasn’t that the only way for humans to live?

''For a kid, I was a convincing sophist.''

When he thought about the past like this, Camus still unconsciously wanted to look away from the contradictions that had existed within him.

Although it looked as though the brunt of his anger had changed, he could not reconcile that with the bubbling, boiling blood that coursed within him. When he remembered their hall engulfed in flames, when he remembered his mother’s screams, when he remembered how he had run barefoot along the flagstones, pulling his little sister by the hand, his irrepressible bitterness and his seething blood drove Camus to agony. There was no one he could blame, no one he could hate, no one he could hurt – at that thought, his feelings, having lost their target raged inside him.

When Camus was thirteen, a certain group came to the monastery asking for lodgings. They were priests travelling on a pilgrimage, but with them were also mercenaries who had been hired to escort them. One of them was a master at the spear. One morning, before the sun had fully risen and when he was returning to the cloister after the early prayers, Camus came across the sight of the mercenary training on a hilltop.  

His body outlined by the day’s first, faint rays of light, he vigorously went through his motions. Just when it looked as though he was moving as fiercely and incessantly as the wind, he would sometimes suddenly stop still. Camus watched, transfixed, as ‘motion’ turned to ‘stillness’, and ‘stillness’ to ‘motion’ in swift succession. Rather than being violent, to Camus’ eyes, it looked holy and sublime. Every time the spear whistled as it was thrust through the air, it felt to him as though it was smashing the conflicts and doubts within him.

Before he realised it, he had drawn closer as he gazed at the man in fascination. “It’s dangerous, boy.” – He had not even noticed how close he had gotten until the mercenary rebuked him. 

And it was also largely unconsciously that he had prostrated himself before the man and begged him to take him as his disciple. The mercenary was already about to turn fifty, and he turned down the “boy’s” request like he found it bothersome, but when Camus repeated his plea, as though on a whim, he decided that it might be interesting. 

They started to wield spears together. 

Fortunately – well, that word can't really be used here, but anyway; the destination that the pilgrims’ party was headed towards was in the middle of an insurrection at the time. ''Let’s see how things turn out'' – they said, and decided to stay at the monastery a bit longer.

Even so, they remained for less than a month. During that short period, Camus absorbed as many of the techniques that the mercenary drilled into him as he could. He was so absorbed in his training that he would pass out in the middle of it. His daily religious duties were also affected.

“How could you have dozed off in the middle of mass?” – The fact that he was learning spearmanship from the mercenary was something that he naturally kept hidden from those around him, the abbot included, so he was on the receiving end of more than a few sharp scoldings.

“I slacked off,” he would reply before eventually ending up in a cramped cell in solitary confinement.

Yet he did not abandon the spear. He did feel guilty about desecrating the sanctity of the place, but he felt that when he brandished a spear, the tempestuous feelings raging inside him were expelled from its tip. Imagining the ‘enemy’s’ figure and predicting that ‘enemy’s’ movements, he leapt left and right, backwards and forwards. When he saw the perfect chance, he once again thrust with the spear.

''Right, in this case, the ‘enemy’ is none other than me myself.''

''I’m not wielding this spear to destroy anyone except myself. I thrust this spear to defeat my own weak heart.''

In which case, couldn’t this also be seen as a way to bring his body and mind closer to God’s teachings?

That was what he told himself to assuage his feelings of guilt.

On the last day, the mercenary practically didn’t say a word and carefully watched from the side as Camus wielded a spear. Just as Camus lunged into the last thrust… in that moment, the mercenary was right before him. Camus was startled, but the mercenary effortlessly repelled his spear, then lunged into a jab of his own.

For a moment, Camus lost the awareness of control over his own body. He avoided the attack with the defensive moves that had been hammered into him in the past month, while preparing at the same time to jump towards the mercenary’s flank, his waist and arms moving together to thrust forward the spear. 

The sequence of movements was carried out without a single pause.

The mercenary shook his head and was about to parry, but then just before doing so, he leaped backwards. Drops of blood scattered and flew. There was a narrow scratch on the mercenary’s left cheek. He wiped the blood away with his hand, licking it afterwards.

“You did it,” he laughed. “How old are you again? Thirteen? If you were a bit bigger in size, that strike just now would honestly have given me the shivers.”

After the mercenary left, Camus continued to train hard.

Before long, he turned fourteen.

Life at the monastery continued peacefully, but all around them, the fighting only intensified. Dytiann Cathedral, the centre of the Church, had already been captured by the anti-Church faction, which meant that what had previously been the “anti-Church faction” now transformed into the “Church faction”, while conversely, the “Church faction”, which had, until then, controlled that entire area, was being ousted as the “anti-Church faction”.

That group, the “Old Church faction”, so to speak, started to regain strength in the region in which Camus lived. It was at around about that time that he and Sarah, his younger sister, met once more. Apparently, she had fled the convent after it had been attacked by “Old Church” soldiers.

The soldiers had neither faith, nor doctrine, nor ideals. Or perhaps it would be better to say that ideals had never had a place in this war. The Church of Dytiann was by then ruled by a man who claimed the title of “King of the Allied Countries” and by his younger brother, who called himself the Pope – and as you know, even the two of them would eventually quarrel in the future – and they were busy hunting down the remnants of the defeated armies, or else using that pretext to sweep away any opposition within the many churches that were dotted around the allied countries.

The troops of the “Old Church” approached increasingly near to the monastery. To Camus’ despair, Abbot Tom was unable to put any measures in place before the enemy had closed in on them. He merely sent messengers to try and talk to them, which meant that nobody was able either to fight or to flee.

Camus watched as that fortress of ideals and of faith in God easily collapsed.

It was set ablaze by enemy hands. Camus and his sister escaped together; it was the second time that they had run into the night, pursued by flames.

Anger welled up within him.

Abbot Tom was a truly good man, strong of heart and mind, but he was also the exact opposite of the soldiers who were laying waste to the land: a man of ideals only. Camus wondered if, when it came down to it, that wasn’t the same as having no ideals at all.

''No matter how righteous the words or how pure the teachings, if all they’re good for is to wait to be burned in flames, then they can never be turned into ‘power’.''

He faced the soldiers who were chasing after them, and for the first time, he swung his spear with the intent to kill. He did not feel that he was going against divine doctrine. It would be more correct to say that he did not have leisure to think, however – ''If it can be forced into surrender by savages, then being holy isn’t enough''. Camus had twice been made to flee, and that thought now started to emerge within him.

His hands that grasped the spear was full of strength. They were stained with the blood that was trickling from its tip.

''I need ‘power’. To do what is right, I need unstoppable ‘power’.''

Afterwards, Camus and Sarah left the countries within Dytiann’s sphere and entered the Principality of Atall. While they were wandering around the various towns, constantly hungry, they heard about a land belonging to the Cross Faith that was independent from any other country and which even had the power to arm themselves when needed.

Conscon Temple.

The siblings’ steps were naturally drawn to it. It was there that Camus met Bishop Rogress, who shared the same opinion as he did.

“To oppose power with power is both sorrowful and foolish, however power cannot be allowed to trample over our teachings.”

Camus engraved that new ideal in his heart.

That was five years ago.

And now, after five years, he was going to meet with the past.



The meeting was held in a town in the east of Atall. The envoys had hoped to call on Tiwana, but the sovereign-prince had refused, stating that “this isn’t a good time”. 

Allion was sure to pick up on any large-scale reception. Rather than it being a case of Atall being afraid Allion might learn of it – after all, even if Atall wanted to conceal it, if Dytiann had no such intention, then the news would soon leak out – it would be better to say that this was a defensive measure for when the information would eventually be known. At the very least, Atall wanted to show consideration towards Allion by demonstrating a difference in the way the envoys were received.

It was an almost painful effort to have to make, but that kind of consideration was crucial for a small country.

On Atall’s side, the envoy was an elderly aristocrat acting as the sovereign-prince’s representative. Assisting him were several retainers who resided in Tiwana, the patriarch of the Laumarl family being one of them, and Camus, who had joined up with them.

Camus’ position there was given as “a novice monk from Conscon Temple and Lord Leo’s surrogate, acting as a representative to Guinbar Church, which will soon become the base of activity for the Cross Faith in Atall.”

Camus and Sarah returned to Guinbar ten days after departing from it.

When they had left, they had been strangely quiet, but by the time they got back, Camus was entirely back to being the same as before. 

In other words, he was angry. Appropriately for the warrior monk with the savage soul, his eyebrows were bristling, and his face was flushed scarlet. Once they arrived back, he grabbed a spear and dove straight into training by himself, sweat flying, like he used to do every morning at Conscon Temple.

Once he was done, he headed to the room in the castle where Leo had summoned. There, the usual faces – Percy, Kuon and Sarah – were all lined up in row. After Leo had thanked the siblings for their trouble and treated them all to a meal, he asked them to go into detail about the meeting.

First came the members of Dytiann’s delegation.

There was the commander of the Sergaia Holy Rose Division, Arthur Causebulk, a twenty-seven-year-old military man who was part of Dytiann’s crusader army. According to Sarah, he was “very sexy,” but, at the same time, “I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still very naïve and doesn’t know much about the world.”

Staring fixedly at his sister, Camus took up the story.

“The one you really need to keep an eye on is probably the bishop who was acting as his assistant.”

He had introduced himself as Baal, a diocesan bishop. Smiling gently the whole time, he had taken the lead in all the aspects that Arthur, the official representative, neglected to address.

At first, the Dytiann side had talked about how delighted they were about Lord Leo’s baptism and about the prospects for the friendly relationship they hoped to establish with the growing Church in Guinbar, for example by creating an environment where monks and priests could travel both ways, or by transferring relics.

After that, they broached the main topic.

“We intend to send reinforcements to Conscon Temple and would, if possible, want to leave them stationed there,” Dytiann had said.

“When we send the soldiers of our crusader army, we would very much appreciate it if you could let them pass through your country,” they had unequivocally requested of Atall.

It was within predictions.

Actually, when Percy had gone to the temple, Bishop Rogress’ calm demeanour had made him suspect that ''there might be reinforcements coming from Dytiann.''

Camus, however, was boiling with anger, as though to demand ''why only now?''

Dytiann’s national religion and the doctrine preached at Conscon Temple originated from the same faith. Upon hearing that the temple was being besieged by Allion’s troops and was at risk of annihilation, opinion in Dytiann should have leaned towards sending armed relief. Still, it was hard to imagine that they would gain anything from clashing with Allion’s military. And besides, the temple was sure to fall before long. Rather than risk playing a poor hand and earning Allion’s enmity… better by far to wait and see.

However – the temple held out longer than expected.

For some reason or another, it seemed that Allion was unable to get the upper hand. At which point, perhaps the upper echelons of Dytiann had started to think that “we could make use of this.”

Rumours that Allion was planning a large-scale eastern expedition never seemed to entirely die out, so the ‘use’ to be made of was as a foothold to block any advance to the east. If Dytiann could send a steady stream of soldiers and provisions to the temple, this might one day be able to serve as frontline base against Allion.

Naturally, that plan required Atall’s involvement. Going by geography, the quickest route by which to send staff and supplies was through the principality’s territory.

“We would very much appreciate it if you could let us pass through your country.” – Although the tone was courteous, beneath it was a combination of threats and urging:

''Sooner or later, Atall will also be drawn into war. You’d better be prepared for it. If you leave things be, one of these days, Allion will gobble you up whole. Or perhaps not… maybe they’ll peck away at you first.''

Furthermore, if Atall stood by and did nothing for the temple, the pressure from Dytiann would increase, on the grounds that “your country bears responsibility for the fact that we were unable to protect our brethren of the same faith.”

The problem was that given their situation, whether they cooperated with Dytiann or, conversely, whether they joined Allion against Dytiann, the one which would pay the heaviest price in terms of victims would unmistakably be Atall. Given that two huge powers were at a standoff against each other on either side of this small country, if ever it came to war, there was a very good chance that Atall’s territory would be the stage on which they would fight.

The representatives from Atall had spent the entire time in a cold sweat.

Camus had tightly pursed his lips and remained silent; he understood that he was not in a position to offer any remarks of his own. Nevertheless, a thousand words were welling inside him, and he desperately held down the impulse to thrust them like a blade at Dytiann.

''Even though up until now, you stayed indifferent to the suffering of the people at the temple, now that you see a benefit in it, you come barging in.  And you even claim to be God’s good faithful. How are you going to face those who died in battle? Ah, no – bastards like you would just stand in front of those endless rows of gravestones with tragic looks on your faces as you pray for their happiness in the next world. And all the while, you’ll be counting the cost of each word of prayer.''

His shoulders shook. The muscles in his arms bulged. He had always been a man whose emotions were easily aroused, and now, they were about to be unbottled.

''Nothing’s changed since five years ago. The powerful all dress up like servants of God while all they’re looking for is their own gain. They burn down those who oppose them and force those who might be useful to them to obey. How am I supposed to believe that lot follows the same God!''

Without his realising it, Camus’ closed lips were about to open. 

It was then that a girl who was waiting on the table used for the meeting pretended to clear away a cup and softly touched him on the shoulder. 

When Camus looked up in surprise, it was Sarah. He had been about to lose his composure, but Sarah, while placing a fresh cup of tea before him, winked at her older brother. She had no doubt managed to slip in by using her position as “younger sister to the prince’s representative.” It wasn’t hard to imagine that she had been worried Camus might get emotionally carried away, which was honestly disgraceful for him as the older sibling. That thought helped him calm down a little.

“Rest assured that we will, without fail, convey your country’s request to Sovereign-Prince Magrid.” For the time being, the delegation from Atall wanted to bring the talks to a close.

However, they did not have much time.

The Holy Dytiann Alliance demanded an answer within half a month at the latest.