Editing Tales of Leo Attiel:Volume4 Chapter2 (section)

===Part 1===


During that time, Leo Attiel had remained in Guinbar. This, of course, was because he was wary of Darren Actica's movements. While staying at Savan's stronghold, Leo had repeatedly sent out scouts to the area around Darren's castle, Olt Rose. So far, even though the head of House Actica had gathered soldiers, there was no information that he had transferred them out of his keep.

A band of marauders, however, were being relentlessly active within Guinbar's territory, and Darren appeared to be the one behind that. To defend against them, Savan had sent soldiers to various points throughout his fief, and there were now only a thousand who were still stationed within Guinbar Castle. Moreover, although they had hurriedly hired about seven hundred mercenaries, the increase in numbers was not solely a good thing as, to start with, Guinbar did not currently have the financial assets to be able to properly feed several hundred soldiers.

Since they had to be cautious of what moves Darren would make, they had not recently been able to hold markets outside the castle walls. Given that this was the busiest season for the wool trade, that was a very hard blow. The merchants who had speculatively put up the funds for the trade fairs risked going bankrupt.

With every passing day, Guinbar was being slowly strangled and driven to the brink.

Leo suggested to Savan that they should build a fort to the east of the territory, in an area that was comparatively close to Olt Rose – since it was within the same country of Atall, there were no keeps or fortresses built at the borders between domains – and where a river would form a natural moat. Five hundred of the mercenaries were then transferred to this hurried construction.

All that Leo could do at the moment was go back and forth between the castle and the fort, checking the situation in each one. Despite the sense of impending crisis, he was bored. Since there was very little he could actually do, he was struck with an idea – ''Should I take a few people to Olt Rose to go see the look on Darren's face?'' That thought made him cheer up at once.

Immediately afterwards, though, he realised that – ''It's not realistic'', and became even gloomier than before.

If the thought had occurred to him in conversation with someone else, it would still have been bearable. If Percy had been there to laugh and say something like, “Your Highness, you really are still a child,” his feelings would have settled down thanks to not being alone.

But currently, there was no one of Leo's age for him to talk with. He had entrusted his Personal Guards to Percy and Camus, and sent them to Conscon Temple. Kuon and Sarah, on the other hand, had suddenly vanished from Guinbar.

He was all alone.

He had gone back to the time when he stood by himself in a corner during the banquet, while men and women in gorgeous clothing laughed cheerfully.

Of course, even when saying that he was alone, Leo was currently surrounded by guards that he had gathered from the villages and personally appointed, and they adored him because of it. But they were not advisers.

Speaking of which, among the Personal Guards, there had been a red-haired boy called Rhoda. Even compared to the other soldiers, his sense of veneration towards Leo had been conspicuously strong: the attitude with which he had served Leo was that of someone who seemed to believe that he would be blinded if he gazed directly upon Leo's majesty. Although Leo had been more embarrassed than pleased by it, he valued Rhoda's skills and diligent personality, and so he had appointed him as a close guard.

However, more than half a year ago, during the fight against Hayden, Leo had been severely short-staffed, and had no choice but to station the soldiers hired from the villages in all sorts of different places. Rhoda had also been pulled up from his usual unit, and his whereabouts were currently unknown.

''Did he lose his life on the battlefield, or did he earn a certain amount of glory, and go home with it to his native village?'' Leo suddenly wondered about the red-headed guard. But even then, only casually, and only once.

So what else did he think about?

Nothing. He didn't think about anything.

Or at any rate, it was the same as.

When he had nothing in particular to do and was all alone, Leo loitered around his room, contemplating this and that. But along the way, those thoughts turned to resentful bitterness towards Darren, who was just running after his own interests, without paying any attention to the wider trends of the time. Before long, Leo's father, the sovereign-prince, also became a target for his resentment.

Leo had met the king of Allion. He had also encountered Allion's crafty general, Hawking, and Dytiann's self-professed 'king', Mordin. All of them seemed to have blades in their hearts. And those kinds of people, who could move thousands or tens of thousands of troops with just a single word, were keeping a close watch on Atall from both east and west.

''And even so, a tiny country like Atall is being torn apart by tiny internal skirmishes, isn't it? And I'm having trouble with those trivial skirmishes, aren't I?''

At the end of the day, what irritated him the most was neither Darren nor Magrid, but his own powerlessness. And since he spent every day in that state, it was essentially the same as not thinking about anything at all.

When he got tired of walking around alone, Leo would sit down on his bed. At those times, he had the illusion that it was like he was sitting in another position, looking at his own exhausted face. That was something he was used to, as well.

''You're a mess, Lord Leo'' – he felt like jeering at himself with some of the words he had picked up from commoners – ''You defeated Hayden and established the Personal Guards. And just when you were getting happy about things going your way, it turns this is the best you can do. The King of Allion? Mordin? Did you seriously think you could compete with them as an equal? You're way better suited to having a hard time fighting small fry like Darren.''

“Shut up.”

''You haven't changed at all. You haven't achieved anything. To start with, you only put on airs without any resolve behind it.''

“I have resolve. I killed enemies with my own hands. I led allies to their deaths.”

''That's just child's play. Are you ready to kill a thousand allies to save ten thousand of the people? Or conversely, are you willing to abandon those ten thousand to their deaths in order to save a thousand allies that you absolutely need if you want to win?''

“I told you to shut up.”

''You want to change things? Then raise the wind. To raise that kind of wind, you need a huge fire. Fuel it by burning your own hair first. Then, before it burns out, stoke it by burning your own clothes. Then, one by one, offer it the lives of each of the soldiers who protect you. Your acquaintances... your family... your friends... thrown them in, in your order of preference. If you do, you might just be able to raise a gentle breeze.''

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Leo screamed, and fell backwards onto the bed.

Those days continued on, until one particular one.

The direction of the wind changed.

Oh no, it wasn't a large-scale event that showed immediate results. It was no more than a 'gentle breeze'.

Around about noon, there was a commotion at a watchtower built on the outside of Guinbar: a group of about three hundred was apparently approaching. The soldiers immediately put themselves on the alert but, upon closer inspection, it became clear that the group advancing towards them was flying the flag of the Cross Faith. Upon receiving the news, Leo went racing from the castle to personally greet them.

“Camus... Why are you here?”

It was a reasonable question. The one leading the group and holding the flag was Camus, the warrior monk from Conscon Temple. The young man whose clerical robes covered a muscle-bound frame was currently supposed to be assisting Neil, the temple's bishop. Besides, he had only just gone over there with the Personal Guards that Leo had entrusted him with.

“As per your orders, I had an air carrier departure point prepared at the temple, and set up an airship squadron, but, being worried about you, my lord, I have come rushing back.”

“I'm not a child!” The days of accumulated irritation made Leo flare up unintentionally. “And for a start, didn't I tell you not to move the Personal Guards? What will you do if my father hears of this? I'd only just sent them to the temple so that he wouldn't be able to come up with some pretext or another, and remove them from me.”

“If I may humbly say,” Camus spoke up to explain. – The three hundred he was heading were not from the Personal Guards. Instead, they were all warrior monks.

“Since they are monks from the temple, which is an allied power to Atall, Lord Magrid has no authority to interfere with them. Oh, please don't look down on them for being no more than three hundred. Every one of them is the same as me: a valiant warrior who has offered his body and soul to God, and who cares not about risking his life.”

Leo gaped, half stunned. Then, he burst out laughing. While clapping Camus on the shoulders, he felt something hot, like tears, welling up within him. The loneliness he had experienced in those past days had been so very heavy and deep that even he found it strange.



About half a month ago, at Conscon Temple, while Leo had been sinking deeper and deeper into depression all by himself, both Percy and Camus had been experiencing the same thing at the temple. Leo had only just been defeated after attempting to invade Darren's territory and his reputation had plummeted around the outskirts of the capital, whereas Darren Actica's influence seemed to have inversely increased.

What move would he make? And how about Sovereign-Prince Magrid and the other vassal-lords? No, even as they stayed here at the temple, their ears filled with the prayers of monks and nuns, who knew if Darren wasn't moving his troops to attack Guinbar? At those thoughts, their youthful blood simply could not settle down.

Just as the prince had ordered them to, the two of them had prepared a space for an air carrier departure point, had travelled to an even further country to buy airships, and had trained the young soldiers. At the same time, in an effort to try and erase at least a little of his own worry, Percy Leegan wrote a letter to one of the vassal- lords.

Specifically, to Gimlé Gloucester.

He was an aristocratic vassal-lord whose domain was in the southeast of the Principality of Atall, and he would one day become Percy's father-in-law, since Percy was engaged to Gimlé's daughter, Liana Gloucester. The two men had not seen each other, however, since the banquet held in Hayden's honour. To be more honest, the truth was that they did not get on very well, but right now, Percy needed him as ally even if it meant ignoring his personal feelings.

He wrote to ask him to help Lord Leo. The world misunderstood him, believing that the prince had been lured by Savan into invading Darren's territory, despite not having any personal ill-will towards Darren. Percy wrote down the facts about how Darren had used armed force because he coveted Savan's stone quarry, and emphasised the point that the prince's actions were all done with the future of the country in mind.

Since he was the father of his fiancée, Percy had some understanding of Gimlé's personality. Although he could be pig-headed, Percy saw him as someone who was certainly not deaf to reason, and compared to Darren – who was a concentrated mass of self-interest – or people like Bernard and Tokamakk – who preferred to sit on the fence – Gimlé had at least a little bit of the backbone that should be expected from an Atallese noble.

When he looked over the words he had written, Percy blushed. His words had been too vehement. It was exactly like the exaggerated language of a young child passionately telling the grown-ups that those nasty other boys had stolen his playground. Percy calmed himself down, and revised the contents.

And so, the letter he sent to Gimlé's territory was one that he had written and rewritten over and over again, but no matter how long he waited, he did not receive a reply. Percy passed beyond disappointment, and was seized with anger. In that sense, he was a lot like Leo was at the same moment. Even though he wanted to yell at him about how he, Lord Gimlé, also liked sitting on the fence after all, the brunt of Percy's anger was turned towards himself for having gone running to his fiancée's father.

While he spent his days like that, unable to calm down, a man who was in the same situation as him, and who was far less patient that Percy, took action. That man was Camus.

“I'm going to gather volunteers from among the warrior monks, and head back to Lord Leo,” he had declared.

That alone was surprising enough, but when he learned that more than two hundred young men had already volunteered, Percy was left completely amazed.

Leo Attiel was the saviour who had rescued Conscon Temple from ruin, and the hero who had defeated Allion. So naturally, once they heard that he was in trouble, there were many people who were ready to pick up their spears and announce that: “This time, it's our turn to help him.” But even so, this was really fast.

On top of that, Camus had decreed that: “This isn't enough yet,” and was going to also gather men from the Personal Guards, which was completely illogical. Wasn't he assembling warrior monks because he couldn't move the Guards? When Percy pointed this out, Camus shook his head.

“All of the soldiers gathered have received God's baptism. Since they've become novices, they're now warrior monks of Conscon Temple. Not Personal Guards.”

He said it so off-handily that Percy's mouth hung open.

''And this is the man who was pulling such a sour face when the prince talked about getting baptised back then... Going on about how the prince hadn't actually been won over by the divine teachings, and how he was only using the appearance of a believer in the Cross Faith for his own ends... Aren't you doing the exact same thing this time around!''

Reading Percy's expression, Camus puffed out his brawny chest.

“These men have volunteered to go help Lord Leo even at the risk of their own lives. And the prince has accepted God's teachings, and is helping spread them throughout Atall. Since they're anxious about saving a lord who is doing so much for the Cross Faith, these men are qualified to count among the faithful,” he declared.

Since his words were that smooth, and given that this was Camus, there was absolutely no doubt that he had been inwardly conflicted. Which was why he had thought up this excuse, with which he was trying to convince not only others, but also himself.

Camus prepared to set off once a full three hundred had been assembled. Besides the reinforcement in terms of soldiers, they had also dismantled one of the airships used for training, and would carry it with them. One of the Personal Guards who had been appointed as a “warrior monk” had shown the makings of a skilled pilot during the training drills.

“It's only one aircraft, but the prince will definitely be happy when he sees the results of work with his own eyes,” Camus had said.

Up until just a few days earlier, he had been as gloomy as Percy was, and there had been a permanent crease between his eyebrows. Yet now that he was planning to leave the temple, his expression was bright and he seemed to be walking on air. Camus had always been a man who got livelier when he had something to do as opposed to just staying somewhere silent and still, but when he saw him in such high spirits, Percy for some reason felt extremely unhappy, and instinctively started to detain him.

“Camus, wait. I wasn't the only one left in charge of the Personal Guards: His Highness gave you the same order.”

“I'm leaving that to you.”

“And the training for the airship unit?”

“That too.”

“Don't just say whatever you feel like. If you go and take three hundred soldiers at your own whim, all you'll get from the prince is criticism.”

“Then, are you telling me to just stay here quietly? I can't do it. Rather than sit and wait for ruin, I chose to walk out on the battlefield myself.”

“Those are bold words, Camus. But you're not saying them because you're strong, but because you're weak,” Percy unintentionally hardened his tone.

“What are you...?” Camus opened his eyes wide as Percy continued to verbally lash out:

“Isn't that right? The orders we received from the prince were to secretly establish an air force squadron and train it into something usable, yet you're saying that obeying them is 'sitting waiting for ruin'. That proves that you don't understand the prince's thoughts. You simply can't even stand your own uneasiness. You're only taking action to satisfy yourself, not for anyone else's sake. How is that not weakness? Your physical strength and your words are both very fine, but apart from that, you're nothing but a coward.”

Camus blinked, then every muscle in his body heaved.

''Ah, that's...'' Percy suddenly came back to his senses.

Although he had undeniably meant what he said, he had chosen the wrong time and place to say it – and the wrong person to say it to. He was aware that he had been too emotional, and so he braced himself, steadying his neck and gritting his teeth, expecting a punch to come flying his way. After taking a deep breath, however, Camus relaxed his own tensed-up frame.

“You're probably right,” he said. “But everyone has their strong points and their weaknesses. You're better qualified to carry out the prince's orders this time. I can only do what I can to help support him. So then...”

Camus left the the temple with the three hundred men he had already assembled.

Percy sighed as he watched them disappear from sight. He had harshly lectured Camus like an adult telling off a child, but in the end, it was Camus who had taken the more mature attitude.

''I'm jealous of how he can be so upfront in everything he does.''

At that point, someone came up to stand next to Percy.

It was Bishop Neil.

The man who now managed the temple in replacement of Bishop Rogress was still quite young.

“Has Camus left?”

The bishop craned his neck as he stood beside Percy, but Camus really had moved fast. He and his men had already passed through the main gate, and they could no longer be seen.

“Did you authorise Camus' actions, Bishop?”

“The prince is an irreplaceable man for our temple. I have no reason to prevent someone from going to help him. All will be in accordance with God's will.”

“...”

Percy wasn't particularly interested, but he felt that it would be rude to leave almost without saying anything, so he gave his thanks for allowing the soldiers to stay at the temple. It was supposed to be nothing more than idle small talk, but Neil then said something unexpected.

“I don't mind in the slightest. However, Sir Percy... During your stay at the temple, you might hear a deeply unpleasant rumour involving the people of Atall.”

“A rumour?” Percy drew his brows together.

“Aye,” Bishop Neil gave a nod. “A rumour that Bishop Rogress did not commit suicide, but that he was killed by someone.”

Percy responded with a simple: “Oh”. His face was wiped clear of any expression. “It's certainly not the kind of rumour that you can simply ignore, but... well, I don't see how it has any direct connection to those of us from Atall.”

“There is more to that rumour,” Neil's honest-looking face was equally expressionless. “During the battle, the bishop remained in the Inner Sanctum since there was a high chance that spies from Allion had slipped into the temple, the bishop's life was in danger, which is why Atall's brave soldiers closely guarded the sanctum. Not even a puppy could have gone in or out.”

“Indeed.”

“In other words, only the Atallese soldiers could approach the Inner Sanctum. And so, for those who say that the bishop did not kill himself, but died at another's hands, the logical conclusion is that those hands belonged to someone from Atall. That's the kind of plausible-sounding rumour which is currently being whispered around. It's utterly deplorable. Even though things have finally settled down in this land, and just when peace has returned, there are fools going around killing time by spreading this nonsense. I've heard there are even some impious monks who are joining in. I intend to severely rebuke them, so please do not take it to heart.”

“I understand.”

As Percy smiled cheerfully, Bishop Neil's blue eyes gazed at him intently.