Sweet Reincarnation

002. Good news? Bad news?

Clattering, clattering hooves.

A horse walks on a solid ground that is trampled. A man of fine stature rides on his back.

"What do you say, Pastry? This is the territory you will inherit in the future. It's the first time you've seen it, but it's gonna be huge."

Before the man, little kid. A toddler boy, supported and riding a horse.

On both sides of them there was a slightly burnt brown wheat field.

"And Mugi has no temptation."

"Can even a child like you tell? Right, my territory is terribly thin on land. Not yet, but you guys might have a hard time doing that."

My father laughs bitterly.

My son's innocent allegations were too accurate.

"Didn't you make something that wasn't Mugi?

"Hmm? When it comes to anything other than wheat, rye and oats. And maybe vegetables in the fields of the house. I want to fatten the land from now on."

"Any sugar or fruit?

"You can't afford to make something like that. Even wheat didn't grow well before you were born. Some things are native in the south, but we grew up here first."

"So what's sweet..."

"All right, next time you have business to go to the capital, I'll get you a souvenir."

A father who strokes his head and a son who is but remains.

My son's face, sad. Afterwards, it becomes the expression of determination.

"Then I'll make this land full of sweets one day."

"Ha ha, it's good to have dreams. Right, by the time you're older, I'll make this place richer."

This is how the boy's first dream of telling his parents began.

Sometimes when Pastry was three years old.

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

The sound of metal bumping into each other sounds.

"What's up, something like that!!

"Guh, not yet!!

Two men, relative.

Both of them had swords in their hands.

Of the two fighting each other across the street, one is a magnificent man.

Tight enough to tell from the side.

Wasteless muscles that would be more battle-specific rather than show-off muscles provide a sense of intimidation even from above clothing.

Treating a sturdy iron mass as freely and freely as both hands is a skilled area.

The other against.

Man, you're not young to call me that.

Single digits about the year. Even if you consider personal differences, a flair such as reading a great deal of rust and somehow not being able to reach a critical double digit.

He doesn't say forehead, he wields his sword diligently as he sweats from all over his body.

Occasionally, a body of swords swimming in the clap of a sword is still developing and so on.

Rather than using a sword, it is used for a sword.

"Look, the grip is sweetening again. Grip tighter."

"Yes."

"That's right, that's good. Shook my hand with the intention of not letting it go even if it flies a thousand times. Letting go of your sword on the battlefield is like dying."

"Yes."

Two people crossing swords.

Sir Mortairn and his son Pastry-Mil-Morthern.

I am in the middle of swordsmanship training, which is now routine.

This routine has been going on every day since my son, Pastry, turned five.

A boy nicknamed Pais. It started with what that person said to me, but at some point it became routine.

But it is unusual to sift a sword from a young age, as he did.

Bandits appear from time to time, demons travel, winds of war blow strongly, even in this world.

Sifting the sword from before the body has even been able to work yet is the origin and thought of the father. And there's a lot due to my son's special nature.

Another thing, more moles in the boy's body.

Because the sword was heavily bounced with his legs attached, he was occasionally struck on the ground.

I heard voices crack and go into training like that, which is likely to be called child abuse in peaceful times.

"Admiral, are you there? Oh, there he is. I knew it was here."

"What the hell, Shiites? I'm in special training for my son right now."

The man who approached the two wielding iron killing weapons, not the wind that cared.

The man, known as Shiites, is a twenty year friend and squire chief of the now adorable Cavalier-Mille Mortairn knight. He also holds the title of Private Commander of the Mortarn Territory, a belly.

Most of all, there are only two men in the private army.

The Shiitz calls out to his father after seeing Pais with a smiling face.

"Admiral, it's time for breakfast. I have a report for you, so please go back to the office."

"Right. All right, Pace, that's it for today."

The father slowly holds the sword he was meeting in his sheath.

The moment I put it away, my son walked in.

"Oh, thank you."

"Um, you wipe the sweat, too, and go to your mother. Let them wait and they'll do the same thing again."

"Eh, we need to hurry that up. Please excuse me, Father."

A boy with a sword bigger than his own back length.

His father and his best friend both saw him off with the same eyes as it ran away.

An eye that sees something smiling.

"Boy, you're raising your arms inside, too. Kids make fast progress."

"Sort of. While my son, he swallows fast. There are verses that move with their own reason, as if they were" those who have completed a work of art ”, and that is again appropriate for reason. I'm really looking forward to the future."

"You were, every time a parent idiot. You shouldn't expect too much. Five-year-old godson, after fifteen, there will be a saying that he is just a man."

"Pais may be named after the sword by the time it's fifteen."

Shiitz confined himself to his shoulders, praising the protégé of a man who was also his best friend and master of his service.

Oh, boy, swallow the words you wanted to say.

Then I'll take you both to the office.

That said, the designation office probably contains irony.

Originally, Mortarn territory was one of the royal direct jurisdictions with the meaning of a buffer zone with neighbouring countries.

Land is lean, wheat does not grow busily, land with reddish wilderness.

That was to be awarded to the knight who had given the medal in the earlier war, but it was the knight who was the casserole. From now on, it was today that he began to hold the Nobility and to name Mortairn's family name.

A land of nothing. Three years until crops can be made in a place where trees aren't even growing busily.

Less than ten human beings took another three years to achieve self-sufficiency goals.

It then gradually increased the number of people and cultivated land.

It is still a land that can never be abundant, and therefore a real quality even when it comes to the Lords' Hall. It is a knightly rustic and extraordinary creation.

A quick story is a mess.

If it's extra territory, a farmer who can afford a little more lives in about the same house.

Still, only the number of rooms is high because of the idea that they should be aristocratic.

Of the several rooms, perhaps a wooden plank that cannot be said to be a door, and a room with a sofa and a reception desk and a concierge aligned with a little luxury, are called the office room.

Shiitz's valve is that he is more worried about being burned on the couch and desk than about being burglarized and stealing money.

Such two people entered the office, a call that also included self-derision.

Instead of this room, the Knight Sir, who literally owns the entire territory, and his belly.

Of course, the Lord is more likely to sit in the desk's favorite chair and sit on the box beside it instead of the chair.

Shiitz, a subordinate, said, sitting properly. Speaking in a joking tone is the breathing of two people over the years.

"Now, for reporting purposes, I have good reports and bad reports. Which one do you want to hear from?

"Don't bring bad news, as we haven't had breakfast yet. I want to say, how can you not ask either way? Then let's hear the good news."

"Mmm, good news then. Example bean field harvest. As Boy said, you can expect a good harvest. If we keep this up, we won't have to worry about going over the winter like we did last year."

"Ho. That's great."

The Knight of Mortairn is also a high name of a famous lord.

Because they opened, maintained, tidied and cultivated barren land so that people could live in it, making it edible to bend over.

It is now a full territory nobleman with three forty man villages.

Moreover, in recent years it has grown considerably, and its fame has been applauded.

Bean production, which began three years ago as a new attempt, is particularly famous, and even last year's nationwide famine, the case of surviving without a single starving death or selling, became a laudable rumor in the social world (salon).

There are surprisingly few people who know that much of such a knight's measure is actually due to his son's proposal.

Because no one thinks that a kid younger than ten can make groundbreaking policies that even adults can't think of.

Assuming that Casserole said the merits of her son in a social setting, it falls to be seen as the eyes of the protégé.

Besides, about 90% of them are serious pro morons, so it ends badly.

"So, the bad guys reported it."

"I don't think I'll have to ask."

The atmosphere changes.

If you want to compare the two samurai to a serious expression, the moment you return the reverse blade (Sakaba) that was pointing at the peak (Minami) to the front. There was just now, some lukewarm slight air, sharp all at once.

"Oh. At Count Ratesh's, they failed the bandit crusade. A significant number of leaks have escaped in our direction. Well, I was proud to say that I got rid of the contents of your contact safely. Leakage is a good nuisance over here."

"If you were to come over here, how long would it take to get ready?

"From the date and time of your touch, about ten days if you're going straight for us. If you come around roughing up, it's less than a month and less than two months."

"Trouble."

duty of the nobility, there are several things called Among them, there exist two major obligations that make absolute compliance an implicit understanding.

One is the duty to be loyal to the King.

This is more a natural duty than it is the authority and power of the royal power that is guaranteeing the privileged status of the nobility.

If we go against this duty, noble status will be taken from a king like no other, and if we do badly, we will be sinners.

And the other, the duty of defence.

The king has given us territory and has given us revenues from privileges, salaries, and taxation rights in order to feed the military force for times of need.

From the quasi-knight lord, who provides his own force only, to the duke, who is always equipped to mobilize troops after the king. That obligation exists equally.

Prepare yourselves from day to day and devote yourself to job stability within the limits of your authority in the lands and positions entrusted to you.

And in case anything happens, spare no effort to use the preparation.

Because of that duty, territorial aristocracy is allowed to collect taxes and functional aristocracy is given salaries.

Dealing with bandits is also inevitable from the duty of the nobility.

However, it is not always possible to decorate it with what can be called success.

In the first place, because there are no criteria for success and failure.

When a disaster strikes, rescue most of the victims, and disaster relief was a success, if there is one dead person, some survivors will see it as a failure.

Happiness can be considered an example of the difficulty of drawing the line between success and failure.

This communication from the Count is also an achievement that, from the Count's point of view, falls into the category of success.

Bandits rounding up the realm were driven off the realm. If the inhabitants will not be plagued by this bandit in the future, it can be said to be an achievement of all ages.

If you look only at the Count's territory.

In contrast, those responsible for the new vandalism ahead of the bandits who were driven away. From those who are newly harmed, it would appear to be a clear failure.

I just replaced my luggage from right to left, and I can't say I cleaned it up, because again, it's true.

It is clearly the latter from the point of view of Sir Mortairn's territory. I get a headache just quoting that I would be harmed in the future.

"So, on what scale did you escape?

"About fifty people."

"When you come to us, are you out of hand?

"The three of us, including me, how are we going to fight fifty? If we're gonna hit it right, we're not gonna talk about it."

If it's a fifty, it's a pretty big band of bandits.

If you ask only about the scale, you can also nod that Count Ratesh was the best to get rid of it. Some things are hard to convince.

"Can we gather the men from the villages to arm and stone the wooden spears?"

"Thirty of them were gathered together. Even if you stand in a dusty main village, the resistance is perfect. So if the other two villages are uprooted, the damage won't change from being attacked irresistibly in the end, and if it's a long war, there's no storage. If we can't make a short-term decision, it's a bad idea."

"Lock up, buy some time, and who am I calling reinforcements to?

"I know the Admiral can do that too, but I think there are many problems"

"Why?"

"The Count has face and reinforcements are difficult. We were good at getting rid of ourselves, but if we were crusaded at home, we would be slandered by incompetence. Or if even reinforcements just drive them away, they sometimes return to the Count's territory. It would be a joke if they were vandalized and ended up back in Count's territory. Ideally for us to fail and around the Huberlek Border House will lead the Crusaders to wipe our asses there. All the blame for the crusade failure is on us. If you do it badly, it could get in the way. The other Knight Lords may be intimate with us tomorrow, but it's a similar or stopover armament to ours, so we can afford to turn people around very much."

Here is why Sir Mortairn broke off that “the Count is a failure“. There is a fact that there are only small lords around the Count's territory.

Regardless, the Knight's own territory is still poor, and the permanent full-time squire is three, including Shiites, who are here now.

At the end of the day, I don't think even the Count can handle the bandits' opponents.

"Who goes to the king's capital to wish for reinforcements as a nobleman?

"If we hadn't been attacked yet, our hips would be heavy. If you do that to the arrowhead who boasts that His Excellency Count Ratesh has driven you away, you'll be resented by the Count?

"I don't mind being resented if you can protect your family and residents as much as they resent you, but we're on the border and the reinforcements are originally low expectations. … but it's not a problem that you can leave helplessly."

"I don't want to die either, I'll leave it to the Admiral."

Best friends, there is trust in each other's power.

In the “office" room, laughing at each other, leaked barely through the thin wooden walls to the next room.

"So, do you have a good hand?

Shiitz asked once back to his true face.

Casserole nods with a lord-like face.

"At worst, I have a hand in putting out..."

"The Admiral himself is a last resort. Not until the Admiral dies."

"Otherwise, if it's a safe place, you can deepen it, or you can hand out spare spears to the house."

"That feels better than not doing it."

Two creases between the eyebrows.

In fact, it is more impotent to think that we can cope with emerging knight lords than the problem, which is too much for the Count's territory, which is much bigger and richer than ourselves.

One thing, I have an idea.

"What?"

To the voice from my men, a casserole with a strange face.

"We're going to need one or eight fights somewhere. Here's one. Why don't you try turning the boy into a trump card?"

"What do you mean?

"If we win the bet, maybe we can work like generals. I'm screaming that's the best way to do it."

"I can't ignore your“ investigation "..."

Make my son a trump card.

There was some confusion in Sir Knight about that. I don't know what that means in the first place.

No matter how talented my son is, he can't have the ability to dictate the battle to seven children.

There's no way I can do such a magical thing.

But that's where the casserole gets hooked on the word magic.