The man seemed candid, and so Jirukoma answered him honestly. It seemed the man had some concerns regarding the Kingdom of Friedonia.
Just who was he? While Jirukoma was getting suspicious of him, the hooded man let out a laugh that seemed to be half self-mocking.
“Still, you’re an odd one yourself. That country, the Kingdom of Friedonia… Loathe as I am to admit it, they’re stable now, aren’t they? You were fortunate enough to escape there, yet now you come all the way back to a small country on the front lines to enlist. I can’t understand it.”
“…You don’t speak like a man of this country,” Jirukoma said.
“I’m a visiting general,” the man told him. “I can speak my mind because I’m not from here.”
Even though Jirukoma thought he’d been caught by an unpleasant person, the man answered his question.
“It’s true, King Souma offered us a path where, in exchange for giving up on our return home for a time, we could become people of the Kingdom of Friedonia,” Jirukoma said. “However, not all of the refugees could accept that policy. There were those who absolutely couldn’t give up on returning home. If those people had remained in the kingdom, they would have gotten in the way of those trying to gain peace by becoming citizens of the kingdom. That is why I’m leading them to return north.”
“I struggle to see why you would abandon a guarantee of peace, but… in that case, why did you choose this country?” the man asked. “This is a small country. If you were to ask if the pay is good, I can’t say it is. Besides, gentle as King Lastania may be, he lacks ambition. He’s a mediocre man who reminds me of the former King of Elfrieden. Even if you wait in this country, the day when you can attack the Demon Lord’s Domain will never come.”
“No country has the power to invade the Demon Lord’s Domain,” Jirukoma returned. “No matter where we went, we would only be kept as disposable defenders. Knowing that, we chose the place closest to our homeland.”
“Homeland… Your homelands, huh.” When he heard the word, the man in the hood crossed his arms and groaned. “Is that… something worth abandoning peace to fight for?”
“Hm? What are you asking?” Jirukoma asked. “Surely you must have a homeland, do you not?”
“I did, yes… No, I still do, in a way… but I am a man who was cast aside by his homeland…” the man said dispassionately.
There was no hint of sadness there, but Jirukoma could sense some bewilderment and hesitation. Then the man started muttering to himself, as if deep in thought.
“I know that we fought for the people. Yet, why…? Why did the will of the people turn away from us? No, was that not it? Was our war not the will of the people? But we were pursuing the aims of our homeland. No… Maybe those aims themselves were wrong? What did the people truly want? What was it they truly desired from my father and I? Is it because I didn’t understand that we… that I, was defeated…?”
Jirukoma had no idea what he was talking about, but he could see that the man was engaged in a process of self-interrogation to try to find some answer. “You seem awfully shaken. Do you have that little confidence in yourself?”
“…Confidence? Mine was shattered long ago,” the man said with a self-mocking laugh. “There was a time when I was brimming with confidence. However, when I was forced from my homeland, that confidence was shattered to little pieces. The things I thought I did for my country did nothing for my country, and I was betrayed by those I loved and thought loved me back. At the time, I resented my betrayers… and my homeland. However, as I questioned myself over and over, I found I no longer knew. Were the things I had believed to be right truly right? As I thought about that, I found I could no longer believe in myself. What is a country? What is a sovereign? Is the sovereign not the will of the state? What are the people? What is their will? Are the people and their will two different things? Why was there a disconnect between the throne and the will of the people?”
Watching the man repeatedly question himself, Jirukoma felt like he was a seeker. One who had lost his way, and continued to seek the path. However, from the words he spoke, he could tell he was not seeking just any path. This man who had to think of “kings” and “the people”… Perhaps he had once been of high standing.
“Who… are you?” Jirukoma asked.
The man pulled back his hood. “I am Julius Amidonia. Though that family name holds no meaning now. I am the fool of a man who was defeated by King Souma of Friedonia and had his country stolen from him by his little sister.”
Chapter 4: The Saint Comes
In the middle of the third month, 1,547th Year, Continental Calendar — Royal Capital Parnam
As the sun set and the curtain of night fell, three shadowy figures raced through the royal capital. The shadows seemed to avoid the light, proceeding down back streets not lit with lightmoss streetlamps. They could be seen turning and looking back again, and again, and again, as if they were being pursued by something. Then…
“Guh!”
““Urkh!””
One of the shadows tripped and fell. There was a kukri knife (a dagger with a curved blade) sticking out of his back.
Our pursuers are nearly upon us! Instantaneously realizing that it was dangerous to stay clumped together, the other two shadows split off left and right, going in different directions.
The presences following them all went after the one who had fled to the left. Though the one who went right felt sorry for his comrade, it relieved him that he would likely be able to get away. However…
“…?!”
The shadow came to a halt. There was a large man who gave off an imposing aura blocking his way.
The man’s appearance was bizarre and unsettling. He wore black-painted armor over his large, muscular body, and a mask based off of a sword tiger over his face. He was like some sort of monster.
“The Black Tiger of Parnam…” the shadow whispered despite himself. Lately, he had been the subject of rumors among the grass.
The grass said that there was a black tiger in the Kingdom of Friedonia, and no member of the grass who had seen him had returned alive. Now, you might wonder how anyone knew such a person existed if those who saw him never returned, but the tiger had handily cut down the grass while not laying a hand on a certain merchant who happened to see him do it. Based on the vague statements of that merchant combined with a member of the grass disappearing at exactly the time he said, rumors spread that there was such a being in the royal capital.
They also said this:
If a spy encountered the Black Tiger of Parnam, they should drop everything and flee. He wasn’t an enemy who could be bested in combat. Those rumors also always closed out with, “…well, if you can get away, that is.”
When the shadow met the rumored Black Tiger, he became certain that those rumors were the truth. He was just standing there, but the shadow could find no openings to strike. He had a posture almost like that of an old warrior who had defended the front lines for decades.
“Surrender,” the Black Tiger said. “My master is merciful. If you do not resist, I guarantee you will not be harmed.”
Perhaps because of his mask, the Black Tiger spoke with a muffled voice. He did not say this out of consideration for his enemy. It was pure formality; he was delivering an ultimatum.
However, the shadow he was pursuing smiled.
“Curse you, you *******,” the shadow said. “We do not beg for our lives.”
With that said, the shadow drew the two short swords at his hips and lunged at the Black Tiger.