“Soak them! Brothers!”

The baron’s neat banquet hall collapsed in an instant with the appearance of the foreign mercenary band, Red Prairie. The thud of the tables shook under the rough laughter of dozens of burly men with dark skin and scars all over their bodies as they passed bottles around and drank from them.

A step away from that uproar, by the hearth, Bellian was drinking with the men who seemed to be the leaders.

“So the ones we have to deal with are the House of Leonhart side?! Puhaha!”

One of them, with bright red hair as vivid as flame, braided long and hanging to the side, burst out laughing as he spoke. He was Ruslan Kazimir, with skin a little lighter than most of the foreign bloodline.

He was slightly smaller than Bellian, but lean, and he wore nothing but a vest made of animal hide, shorts, and ankle guards, bare to the skin, with hard milk-chocolate muscles clearly showing through the gaps.

He was not long-haired, but the long side braids unique to the foreign bloodline fluttered like tails every time he laughed cheerfully.

The eyes flashing beneath his dark brows were orange, as if they held embers. Because of that, he was far from the neatness of a young nobleman, but the sharply slanting jawline, the straight bridge of the nose, and the deep-set eyes came together to complete a rough but distinct handsome face.

“Kahaha! I came thinking it was just a simple bandit purge, but this was a huge catch, wasn’t it? Right, Rakan?!”

The man opposite him, called Rakan, looked a head taller than Bellian. His dark red hair, the color of dried blood, hung long down to his waist, and two or three strands of it were braided separately and left hanging long as well. The skin shown beneath it was much darker than Ruslan’s, and even to the eye it suggested a sturdy warhorse.

His eyes were the same orange as Ruslan’s, but beneath the sharp, dark eyelids that resembled a hawk’s, the straight bridge of his nose and tightly closed lips combined to make him a man with a rougher, more masculine charm than Ruslan.

“……Did the baron do something to earn the House of Leonhart’s displeasure?”

Rakan did not answer, but tossed a question at Bellian. At that, Bellian smiled faintly and set down his cup. Then, the cold look that stripped away all trace of laughter turned toward the front.

“A few years ago, my older brother was fooled and promised to hand this place over to the grand duke’s house as military land. After that, there was an accident, and after I took over the title, I refused because I didn’t want that. So the House of Leonhart is sending troops in retaliation.”

“……For a place like this countryside, being under the grand duke’s house wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it?”

“On the surface, no. They put forward things like roads, troops, and tax cuts.”

Bellian broke off as if recalling that time. Then Temrek, Ruslan and Rakan’s teacher, who had been silent at his side, answered in his place.

“If it is used as military land, all the existing local residents will be driven out. Without local people and territory, the baron of Nightrow will also be stripped of his position. Besides, military land always runs under the name of ‘temporary,’ so responsibility afterward becomes blurred and support from the central government stays vague.”

“What?! He said he’d hand over the territory knowing that? Idiot!”

Ruslan frowned deeply.

“You said he was fooled. My older brother trusted only the sweet future and did everything the grand duke told him to do without knowing a thing. The grown youths over the age of adulthood were conscripted and sent all over for the grand duke’s labor, and even the livestock and the harvested grain were handed over. The grand duke said he would make them a new home, but well…… As you can see, until a year ago this place had become so barren that we were busy just trying to fill our mouths.”

“So they wore them down to get the territory for free. If they were on the verge of starving to death, they’d crawl over on their own.”

“In other words, they starved you because even the feed cost for you guys was too much to waste!”

At Ruslan’s line that crossed the line, Temrek raised his hand as if to tell him to stop. But Bellian, whose face had gone cold and rigid, relaxed and burst out laughing.

“Feed cost……! Like livestock?! Ahaha! Now that I hear it, that’s exactly right! My older brother should have begged more like a pig! Oink oink oink, like that!”

Whether he really found the joke funny or not, Bellian laughed so hard he even imitated a pig’s cry, and Ruslan wrapped an arm around his shoulder and clinked his cup against Bellian’s.

“Our baron knows how to take a joke? Much better than these two wood blocks here!”

As Ruslan’s caution loosened a little, Bellian rested his chin on his hand and smiled faintly as he began.

“But…… from the client’s point of view, it’s a little unsettling to entrust work to a mercenary band that might split in two at any time.”

At that, Ruslan growled and set his cup down hard.

“Who said we’d split in two? Our father was the red horse, so the next red horse is basically decided to be me.”

Then Rakan also looked at Ruslan and folded his arms.

“……Do you really think that, with Imperial blood mixed in, you are the legitimate bloodline of the red horse?”

At that, Ruslan could not rein in his anger and drew the dagger from his waist, stabbing it into the table. At that violent temper, Rakan exchanged glances with Temrek and gave a subtle shake of his head.

It seemed that Ruslan, with his mixed Imperial blood, was having his position threatened here despite his excellent sword skill and leadership. That was why he was getting even more worked up and running wild…… What would be needed to appease Ruslan, who ran wild like a wild horse?

Bellian’s jewel-like green pupils moved slowly, as if measuring everything in this place. Ruslan pulled the dagger he had stabbed into the table free and pointed the blade threateningly at Rakan and Temrek.

“I know you’re actually backing Rakan too, Sabu. Because you’re the guy’s godfather, even though we’re the same disciples, you’ve always sided with him.”

“Sabu always treated us the same.”

“Don’t lie. When Father, who was the red horse, was still alive, you all acted like you’d even take out your gallbladders for him, but as soon as he died, you’ve been trying to persuade the others to raise Rakan as the next red horse. I’m mixed blood too, but I’m also a descendant of Timus warriors!”

“Ruslan. Timus warriors do not run around making a fuss like that.”

“Fuck, if you don’t like it, let’s settle it right now!”

Ruslan beat at his chest and got angry, but Rakan only lifted his cup, as if this were not the first time. Then Bellian stepped in between them as if he had thought of a good idea.

“Fine. If it bothers you, then fighting it out is better. We can just fight with everything on the line.”

“What?”

Ruslan turned his head, looking interested. Rakan also narrowed his sharp eyes toward the baron.

“I don’t want useless infighting to break out. Deciding on the leader quickly is better for me and for you. So, fairly, I, as the third party, will pick three virtues suited to a red horse and hold a competition. The loser will follow without complaint.”

The sweet flower fragrance said to come only from Nightrow vibrated from everywhere. The men, their noses flushed red from drink, looked at Bellian and blinked slowly.

“That sounds like a really good idea.”

Someone answered that way.

𖧷 • 𖧷 • 𖧷

Deep in the night, when everyone was asleep. Ruslan, walking quietly below the wall, climbed straight up to the height of a second-floor window. He leaped lightly over the window frame, drew the dagger from his waist, and crossed the corridor with agile movements to look for the baron.

Finding the room was not difficult. He only had to follow the insanely sweet, sticky scent coming from the baron.

Sniffing his way along, Ruslan listened at one door and gave it a light knock. Then the door opened, and Bellian appeared in lighter clothes.

The baron, not in the noble attire he wore in the daytime but in a shirt with two or three buttons undone, stood at the door and stared at the uninvited guest threatening him with a knife, and muttered.

“It’s you.”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest who came all this way? Move. Or are you planning to keep your guest standing there?”

Ruslan roughly pushed the baron aside and stepped into the room. The room had a slightly different atmosphere from an ordinary bedroom. Or could it even be called a bedroom? Inside, there was a large canopy bed with curtains, but in truth the wide desk in front was more noticeable than that.

Glass flasks and small furnace-like things were strewn over the desk, and inside the glass bulbs, red blossoms were boiling in a luminous solution, giving off a thick fragrance.

“Are you doing research or something? The baron’s hobby is refined.”

Ruslan wandered around the room and ran his fingers over the fresh flower blossoms scattered on the desk. They seemed to be the flowers used for the alcohol he had just drunk. The feeling of the inside of his lungs becoming oddly hot made his head ring.

“Rather than talking about hobbies, didn’t you come here to ask me to help you become the red horse?”

Bellian, approaching with his arms folded, asked directly. Ruslan shook the dazed feeling from his head and sat on the desk.

“You’re quick to get to the point. Actually, you don’t care who becomes the red horse, do you?”

“But the contest should be fair.”

At the baron’s words, which seemed to show little interest, Ruslan spun the dagger in his hand and scraped the red petals laid on the desk with the blade.

“Yeah. No matter how many guys are backing Rakan, about half are still backing me. If you don’t give me contest tasks favorable enough for me to become the red horse, my faction will pull out of this. You don’t want that, do you?”

“……So you’re telling me to cooperate if I want to beat the grand duke’s house?”

Covering the split petal with his palm, Bellian moved in close. It was a distance where their breath could touch. So close that if one of them tilted his head just a little, their lips might brush, Bellian gave a low laugh.

“Why should I trust you? To put it bluntly, where is the guarantee that you won’t run away after becoming the red horse?”

Moonlight flowed in through the window and settled softly over Bellian’s white skin. It was a smooth complexion clearly different from that of the comrades he always saw.

The broad chest revealed between his collar and the clearly visible line of his collarbones looked rather bewitching, and Ruslan swallowed dryly for a moment and lifted his gaze.

Green eyes holding moonlight. His gaze tangled as if caught by that color, whose depth could not be measured. Like a swamp, with eyes that seemed as though once you stepped in, you would not be able to get out easily, Ruslan found himself holding his breath. This guy was not ordinary. At the instinctive unease he felt as a warrior, strength entered the hand holding the dagger.