30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

“Ah, that’s good!!”

Ingvar burst into laughter, his beard laden with beer foam. Ivan turned his gaze away, looking disappointedly at his bushy beard.

“How long has it been since I’ve loosened up like this… Really a pity. If I hadn’t gotten caught, I’d have gone all out for sure.”

“For not being caught, you took quite a beating.”

“Does winning or losing even matter? What’s important is the struggle itself.”

With a face that looked refreshingly alive despite having taken a beating for almost half a day, Ingvar kept nodding his head.

“You’ve improved your skills. If that’s the case, you have more than enough qualifications to become Einar’s consort. Are you thinking of changing your nationality entirely?”

“That’s under consideration.”

“Honestly, nationality isn’t that important… What’s important is Ecdysis’s heart, right? Take care and don’t make her cry.”

At Ingvar’s words, Ivan nodded roughly. He had no intention of actually becoming a son-in-law or marrying Ecdysis, but that wasn’t what mattered right now.

In fact, Ecdysis probably wasn’t wishing for such a marriage. She must really see him as an uncle. This just seemed like robbing her of the genuine marriage and memories she should rightfully enjoy with a beloved one in the future.

No matter how important the operation was, he felt uneasy about possibly ruining a friend’s daughter’s future. However, he still needed to save that friend.

“Right, Ecdysis. Didn’t she ask why this guy is ugly?”

“Ah? Ah! Yes! Well, everyone who knows Tham… I mean, anyone who sees him says the same thing!”

Were they alive…?

Who were they here to kill…?

Is Krasilov preparing for war…?

“What on earth did you do ten years ago for everyone to say that? Sure, you might be a bit unusual, but isn’t that kind of cute?”

“…?”

“???”

Ignoring the confusion of the party, Ecdysis smiled brightly and looked at Ingvar. In response, Ingvar chuckled and said.

“Well, even though it looks like he’s lost a lot of venom now, I’ve had a couple of tours with this uncle when he was active. Those times, this guy and his buddies were not in their right minds.”

Ingvar gazed blankly at the hearth, lost in memory.

“There was a time like that… Do you remember, Ivan? When you choked on your food during dinner.”

“No, that never happened.”

“It did.”

“It didn’t. That’s a story I don’t need to listen to.”

Despite Ivan’s denial, Ingvar continued.

“Well, when this guy started gagging, those damn little assassins jumped up and started turning the camp upside down.”

“…Why?”

“There was an assassination attempt. The rations came from our side, and had it not been for Einar, all seven supply officers would have ended up in the Krasilov torture chamber. What did you eat back then?”

“I don’t recall that.”

“Was it pickled cabbage? It had gone a bit bad due to the heat, but I should have stopped you when you suddenly dove in and started devouring that rotten cabbage.”

Pickled cabbage…?

The party looked at Ivan simultaneously, recalling some bizarre traditional dish. Ivan silently stared into the hearth, downing his beer.

His expression remained unchanged, but the slight reddening of his ears was definitely not just due to the alcohol.

The group continued their conversation, laughing heartily.

The banquet lasted late into the night. Given that the group was weary from the battles and skirmishes over the last few weeks, they quickly collapsed into slumber in their respective quarters as midnight approached.

As the sober warriors dragged their intoxicated comrades away and servants cleaned up the banquet, Ivan quietly raised his cooled cup.

“Ivan.”

“Hmm.”

Ingvar slumped next to him with a serious face, as if asking when he got drunk.

“What are your plans going forward?”

“I need to rescue Einar. Identify the traitors and gather more forces… Honestly, if Einar called for support, how many do you think would respond?”

“How many? I’d say… ‘no one’ would answer.”

Apart from respect for Einar, would there even be any Jarl willing to respond to a summons?

Hmm, probably not.

Whether they swore loyalty or not, all the living Jarls of Drovian would certainly respect Einar. They would take pride in fighting alongside Einar, and genuinely admire his strength.

However, ambition is the instinct of a Jarl.

These people have no traditions of oaths of loyalty or military conscription. Enforcing a rule without tradition relies solely on the logic of strength, and if Einar’s life were at stake, that wouldn’t even hold.

If Einar’s call had been properly activated, some Jarls might have responded. But what if they only learned about it late, after information was blocked?

“If we hold out a bit longer, it seems Einar would just die on his own?”

“Well, if that happens, who’s to say I won’t become king?”

It couldn’t be helped. These people never had a unified monarch called a ‘king’. The kings they envision are not feudal lords but rather a strong and unique Jarl governance system.

Thus, they do not respect royal bloodlines. They do not revere royal authority. The only rule among the men of Drovian being ‘strength’ means that their way of life is no different from that of beasts.

In a wolf pack, the leader is chased away the moment they lose their strength. That doesn’t mean the wolves who followed him didn’t love him.

Respect carries a different meaning. For survival, it is only natural to follow a stronger leader, and the right to be that ‘stronger one’ is open to anyone.

Most monarchs of the United Kingdoms fail to understand the structure of this society. Even though Drovian has such considerable military power, the reason they still struggle to blend in the United Kingdom is that.

“Most likely, many will be in the same situation as me. They probably haven’t even noticed Einar’s call. But what if they have and are complicit? Is there a way to differentiate?”

“If they know the demon race has stirred, they’d probably raise forces instead.”

“Hmm?”

“They’ll likely encircle the area Einar set out from and wait. Whether it’s Einar or the demons, neither side would come out unscathed. They’d plan to strike then.”

It’s a very basic idea. If both sides perish, it works out best; if the demons narrowly win, they could claim ‘savior of Drovian,’ and if Einar struggles but returns, they might announce “victory in battle” after killing him.

The Jarls aren’t foolish. Everyone can think this much. Whoever blocked Einar’s call would definitely carry out such schemes.

Therefore, there was a simple task to be done.

“From here in Eldbark, I will extend a challenge to all territories heading east. If there are forces in the territory…”

“Since they are not traitors, challenge them as Einar’s consort to gain military support.”

“…If the territory is empty.”

“Then it means they are traitors.”

Angvar grinned wickedly as he took up the conversation.

“Wouldn’t it be fine to impose aggressive tariffs?”

“I’ll hand over all the profits generated during that time to you.”

“What kind of nonsense is that?”

Angvar laughed heartily.

“Why should you be the one granting permission for mine?”

As if it were only natural.

Eldbark is the hub of the east-west trade route. This means that all trains entering Drovian stop here at least once.

The following morning, Ingvar immediately ‘value-added tax’ on all those trains.

“This, this is Tylesse’s—”

“This is Drovian. Will the king of Tylesse challenge us?”

“What kind of outrageous nonsense is this?! Do you think you can pull this off and still be safe?!”

“The people of the United Kingdom have this problem.”

The customs official in Eldbark scratched their head and spoke.

“In Drovian, if you don’t have manners, your head gets split. But the folks from other nations don’t act like that, so they aren’t socialized properly. Do they need education?”

As he looked at the customs official’s stern ‘collection tool’, the merchant from Tylesse shook his head with a pale face. The customs office in Eldbark managed to impressively requisition twelve trains that day.

All those trains loaded with armed customs officials and Ivan’s party took off. They needed to face all the influential Jarls of Drovian within at least ten days. Simply averaging means defeating at least two each day.

Considering the potential for disputes along the way, time would be even tighter. However, Ivan wasn’t worried.

Each time he won a duel, the number of human resources he could utilize would increase exponentially.

He had never worried about supply issues. These were forces that did not require supplies. If their supplies ran out, they would ‘requisition’ from somewhere else. This was a matter of their tradition… No, it was a matter of instinct, so it wasn’t something a civilized person like him needed to consider.

Angvar forgot his age and dignity, joyfully shouting from the front train car.

“It’s a customs war!!”

– Waaaaaah!!!!

– Take it! Kill them!!!!

– Ancestors! Bless us!!!!

All customs officials aboard the train erupted into boisterous shouts of excitement.

Drovian’s newly established mobile customs office completed preparations for the proactive customs system. Technically, since they were from the same country, they shouldn’t impose tariffs. However, tax collection tends to tighten on citizens.

Imposing high tariffs on foreigners is called protectionism.

Then what the warriors of Eldbark are doing now might as well be called free trade. They’re applying the same tax standards for their own citizens as for foreigners.

The remarkably advanced free trade agreement that even Kalion’s zenith could not attempt began to unfold as the missionaries departed from Eldbark’s train station, expanding into all of Drovian.

Leading a bold market opening that would astonish even Adam Smith and David Ricardo, they set off while singing songs of inexplicable joy, hope for the future, love, and friendship, along with songs of blood and death dedicated to their ancestors.

“I’m so ashamed of my country now….”

Ecdysis mumbled, burying her face deep in her flushed hands.

That first day, three territories had to approve ‘market opening’ and ‘free trade’.

“Didn’t Einar say not to have a customs war among ourselves! This violates the agreement!!”

“Agreement… should we not use such difficult words?”

Ingvar chuckled as he smiled down at the kneeling Jarl. Wulfric Svaldison of Drechalth was screaming in agony, bound and with a disheveled face.

In front of his miserable face, Ingvar sneered.

“After all, he can’t understand anyway.”

“This ignorant old man—!! Let go!! Do you think Einar will forgive this?”

“Sure, he will. Isn’t Einar’s son-in-law right here?”

At Ingvar’s words, Ivan quietly shook his head.

This guy wasn’t a traitor, so he was a candidate for recruitment, but I really couldn’t understand why he started looting as soon as he came down. This wasn’t the plan we had devised together last night…

But since it was already spilled water, Ivan spoke with a bitter face.

“Wulfric. Do you remember me?”

“…‘Little’ Ivan…? Are you alive…?”

“Let’s skip that part quickly. I’m tired of it now.”

“Who are you here to kill…? Me… or Einar?!”

“Let’s skip that part as quickly as possible… Ah, never mind. I’ll just give up.”

Ivan clicked his tongue as he sat down before Wulfric. He looked down at Wulfric’s face and said.

“There’s a traitor among the Jarls. They want to kill Einar. You don’t seem to be with them, do you? Will you join me?”

“After doing this…?”

“If you join me, I’ll recognize all rights to the items you’ve looted from now on.”

“…? Are you saying you would do this in other cities too?”

Wulfric stared blankly into Ivan’s eyes, then briefly scanned the area with a wavering gaze. After looking at his warriors sprawled on the floor, all bound, he lifted his head.

A smile began to form on his face.

Breaking Einar’s rules isn’t an issue, and he’s even setting out to rescue Einar?

This sounds awfully legitimate.

“Fine, fine… It’s a customs war—!!”

   

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