Ch.212Report on the Collapse of Patience (5)

It was clearly a story about Laios and Ismene. Kain cleared his throat to draw attention. When people startled, he began to ramble innocently.

“The White Blood Knights? They must have been quite skilled! My youngest brother also wants to become a White Blood Knight and spends all day fighting with neighborhood kids. How did that person manage to join?”

To the villagers, he would appear to be just another thoughtless visitor, drunk on alcohol and atmosphere, seeing and hearing only what he wanted to. And lacking tact, at that.

“My goodness, we’re telling all sorts of stories in front of our guest.”

Sure enough, someone thoughtful pulled Kain aside and whispered.

“What’s wrong with the story? Being skilled enough to join the White Blood Knights is impressive.”

“He couldn’t endure it and left,” a middle-aged man frowned. He clearly didn’t want to continue the conversation. But Kain had no intention of letting it go.

It felt like fishing. Pull too hard and the line would break, but let it go slack and the topic would slip away.

So Kain performed a delicate balancing act. He never directly asked about Laios and Ismene. Instead, he positioned himself as “an older brother who wants to both discourage and support his youngest brother who dreams of joining the knights” and asked various questions.

How did they usually train? Where did they sleep? Was there anyone in the village who taught them? These weren’t questions that could be answered with a simple yes or no.

The villagers seemed reluctant, but the wedding celebration continued around them, and with tables overflowing with food and drink, it was impossible to maintain complete sobriety.

Eventually, the villagers began to open up to his skilled prompting.

When someone said, “Actually, this is what happened,” another would correct them: “No, that’s not right. You weren’t even here then. What really happened was…” And others would chime in with “Actually, it was like this. No, I’m right.”

Everyone fell silent when the bride’s father spoke with regret, but once everyone started sharing, countless stories poured out.

There were conflicting opinions and gaps here and there, but generally, everyone agreed that “if those children had lived somewhere else, they would have met a much better fate.”

Because this village, Garioth, was a place that should never have existed.

* * * * *

Garioth is vast and quiet. That’s its only merit. It’s a useless land where nothing productive grows.

The region’s strong winds prevent trees from growing straight. Even potatoes don’t grow properly in the cold soil.

There was a time when they exported quality limestone throughout the Empire, but that’s ancient history now. In short, it wasn’t land that sustained people but rather stripped and starved them—a barren earth.

It was so bad that after the limestone mine closed, the lord permitted migration. Under normal circumstances, this place might have supported a shelter or a watchtower or two, but never a village where people actually lived.

Yet a village stood here because of the pagans.

The Third Crusade had ended more than thirty years ago, but small conflicts continued. The main reason was an unprecedented cold wave that caused famine in the northern pagan lands. Desert tribes crossed the cool sands to raid the peaceful imperial lands, plundering food and drink.

The imperial army didn’t sit idle either, though they didn’t invoke the name of holy war. They deployed troops, actively defended, and sometimes intercepted scout parties that ventured too close.

But the Empire never crossed the desert. There was no reason to. The desert tribes, however, did cross over. They needed to survive.

Raiders and defenders engaged in endless struggle. The once-high morale of the imperial army gradually fell. They weren’t losing, but they weren’t winning either—just fighting for the sake of fighting.

Contrary to popular belief, even the Electors didn’t go against the Emperor’s wishes during this time. If the imperial army withdrew its troops, the Electors’ soldiers would have to face well-trained mounted archers alone, which was impossible for the Electors’ forces that lacked not only knights but even proper archers.

The soldiers grew weary, and the Empire, not yet recovered from the war’s aftermath, couldn’t provide adequate support. The land to protect was too vast, and there were many places that needed repair and maintenance. Even officers were repeatedly deployed for labor and duty without proper rest.

“The Empire built many fortresses and watchtowers. Take the Secundus Fortress, for example. But such strongholds alone couldn’t stop mounted raiders.”

At that time, starving citizens gathered. The land was raided almost daily, and the already poor harvests only worsened. Eventually, they decided to help the army with daily labor.

The army wanted rest, and the people were hungry for bread. Each had what the other wanted, and harmony was quickly achieved.

Skilled craftsmen were valued everywhere. They repaired spears, shields, and armor; prepared delicious meals with just a bit more care; and mended everything from underwear to majestic unit banners.

But most only had their healthy bodies to offer. They helped with labor—cutting trees, shaping stones, cleaning burned villages, and preparing bodies for burial.

The option of conscripting citizens was seriously discussed, but the capital rejected it. The first reason was that there was no shortage of soldiers; the second was that in a situation where every casualty needed to be minimized, poorly trained recruits would be uncontrollable.

So a somewhat one-sided relationship continued. The imperial army had to perform both labor and defense, while citizens were only mobilized for labor. The military inevitably requested more labor, and the people complied.

The good thing was that the army’s burden decreased, but an unexpected result emerged. The two groups, left in a strange place for too long, naturally began to intermingle.

Headquarters strictly prohibited personal relationships with citizens, but it was already too late. They saw themselves in each other.

In a lonely foreign land, they could only trust one another. Everyone there had been pushed far from the life they wanted and dreamed of. If there was a body in which they could bury their cold hearts, even temporarily, they wouldn’t refuse anyone.

After the imperial army decided to fortify the village, the assimilation intensified. The imperial army and citizens built houses together and lived in near-cohabitation. Reassigning units would have been meaningless, as the situation was similar throughout the northern region.

People who could only survive with the army present, villages that only thrived with military units stationed there—it was an abnormal structure from any perspective. They knew it too. But what could they do? The only place they had to go was the bed of someone as lonely as themselves for just one night.

But even that time finally came to an end. Warm winds began to blow. The northern caliphs visited the Empire with massive compensation, and peace was established between the two nations.

While the northern army itself remained, the soldiers received orders to return home. The intention was to send them to warmer rear areas after being in the cold for too long, but for the locals, it was devastating news.

Of course, some had found lifelong companions and precious children. They departed for a warm future amid the envy of others.

But the vast majority had not. Those with whom they had shared the warmth of their cold hearts never returned. “They probably died,” people would say desolately. They couldn’t bring themselves to say “they didn’t come back.” No matter how adrift their lives were, being abandoned like that was unacceptable.

And so, only those with truly nowhere to go remained in Garioth.

Resigned people. Those with no one to welcome them. Those who had neither any particular place to go nor any special skills settled down. They were still better off, at least they had been given a choice.

The babies weren’t. Children were simply left in baskets at someone’s doorstep. The village was filled with the cries of babies. Laios and Ismene were among those children.

Things were still okay for a while. People were young then, and some wealth still circulated in the village. A unit couldn’t be disbanded overnight. Handovers. Redeployment. Orders. Standby. Confusion… Without even that, they couldn’t have raised the babies.

The problem arose when the children entered adolescence. There weren’t proper jobs, but they couldn’t assign dangerous work like mining either.

Nor was there enough food for these children and adults to share. The limestone mine happened to be depleted around that time too. Their source of income was cut off.

Moreover, the world grew increasingly turbulent. Unbelievable rumors spread that the Crusaders had betrayed the Empire for money.

Rumors that monsters were pouring out from the east, not far from here, and that shadows were covering villages, driving people collectively insane, gradually became closer to reality.

Had the time of judgment arrived?

No. Nobody believed that. The people of Garioth, who had only known suffering and poverty, couldn’t understand judgment. That was something awaited by those with much to lose, those who had sinned but not yet paid the price. For the people of Garioth, who had given everything to the land and received nothing in return, judgment was a story from another world.

Rather, the name of the Demon King was more frightening to them.

One who takes even what little they have. One who breaks and corrupts all hope. An evil one who tries to take even the body and soul they’ve barely managed to preserve…

“That’s when those people appeared. They said only the pure hearts of boys and girls could save this world from the Demon King. Everyone knew they were crazy, but we couldn’t… couldn’t tell them to leave. Everyone was starving, and we needed fewer mouths to feed.”