Arslan Senki
Hildiger’s bizarre death horrified Innocentius VII.
Guiscard, naturally, was also shocked. However, as he was the one who had to chide and pacify his brother the king, who had kicked up a great fuss in his panic, Guiscard himself ended up calming down. This was a habit he had inadvertently developed since their childhood days.
Yet another individual, Archbishop Bodin, was shocked as well. At the same time, he found himself in a fit of fury. The unnaturally deceased Hildiger had tried to have it both ways with Bodin and Guiscard, and although on balance he leaned for the most part toward Guiscard, Bodin did not know of this. What Bodin thought was that Hildiger had been killed for siding with him and defying the king.
Face flushed with rage, Bodin barged into the king’s drawing room and thrust his finger at Innocentius VII, who turned deathly pale. You murderer, you wretched soul, damn you to hell! Curses were hurled one after another. The king, looking as if he were about to faint, begged his younger brother for help.
“Oh Guiscard, oh little brother, please, explain to the Archbishop for your poor old brother.”
Guiscard directed a chilly gaze at Bodin.
“I suppose you’re unaware, Lord Archbishop. That it’s said the Templars’ commander was not alone when he was killed…”
“And who was he with, pray tell?”
“Why, he was sharing his pillow with a woman, it seems.”
Guiscard’s voice was filled with malicious glee. Archbishop Bodin was so overcome with wrath and humiliation, his face turned gray.
“T-to slander a man of the cloth with such talk… ‘Tis the very height of sacrilege!”
“I should think the word sacrilege far more appropriate for the commander of the Templars. As one ordained, to be found in bed with a woman!”
Guiscard offered a smile brimming with poison.
He had not accounted for Commander Hildiger’s sudden death in his calculations. He’d planned to tame the man and have him eventually stab Bodin in the back. However, there was no point in using someone who’d gotten himself killed off. If he couldn’t at least use the incident as a weapon to mock Bodin with, all that treasure he’d given Hildiger could be considered naught but a waste. One could hardly expect that anything once offered to the greedy Templars would ever be returned, after all.
“… Consequently, there have been some rumors among certain sectors. Sir Hildiger, having committed various sins unbecoming of a Templar, called down the wrath of God and was thus granted a gruesome end.”
Guiscard spoke with conviction. The Templar commander’s corpse had been found alongside a woman’s body. As they had died in a naked embrace, not a single person would believe that Hildiger was some sort of pure and upright innocent.
Bodin glared at Guiscard with a fierce look in his eyes, but then abruptly stood and stormed out the room.
“Serves you right,” Guiscard thought to himself, but the joy of victory did not last.
It happened at around lunch. Innocentius was just beginning to eat a simple Lusitanian-style vegetable dish characterized only by its ample amount of seasoning when two or three knights came clattering over, in a hurry to report a major incident.
“Every last one of the Templars is gathering to Archbishop Bodin’s side, all of them fully armored. They seem quite on edge indeed. How ought we proceed?”
Once again King Innocentius fell into consternation and called for his younger brother, who always had a solution to his every trouble.
Begging tearfully, he said, “G-Guiscard, oh my dear little brother, do the archbishop and the Templars mean to openly make an enemy of me?”
“Calm yourself, brother mine.”
Even as he scolded his brother the king, Guiscard clucked his tongue. That Bodin would make such a swift and drastic move had not occurred to Guiscard.
It was not for the sake of his brother, but Guiscard seemed to be considering various countermeasures when he realized something and hurriedly summoned some of the knights under his command.
“The holy standard of Ialdabaoth! It must not be stolen by the Templars. Go forth at once! Bring back the holy standard!”
The knights who had received Guiscard’s order hastened to climb the city walls surrounding the capital. And just as they dashed to the base of the flag, they ran smack into the Templars who had come rushing over for the same purpose.
Each side was well aware of the other’s intentions. The mere ten or so men who served Guiscard and the roughly twenty Templars glared at each other with killing intent.
“Do you mean to seize the holy standard? You damned reprobates.”
One side’s cursing led to the other side also raising their voices.
“We have come on behalf of His Royal Highness. Get in the way, and you’ll suffer his wrath.”
No point arguing the matter, thought one of Guiscard’s subordinates, who made as if to pull down the flag, only to fall back with a scream. One of the Templars had, without warning, unsheathed his sword and slashed the other man’s shoulder.
Right on cue, a fierce bout commenced between the fellow Ialdabaothans. Sword clashed against sword, sword against armor, armor against armor; the stench of blood saturated the top of the city walls.
Soon enough, Guiscard’s men found themselves pressed by their numerical inferiority. With twenty against ten, victory was impossible. They’d been driven to a corner of the city walls, so it was no longer even possible to flee.
The Templars, who should have had the advantage, unexpectedly collapsed.
A single man, silver mask shining in the afternoon sun, had begun to cut down the Templars.
The difference in strength was immense. Treading a single step forward, the man of the silver mask brandished his sword, and with it, blood sprayed forth. Lusitanian heads went flying, arms flew, torsos split in half; the flagstones of the city walls ran with blood.
The Templars shuddered. Each and every last mouth reciting the name of Ialdabaoth, they scattered and fled at last. In the end, nine dead and four severely injured were left behind.
Thus did the holy standard fall into the hands of the royal prince Guiscard.
All was well up to that point, but among those cut down by Hirmiz of the silver mask was the younger brother of General Montferrat.
The enraged Montferrat, watched over by his supporters among the knights, put Silvermask on trial.
“My good men, no doubt you all think this masked man has achieved much in the name of Lusitanian supremacy. But consider it from the opposite perspective! This knave who, for some personal grudge, sold out his own homeland to foreign enemies, can be nothing but a traitor!”
The Lusitanians murmured, yet Silvermask spoke not a word.
“This is a man who coolly sold out his country and yielded his comrades to enemy hands. The moment the winds change, it will surely be Lusitania he sells out to some other party next: is this not self-evident? ‘Tis as clear to see as fire on a dark night!”
Montferrat thrust a finger trembling in anger at Silvermask.
“We cannot simply leave future calamity to transpire. Let us rid ourselves of him, that we may save Lusitania from her doom.”
Montferrat scanned his surroundings. The Lusitanians exchanged glances, hands on swords, hesitating to draw.
The Lusitanians knew deep within their bones just how strong the man of the silver mask was. By no means did they wish to be the first to rise and meet with the assault of his sword.
Having discovered this, Montferrat no longer expected to rely on the others. He drew his own sword and faced the man of the silver mask, preparing to strike.
In response, Hirmiz was just about to draw his own blade when the royal prince Duke Guiscard came rushing over, the knights under his command clearing a path for him.
Making his way from outside the ring of men to the center where all the commotion was coming from, Guiscard forcefully interposed himself between the two parties.
“Stand down, Montferrat!”
“As you command, Your Royal Highness, but…”
“Sheathe your sword. Only Ialdabaoth knows what the future holds. No matter what, at present, this man has done distinguished service in the name of our country. You have no reason to do him harm.”
Montferrat stood stock still, face paling beyond the shade of the blade in his hand.
Guiscard raised his voice once more. “If you should do anything to punish this man, no citizen of Pars would be willing to aid our armies in the future. It is through this man’s efforts alone that we were able to keep the Templars from claiming the holy standard. The matter of your brother is most regrettable, but can you not forgive it this once?”
“Your Royal Highness, I, Montferrat, do not act merely on such reasons as personal vengeance. ‘Tis only that I believe this silver-masked man will someday bring our homeland harm…”
“I understand. You are a man both fair and just. However, I would better appreciate an understanding man.”
On being told this, there was nothing Montferrat could do but concede. Tucking away his sword, he took his leave with a bow; his fellow knights also dispersed with expressions of relief, leaving behind only Guiscard and Silvermask.
“You stopped them most admirably, Your Royal Highness. For your men’s sake, that is…”
Guiscard openly furrowed his brows at this sarcastic acknowledgment.
“I wouldn’t decide that so easily. Certainly, Montferrat is no match for you in valor. In terms of popularity, however, it’s a different story. Were Montferrat to take up his sword against you, all the knights present at the scene would have probably regarded you as an enemy.”
Hirmiz’s lips twisted, but there was no way for Guiscard to see under the mask.
“You are indeed an exceptional warrior, but alone against fifty I don’t think victory would be so easy to declare.”
Guiscard continued to speak, but Hirmiz made no sound, retorting only in his heart. Perhaps that would be the case if my opponents were Parsian knights, but against the likes of Lusitanian knights, not just fifty, even against a hundred men there would be naught to fear.
But of course, the only thing he displayed outwardly was a respectful bow.
Chapter 47: Volume 2 - CH 4.4
Guiscard, naturally, was also shocked. However, as he was the one who had to chide and pacify his brother the king, who had kicked up a great fuss in his panic, Guiscard himself ended up calming down. This was a habit he had inadvertently developed since their childhood days.
Yet another individual, Archbishop Bodin, was shocked as well. At the same time, he found himself in a fit of fury. The unnaturally deceased Hildiger had tried to have it both ways with Bodin and Guiscard, and although on balance he leaned for the most part toward Guiscard, Bodin did not know of this. What Bodin thought was that Hildiger had been killed for siding with him and defying the king.
Face flushed with rage, Bodin barged into the king’s drawing room and thrust his finger at Innocentius VII, who turned deathly pale. You murderer, you wretched soul, damn you to hell! Curses were hurled one after another. The king, looking as if he were about to faint, begged his younger brother for help.
“Oh Guiscard, oh little brother, please, explain to the Archbishop for your poor old brother.”
Guiscard directed a chilly gaze at Bodin.
“I suppose you’re unaware, Lord Archbishop. That it’s said the Templars’ commander was not alone when he was killed…”
“And who was he with, pray tell?”
“Why, he was sharing his pillow with a woman, it seems.”
Guiscard’s voice was filled with malicious glee. Archbishop Bodin was so overcome with wrath and humiliation, his face turned gray.
“T-to slander a man of the cloth with such talk… ‘Tis the very height of sacrilege!”
“I should think the word sacrilege far more appropriate for the commander of the Templars. As one ordained, to be found in bed with a woman!”
Guiscard offered a smile brimming with poison.
He had not accounted for Commander Hildiger’s sudden death in his calculations. He’d planned to tame the man and have him eventually stab Bodin in the back. However, there was no point in using someone who’d gotten himself killed off. If he couldn’t at least use the incident as a weapon to mock Bodin with, all that treasure he’d given Hildiger could be considered naught but a waste. One could hardly expect that anything once offered to the greedy Templars would ever be returned, after all.
“… Consequently, there have been some rumors among certain sectors. Sir Hildiger, having committed various sins unbecoming of a Templar, called down the wrath of God and was thus granted a gruesome end.”
Guiscard spoke with conviction. The Templar commander’s corpse had been found alongside a woman’s body. As they had died in a naked embrace, not a single person would believe that Hildiger was some sort of pure and upright innocent.
Bodin glared at Guiscard with a fierce look in his eyes, but then abruptly stood and stormed out the room.
“Serves you right,” Guiscard thought to himself, but the joy of victory did not last.
It happened at around lunch. Innocentius was just beginning to eat a simple Lusitanian-style vegetable dish characterized only by its ample amount of seasoning when two or three knights came clattering over, in a hurry to report a major incident.
“Every last one of the Templars is gathering to Archbishop Bodin’s side, all of them fully armored. They seem quite on edge indeed. How ought we proceed?”
Begging tearfully, he said, “G-Guiscard, oh my dear little brother, do the archbishop and the Templars mean to openly make an enemy of me?”
“Calm yourself, brother mine.”
Even as he scolded his brother the king, Guiscard clucked his tongue. That Bodin would make such a swift and drastic move had not occurred to Guiscard.
It was not for the sake of his brother, but Guiscard seemed to be considering various countermeasures when he realized something and hurriedly summoned some of the knights under his command.
“The holy standard of Ialdabaoth! It must not be stolen by the Templars. Go forth at once! Bring back the holy standard!”
The knights who had received Guiscard’s order hastened to climb the city walls surrounding the capital. And just as they dashed to the base of the flag, they ran smack into the Templars who had come rushing over for the same purpose.
Each side was well aware of the other’s intentions. The mere ten or so men who served Guiscard and the roughly twenty Templars glared at each other with killing intent.
“Do you mean to seize the holy standard? You damned reprobates.”
One side’s cursing led to the other side also raising their voices.
“We have come on behalf of His Royal Highness. Get in the way, and you’ll suffer his wrath.”
No point arguing the matter, thought one of Guiscard’s subordinates, who made as if to pull down the flag, only to fall back with a scream. One of the Templars had, without warning, unsheathed his sword and slashed the other man’s shoulder.
Right on cue, a fierce bout commenced between the fellow Ialdabaothans. Sword clashed against sword, sword against armor, armor against armor; the stench of blood saturated the top of the city walls.
Soon enough, Guiscard’s men found themselves pressed by their numerical inferiority. With twenty against ten, victory was impossible. They’d been driven to a corner of the city walls, so it was no longer even possible to flee.
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It happened then.The Templars, who should have had the advantage, unexpectedly collapsed.
A single man, silver mask shining in the afternoon sun, had begun to cut down the Templars.
The difference in strength was immense. Treading a single step forward, the man of the silver mask brandished his sword, and with it, blood sprayed forth. Lusitanian heads went flying, arms flew, torsos split in half; the flagstones of the city walls ran with blood.
The Templars shuddered. Each and every last mouth reciting the name of Ialdabaoth, they scattered and fled at last. In the end, nine dead and four severely injured were left behind.
Thus did the holy standard fall into the hands of the royal prince Guiscard.
The enraged Montferrat, watched over by his supporters among the knights, put Silvermask on trial.
“My good men, no doubt you all think this masked man has achieved much in the name of Lusitanian supremacy. But consider it from the opposite perspective! This knave who, for some personal grudge, sold out his own homeland to foreign enemies, can be nothing but a traitor!”
The Lusitanians murmured, yet Silvermask spoke not a word.
“This is a man who coolly sold out his country and yielded his comrades to enemy hands. The moment the winds change, it will surely be Lusitania he sells out to some other party next: is this not self-evident? ‘Tis as clear to see as fire on a dark night!”
Montferrat thrust a finger trembling in anger at Silvermask.
“We cannot simply leave future calamity to transpire. Let us rid ourselves of him, that we may save Lusitania from her doom.”
Montferrat scanned his surroundings. The Lusitanians exchanged glances, hands on swords, hesitating to draw.
The Lusitanians knew deep within their bones just how strong the man of the silver mask was. By no means did they wish to be the first to rise and meet with the assault of his sword.
Having discovered this, Montferrat no longer expected to rely on the others. He drew his own sword and faced the man of the silver mask, preparing to strike.
In response, Hirmiz was just about to draw his own blade when the royal prince Duke Guiscard came rushing over, the knights under his command clearing a path for him.
Making his way from outside the ring of men to the center where all the commotion was coming from, Guiscard forcefully interposed himself between the two parties.
“Stand down, Montferrat!”
“As you command, Your Royal Highness, but…”
“Sheathe your sword. Only Ialdabaoth knows what the future holds. No matter what, at present, this man has done distinguished service in the name of our country. You have no reason to do him harm.”
Montferrat stood stock still, face paling beyond the shade of the blade in his hand.
Guiscard raised his voice once more. “If you should do anything to punish this man, no citizen of Pars would be willing to aid our armies in the future. It is through this man’s efforts alone that we were able to keep the Templars from claiming the holy standard. The matter of your brother is most regrettable, but can you not forgive it this once?”
“Your Royal Highness, I, Montferrat, do not act merely on such reasons as personal vengeance. ‘Tis only that I believe this silver-masked man will someday bring our homeland harm…”
“I understand. You are a man both fair and just. However, I would better appreciate an understanding man.”
On being told this, there was nothing Montferrat could do but concede. Tucking away his sword, he took his leave with a bow; his fellow knights also dispersed with expressions of relief, leaving behind only Guiscard and Silvermask.
Guiscard openly furrowed his brows at this sarcastic acknowledgment.
“I wouldn’t decide that so easily. Certainly, Montferrat is no match for you in valor. In terms of popularity, however, it’s a different story. Were Montferrat to take up his sword against you, all the knights present at the scene would have probably regarded you as an enemy.”
Hirmiz’s lips twisted, but there was no way for Guiscard to see under the mask.
“You are indeed an exceptional warrior, but alone against fifty I don’t think victory would be so easy to declare.”
Guiscard continued to speak, but Hirmiz made no sound, retorting only in his heart. Perhaps that would be the case if my opponents were Parsian knights, but against the likes of Lusitanian knights, not just fifty, even against a hundred men there would be naught to fear.
But of course, the only thing he displayed outwardly was a respectful bow.
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