Badlands Saga: Reincarnation in a Different World with Extreme Charisma - Chapter 9

Chapter 9   Emerald Sword 3

A month into the battle.

The Tanukan Knights were fighting with incredible ferocity, like lions in a frenzy.

“Push them off!”

“Hurrah!”

“Bring more stones! There were plenty by the fields!”

They pushed back the enemy soldiers trying to set ladders against the castle walls with spears and poles, and they hurled stones and shot arrows at those attempting to break through the walls.

In warfare, defenders hold the advantage, and despite being vastly outnumbered, the castle still stood strong.

The high-spirited knights repelled the enemy forces that surged like a tidal wave against the walls two or three times. Even the enemies attempting to advance on the port were lured into a maze created by the mage Ida in the town and were subsequently defeated.

The enemy’s dead bodies piled up like mountains… but thanks to a bit of luck and successful strategies, only a few of our own had fallen.

Most of the townsfolk had taken refuge at the port, but some volunteered to join the fight.

“I’ve been hit by an arrow! Bring the potion!”

The longer the battle dragged on, the more rapidly the potions were consumed.

The supply of ingredients had long since run out, and we were now diluting the potions we had left with water, rationing them by grade to manage as best we could.

In the makeshift infirmary within the castle, I had been treating the wounded soldiers alongside the women day after day…

But it was becoming increasingly clear that we were running low on supplies.

“We’re running dangerously low on the healing potions,” Gramps Gul said.

“I thought the supplies should have arrived at the port by now…”

I muttered to Gramps, but lamenting the situation wouldn’t change anything. If we waited for supplies that might not come, we’d lose lives that could have been saved.

“There’s no choice; we’ll have to go to the mountains to gather more.”

“You can’t do that!”

Gramps raised his voice, which was rare.

“What’s the problem?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“The soldiers are the ones in the most danger right now.”

When I said that, he silently shook his head. Beside him, Isara, who was assigned as my guard, also voiced her objections.

“Please stay in the castle, Fusha-sama. I’ll have Kintman gather all the herbs that look useful.”

“I don’t just want the usual herbs. I plan to look for alternatives that might have similar medicinal effects. Depending solely on a universal healing potion isn’t sustainable anymore; it’s better to make specialized potions for pain relief, antidotes, and such, to conserve resources.”

“But your safety…”

“Winter is coming soon. If we miss this chance, all the herbs will wither away anyway. Without ingredients, an alchemist is useless. Besides… that’s what guards are for in times like this.”

At my words, Isara fell silent.

I had even considered making gunpowder if I couldn’t make potions, but we lacked enough sulfur, though we had saltpeter and charcoal.

With nothing left to do as an alchemist, I was, without a doubt, someone whose death wouldn’t pose a problem, either as a fighting force or as a member of the border lord’s family.

Not that I had any intention of dying, but these were desperate times.

It was inevitable that some lives would be prioritized over others.

“I don’t intend to die. But this is something within my power to do… isn’t it?”

“No… in that case, allow me to accompany you.”

“Sorry, but I’ll be leaving late at night.”

I conveyed this to Kintman and quickly went to sleep in my room in the tower.

As the night deepened, I was woken by the maid Riza, who roused me from sleep. I quickly got dressed and asked her for a cup of tea. While preparing, I climbed to the top of the tower, where I saw a single lamp’s light flickering in the darkness.

As I squinted into the dark, I saw Gramps, rocking in an armchair, gazing up at the stars.

“You’ll catch a cold if you sleep out here.”

“Oh, it’s you, Fusha-sama.”

As I heard the creaking of the armchair, I took my usual spot on the observation platform and stared out at the wasteland.

In the swallowed darkness of the wasteland, only the flickering light of the enemy’s campfires was visible.

“Do the warriors of Makiano sleep at night too?”

“Not necessarily. I heard the sound of arrows not too long ago.”

“I wonder what they want from targeting this castle.”

“I won’t know until I ask them… but given that we don’t share a language…”

Gramps continued to rock in his chair.

“By the way, Fusha-sama, I overheard something… apparently, you remember things from before you were born?”

“Huh?”

Before being born… Ah, maybe what I mentioned to Mimei the other day has reached someone else.

“That was just a joke.”

“I see. It was quite an interesting joke… I was curious about what kind of person you were before you were born.”

“Just an ordinary person, I’d say.”

“Did the Fusha-sama of that time ever meet Lady Reuluora?”

Reuluora is the creator god in the Aldora faith, which is believed in the Kingdom of Folk.

Followers of Aldora believe that they were created by Reuluora and live their lives offering prayers to Reuluora in the morning and evening.

However, I had never seen such a creator god, nor did I believe in one.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“What about the church over there?”

“I don’t think there was a church. There might not even be an Aldora faith.”

“Then, what kind of…?”

Gramps seemed quite intrigued by my tall tales.

“I told you, it was just a joke.”

“Even if it’s a joke, it’s… fine.”

There was a faintly sad tone in his voice.

Well, given the situation, this conversation might be a final farewell. It can’t be helped.

I smiled wryly and continued the story of my past life.

“In the world of my jokes, I was a Buddhist, believing in Buddha.”

“Buddha, the god who created the world?”

“No, he’s not a god. He was a person who achieved enlightenment through practice. He was someone who escaped from desires and all kinds of suffering.”

“Then, does he save everyone?”

“I don’t know about that. In the sect I believed in, Nankoku Shinshu, it was said that people are reborn many times aiming to reach the paradise in the southernmost part and strive to achieve enlightenment like Buddha.”

I’m not a religious person; I’ve lived without much awareness of religion.

I don’t know the doctrines of my family’s religion in detail and had no particular interest in them.

It was just a bit sad that I couldn’t meet my family and friends in the place we were supposed to meet after dying and being reborn.

“Was your life before birth a good one?”

“My past life? Well, it was so-so. But…”

“What about it?”

“Not being able to die with a smile might be a regret. Surely, that’s why I struggled so much with death.”

“That is…”

Just as Gramps was about to say something, the sound of the entrance to the rooftop of the tower opening was heard.

“Master Fusha, everything is ready.”

It was dark, so I couldn’t see clearly, but it seemed like Isara was calling.

“Master Fusha, just one last thing. How is this world…?”

“It’s not much different from before… No, I’m just joking. Forget it.”

I left those words for Gramps and went back into the tower.

Inside, Kintman and a few others were waiting, fully equipped.

“Show us the path only the moon knows.”

As the mage Isara chanted, the darkness suddenly became clearer.

It seemed she had used a night vision spell.

“Alright, let’s go.”

I climbed onto the back of the horned swordsman, Inuzame, and we left the castle.

The only things visible in the cold air were the moon and stars, silently watching us from above.

◆◆◆

A letter arrived from Kintman of “The Whirlwind.”

He was the leader of the mercenary group I used to be part of, and he was also a head of the family, so to speak.

As I opened the letter, wondering if he was still alive, the familiar scent of the incense he used to burn filled my senses, bringing a wave of nostalgia.

After our hometown was devastated, I wandered for a while before leaving his service.

Back then, the mercenary group had very little work, and we were barely scraping by…

During that time, I fell in love and found legitimate work that needed me.

So, I promised, “If I ever find a place that feels like home again, we’ll definitely reunite,” and parted ways with them.

At that time, I was serious.

If a letter from Kintman arrived, I would have dropped everything to go to him.

Three years passed, and I continued to wait for a letter.

But as five and then ten years went by, I had long since become a father.

I had three children, and the farmland inherited from my wife’s family had another good harvest this year.

I had completely forgotten about Kintman.

No, maybe I had tried to forget.

Perhaps I wanted to erase from my life the blood-soaked, famine-stricken existence that had been a part of me.

…But as soon as I saw the name Kintman written in the letter, I couldn’t stop my heart from racing with anticipation.

The acrid smell of the battlefield, which I had found so unbearable, seemed to waft up my nose again, and I couldn’t help it.

With a mix of frustration and excitement, I opened the seal, and inside was only a single sheet of paper.

“Waiting in the Promised Land.”

It was written along with the name of the place, “Tanukan Borderland.”

I took a pry bar and began pulling off the wall panels of my house.

There, piled like trash, were a rusted red battle axe and tattered, decayed battle gear.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing! Pulling down the wall like that!”

“I have to go…”

“Where are you going? It’s not another gambling den, is it?”

“To the hometown I couldn’t protect that day!”

I donned my patchwork outfit, shouldered a battle axe, and strapped on my helmet.

With my wife, children, and mother-in-law watching, I tightly tied my shoelaces.

“Where do you think you’re going? Winter is coming!”

“I’ll be back by spring.”

I stumbled along the now-empty path beside the field, struggling to run.

Unlike before, my body didn’t move as well; just a short run left my side aching and my breath labored.

Still, I continued, exhaling white puffs of breath, heading towards the mountains that had once loomed like a backdrop in a painting.

The peaks of the Karakan Mountains were already beginning to turn white with snow.