The Mythical Hero's Otherworld Chronicles: Volume 8 [Parts 1 to 5] by Tatematsuri

Author:Tatematsuri
Language: eng
Format: epub

The thirtieth day of the fifth month of Imperial Year 1026

In the empire’s southern territories, just to the south of the Gurinda Mark, was a region known as Caktos. It was plagued by scorching winds all year round, and shimmering heat hazes rose over the sunbaked earth. Formerly part of Lichtein, its irrigation systems had vastly improved under imperial rule, and while its parched lands were still far from revitalized, the drought-ridden duchy would have given almost anything to have them back.

The sun was as fierce as a midsummer day as it glared down at an army encampment. In the center was a tent bigger than the rest—the command tent.

“Word has come that Lord Karl will soon return, sir.”

The aide addressed the figure at the head of the table: General Rankeel Caligula Gilbrist. Thirty-seven years of age, he was a war hero known and feared in the surrounding nations under the name of the Rising Hawk. Despite his military prowess, his inflexible personality ensured that the nobles of the land tended to keep him at arm’s length.

“Good,” Rankeel said distractedly. “Inform me when he arrives.” He folded his arms and sank back into thought. He had an important decision to make: whether or not to launch an attack on the empire.

“Are you still considering, sir?” the aide asked.

Rankeel huffed through his nose as he stared at the map. “Of course.”

“With respect, the duchy is almost on its knees. The nobles and the commonfolk are the least of our concerns. There is no telling what the slaves may do in their desperation.”

“I am well aware. A fine time for the faults of slavery to come back to bite us.”

No water meant crops failed. Crops failing meant people went hungry. When the people in question were poorly fed at the best of times, they would not sit by and wait to starve to death. They would turn all of their pent-up anger and resentment against their masters.

“There are more slaves in Lichtein than peasants,” Rankeel continued. “If they all rose up, it would be anarchy.”

“Then what choice is there? If we cannot feed our people, we can but take from other nations. The duchy will not last longer than a year, perhaps no longer than six months.”

The duchy had no water and little grain. It was making the slaves angry, the commonfolk restless, and the nobles more despotic. Civil war was not the only thing that could bring a country low. If the people were starving, so were the soldiers, and that rendered them vulnerable to invasion.

“Lichtein truly must be cursed,” Rankeel grunted. “At last, Lord Karl was beginning to take charge, and now we’re met with this.”

If they didn’t want to meet an ignoble end, their only choice was to steal from other nations. That was the question before Rankeel now: whether to invade the empire in the name of reclaiming their former lands. If they lost, not only would they fail to reclaim the north, the reparations would empty their treasury.

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