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Chapter 29: Roma’s Scheme
In the calendar of the Astrologers, each year begins with the Month of Winter's Lyre. This month, governed by the constellation Winter's Lyre, is said to influence charm and charisma, making it the season of social gatherings. Most of the kingdom’s grand feasts and winter hunts are held during this time.
June, however, is known as the Month of Summer’s Veil. The "veil" refers to the soft glow of moonlight on summer nights, marking the resurgence of magic energy after the long slumber of summer. Wizards—both living and undead—tend to become more active in the months that follow.
By July, the Month of Scorching Flames, the sun blazes across the land under the dominion of Perkin, the Sun God of Strength. This is the Month of Power, and in the distant east, the orcs hold their greatest festival, the Festival of Fire.
For the nations under the protection of the Temple of Flames, this month holds great significance. Eruin’s annual Flame Festival should have already begun by now, but in the Goran-Elsun region, news of relentless warfare since late May has dampened spirits. From peasants to nobles, no one feels much like celebrating.
Yet, whispers of hope have begun to spread. Rumors tell of the southern army of monstrous creatures halting their advance at Dragos, no longer pushing northward. Word also travels of the Silver Wing Cavalry securing two victories on the frontlines, seizing enemy banners.
Of course, there are conflicting reports of defeats as well. Back in the rearlands, rumors swirl like leaves in a storm, impossible to verify. But thank the heavens, countryfolk always prefer to believe the good news. They speak highly of Lord Nakin of Braggs, praising his wisdom and valor for safeguarding the region.
By the seventh day, the Enstallone forces turned their attention to Jandel, and the countryside of Goran-Elsun finally began to settle into an uneasy calm.
Some claim to have seen the war’s end already. After all, July is when the sun walks the earth, and undead creatures burn upon touching the ground. Naturally, the kingdom must shift to counterattack.
Such rumors, originating from who knows where, spread rapidly through the region within days.
Brandon sat at a rosewood table, idly listening to the chatter of nearby farmers. It had been two days since he and the others left Ankerze, traveling along the main road toward Braggs. The frontlines were growing quieter, and the undead were becoming fewer. At least in that regard, the farmers were correct—the war was nearing its conclusion.
Marden had led the villagers of Buchi to Ankerze, and with news of Buchi’s fall reaching Vimiel Fortress, he was hailed as a hero. The Buchi Guard Unit and militia basked in reflected glory, and both Freya and Roma found themselves on the commendation list. But Brandon knew this was only the beginning. The real spectacle would come later.
After the war, the kingdom would need heroes. That was the surest way to lift spirits. Wars were always fought separately—yours and mine—but victory or defeat mattered little. What mattered was the dazzling illusion of triumph.
Still, when they arrived at Ankerze, Marden and his group had already been sent to Braggs. The nobles were eager to secure tangible rewards, while the Guard Unit and militia needed practical honors. As for those who remained behind, all they required was the reputation of competent leadership. There was no real conflict between these aims.
Though Brandon had long suspected the title of master strategist would ultimately fall to Earl Pral of the White Mane Legion, the finer details boiled down to the usual power struggles between local nobles and regional legions.
But two pieces of news caught Brandon off guard.
First, the Buchi Guard Unit hadn’t been annihilated. Reports claimed Breyson and his two second-in-commands had survived. The thought of that insufferable man made Brandon feel as though he’d swallowed a fly. Still, as someone who had shared hardships with them, he couldn’t help but feel a faint sense of relief.
The second piece of news was more intriguing: “Tiger” Luc Besson was still alive. When Brandon confirmed this, it hit him like a bolt of lightning—not with worry or relief, but with a strange, unsettling sense of uncertainty.
Had history changed because of him?
“Damn fools,” Freya muttered under her breath. “It’s not as if Madara altered the course of the attack for their sake. What do those cowardly nobles know? They don’t understand anything—Brandon, who is this Earl Nakin?”
Freya’s complaint drew Brandon’s attention. He looked up to see the young woman scowling.
Brandon chuckled. “Earl Nakin is the current head of the Dragos family, a lineage deeply rooted in this land. Their history stretches far back, far beyond the reach of petty nobles.”
The long-haired girl blinked, her confidence wavering. “B-But he can’t just take credit for everyone’s efforts…”
“The goals of those in power differ from ours. Our paths won’t cross.” Brandon smiled. “Besides, you shouldn’t let these country farmers upset you. You look down on the nobility because you know what they’re really like. But to these farmers, nobles are lofty figures. To them, it’s only natural.”
Freya paused, recalling how she once viewed city folk as proud and worldly, and nobles as untouchable rulers. She glanced at the young man across the table. Since meeting Brandon, she felt as though she’d grown, understanding far more than she ever had before.
Things that once seemed mysterious now appeared mundane. But what had driven this change? Was Brandon truly so extraordinary?
Seeing her lost in thought, Brandon asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m wondering… have I changed?”
“People always change, Freya. The question is, in what ways?”
“Hmm?” The girl tilted her head, her hazel eyes filled with curiosity.
“Wisdom.”
“Wisdom?”
“Wisdom is seeing more, knowing more. The more you see and understand, the more ordinary the world appears.” Brandon replied.
“And you, Brandon?” Freya hesitated before asking the question that had lingered in her mind.
“In some ways, yes. But the more you learn, the more complex the world becomes. It fills you with a sense of endless discovery and humility.” The young man paused, then added, “You’ll understand someday.”
Freya shook her head slowly, still pondering.
Brandon laughed. “You’ll get it eventually.” But his amusement faded as he noticed Roma lounging at the table, chin resting on the surface, staring at them with wide, pitiful eyes.
“What are you up to now?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Roma denied quickly.
He sighed. Her unpredictable thoughts often left him at a loss for words. After a moment, he changed the subject. “Speaking of which, what have you been scribbling since yesterday?”
Roma’s eyes lit up as she sat upright. “I’ve been calculating prices, Brandon.”
“Prices?”
“Yes! Since the end of the Month of Blossoms, grain prices in Ankerze have risen by more than fifty percent. If the war drags on until winter, I will complete my first business deal!” The young girl explained with surprising confidence.
Her words startled both Brandon and Freya. Just days ago, they’d assumed Roma was simply enjoying her own adventures in Ankerze. They hadn’t realized she’d quietly conducted a market analysis.
Brandon was impressed by Roma’s sharpness, while Freya was simply surprised to see her friend acting so seriously.
“It looks like you won’t succeed,” Brandon teased, unable to resist. “The war will likely end by mid-July. Roma, your first plan is going to fall through.”
“Really?” Roma asked, her voice tinged with doubt.
“Pretty much,” Brandon thought to himself, though he kept his tone light. He wanted to see how Roma would react to the setback, but to his disappointment, she didn’t seem fazed.
“Hey, Brandon,” Roma blinked. “I heard that Braggs usually imports wine and food from Dragos, Ankerze, and Buchi, right? And Ankerze and Dragos are key grain-producing regions in southern Goran-Elsun, aren’t they?”
Brandon glanced at Roma, impressed that she’d gathered such information.
“That means Braggs, with its population of thirty-five thousand, likely stopped brewing alcohol by the end of May due to the war.”
“If the nobles had prior warning, they might have stopped even earlier—by the start of May,” Brandon mused. The signs of war were everywhere; most people simply failed to notice.
Roma counted on her fingers. “If the war ends by mid-July, Ankerze alone won’t be able to support two major celebrations. If Braggs needs to import wine and food from the north, they’ll have to cross the Gray Vulture Mountains. With transportation losses, prices for alcohol in this region will skyrocket.”
Brandon was taken aback. “Who told you all this?”
“Auntie always says ignoring the wisdom of elders invites divine punishment.” Roma grinned mischievously. “There’s Old John from the Manoran family, Grandpa Anton, and Crippled Kavin. I am quite popular, you know. Some of these elders have spent their entire lives brewing wine for Braggs. Oh, Brandon, would you like me, the Great Merchant Roma, to introduce you to one of them? They’re incredibly skilled.”
Brandon glanced at Roma, whose pride was practically soaring to the heavens. He didn’t doubt that her charming personality won her many admirers, but “Great Merchant Roma”? What was that supposed to mean?
“So you’re planning to make a profit as the war ends? Is that your real scheme?” he asked.
Roma nodded vigorously.
“Short on money?”
She nodded again, just as enthusiastically.
“Wait,” Freya interjected, frowning. “Brandon, you’re not actually going to indulge Roma’s madness, are you? We don’t have much money to spare.”
“Freya, maybe little Roma will surprise us.”
But Freya wasn’t one to believe in miracles.
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