Arc-4 Ch-12

“The signal’s getting stronger?”

“Yes.”

The communications officer’s report is welcome news, but it also forces me to face the impending battle—making my stomach churn. Those who call me a hero think I’m always calm and composed in any situation, but that’s nonsense.

I hate war. I hate political struggles.

My humble dream is to live a quiet, retired life, flirting with my big-breasted Angie, raising our kids together. But I’m always dragged into trouble. God must really hate me.

“If we maintain this speed, we’ll catch up in about an hour.”

“…When’s sunrise today?”

“About two hours from now.”

“Then adjust our speed to catch them at sunrise. Wake up anyone resting and get them ready. Those who haven’t rested yet—give them a half-hour break now.”

“Yes, sir!”

The ship’s intercom buzzes as the sound of people moving echoes through the airship. A night ambush would work, but this is a rescue mission with a mixed force. For better coordination, the clear visibility of early morning is less risky. I head back to my cabin to check my gear. I already checked it thoroughly before we left, but my cowardice drives me to double-check—to distract myself from the anxiety.

I feel the weight of the shotgun, rifle, and knife, letting them settle in my hands—only to notice they’re trembling slightly. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill anyone. But to protect my precious family, I need to be ready to kill.

This cycle of killing and being killed—when will I finally get a peaceful retirement? Back at the bridge, everyone’s already gathered. The playful banter from the four is gone, replaced by serious expressions. Our crew, sensing the battle ahead, also looks tense. Colin, practically in his first battle, is visibly pale with nerves.

“As you heard, we’ll make contact in just over an hour. It’ll likely be around this area,” I say, pointing to a rough spot on the map.

There are no floating islands nearby, and based on the time since the incident, they likely have no reinforcements. But that’s just my guess—unexpected things happen in real combat all the time. Time for the final strategy briefing.

“If they have reinforcements or more than thirty armors, all four of you will counter with armors.”

“Got it,” one of them replies.

“We’ll slow down a bit. Jilk, Greg—stay in your armors on the deck, ready to deploy. Go to the bathroom now if you need to.”

“Must you be so crude?” Jilk mutters.

“Rescue team, stay mounted on airbikes in the hangar. Chris, Brad—you might need to use either armors or airbikes, so wait in the hangar.”

“Understood,” Chris says.

“They might have split the hostages across both ships. Try not to sink their ships.”

“Roger that,” Brad confirms.

“And if the hostages have been killed…”

The worst-case scenario. I don’t think it’s come to that—but it’s not impossible. This battle is partly about maintaining order, but it’s also a personal fight for the Bartfort family. If it comes to that, I don’t know if I can control myself. Acting out of rage and getting my soldiers killed needlessly would make me a failure as a lord.

My soldiers are Bartfort citizens—many have wives and kids. I can’t let my wife’s death drag them into a revenge-fueled slaughter.

“It’ll be fine. They’re surely safe,” someone says.

“…Yeah. Let’s pray for that.”

“Minimal attacks on the ships?”

“If possible, I want to arrest the ringleaders and uncover their backers. But only if possible.”

“Once we confirm the hostages don’t need rescuing, it’s your call. Our goal is the hostages, so we’ll leave the rest to you.”

“In that case, you’ll follow our command.”

“Got it. But if they try to escape or endanger others, I won’t hesitate.”

“That’s fine.”

“When we get closer, there’ll be another broadcast. Until then, prepare. Dismissed.”

With that, everyone starts their tasks. I stay on the bridge. I can’t shake my anxiety, so keeping busy helps. Glancing over, Colin’s face is still pale. No surprise for a first-timer commanding an airship.

During my first battle against the Fanoss Duchy, nobles with no experience leading soldiers—or even fighting humans—were put in charge just because of their status. The kingdom’s army was repeatedly cornered by the duchy, partly due to their summoned monsters, but also because of those incompetent nobles.

I can’t fathom how nobles with zero leadership experience could confidently play strategist. Fools without a sense of danger get others killed. Compared to them, Colin’s nervous effort shows a grounded sensibility, which is reassuring.

“You’ll be fine,” I say.

“Brother?” Colin looks up.

“I’ll be on the bridge until just before the battle. Focus on surviving.”

“That’s pretty pathetic for a commander,” he says.

“I’ve seen too many eager young recruits die pointlessly in their first battle. You can’t gain experience if you’re dead.”

“How old were you in your first battle?”

“Fifteen, I think. Crawling through the dirt on the front lines, defending the homeland.”

“That’s not helpful!”

Hey, don’t just brush off your big brother’s advice.

But his tension seems to ease—his pale cheeks regain some color.

Now comes the tightrope of negotiations. How much I can pry out of them will determine how many lives we save. Ugh, my stomach hurts. I just want to retire already.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

I remove the air conditioning cover and stuff it with various items. Mostly flammable things—cigarette butts, vegetable peels, debris from the floor. Then I tear cloth into strips, soak them in cooking oil, and push them in. The air conditioning is vital for an airship’s crew.

Flying at high speeds in the cold, low-pressure sky, neglecting temperature or pressure control can be deadly. The system circulates air throughout the ship to maintain a stable environment—like a heart pumping blood.

Clogging the ducts with debris could cause malfunctions. If it works, they might stop the ship for repairs. One last thing to make. I pour a small amount of cooking oil into an empty bottle. Using a cigarette butt as a wick, I wrap it in cloth to make a stopper—a makeshift Molotov cocktail.

It shouldn’t ignite immediately; ideally, it burns after some time. I’ve never made one before, so it takes effort. Leon once told me, with a wry smile, that he made these when short on explosives or bombs. I never imagined asking him about a soldier’s tricks for adventuring would come in handy like this.

After preparations, I return everything to its place. I tuck the Molotov cocktail into my clothes, grip the amulet, and pray softly. Heat gathers in my palm, and when I open it, a small orb of fire flickers.

“What’s that?” the others ask, startled.

They stare at the fireball. I close my hand, and it vanishes. Opening it again, it reappears.

“A blessing from the amulet Leon and the kids gave me. It can create a simple flame.”

“Is it different from normal fire or magical flames?”

“It burns things, but isn’t fueled by heat or magic. That’s why it went undetected, thankfully.”

“You’ve got something that handy and didn’t tell us?” Dorothea says.

“Says the one with a constant transmitter,” I retort.

“Hey, Sis, are all the women marrying into our family weird?” Finley asks.

“Finley, don’t think about it—you’ll lose. A humble baron’s daughter can’t complain about ducal or comital ladies,” Jenna replies.

[T/N - comital is count's adjective forms . Although not widely used anymore, I couldn't find count's adjective form that's why I used it]

Harsh words, but I let it slide. None of us truly believe this plan will succeed. We’ve been trained in dungeon exploration and monster hunting—not murder or sabotage. In the Holfort Kingdom’s values, adventurers are noble, while soldiers are for those with no other livelihood—a belief built over years. Commoners, no matter how hard they try, can’t become knights, while nobles become knights effortlessly due to their ancestors’ deeds.

This led to a kingdom of capable individuals but poor group coordination—nearly destroyed by the Fanoss Duchy’s invasion. Recent reforms have eased class restrictions, giving the talented more opportunities. Leon’s been relentless in training our forces. I should’ve joined those training sessions with him.

If we make it back to Bartfort territory alive, I’ll talk to him about it.

Vrrrrrr! Vrrrrrr! Vrrrrrr!

A deafening roar shakes the room—no, the entire ship. Have we been found out already? Tension grips us all. Even as hostages, sabotaging the airship won’t go unpunished.

I press my ear to the door, catching faint words like “enemy” and “battle.”

“Looks like Leon and the others are here,” I say.

The room’s tension eases, but it’s too soon to relax. I light the Molotov cocktail’s wick, and the smell of burning cloth fills the room. Doing nothing might help Leon more—or it might not. Resolving myself, I place the cocktail gently in the duct. If it works, the oil will catch fire, spreading flames through the ducts. Their focus on extinguishing it should aid Leon’s team.

Just as I reseal the cover, the door is pounded loudly. It was close, but the setup is done. What happens next is anyone’s guess.

“Come out,” a voice demands.

Several men surround us, their faces grim and anxious.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“An airship’s approaching. Might be pursuers.”

A brief answer, but it confirms the situation. Now it’s up to Leon’s strategy.

“I’m counting on you, Leon.”

Even now, I find my complete trust in him oddly amusing.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“This is Viscount Leon Fou Bartfort. To the two suspicious airships: slow down immediately.”

First, I gauge their reaction via communication. Even audio alone can reveal valuable enemy intel. Command structure, hostage safety, morale, room for negotiation. Knowing these makes planning much easier.

“Any response from the transmitter?”

“It’s coming from the old duchy’s airship. But we can’t rule out the hostages being separate from the transmitter.”

“It’s a gamble, then.”

Sinking their ships in our attack and losing all the hostages would be a sick joke. I need to figure out where Angie and the others are. As if interrupting my thoughts, the communication screen flickers.

“They’re responding,” the officer says.

“Connect it.”

“Understood.”

The officer adjusts the device, and after a moment of static, their bridge appears. A stern military-looking man, an obvious sky pirate, and a few crew members linger in the background.

“To Viscount Bartfort, this is merely a transport ship. We ask you to avoid misunderstandings.”

“A kingdom and duchy warship joyriding together? Pretty fancy for a transport company.”

“It’s a repurposed decommissioned airship. What’s your purpose?”

“Come on, Captain. You know exactly why we’re here.”

“…I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Let me make it clear, then. We know everything. Release the hostages, you bastard.”

“…”

I’m not actually pissed off. The goal is to provoke them, cloud their judgment, and make them hesitate by showing our anger. Negotiations are about soothing and coaxing to find compromise. But that doesn’t work with fools who understand words but not reasoning.

“We’ve confirmed your ships’ details from survivors’ testimonies. Release my wife, her sisters, and the noble lady you kidnapped yesterday noon. Comply, and we might show some leniency.”

I’m broadcasting this communication so everyone on the ship can hear. I wonder if the others are pissed that I started negotiating on my own? Well, I sent them to the armory or the hangar so they wouldn’t butt in.

Even if we strike a deal here, it’s between the Bartfort family and these scum. The Four aren’t part of it. I’ll make that clear and won’t stop fighting the sky pirates. From the start, I’ve had no mercy for those who touched my family.

“If you release the hostages quietly, I’ll let you slip away for a few hours. After that, I don’t care what happens to you.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“Oh, really? Ready to fight, then?”

They’re sizing up our forces. It’s like a card game—guessing their hand while choosing what to discard or reveal. Bluffing and deception are essential. If they can’t see through it, that’s their fault.

“You’ll really let us go?”

“Be quiet, Leon! Don’t talk like you’re above us!”

Before the captain-like guy can respond, three familiar faces I’d rather forget appear on the screen. It’s Zora and her kids—after years. Their rotten personalities still ooze from their expressions. They were always ugly inside, but these past years have made them even worse.

Zora looks like a scrawny chicken, Merce’s makeup is garish even through the screen, and Rutart’s once-proud beauty is completely faded.

Whether they’ve fallen so far they’ve become uglier, or their true selves are finally showing, they’re no threat now.

“So? Are you releasing the hostages or not?”

“Hmph! Seems you care about their lives. Then obey us!”

“I just want to confirm they’re alive.”

“Obey us like you used to! It suits a lowly wretch like you!”

“Are you releasing all the hostages or one by one?”

“Listen to me!”

“Huh? Is the connection bad? I’m hearing a lot of noise.”

“You bastard!”

I’m ignoring them on purpose, idiots. Falling for cheap provocation is why they’re hopeless. I know their personalities from years of dealing with them, and their predictable reactions make this easy. Negotiating with the sky pirates would be harder.

“Oh, I see some familiar faces. Get lost—you’re interrupting the negotiation.”

“I’m the leader of this group! You think you can talk to me like that?”

“You? Don’t talk nonsense in your sleep. We’re busy here.”

“How dare a lowlife like you speak!”

“I’m a noble. A viscount, fifth mid-rank in court. You, stripped of nobility and even your records, are less than a slave. Know your place before opening your mouth.”

“You call us less than slaves?!”

“Didn’t you say that to me all the time? ‘We’re nobles!’ ‘Don’t talk to us, you filthy lowborn!’ Now you’re lower than I was. Below a quasi-baron! Below a knight! Below a commoner! Below a slave!”

“What did you say?!”

Zora’s face turns red, even through the grainy screen. Their bloodline and status are their only mental crutches. I’ll break that—crush it and sap the sky pirates’ will to fight.

“Oh, maybe you’ve already killed the hostages. Jenna, Finley, Angie, and Dorothea are probably dead. May they rest in peace.”

“The hostages are alive! Listen to me!”

“Liar. You’re incompetent cowards. Probably killed them in a panic.”

“Rutart! Bring the hostages!”

Zora, completely falling for my provocation, lashes out at objects and people, barking orders. They’re so easy to handle. Their foolish behavior, oblivious to my manipulation, is almost pitiful.

No—there’s no room for pity. None at all.

They said worse to me, beat and kicked me for no reason. This level of provocation doesn’t even count as an insult. Noisy voices come through, and four figures appear on the screen.

Jenna, Finley, Dorothea, and Angie.

No visible injuries. They look tired, but their lives seem safe. Still, I can’t relax. Angie is pregnant, so I have to worry about the baby—and rescue them quickly.

“Long time no see, Leon.”

“Rutart, huh? Your face is uglier than ever.”

“Shut up! Look at this!”

Rutart pulls a pistol from his coat and points it at the four. Tension ripples through both bridges. But showing panic here means losing. Negotiations are lost by those who get emotional first. You have to stay calm, observe, and sometimes be ready to walk away.

“You don’t care what happens to them?!”

“I’ve been saying—release the hostages, and I’ll let you go for a bit. Weren’t you listening? You’ve gotten dumber.”

“Shut up! Keep that attitude, and I’ll humiliate them one by one!”

“…You can’t, Rutart.”

“They’re already mine! They begged for their lives, spreading their legs for me! Your wife was the best!”

“What did you just say, you filth?!”

Yeah, I’m going to kill him. It’s an obvious, pathetic lie, but he insulted Angie. He insulted my wife, my sister, my sister-in-law. But rescue comes first. I need to calm Angie, who’s arguing with him on the screen.

“…And?”

“Your wife is mine!”

“You think you can fool me with such a shitty lie? Look around—your own crew is dumbfounded.”

The sky pirates are visibly exasperated. Rutart’s delusional, shameless lies are a public declaration that he’s a lowlife who abandoned noble pride long ago.

Zora’s an idiot, but Rutart’s even worse.

“Even if that were true, it wouldn’t make me hate Angie.”

“What?!”

“Angie is too good for me. Whatever she did to survive, I’d forgive. That wouldn’t shake my love.”

“No way!”

“It’s true. Angie! You okay? I love you!”

I wave at the screen, shouting my love with a grin. It’s embarrassing—insanely embarrassing. Even I, who doesn’t mind public flirting, am mortified. Angie’s glaring at me, not the pirates, and it’s terrifying. This is a tactic, I swear—acting foolish to distract them. Don’t be mad.

“Plus, killing them screws you over.”

“What?!”

“Don’t lie!”

“Listen. Angie is a Redgrave. The daughter of the kingdom’s most powerful ducal house. You think you can mess with them and get away? Are you stupid? Oh, you are. Only idiots would do this. Idiots!”

My words shut them up. They’re cruel to the weak, despise those beneath them, but cower before the strong and grovel to the powerful. When faced with a real threat, they’ll run, making their actions predictable.

“I reported Angie’s kidnapping to the duke immediately. He’s furious, sending ten thousand troops and a hundred airships our way.”

“What?!”

“No way!”

“Eek!”

“I also contacted the Roseblades. They’re rushing to save Dorothea. Impressive—you’ve got the guts to provoke the kingdom’s most dangerous families.”

“Lies! You’re just trying to trick us!”

Zora’s tone weakens noticeably. The Redgrave reinforcements are a blatant lie, but I did ask the Roseblades for help. Mix truth with big, confident lies, and they’re more likely to believe you. As expected, they’re visibly shaken on the screen.

“I don’t want to fight you. I’ll just keep you in sight until reinforcements arrive. In half a day, the kingdom’s search net will be complete. No escape.”

“You won’t even fight, you coward?!”

“I’m called a rogue knight, but I don’t want to hear ‘coward’ or ‘vile’ from scum who take hostages.”

“Shut up!”

“Right now, the ducal fleet is probably chasing us. Fleeing to another country won’t help. They’d happily turn you over after handing over the hostages.”

“No… no way…”

Their faces darken as they’re cornered. Now, what will they decide?

“I’ll wait a bit. Talk it over and decide.”

I cut the audio, leaving the video. Will they surrender, fight, or fall apart arguing? Giving them time to think only breeds more panic. As expected, they start bickering on the screen. Good call cutting the audio—must be a mess of insults. I seize the chance to prepare, grabbing the ship’s intercom.

“As you heard, if they resist, we engage immediately. All hands, prepare for combat!”

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“That’s why I said don’t kidnap—just rob!”

“It’s not my fault! They suggested it! It’s not my responsibility!”

“Shut up! I didn’t think it’d come to this!”

“What do we do?! A fleet wasn’t part of the deal!”

“It’s a bluff! No way reinforcements come in half a day!”

“It’s the Redgrave military! Their gear outclasses ours! Stop being optimistic!”

“Surrender, and we might live!”

“Admit defeat to Leon and the Bartforts?! I’d rather die!”

The bridge is filled with screams, shouts, and curses.

Everyone insists, “I’m not to blame!” or “You caused this!”—no trust, no cooperation.

The faint hope of survival was crushed by Leon Fou Bartfort’s words. Fear of inescapable death rules them, exposing the ugliest parts of humanity.

“Hand over the hostages and surrender. Our fate is sealed. We need to escape now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Us, lose to Leon and the Bartforts?!”

“No way! Just kill them already!”

“Then what?! The ducal and comital reinforcements are coming! If we escape, we hand over the hostages before their net closes!”

“They’re one ship, we’re two! We can win!”

The former knight hesitates.

Bartfort’s ability to track them in half a day is impressive. But such speed likely means they didn’t prepare fully. They must know we have two ships. Aware of their numerical disadvantage, they emphasized reinforcements and demanded the hostages, avoiding a fight.

“We’ve got over twenty armors. They can’t have that many. Numbers give us the edge!”

“Yes! Wipe them out here, and the reinforcements lose us! I’ll make Leon’s ugly face uglier!”

“…It’s not an unwinnable gap. We might win now.”

They reach a consensus. But they don’t realize—They don’t trust each other, still scheming to betray one another. Nor do they see that their enemies think the same.

The fallen noble thinks, “If it comes to it, I’ll abandon the knight and pirates.”

The knight plans, “I’ll use this to thin the pirates and take control.”

The pirates scheme, “If it gets bad, we’ll use them as shields and escape.”

If even one had cooperated, they might have avoided ruin. But they cast that chance away long ago.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“Got an answer?”

They seem calmer, so I resume communication. If they release Angie and the others, I’ll let them go for now. But that won’t happen. I made sure of it. I provoked them, faked unpreparedness, and cut off their escape to force a fight. No matter how vile they are, killing never gets easier. Even for those who tormented my family for years.

I’m still haunted by the people I’ve killed, the battlefields I’ve fought. But I’m a lord. I have to protect my family, my territory, and my people. Sometimes, that means choosing to abandon family.

Angie taught me that.

I won’t betray her teachings—but I’ll save them no matter what.

“Yes, we’ve decided.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Here’s our answer.”

Zora raises her arm. Their hangar doors open, and modified Holfort Kingdom mass-produced armors pour out. Lifeless iron giants, humanoid steel built to kill.

“We’ll kill you and escape!”

“Get ready, Leon! Beg for mercy!”

“Not that we’ll forgive you!”

Yeah, figured it’d come to this. I hated you guys. But not enough to want you dead. Reconciliation is impossible now. You hurt my family.

So!

You’ll pay for that sin—with your filthy lives! You started this fight! I’ll make you pay for every grudge—with interest!

“All hands, commence battle!”

My voice through the intercom sounds like a stranger’s.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

This chapter focuses on the pre-battle verbal sparring. Replicating Leon’s satisfying insults from the original is tough, and I apologize for the lower accuracy. The sharp, hateful charm of Yume Mishima’s protagonists is lacking. Leon’s insults will appear a few more times, so I’ll work to improve. The next chapter will have more battle scenes. I’m nervous about whether it’ll be enjoyable. (Sweat)

I’d greatly appreciate any feedback or impressions to motivate me moving forward.