Volume One: The Knight of the Forest Chapter 62: You Are Not Berion

On the evening of the fourth day after Cassel and his companions had left, as the soldiers were preparing to close the gates of Systown, they suddenly saw a group of more than twenty escorting a carriage hastening toward the town. The soldiers, still vigilant after the recent great battle, immediately reported to Sir Ander atop the city wall. Upon hearing the news, Sir Ander quickly ordered the gates shut, fearing an enemy attack.

When the group drew nearer and the leader stepped forward to greet them, Sir Ander finally breathed a sigh of relief—it was none other than Cassel. Though Ander did not know what mission they had undertaken, both his own lord, Sir Taure, and Sir Berion, the very man who had led them to victory against the Black Mountain Company, had instructed him: if Cassel and his men returned, he was to let them in at once, for they were on a secret mission.

Sir Ander, ignorant of the details but aware of its importance, did not dare delay. He ordered the gates opened and personally escorted Cassel and his men to see Sir Taure and Sir Berion.

Upon meeting the two, Cassel briefly recounted their journey. There was little drama to tell: on the first day they arrived in Curum County’s capital, the count was away, returning only the following day. At dusk, Cassel and his men infiltrated the residence, killed the guards, and forced the count to reveal the location of his riches. They then seized the treasures and other valuables, and killed the count. The operation went smoothly, without incident.

Cassel’s men carried in chests filled with the ill-gotten wealth of the Curum count. A rough tally showed gold and silver coins totaling 270,000 denars, and the gold and silverware, jewelry, and ornaments were estimated by Gamgee at around 150,000 denars.

According to their prior agreement, these spoils were to be divided equally among Sir Taure, Sir Berion, and the Black Mountain mercenaries. Coin was easy to divide, but the gold and silverware, jewelry, and gemstones were not only difficult to split but also hard for Cassel’s party to transport.

On Gamgee’s suggestion, Berion and the Black Mountain mercenaries each took 140,000 denars, making a total of 280,000 between them, with Sir Taure contributing an additional 10,000 denars. The remaining gold and silverware, jewelry, and gems were all left to Sir Taure to handle as he saw fit—whether he could fetch a higher price for them would be up to his own skill.

With the money in hand and the business concluded, spirits were high. In front of all, Berion burned the letter written by Cassel, easing the mind of the Orian.

Cassel gave Berion a hearty embrace, then clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Sir Berion, we owe you a life. If ever you are in need, we will all serve at your command.”

Berion, caught off guard by this sudden, frank declaration, could only laugh and reply, “Let’s speak of the future another time. Tonight, let us drink!” And so everyone enjoyed a night of fine food and drink.

The following morning, the Black Mountain mercenaries slipped away quietly, returning to Orian. Given the magnitude of their deeds, they could only travel by stealth. Fortunately, with over forty seasoned fighters and weapons at their disposal, ordinary county soldiers or peasants would have no hope of stopping them.

Even the grandest feasts come to an end; every splendid tale must find its conclusion. After this affair was settled, Berion and Gamgee politely declined Sir Taure’s heartfelt invitation to stay, and set off for Yanwickshuo. Before they left, Sir Taure handed Berion a chest containing 20,000 denars and some jewelry as payment for defending Systown and for resolving his predicament.

Seeing that this reward was double what had been promised, Berion was about to refuse when Sir Taure firmly placed the chest in his carriage.

With a sigh, Taure said, “You not only helped me immensely, but also allowed me a share of the spoils. This is not much—my lands have just been ravaged by war, and a village was massacred. I have many uses for money, and this is all I can give for now.

But rest assured, when you marry, I will send you a grand gift.”

Before Berion could respond, Gamgee, chuckling, interjected, “Then you’d best prepare early. Our Sir Berion is such a young hero; I fear it won’t be long before noble daughters are vying for his hand.”

Sir Taure burst out laughing at this, while Berion, embarrassed by the mention of his marital prospects, blushed, quickly mounted his horse, muttered something about checking on the guards, and hastily rode off.

Four days later, carrying the joy of victory and reward, Berion’s party was little more than a day’s journey from their destination—Yanwickshuo.

As dusk fell, with no town or village nearby, they had no choice but to make camp. Fortunately, Gamgee knew of a meadow beside a river—spacious, convenient for water, and with woods nearby for hunting game.

When Gamgee led them to the spot, they found another group already camped there. But the meadow was large enough for both parties without interference.

Gamgee selected a good site three hundred paces from the other camp, and they began unloading supplies and setting up.

While they were busy, a lone rider emerged from the other camp and approached, revealing himself to be a knight. Gamgee, well-connected from his northern noble birth and frequent business in Yanwickshuo, was called over by the caravan guards to speak with the knight.

Recognizing the man, Gamgee greeted him warmly, “Oh, esteemed Sir Sandyman! What luck to meet you here. What brings you to these parts?”

It turned out this knight was a household knight of Count Gri, the lord of Yanwickshuo. Part of the count’s household expenses were supplied monthly by Gamgee’s trading house, and the count’s steward was a close friend of his.

Thanks to this connection, Gamgee could enter the count’s residence with ease and, with his shrewdness, had befriended several household knights, among them Sir Sandyman.

Seeing it was his old acquaintance Gamgee, Sir Sandyman’s previously stern face broke into a broad smile. “Gamgee, I wondered who it was. We’re here on a hunting trip with a distinguished guest, and will camp for the night.

I came to check which caravan this was, for safety’s sake—one can’t be too careful with brigands about.”

Gamgee laughed, “I see! May I ask who this distinguished guest is? If convenient, I’d like to bring over a couple of casks of wine as a courtesy and perhaps make his acquaintance.”

Sir Sandyman smiled mysteriously. “If it were anyone else, perhaps. But with this guest, it’s not convenient at all.”

Gamgee, taking the hint, didn’t press further. He motioned for his men to bring two fine casks of Sarion wine. “Sir Sandyman, in that case, allow me to present these as a gift to an old friend. I’ll have them delivered to you.”

Sir Sandyman nodded in satisfaction. His friend Gamgee was as astute as ever—whether or not the distinguished guest agreed to meet, such a gesture would leave a favorable impression and might be of service should Gamgee ever require aid from this person.

Before turning his horse, Sir Sandyman smiled and said, “You’ve taught me something, Gamgee: making more friends truly brings luck. Your caravan now numbers nearly a hundred; business must be thriving.”

“Making friends does bring luck,” Gamgee replied with a sigh, “but business hasn’t been great. Just recently, I was robbed by outlaws south of the Karl River. My caravan still has only around fifty people, more or less the same as before. It just looks more crowded because Sir Berion and his guards are traveling with me.”

“Sir Berion? Which one?” asked Sir Sandyman.

Gamgee chuckled. “Which Berion do you think? The deputy sheriff of the County Proper, lord of Norandenburg.”

“The same Berion who defeated Sir Yellen and Sir Sorg in duels, and wiped out the three great gangs south of the Karl River?” Sir Sandyman asked in astonishment.

“Yes, that’s him,” Gamgee replied.

“By the Fire God, that’s wonderful! I’ll go inform my lord at once—he’ll surely want to meet Sir Berion.” With that, Sir Sandyman spurred his horse and sped back to camp.

Watching him hurry off, Gamgee sighed inwardly: What a difference between people. I offer gifts and seek an audience, yet am refused. But at the mere mention of Sir Berion’s name, they’re eager to invite their lord to meet him. Is this what Sir Berion drunkenly called the ‘protagonist’s halo’ that night in Systown’s great hall?

As Gamgee was musing, several knights burst from the opposite camp and rode swiftly over. Sir Sandyman reined in and urged, “Gamgee, quickly fetch Sir Berion—my lord wishes to meet him.”

Gamgee replied at once, “Yes, of course, I’ll bring him right away.”

At that moment, Berion, Bran, and Broda were seated before a newly kindled campfire, roasting the fat rabbit they’d caught at noon. Marinated all afternoon, the rabbit’s aroma under the fire was irresistible, and the three men sat drooling in anticipation.

As Berion watched the rabbit’s skin slowly turn golden, Gamgee arrived in a hurry. “Sir Berion, the camp opposite is that of Count Gri’s household knights, here on a hunting trip with a distinguished guest. I know one of them, and when he heard you were here, he was delighted and has invited the guest to meet you.”

Berion glanced at Gamgee, then at the rabbit, swallowing hard. Pointing at Bran and Broda, he called, “You two better not eat that whole rabbit! Leave me the hind legs at least!”

“Don’t worry, my lord. We wouldn’t dare take it all,” Bran and Broda replied with a grin.

Berion knew there was little chance he’d get any of the rabbit, but had no choice but to follow Gamgee.

At the camp entrance, several knights had dismounted and stood around a young man dressed as a knight, wearing a coif and appearing no more than fifteen or sixteen years old—much smaller than most boys his age.

After Gamgee’s introduction, Berion greeted the knights warmly, but they, after a brief pause, responded coldly—not at all as though they had eagerly requested a meeting. Berion wondered if Gamgee had tricked him.

While Berion pondered this, the young knight approached and spoke, “You may call me Sir Andy. I wish to confirm: are you truly Sir Berion, the one who defeated Sir Yellen, the northern wrestling champion Sir Sorg, and wiped out the three great gangs south of the Karl River?”

The young knight’s voice was soft and gentle; to Berion, it sounded rather like a girl’s.

“That’s me,” Berion replied. “Though as for the gangs, I only directed the operation—I didn’t fight on the front lines myself.”

The young knight continued to stare in disbelief, circling Berion and clicking his tongue before pronouncing, “You can’t possibly be Sir Berion. Who are you, really, and why are you impersonating him?”

Berion could only laugh wryly—accused by a stranger of impersonating himself. To whom could he protest such absurdity?

Nonetheless, he quickly replied, “Oh? And how do you know I’m not Berion?”

The boy lifted his chin and declared, “I heard the bards in Yanwickshuo describe Sir Berion as a giant nine feet tall, five hundred pounds, always clad in armor he never removes. Look at you—barely six feet, sturdy but a bit lean, and dressed like a farmer in linen shirt and trousers, smelling of barbecue. How could you possibly be that heroic knight?”

Hearing the youth’s admiration for Sir Berion, Berion couldn’t help but feel pleased, even while being mistaken for an impostor—being so lauded was not unpleasant.

Still, those bards were outrageous—when had he become a three-meter, five-hundred-pound titan? Utter nonsense! When he reached Yanwickshuo, he resolved to find that bard and give him a sound thrashing.