New chapter of May Our Village be Happy is out (1/2 chapters)

 

 

The Village Without Its Lord

(Thank you for reading at bayabuscotranslation.com)

The log was perhaps 30 to 40 centimeters in diameter, and two to three meters in length. Whether it had been felled for transport into the village, or left here to dry, several such trunks lay stacked near the forest’s edge.

From among them, Mika lifted the largest with his Nen magic. Judging from the drain upon his mana, its weight was equivalent to that of three or four men. Heavy, indeed, but still within the limits of what he could manage with earnest exertion.

“Then, here I go… doryaaaah!” (Mika)

Bursting from the forest while raising the log aloft, Mika hurled it with all his might before the bandits could even gather their wits. It was as though he were throwing a club of four or five kilograms with his entire strength. Once cast beyond the reach of his “magical hand”, the log spun end over end and hurtled into the very center of the bandits’ ranks.

Confronted with the sudden, impossible sight of a log descending from the sky, the bandits were stunned, halting their advance to gape upward in petrified astonishment. Even their leader at the center of the line stood frozen. The log crashed down squarely upon him, crushing him and several men beside. Bouncing violently, it rolled on in erratic arcs, scattering further destruction among the rabble.

“Waaah, right on target.” (Mika)

“As expected of you, Mika-sama.” (Dimitri)

Breathless from the strain of hurling so massive a trunk, Mika spoke, and Dimitri offered praise. Before their eyes, the bandits had already fallen into utter chaos, none daring to charge upon them.

“Oh! They are fleeing!” (Dimitri)

“It looks like success. Without a commander, they are but a disorderly mob.” (Mika)

One after another, the bandits broke ranks and fled northward toward the hills, until all were in rout. When their figures vanished beyond the ridge, Mika and Dimitri advanced. Dimitri gripped his battle-axe, while Mika lifted a heavy stone by magic, approaching the fallen marauders.

“Ah… what a cruel way to kill, even for me.” (Mika)

“This is… incredible.” (Dimitri)

Five lay slain by the falling log, including the leader. Their corpses were grotesquely mangled, limbs torn asunder, bodies bent in impossible directions. The leader himself had his face caved in, belly burst open, entrails spilling.

Judging by his arms and armor even in death, he had surely been a professional soldier, perhaps a mercenary of some wealth and skill. Yet even such a veteran could not survive a sudden log descending from the heavens.

Seeing their commander obliterated thus, it was no wonder the rest, mere peasants turned brigands, had broken in terror. Mika thought that in their place, he would have done the same.

“…Um.” (Villager)

At that moment, one of the villagers, delivered from peril by Mika’s deed, approached hesitantly. Others too emerged from hiding, gathering about.

“Was it you who hurled that log and drove off the bandits? Are you… a sorcerer of magic?” (Villager)

Horrified by the carnage about the log, yet astonished by the glowing stone that floated beside Mika’s hand suffused with magical light, the middle-aged villager questioned him.

“Yes, that’s right. I was traveling east and happened upon your village just as the bandits advanced. That log in the forest, I imagine it was you who felled it. Forgive me for using one without asking.” (Mika)

“I-I see… then you are our savior indeed! How can we ever repay you… For now, please lodge in our village tonight. Though we are poor, we shall treat you as best we can.” (Villager)

“…Then, I shall gratefully accept your hospitality.” (Mika)

Guided by the villager, Mika and Dimitri entered the settlement, villagers flocking to thank them. Mika returned their words with warm smiles, inwardly pleased that matters had unfolded as he intended.

 

—

 

That evening, a banquet was held in the village square, and that was to celebrate their survival without loss, and to honor Mika, their deliverer. A soup rich with ingredients, a roasted fowl, loaves of rye bread, mugs of ale and fruit water, the villagers brought forth what finery they could to welcome Mika and his retainer Dimitri.

“What!? Then, Dondo, the very lord of this land, abandoned you, his own subjects, and fled with his family!?” (Mika)

“Alas, so it is. None of us could have foreseen such betrayal… and when the bandits came upon us, we had wholly despaired.” (Marcel)

Mika, cup of fruit water in hand, cried out in shock. The man who had first approached him, and later served as guide and spokesman, a middle-aged villager named Marcel, nodded grimly.

What he revealed of the village’s plight seemed scarcely credible.

This small domain of but a single village had been ruled by Dondo Dondando, a lord whose very name was peculiar. He was the second generation. His father, the first lord, had founded the settlement hand in hand with the people. But unlike his predecessor, Dondo was indolent, a middling ruler with little will for governance. Under such sloth, the people of Dondando, poor and still developing, lived without joy.

One day, Dondo’s younger brother, charged with keeping the peace, returned in haste from the northern hills, bursting into the manor. Soon thereafter, Dondo departed eastward with wife, children, brother, and kin, without so much as telling even his servants why.

Not long after, the bandits descended from beyond the hills. Evidently, upon hearing his brother’s report, Dondo judged that the village militia could not prevail, and fled to preserve his own bloodline. Having oft declared, “I wish I had been born in the city, not in this rural backwater”, he must have found little hesitation in abandoning the poor title of lord.

“What a wretched coward!” (Dimitri)

“Truly… a lord ought to stand foremost in defense, yet he neither fought nor warned his people. He simply fled. An utterly contemptible man.” (Mika)

Dimitri muttered, stunned, ale in hand. Mika answered with a weary sigh.

Indeed, the bandits were many, and a stand might well have ended in slaughter. But to abandon one’s folk was unforgivable. Forewarned, Dond could at least have led his villagers to safety beyond the domain. Instead, he and his kin forsook the very people who had sustained their household, leaving a hundred souls to their fate without so much as a word.

For Mika, who aspired to lordship that would safeguard both land and people, it was a tale of disgrace beyond measure.

“Truth is, Dondo-sama was ever a disagreeable lord. He always looked down on us farmers.” (Villager)

“Yes, and he was never reliable. Neighboring lords mocked him too, from what we heard.” (Villager)

“But still, we never thought he would fail us so utterly… fleeing first of all…” (Villager)

“A terrible lord indeed!” (Villager)

“No! Such a man is no lord at all! One who abandons us forfeits the right to be called master!” (Villager)

“Aye! Dondo Dondando is no longer our lord! This is no longer the Dondando territory!” (Villagers)

Thus, the villagers cried in unison, all voices risen in anger at Dond and his kin.

“Ah, if only Mika-san might become our new lord!” (Villager Youth)

So exclaimed a jovial young man, draining his mug of ale.

At once, the banquet hall, until then loud with complaint against the Dondando Household, fell into sudden silence.

 

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