Chapter 29
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 29
Mercenaries usually blow through their money the moment they get their hands on a large sum.
Since their profession means they could die at any moment, they figure they might as well enjoy themselves while they can. Naturally, their lifestyle tends to be unplanned and debauched.
Having been a mercenary himself, Lucian knew their way of life all too well. However, even he was at a loss for words at the sight the mercenaries were currently displaying.
"Horrendous."
Empty bottles rolled under his feet with every step. Piles of vomit were scattered here and there. Mercenaries, dead drunk, were hurling mugs at one another.
It was a scene one might expect in the early hours of the morning after a wild party, but it was certainly not something to behold in the early evening.
"Hic! Who’s that? We’ve rented this whole place out!"
"An outsider? Damn, just when we’re starting to have fun, someone comes to ruin the mood."
"The brat’s even got escorts? Is he loaded?"
"Puhahaha!"
The mercenaries burst into laughter as they looked at Lucian. At the crude jokes typical of men in their line of work, the eyes of Hugo and the Black Lions sharpened.
"Third Young Master."
"It’s fine. Stay back."
Lucian held back Raymond, who was about to step forward, and picked up a rolling wine bottle. He then hurled it with all his might toward the ceiling in the center of the inn.
Crash! Shatter!
"What the—!?"
"Son of a—!"
Glass shards rained down on the mercenaries' heads along with the thunderous noise. Only then did the mercenaries, jolted sober, curse and scramble to their feet. Before the enraged men could charge, Lucian spoke again.
"My name is Lucian Valdek. I am the third son of His Grace Sigmund Valdek, the current Grand Duke, and the younger brother of Lord Tristan Valdek, your employer."
"…!"
"I wished to have a conversation, but you all seemed a bit out of it, so I used a little shock therapy. I’m glad to see it worked. Or perhaps you need some honey water to clear your heads?"
Upon learning Lucian’s identity, the mercenaries flinched in unison. If the opponent was the son of a Grand Duke, they were dead men the moment they laid a finger on him. While the mercenaries hesitated, someone stepped forward.
"Well, we won't be needing any honey water. We're wide awake now. But why on earth is a young master of the House of Valdek pulling this kind of shit?"
"…You insolent cur!"
At the blatant disrespect, Raymond’s hand went to the sword at his waist. He looked ready to draw and strike the man down at any moment. Lucian placed a hand on Raymond’s shoulder to stop him and looked at the mercenary who had stepped out.
With a bushy beard and a face covered in scars, he looked just as menacing as Hugo.
This guy is the focal point.
To others, it might sound like the reckless ranting of a mercenary who didn't know his place. But to Lucian’s eyes, every word was calculated.
He stepped in to stop me from taking control and intentionally used foul language to show they aren't in a position of weakness. His timing is exquisite, right before the conversation even begins.
In terms of severity, it was a remark that could get his head chopped off for the crime of insulting nobility. Yet, at the same time, he must have been certain that if Lucian wanted a dialogue, he would overlook it just this once. For whatever reason, if blood were shed before the talk started, the whole deal would be ruined.
He wasn't just experienced; he had a certain political sense and a sharp mind.
But he is arrogant.
To not even doubt his own plan when there is always a chance of failure—his confidence in his ability bordered on hubris.
"What is your name?"
"My friends call me 'Sven of the Red Blade.'"
"Right, Sven. Let me ask you one thing. Why are you and your friends idling here? I heard the mercenary contract was already finalized. If you’ve taken the money, you should be working."
When Lucian asked, letting the nickname go in one ear and out the other, Sven gave a smirk and tilted his head.
"That can't be right. Unfortunately, the contract between Lord Tristan and us hasn't been signed yet. We want to be hired for a higher price, but he suddenly hands us less money and tells us to get to work. What else were we supposed to do?"
"I see. So, did you take that money?"
"Of course, we took it. It’s far short of a down payment, but there’s no reason to refuse when he’s so insistent on giving it, is there? Isn't that right, boys!?"
"Damn right! Long live Lord Tristan and his generous spending!"
"And long live the booze and snacks we bought with that money!"
"Puhahahahaha!"
Laughter erupted among the mercenaries. It seemed they intended to claim the money Tristan gave them was 'charity' rather than a 'down payment.' Lucian looked at the relaxed Sven and the cheering mercenaries and pressed a hand to his forehead.
This isn't going to work.
Tristan had botched the job with his terrible negotiation skills, and Sven, overconfident in his leverage, had no intention of yielding. The fact that they desperately needed the mercenaries' help was already common knowledge, and the trust the others had in Sven was sky-high. Under these circumstances, no matter what he said, a proper negotiation was impossible.
"Don't think too poorly of us. If you pay a sufficient amount, we'll work like dogs from that moment on. Despite how we look, we’re quite thorough when it comes to getting the job done."
Perhaps thinking Lucian had given up, Sven offered a word of 'consolation.' But even then, he couldn't hide the sense of victory in his voice. Seeing Sven lost in his grave delusion, Lucian gave a bitter smile.
"Is that so? If I pay a sufficient amount, you'll really handle anything?"
"Of course. Though it depends on the amount."
"This is just a guess, but I think this should be enough."
Clink, jingle.
Lucian pulled a pouch of gold coins from his coat and tossed it onto a table. The loosely tied string came undone, and the coins inside spilled out in a heap. The mercenaries, who were admiring the bold gesture, soon widened their eyes as they saw the patterns on the coins.
"P-Platinum coins! It’s Wilhelm the Great’s Commemorative Coin!"
"What!? Are you insane!?"
"Third Young Master!"
Cries of shock erupted from the mercenaries, and the Black Lions were equally horrified.
The so-called Platinum Coin, the Wilhelm the Great Commemorative Coin. It was a coin minted only once every few decades to honor the first emperor of the Empire. A single coin was worth hundreds of ordinary gold coins and could be exchanged for currency anywhere on the continent. And he had just thrown a whole pouch full of them.
Gulp.
The mercenaries swallowed hard as they stared at the brilliantly shining platinum. With that amount, one could live a life more luxurious than most nobles for the rest of their days. Even if divided among everyone present, it was enough for them to retire from the mercenary life immediately.
Even Sven hadn't expected such a sum; he cleared his throat repeatedly, trying to maintain his composure.
"Ahem! Cough! Well, you certainly know how to talk business. Fine! With this much, it’s more than enough—"
"In the name of Lucian Valdek, I will give all of these platinum coins to whoever kills Sven of the Red Blade."
"…!?"
Sven, who had been reaching for the pouch while suppressing a wide grin, froze like a statue at Lucian’s following words.
A heavy silence descended upon the inn.
The order itself wasn't particularly shocking. There were plenty of employers who told mercenaries to kill each other or fight amongst themselves after a job was done. Most of the time, it was just worthless mockery that any mercenary would ignore.
However, the story changed when such an unbelievable sum was offered as a reward.
"Shit, what did he just say? He’s giving that whole amount to just one person?"
"That’s impossible. That’s an amount that would make even a noble house stumble."
"But he swore an oath in front of all of us, using his name."
"Since he mentioned his family name, it’s past the point where he can just quietly brush it off."
As the murmuring among the mercenaries grew louder, Sven could not hide his panic. To think the bond he had built through all sorts of hardships could be shaken like this. If he left it alone, men swayed by those sweet words would start popping up everywhere. He needed to say something to regain their attention.
"Listen here, Young Master! What on earth are you—!"
Shring.
Before Sven could say another word, Lucian drew the sword from his waist. At first, they flinched, thinking he was going to attack, but Lucian’s blade was aimed at his own hand.
Slice.
"Young Master!?"
Ignoring Hugo’s cry, Lucian clenched his fist, letting blood flow from his sliced palm. Then, he raised his fist for all the mercenaries to see and shouted at the top of his lungs.
"O Eight Gods of Heaven! I swear in the name of Lucian Valdek that I shall grant everything in this pouch to the one who kills the man before me! Should I break this oath, let me no longer be a member of the blue blood! I pray you look down upon this!"
"Ah…"
Raymond instinctively covered his face with both hands.
The Oath of the Pantheon. It was merely a vow with no physical shackles. However, in terms of tradition and historical significance, its weight was immeasurable. No Emperor of the Empire had ever made that oath and failed to keep his word. If a noble, let alone a commoner, broke an Oath of the Pantheon, they would not only be a lifelong laughingstock but would also be cast out from their family.
Now there really is no turning back.
Now, if someone killed Sven, those platinum coins truly had to be given. The only way to avoid payment was to cancel the oath in front of everyone before anyone stepped forward. If there was no one to fulfill the promise, there was no problem with retracting the vow.
"Crazy, wasn't that the Oath of the Pantheon? I’ve only heard about it in fairy tales."
"It’s just a vow. It’s not like you get struck by lightning if you break it."
"You idiot! If a noble breaks an Oath of the Pantheon, they get kicked out of their house!"
"What? Then he’s really going to give all those platinum coins?"
As soon as Lucian’s oath ended, the agitation among the mercenaries intensified. But while the unrest grew, no one stepped forward yet. To accept such a request and stab a comrade in the back meant becoming public enemy number one. They were still uneasy about trusting the oath of a noble brat they had met for the first time today.
"Pathetic fools."
Lucian shouted with contempt as he looked at the mercenaries.
"I have sworn to the gods upon my honor. If you cannot even trust such an oath, you have no right to receive these platinum coins."
Lucian set half of the platinum coins aside and put the rest back into the pouch. The mercenaries' eyes shook violently as the reward was suddenly cut in half. Regardless, Lucian retracted his previous oath after reclaiming half the coins and shouted again.
"O Eight Gods of Heaven!"
The same oath rang out once more, but the amount was now halved. The mercenaries fidgeted, glancing at one another. When no one stepped forward the second time, Lucian halved the amount again. Even at a quarter of the original sum, it was still a massive fortune.
As the third oath rang out, several mercenaries hurriedly stood up and shouted.
"W-Wait a moment, Young Master!"
"Shut up! I came here to find someone who will fulfill my oath, not to have a leisurely chat with you!"
"That’s why we’re asking how we can trust you! If you give us at least some kind of guarantee…!"
"Whether you believe me or not is up to you. But if you cannot even trust the Oath of the Pantheon, what more must I do?"
With a snort, Lucian retracted the oath again and swept up almost all the remaining platinum coins. The mercenaries were horrified, having expected him to leave at least half again. The remaining amount was no longer enough for a life of luxury like a noble or a wealthy merchant; at most, it was enough for three commoners to live their entire lives without worrying about money.
Of course, even that was an amount an ordinary mercenary would never even see in someone else's hands, let alone hold themselves.
"O Eight Gods of Heaven!"
"…Goddammit!"
Clatter, bang.
The moment the fourth oath rang out, several mercenaries leaped up and grabbed their weapons. Determined glints flashed from all directions, signaling they couldn't let this last chance slip away. It was then, as the atmosphere shifted in an instant and Sven stepped back, lost for words.
"Stop this at once! What is this disgraceful display!"
Thud.
Someone barked at the mercenaries and stood up. It was a young mercenary who had been sitting at the same table as Sven.
"Are you really going to fall for such a divisive tactic! An oath? Do you really believe the nonsense of some noble brat!?"
"Oh, Aiden!"
Sven’s eyes welled with tears as he looked at Aiden, his vice-captain, who was taking his side. After glaring at the surrounding men, Aiden approached Sven, grabbed his shoulder, and spoke.
"Have you forgotten how hard Captain Sven has worked for you all this time! To think you’d betray him for a measly sum like that, even if you are mercenaries! Have you no shame!?"
"Ahem!"
"Well, I don't know much about shame myself."
Stab.
Sven, who was about to act smug at Aiden’s words, suddenly felt a searing heat in his side and his eyes bulged. A dagger had been driven deep into him before he even realized it had been drawn.
"Y-You…!"
"Sorry, Captain. But you have to understand."
Twist.
"Gah!"
"You used me as a disposable pawn twice. This is my first time doing it to you, but unlike you, I succeeded. So let's call it even."
As Aiden twisted the embedded dagger, a hollow breath escaped Sven’s mouth. His organs must have been shredded, for he couldn't even offer proper resistance as the dagger was pulled out. Aiden stabbed him a few more times to make sure the job was done, then tossed the slumped Sven aside.
Thud.
"Young Master, please keep your oath."
Aiden, having dealt with his superior, met Lucian’s gaze with eyes filled with a chilling intensity. Lucian smiled as he gathered the remaining platinum coins on the table and placed them directly into Aiden’s hand.
"Of course. I always keep my word."