To the Madrosa Kingdom (7)
From that moment on, the alliance between Calix and Hapez gained rapid momentum.
Of course, fierce verbal sparring ensued as they hammered out the details.
"The food prices are too high."
"Higher than the average market rate over the last six months?"
"That price skyrocketed because the eastern tribes manipulated the supply hitting the market. Basing it on that isn't fair."
"Hmm, fine. How about 70% of market rate? But payment upfront."
"You know our situation...! What country at war pays for all its food in cash? Even the Holy Empire couldn't manage that!"
"What, so you're saying war bonds? No way, not doing it. Not selling!"
"We'll pay 20% in goods immediately, 30% in bonds."
"And the remaining 50%?"
"We'll give you exclusive rights to the spoils of war."
"Hmm..."
Calix crossed his arms, pretending to mull it over.
The desert tribes were little more than beggars anyway.
The land's productivity was abysmal to begin with, and their population was sparse.
Back when they thrived on intermediary trade between continents, maybe they had wealth—but scraping by selling sheep to one side and buying grain from the other? No chance.
The terms he'd just offered were basically a white flag of surrender.
Even if Calix lowballed the purchase price on spoils and bought them dirt cheap, they'd have to hand them over without complaint.
Granting a war merchant monopoly rights was tantamount to ripping open their bellies.
But Calix shook his head.
"Not enough."
"Are you really going to push this far?"
"You know I can't just slash the buy price on spoils willy-nilly, right? Your warriors would try to kill me. Better to give me some command authority and independent operational rights."
"You're saying you'll join the fight personally?"
"Who said anything about fighting? I'll handle it from the back—with my mouth."
"Urgh..."
"Worst case, if the battles drag on for a year without real action? I just sit on my hands?"
"...I'll have to ask the chieftain."
"Yeah, yeah, 'ask the chieftain' every time you're losing ground. If that's how it is, have him negotiate himself!"
"I'm sorry. Please give us a moment."
As Hapez left the tent, Yurin, who had been at his side, gazed at Calix with heated eyes.
"What?"
"My esteemed big brother. Can I have a kiss?"
"What'd you eat that's got you acting up? You're scaring me."
"Your skill in stripping every last scrap of meat without mercy... it moved this girl deeply."
"Your head acting up again? Were you always like this?"
"Please teach this girl your brilliant negotiation skills too."
"That's why you're sitting here, isn't it?"
"I want to learn at big brother's side for a little longer."
"How much longer?"
"Forever?"
Calix stared at Yurin.
Her skin was so translucent you could see the veins beneath, her features delicate and refined.
And in stark contrast, her jet-black hair.
He'd impulsively hacked it short once, barely covering her nape, but it hadn't diminished her pure charm one bit.
Honestly, among the women around him, if he had to pick who'd dominate Korea's entertainment industry, it'd be Yurin hands down.
She'd probably be crowned the nation's first love the moment she debuted.
"So pretty, yet such a weird head on her shoulders... tsk tsk."
"Pretty? Am I pretty? Where? How pretty?"
Calix let out a long sigh and shook his head.
National first love my ass. She's a total psycho inside... ahem!
It wasn't an easy negotiation, but since both sides had what the other wanted, it didn't drag on forever.
The rebellion preparations had been nearly complete long before Calix even arrived in the desert.
Once word went out, the eastern tribes who shared their cause flocked to Mahavishu— the Talas tribe's stronghold—like they'd been waiting.
But things didn't go entirely smoothly.
"Are you serious? How can we trust a western continent noble and join this uprising with him?!"
"I told you—he's handling our food supply."
"It's not free, is it? If that's all, just sell the food. Why demand command authority?"
"Hmm..."
Another chieftain raised the issue in a calm voice.
"I'm uneasy about leaving our families in remote areas while we fight. We can hide it at first, but eventually the enemy will figure it out—that we've stashed our kin somewhere. Sending raiders would be child's play for them."
Grumbles erupted from all sides.
It was the weakness of an army formed from a desert tribe confederation.
Without a clear hierarchy, they clashed, each pushing their own opinions.
Hmm... total clusterfuck. No wonder they lose despite superior forces, get betrayed at key moments, and collapse. Tsk tsk...
The eastern tribe alliance at least had a prestigious leader dubbed the desert's ruler.
They bickered with elders over dominance in peacetime, but in crises like war, his strong charisma could rally the chieftains.
It was Saladin's own talent, but also thanks to his bloodline from Mohamed, the first to unite the desert into a kingdom.
As Calix silently watched the debate, Izmael asked him.
"What do you think, young lord?"
"Chieftain Izmael. We've already signed the contract. Fail to uphold the terms, and it'll be voided."
"How dare you! Think you can leave here alive?!"
A burly man with bushy brows, wild beard, and fierce eyes bellowed at Calix.
But Calix didn't even glance his way, addressing Izmael instead.
"Oh? I thought you rose up to restore the rightful glory to the boy king usurped from his throne... but it seems you're no better than bandits."
Izmael's face flushed slightly at Calix's sharp rebuke.
"Hey, Basara! Baron Calix is a guest of the Talas tribe. Even in the heat of the moment, know when to hold your tongue."
"Hmph!"
He snorted and turned away.
No apology forthcoming.
Izmael sighed inwardly and spoke wearily.
"I've explained this once already, but Young Lord Calix is in the same boat as us. The terms may seem harsh at first glance, but if the uprising fails, those war bonds are worthless scraps. It means he's staking a lot too. Our job isn't to nitpick the deal—we need to figure out how to make it succeed. Don't muddy the discussion."
His tone was calm but firm.
The chieftains' complaints finally subsided a bit.
It was a fragile truce that could reignite anytime, but for now, the talk turned more constructive.
Meanwhile, word of the western stirrings soon reached the eastern tribe alliance.
Saladin, the desert's ruler, mustered warriors from tribes loyal to him and prepared for war.
For a time, they traded statements, each citing grand justifications.
"Saladin is a vile usurper! He betrayed his own brother for selfish gain and exiled his nephew!"
"It wasn't selfishness—it was a necessary decision for the desert's prosperity and stability! A desperate measure to stop meddlers from manipulating the throne with an immature boy king!"
"Nonsense! If so, just act as regent until the young king comes of age!"
"And then what? The previous king is already in the gods' embrace! The only noble bloodline left is His Majesty Saladin!"
From then on, rumors spread that the boy king—thought dead—was alive.
Even detailed eyewitness accounts emerged of someone seeing his face.
With both sides claiming their king was the legitimate ruler, retreat was impossible.
There couldn't be two suns under the sky.
Now it was time to prove whose justice was right—with blood and steel.
To honor his deal with Calix, Izmael provided 2,000 warriors.
500 from the Talas tribe, 500 from the Ahmed tribe, and the rest a mix from minor tribes.
Adding Szczecin territory troops brought it to about 2,500 under his command—equivalent to nearly a full legion by western standards.
Izmael had shown his best faith.
But the warriors, suddenly under a non-desert outsider's control, were deeply dissatisfied.
Especially Fayez, leader of the Ahmed warriors, who quietly incited the minor tribe reps to pick fights at every turn.
Today, they were harassing Gordon again.
A middle-aged warrior from a small clan raged in front of the command tent.
"Let me go! I need to see Baron Calix!"
Gordon sighed deeply and said coldly.
"Return to your post. That's an order."
"When the hell do we get to fight? You hiding 'cause you're cowards?"
"I said, return."
"Argh! Fine, I'll join another unit! Why stick me here—kyaak—ptui!"
Shing—
As the desert warrior turned in anger, cold metal rested on his shoulder.
"Desertion can mean summary execution. Final order: return to your place."
The riled warrior gulped involuntarily.
The mirror-polished blade was chilling.
So sharp that the slightest move might send his head tumbling.
"How about we call it there?"
Gordon frowned.
This was what, the tenth time?
Fayez pulled this crap every time to show off.
Honestly, he couldn't fathom why the young lord let that guy slide.
Swish—
"Eek!"
As Gordon sheathed his sword, the warrior's clothes split clean open!
Left in his underwear, face beet red, he bolted.
Meanwhile, Calix lounged on the field cot in the command tent, idly flipping through papers.
Krout, fed up, spoke up.
"Is it okay to just steamroll like this? You got an independent unit and command precisely to avoid fighting head-on, right?"
"Thinking about it."
"About what?"
"How to flip this stalemate on its head."
"Young lord, aren't you taking war too lightly? Sure, it'd be great to score a big win with genius strategy and divine tactics, but that's not easy. Why not start with steady orthodox gains, building small victories?"
"Textbook talk again? So when do we end this war and go home?"
"But..."
"Enough. Spread the map."
"...Yes."
Calix stared at the map depicting the desert and oases.
One oasis connected to others via winding lines.
Routes between them, tangled complexly with dozens of large and small oases.
"Hapez!"
"Yes, young lord."
"What's this white area here?"
"Ah... that's called the Sea of Death."
"Sea of Death?"
"There's a limit to how far you can travel the desert without water. A week at most. So areas too far from oases are off-limits. We call those the Sea of Death and avoid them."
"Hmm..."
Then it clicked—an old memory.
Records of forbidden zones the desert tribes shunned.
Honestly, Calix had never cared, so it'd taken him a while to recall.
A player's minimap showed all directions, his position, and path to destination.
Inventory kept water fresh—forever.
With enough capacity, he could last months, not a week.
Naturally, he'd always crossed the desert in straight lines, shortest path.
He hadn't realized how overpowered that was back then.
Too familiar to appreciate.
"Hmm, first—summon Fayez and the minor tribe reps. Got operation talk."
"Marching out? Then we need to coordinate with Father..."
"No need. We'll move completely independently."
Hapez looked baffled.
But Calix clamped his mouth shut.
He'd explain once everyone gathered.