Chapter 125
Chapter 125
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 125
Chapter Title: The Baron's Fury
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Brantia was a nation so utterly lawless that even calling it unstable was a luxury.
Roamer monsters and bandits infested every corner, and outside the domains ruled by powerful lords, human and material traffic had all but ground to a halt.
But recently, starting from Mungard, security had stabilized in several coastal territories, and now even the inland Crawlmarin Earldom—considered proper heartland—had safe routes connected to it.
Encompassing an 80-kilometer straight-line distance and including the middle and lower reaches of the Temes River, Brantia’s largest granary region in the southeast had stabilized around the port city of Mungard.
With trade in mana stones and monster byproducts resuming, alongside normalized exchanges between the city and various territories, the merchants were naturally the most thrilled.
Mercenaries once required in groups of at least twenty per trading expedition could now be hired in groups of ten or fewer, yet expedition sizes could expand two or three times over without issue.
That said, the mercenaries weren’t suffering either. With more people and goods moving more frequently, they were actually enjoying a boom.
Thus, the people of southeast Brantia, having undergone this massive transformation in just a few months, didn’t stop at local activities.
Just because the nation lagged in development didn’t mean its people lacked ambition.
A few particularly bold and greedy souls ventured deep into the interior.
In the end, word of what had transpired in the Mungard-centered southeast spread to other regions.
The Riward Barony—one of the territories linked by marriage to the Crawlmarin Earl family—was among them.
Bang!
“What did you say?! Lucas?! My nephew got his head chopped off?!”
Baron Riward slammed the table, his bronze skin flushing beet red.
Even past forty, he remained vigorous, one of Brantia’s elite knights hailed as a Sword Master.
And like most Brantian noble knights, he was profoundly ignorant, violent, and hot-tempered.
Yet even Baron Riward cherished certain things, chief among them his “bloodline.”
Lucas, born from the baron himself and the younger sister he loved, was both a shameful secret that must never be exposed and his most beloved true kin.
“Urgh hahaha! How dare they, how dare they!! Lucas… Arrrgh! I’ll kill them allll!”
The baron wailed, unleashing his rage. His booming voice carried a force eerily akin to bloodlust, and everyone in the hall exposed to it froze stiff.
The Riward family had intermingled with orc royal blood in distant antiquity.
Thus, every two or three generations, a bearer of an orc warrior’s strength and temperament would be born—and the current Baron Riward was precisely that.
“War! War! Bring my armor! I’ll march on Crawlmarin at once and punish those traitorous scum who’ve forsaken faith and honor!”
The castle sprang into action at the baron’s fiery roar, his eyes blazing with the ferocity of an enraged beast.
The Riward Barony had endured Brantia’s sweeping wars thanks to the baron himself, making his influence within the domain absolute.
The territory’s people teetered on the brink of starvation, but the traditional knight paid it no mind. To him, peasants and serfs were mere livestock for a knight’s sake.
“Y-Your Excellency, if I may presume to speak on one matter!”
“What is it?!”
As the baron’s fierce eyes turned on him, the noble from the baron’s house—who had brought news from Crawlmarin—bowed his head low.
“There are rumors that the new Crawlmarin Earl’s guardian belongs to the Night Clan.”
“A vampire?”
“Yes. And at minimum, a banneret-rank noble…”
“I see.”
Baron Riward, who had been rampaging wildly, calmed somewhat.
Hot-tempered he might be, but as an exceptional knight, he was coldly rational about combat.
One couldn’t charge blindly at a banneret vampire. The issue wasn’t just the vampire’s individual might, but the unknown “clan” potentially backing it.
“No idea which faction?”
“None, my lord. Though merchants mentioned that the Night Clan residents in Mungard have been quite cooperative. Oh! And that one hails from the continent…”
Thwack!
“Gahk!”
The noble crumpled with a thud, his jaw twisted from the baron’s fist.
“You idiot! That means no clan or bullshit matters! It’s obviously some mongrel that crawled here after getting pushed out by raw power!”
Baron Riward had once fought alongside or against other species knights like vampires and orcs. Thus, he knew species hierarchies and traits well enough.
Once the Night Clan staked a territory, they rarely abandoned it.
Yet a continental vampire noble coming all the way to Brantia?
Ninety-nine times out of a hundred—no, guaranteed—a loser booted from territorial disputes.
“Send word to the sage of Roptyimo Mountain.”
“You mean Duke Pitamoras?”
“Exactly. Courteously inform him of a chance to study a rootless vampire noble. He’ll descend the mountain at once.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Moving Brantia’s spellcasters, known as druids, was no easy task.
They were priests and healers, as well as scholars pursuing knowledge.
Thus, they ignored worldly bribes like gold or honors, responding only to matters aiding their research or sating their curiosity.
In that regard, Pitamoras—who dissected every beast, monster, and human for “medical” study—would seize any chance to probe a living vampire noble.
Vagabond vampire nobles without clans were exceedingly rare, and dissecting one alive carried zero repercussions.
“Will you set out at once, my lord?”
“Indeed. Summon every knight in the domain. Then we’ll head to Brighton to hire mercenaries.”
The nobles murmured. In essence, he meant full-scale war with Crawlmarin.
“My lord! If I may be so bold, that will severely strain the domain’s finances.”
“Finances? My nephew’s head was lopped off by those traitors, and you worry about that?! Shall I lop yours off too?”
“Eek!”
The advising noble shrank back from the orc warrior’s instinctive bloodlust.
“And fret not over coin. Once I punish Crawlmarin, I’ll inherit everything in my sister and nephew’s names.”
“...!”
This went beyond mere vengeance for a dead nephew.
Baron Riward had declared his intent to subjugate the Crawlmarin Earldom under Riward’s banner.
‘Then…’
‘It’s a conquest war!’
Mercenaries and merchants alike would flock for a cut. With clear justification, no other lords or nobles could object.
“Lucas! On my honor, I’ll avenge you. I’ll offer the necks of Crawlmarin’s every mongrel at your altar! I swear it to all gods and ancestors!”
The fury of a father who’d lost a son, a lord’s ambition for Brantian hegemony, and a knight’s bloodlust before slaughter—all boiled together.
* * *
“The Riward Baron family?”
“Yes. They won’t sit idle, I suspect.”
Lanslo—who knew Brantia’s intel and situation best among the group—shrugged.
“Baron Riward is infamous for his explosive temper. It’s an embarrassing secret if revealed, but he won’t let his son’s death slide. And regardless of the backstory, Lucas is officially his nephew. Justification overflows.”
“The bastard who sicced knights on us and put a hit on my father? And they’ll draw swords for that craven murderer? Do Brantian knights know nothing of honor?”
Galpredic sneered, prompting Lanslo to chuckle.
“They’d never meekly accept a trial we held among ourselves. Brantian domain judgments are ear-rings or nose-rings, depending where you hang it.”
“Blackmail him with banging his own sister?”
“Only letters remain; everyone involved save the baron is dead. It might work in Crawlmarin, but it’s no real weapon against Riward. Moreover…”
Lanslo flashed a cold smile, tapping his longsword.
“Knights like us settle things with this in the end, don’t we? Win the war, and no one cares about truth.”
“Khuhuhu! Fair point.”
As Galpredic laughed, Eugene—who’d been listening silently—spoke up.
“What’s the Riward Baron family’s standing in Brantia?”
“The baron himself ranks among Brantia’s top ten knights in strength. Considerable forces too; low title aside, they outclass Crawlmarin in every way.”
“I see. Then if I take him down?”
“You’d gain instant fame across Brantia. Even self-proclaimed kings would eye you—courting or wary.”
“Then it’s settled. Crawlmarin Earl family is mine to back anyway.”
Lanslo grinned at Eugene’s icy reply.
“Knew you’d say that. Then we’ll need to gather forces. Return to Mungard first and…”
“Why gather forces?”
“Pardon? Not launching all-out war?”
As Lanslo blinked, Eugene gazed down at the men and women roasting meat in Crawlmarin Castle’s central courtyard.
“Those guys fought well.”
“W-Well, yes, but aren’t we short on numbers? Riward’s a superb knight and tactician. He’ll come prepared.”
“Most’ll be mercenaries anyway. And the baron himself will lead here. Soonest a month?”
“Hmm. Probably.”
“We win with mobility.”
“...!”
“Tell ’em to quit stuffing their faces and gear up. Lanslo, head to Mungard.”
“To hire mercenaries?”
“No. To properly arm these guys.”
“Ah! You don’t mean…”
“Exactly. Spend freely—don’t skimp. But quality: Brantia’s absolute best.”
“Haha! Understood.”
Lanslo beamed.
Beowulf warriors were mercenaries at heart, after all. Armoring them properly?
Eugene’s spending outscaled any noble’s by leagues.
* * *
Eugene scrapped plans to head straight for the Bartla Ducal House and stayed on at Crawlmarin Castle.
Mungard cooperated, but with Luke as earl, Crawlmarin was Brantia’s first true ally.
His goal was the “Brantian Expedition” anyway. Enemies charging first were welcome—especially powerful locals.
‘Still, a Sword Master. Can’t get cocky.’
Bathing, Eugene reviewed his plans once more.
First, armor the Beowulf warriors, who loved battle but had always fought bare-skinned.
They over-relied on their bodies.
Fair enough: few could even wound them, and barring a clean decapitation, troll-like regeneration made them near-invincible.
But facing the Central Church’s army had shifted their views.
They’d learned how threatening plate-armored knights with silver-laced weapons were, when fangs and claws glanced off.
‘No one ever bothered armoring Beowulf warriors, though.’
Who’d waste coin outfitting mercenaries payable by the job?
Especially ones costing a fortune to hire in Brantia’s poverty?
No noble was that mad.
But Eugene differed.
Win and conquer, reap greater rewards.
Before this flawless axiom, arming Beowulf warriors with Brantian earnings required no second thought.
If they fought harder and better, conquering Brantia would ease.
(To be continued in the next installment)