Chapter 152
Chapter 152
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 152
Chapter Title: The Impressed Lords
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“Oh! Lord Northvolta. What a coincidence.”
“Is that Lord Sitem? It’s been ages.”
Two lords they encountered near the Bartla Duchy exchanged warm greetings.
Though the timing differed, they had all once been vassals of the Bartla Ducal House before gaining independence for various reasons.
After exchanging bland pleasantries, the two nobles subtly sized up each other’s retinues.
“Are those slaves? Gifts for the new duke, I presume?”
“I just prepared something simple. Since it’s the Clan of Darkness, I figured they wouldn’t care for shiny trinkets. Four healthy slaves whose blood we can squeeze every day ought to satisfy. And you? Nothing prepared?”
“This is mine.”
Lord Northvolta patted his waist pouch and pulled out a gleaming silver coin.
“Ahahaha! You joker. What if the new duke opens it and falls flat on his ass in shock?”
“Ugh, don’t jinx it. That’s not my intent. Even if they’re the Clan of Darkness, would His Grace the Duke of Bartla really show such an embarrassing sight? Haha.”
In truth, he had prepared the silver coin precisely hoping for Lord Sitem’s predicted reaction, but Lord Northvolta waved it off exaggeratedly with a laugh.
Over the long years, loyalty to the Bartla Ducal House had largely faded for both lords.
They wouldn’t oppose the ducal house due to longstanding custom, but respect had long vanished.
“By the way, are you trying to startle the new duke yourself, Lord Sitem?”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
When Lord Sitem tilted his head, Lord Northvolta glanced at the two knights trailing him and the thirty-odd soldiers, chuckling.
“Haha, why else bring so many soldiers?”
“Ah. I hadn’t planned to, originally.”
“And yet?”
“Well, an envoy from Bartla came to my castle, bringing that Beowulf as an escort. Hmph! Flaunting a single wandering mercenary, was he? It pissed me off so much I had no choice.”
Lord Sitem glanced proudly at his knights and soldiers.
Both his knights were armed in chain mail and longswords, and even the soldiers wore fine leather armor.
Skill aside, they looked the part, giving him ample reason for pride.
Lord Northvolta’s expression, however, wasn’t pleased.
“What’s wrong? Jealous of my knights and soldiers?”
“You said the Bartla envoy who came to your castle brought a Beowulf warrior?”
“That’s right. Why?”
“The one who came to my castle brought a Beowulf warrior too.”
“Huh?”
Lord Sitem was mildly surprised.
Beowulf warriors were rare and exorbitantly expensive—one worth about as much as two average free knights.
For the cash-strapped Bartla Ducal House to hire two?
“Did he mention which clan the Beowulf at your castle hailed from?”
“Perseos, he said. You too?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
Lord Sitem’s expression stiffened briefly before he shrugged and smirked.
“Well, the new duke must’ve shelled out to save face. Even so, once he sees our forces, he’ll be begging for aid or proposing a pact. So…”
He trailed off casually as they rounded the forest’s edge, then his eyes bulged.
Not just him—Lord Northvolta and his entire retinue halted, staring dumbfounded at the sight ahead.
“W-What in the world is…”
Dozens of large and small tents stood within a long wooden palisade, bustling with countless people moving about the encampment.
Moreover, armed with spears and swords, every single one inside or out.
“My lord! Someone’s coming!”
A knight bearing a flag charged toward them on horseback with soldiers from the encampment.
The two lords’ forces instinctively tensed, surrounding their lords protectively with hands on weapons.
Lords Sitem and Northvolta braced themselves too but relaxed upon spotting the approaching banner.
“Ah! The Bartla Ducal House crest… Hrk!?”
Relief at the ducal banner turned to horror.
Among the rapidly closing forces, the conspicuously massive figures were none other than Beowulf warriors.
Four of them.
“Whoa, whoa! I’m Crawl, Captain of the Hundred under Lord Eugene—no, His Grace Duke Eugene Bartla. Who might you lords be?”
The bearded man on horseback addressed the lords’ group, scanning them.
‘Captain of the Hundred?’
‘Not a knight?’
The lords were shocked. Knights declared house and name; no one introduced themselves like that.
“Ahem. I am Phillio of Northvolta.”
“I am Lord Dren of Sitem.”
“Ah, so you’re the lords here for the enthronement ceremony.”
At the captain’s words, the Beowulf warriors flipped up their wolf-head helmets, scowling.
“Huh? No fight? Then why drag all those soldiers along?”
“Security’s still iffy, probably.”
“Tch. Lame. Guess we’ll go hunting.”
“Suit yourselves.”
Interest lost, the Beowulf warriors stretched lazily and sauntered off.
“…”
Such arrogance and rudeness from anyone else would earn a flogging, but the lords couldn’t muster anger or protest.
Unlike typical Beowulfs, these four wore plate coats from shoulders to above the knees.
Even at a glance, theirs seemed twice as thick and sturdy as the lords’.
Spears, swords, arrows—none would pierce. Even a skilled knight stabbing a gap wouldn’t faze their tough bodies and regeneration.
‘Four monstrous Beowulfs like that? No—add the ones who visited our domains, that’s six!’
‘Why weren’t the envoy’s Beowulfs in that armor? Tricking us on purpose?’
The lords swallowed dryly, stealing glances. The captain smirked knowingly.
“My lords, follow me.”
“Y-Yes.”
The lords and retinues passed through the tent city housing hundreds of troops and supply convoy workers.
The burly soldiers embodied mercenaries’ free spirit yet maintained basic discipline.
Those training obeyed the chain-mailed leaders well; the resting ones showed no drunken brawls or riots typical of sellswords.
In short, an organized, well-trained real army.
‘And so many Beowulfs?’
‘Over three hundred troops, at least a dozen Beowulfs. Insane…’
Suddenly, their own once-proud knights and soldiers felt shameful.
On top of that.
‘Damn it! Should’ve brought twenty slaves.’
‘Should’ve emptied the coffers for gold? Ugh! Send to the main house the moment we arrive.’
Never dreaming the new duke commanded such forces, the lords grew urgent.
* * *
“Lord Phillio of Northvolta and Lord Dren of Sitem have arrived!”
At Bjort’s shrill voice, Eugene nodded toward the lords and retinues from his throne.
“Come closer.”
“Yes! Your Grace!”
Tensing at the extraordinary sight of Eugene flanked by Lanslo and Luke, the lords hurried forward and knelt on one knee.
“Pleased to meet you. No troubles en route?”
“N-No! By Your Grace’s immense benevolence and the ancestors’ protection, we encountered neither bandits nor monsters!”
“Good. My benevolence cleared them out. My army exterminated every bandit and Roamer in the area.”
“...!”
The lords, meaning mere courtesy, gaped unwittingly.
“Why so surprised? You saw it coming, didn’t you? My army.”
“Y-Yes. A truly valiant and disciplined force, I thought.”
“That all?”
“Pardon?”
“Think I cleared bandits for free?”
“Ah…”
The quick-witted pair caught on.
“Though unworthy of Your Grace’s radiant honor, I’ve prepared a modest gift.”
Lord Northvolta spoke first.
He humbly offered a pouch stuffed with his prepared sum plus emergency private funds.
“This isn’t all—more treasures for the enthronement will come from the main house. Please wait a few days.”
“That all?”
“Y-Yes? Pardon?”
As Lord Northvolta startled from near-relief, Eugene bared fangs slightly, voice icy.
“Northvolta. I hear you were once Bartla vassal. Independence came when main house army weakened, security worsened. Now security’s fine. Even if attacked by another lord, main house can aid.”
“…”
Sweat trickled down Lord Northvolta’s back.
No fool, he grasped Eugene’s intent fully.
The young, ambitious vampire duke urged him back under Bartla’s banner.
“I walk by day.”
“Gasp!”
“Hk!”
The lords held breath, gasping.
“You’re fortunate.”
Eugene removed his helm, rising slowly from the throne.
“Lords entering main house service? I welcome gladly. But those who refuse.”
Baring his face to direct sunlight from the window, Eugene continued coldly.
“My army and I visit personally. We subjugate by force. So, fortunate lords—choose now. Those had no choice; luck ran out.”
His gaze shifted; the lords’ followed as if hypnotized.
“...!”
Overwhelmed by Eugene’s aura, they hadn’t noticed—the pale, trembling group nearby.
Most were familiar: direct kin from former Bartla vassal houses or proxy nobles.
‘Houses without their lord present.’
‘They’re done for.’
The lords perfectly understood why Eugene called them lucky.
“I, Phillio of Northvolta, gladly accept His Grace Duke Bartla’s proposal!”
“Above Sitem’s banner flies only the Great Bartla Ducal House crest!”
Deliberation short, decision swift.
* * *
“How many?”
“Seven, Your Grace.”
The Bartla Castle nobles couldn’t hide their joy.
Every noble arriving for the enthronement had sworn fealty to the Bartla Ducal House.
Power of the day-walking Eugene and an army crushing mid-sized domains.
Proving it, the recommitted lords smiled outwardly but inwardly reeled.
Yet all silently agreed on one thing.
‘We’re the lucky ones!’
That outer army alone would grind their domains to dust. Yet a young knight from the main house had whispered:
— His Grace’s right-hand knight went to Mungard. Expect more forces than you saw—knights and mercenaries from across the continent. First targets: lords skipping the ceremony.
Hearing that, the absent nobles seemed truly pitiable.
No injustice to claim; the duke had ample justification.
As top Brantia noble and their original liege, Bartla deserved due courtesy—which they’d snubbed.
The duke’s wrath was just; no appeals possible if their houses shattered.
“Your Grace! At this rate, all invitees will enter main house service under Your Grace. What greater fortune!”
“Indeed, nothing beats seeing in person. All thanks to Your Grace’s virtue and honor! Hahaha!”
To the jubilant nobles, Eugene offered a cold smile.
“Is it? But experiencing personally… might prove more effective than merely seeing.”
“...!”
The nobles flinched silent.
“Enthronement tomorrow. Those not arrived by tonight—my army and I collect in blood. Say, Mondelio. Or Mondelio.”
Baron Mondelio was doomed, regardless.
(To be continued)