Chapter 164
Chapter 164
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 164
Chapter Title: Proxy War
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Eugene took Leoma to the nearest village and had him write a letter to Baron Fronsil.
After much agonizing, Leoma completed a letter that fully captured his desperate resolve for his family's future over his own life.
Then he hired three mercenaries to deliver the letter to the Fronsil family.
"You have to get there as fast as possible. The quicker you deliver it, the greater your reward. If you make it in three days, I'll not only give you ownership of those horses but even more substantial riches."
"Leave it to us."
The mercenaries departed on horseback, delighted by the promise from a direct member of the renowned Fronsil family.
Eugene paid them no mind, utterly indifferent.
"All done?"
"Yes. So we're joining Your Grace's army right away?"
"Of course."
"Ah...!"
Leoma's expression brightened at Eugene's reply.
But his eyes shook violently at the words that followed.
"However, first we need to deal with those."
Eugene's gaze fixed precisely on the spoils collected from the dead knights.
"...You're serious?"
Leoma could scarcely believe his eyes and ears.
The commander of an army on the brink of war with a centuries-old royal house! A duke, no less!
And here he was, scheming to sell off plundered gear in these times!
"Naturally, I'm serious. Go sell it off quick."
"M-Me?"
To him, who had just penned that heartfelt, resolute letter!?
"Should I do it then?"
"..."
Leoma's dazed eyes naturally drifted toward one person.
"What're you looking at me for, you little shit?"
Galpredic jabbed a finger between himself and Leoma, speaking in Brantian.
"Me, Duke's Grace's knight. You, prisoner."
"..."
Leoma's head drooped at the simple, irrefutable truth.
"Kieet! Try skimming even a single coin and you're done for! I'll inspect every bit myself! Eh!? Got it?"
Though he bristled at the invisible spirit's voice proclaiming loyalty to the duke, Leoma swallowed his anger with heroic effort and took his leave.
"...I'll be back."
After all, he was the one in a hurry, not them.
* * *
Once the spoils were sold off, Eugene finally left the village and headed toward his destination, Brodin City.
Naturally, all the cleanup and odd jobs fell to Leoma.
Leoma, firstborn son of the prestigious Fronsil noble house.
Even as a squire, he had three slaves to offload the hard labor, and on his knight-errant journeys, he was attended by slaves and servants.
But on this journey with Eugene, Leoma was a prisoner—and an incompetent one at that, unskilled in much of anything.
Under Galpredic's scoldings, honed to a level that cowed even rough-and-tumble mercenaries, Leoma's body and spirit wore down day by day.
Worse, the spirit—no, malevolent imp—kept piping up with nonsense whenever it could, leaving him gaunt and hollow-cheeked.
But what truly drove him mad was something else.
'Why is he taking it so easy! Please, hurry up already!'
Indeed.
Duke Batlla moved at a leisurely pace, as if on a pleasure trip, while Leoma's insides burned with frustration.
Eugene ignored him entirely.
Because he was deliberately moving slow.
"Hmm. The main force should be at Brodin City by now, right?"
"Probably. Ranslo's good at pacing the march."
At Eugene and Galpredic's conversation—especially the word 'Brodin'—Leoma whipped his head around. Unfortunately, he knew not a lick of Kailer Kingdom tongue.
"Man, what a brilliant scheme. Making the Fronsil family tangle with the Brodia royal troops outside Brodin City. Heh heh heh!"
"Tsk tsk! What's 'scheme' to milord? Call it a stratagem, proper-like. Kie he he!"
"Oh? What's this, an ignorant imp showing up?"
"Kieek! I ain't ignorant! Nor an imp! Kieet! You Gal kin, of all people!"
"Quiet down. Before I smash that piggy bank to bits."
"Yep."
Eugene shut down Mirian mid-bicker and turned to Galpredic.
"Do we really need to handle everything ourselves? The Fronsils already hate the Brodia royals' guts. And with their eldest son's life on the line—plus their youngest daughter's—they'll fight tooth and nail."
"Right. Plus, the envoy Bonma sent back must've reached the Fronsils ages ago. Save the heir, and maybe secure their baby girl as side-wife to the future Brantia king. Heh heh heh!"
"Yeah. Reject our offer, and they lose both kids—plus a shot at cozying up to me and Luke, the Brantia unifiers. Heh heh!"
"Heh heh heh heh!"
"Kie he he he!"
The two vampires and the lustful imp chuckled darkly.
What Eugene had demanded as ransom from Leoma's father, Lord Fronsil, wasn't gold or goods.
-I, Duke Batlla, rescued your eldest son from Brodia royal knights who took him prisoner.
-So if you want him back safe, muster your army, invade Brodia lands, and I'll support you with mine.
The justification overflowed, and Lorein, the youngest daughter, might even become side-wife to Luke, heir to the Brantia throne.
No fool would refuse.
And historically vassals, the Fronsils were tight with the Brantias.
Thus, the Fronsil vanguard would arrive first—and fight like hell in place of Eugene's main force.
Sitting back and watching others bleed—that's what they meant by hands-off victory.
"When the Fronsils clash, our main force hits Brodin City. Man! If we're slick, we could even raid empty camps. Either way, Fronsils and Brodians take massive losses."
Ever the tactical knight, Galpredic grasped the scheme's deepest intent.
"Heh heh heh!"
"Heh heh!"
"Kie he he!"
The laughter of joy and satisfaction leaked out again.
Of course, Leoma—understanding none of it—felt his gut twist at the sinister mirth.
* * *
"Why haven't High Lord Helmund and the knights returned yet!"
Garif Cameron Brandia—Cameron III for short—burst in fury.
The nobles assembled in the royal audience chamber seized the chance to raise their voices to the nineteen-year-old young king.
"Your Majesty, we must wait a bit longer."
"Indeed. Dark kin or not, Sir Frederick Helmund is a noble knight. He'll surely return with good tidings."
"If we secure the Batlla ducal house's aid, Your Majesty's unification of Brantia will advance greatly!"
"Hmm."
Cameron III scowled in frustration.
Rumors swirled of a high dark kin noble from across the sea seizing Dongard and most of the southeastern mainland.
He'd scoffed at first.
But tales of him slaying the Sword Master eyed by the northern Vyman orcs—and taking over the Batlla ducal house—were harder to dismiss. If true, nearly all southern Brantia was in his grasp.
To verify, he dispatched royal knights.
Then the vampire knights of the 'Helmund' clan, based in Brodin City, offered aid first.
Cameron III accepted the overture from the vampire clan—tied to his grandfather's era but long estranged since.
No downside to powerful vampire knights stepping up.
Yet a full month since departure, and no word.
'Surely nothing's gone wrong? Vampires aside, the knights should be fine.'
As Cameron III bit his lip in anxiety, the audience chamber doors flew open.
"Y-Your Majesty!"
"What is it?"
The young king couldn't hide his eager hope from the guard captain prostrating breathlessly. Perhaps news of the royal knights.
"Th-The army! Fronsil's army has crossed Red Hill!"
"W-What!"
Like a thunderbolt, Cameron III shot from his throne. Shock faded quick, swallowed by volcanic rage.
"Fronsiiiil! That vile traitor at last!"
Nobles piped up on cue.
"Your Majesty! We must punish that insolent rebel at once!"
"Muster the knights and show the traitors the royal might!"
"Your Majesty!"
"Majesty!"
"Argh! Shut it, all of you! If you want to teach traitors a lesson so bad, how about donating your estates first? Shall we dig dirt for rations in this war!"
"..."
The fervent nobles averted eyes as one, coughing awkwardly.
"Urk!"
Cameron III seethed.
The ambitious youth who ascended the throne had despaired within a year.
All lies.
The tales from his crown prince days were fabrications.
No invincible knights winning streaks against pretender kings.
Brantia wasn't half Brodia territory—Brodin City and environs, population forty thousand, was all they held.
Worst, the richest farmlands lost to Fronsil in prior wars; most subjects scraped by on bare subsistence.
'Food's scarce. Slay demons for mana stones? Who buys them? Better... yes, all or nothing!'
Cameron III steeled himself.
Rising from the throne, he brandished his baton and bellowed.
"All Brodia subjects, heed your king's command!"
"As the king wills!"
Nobles prostrated in unison.
"Muster knights and soldiers! Leave minimal guards in the capital! All knights of honor and loyal troops, march on the royal foe—the traitor Fronsil!"
"We obey the king!"
"O great spirits of these sacred mountains and plains! Look upon me and ours!"
"Look upon us!"
Nobles echoed the young king's cry and rose in a clamor.
But.
'Is the king mad?'
'Guards stripped, five hundred troops—what can they do?'
'Can't we muster peasants at least?'
'Madness? How do we flee then? Send your personal swordsmen!'
No resolve or determination showed on the jewel-bedecked nobles' faces.
* * *
The massive gates swung wide, and Brodia royal troops—bearing the thorny rose banner—poured from the city.
Unmatched gear, sloppy ranks.
Even their leading knights wore ragged chain mail, hole-pocked.
Waaaaah!
Reluctantly conscripted subjects saw off the shabby Brantia force with forced cheers.
"Pah! Total mess."
"Not a mess—a goblin circus. Dog meat's too good for those clowns."
Beowulf warriors, prone on a distant hill, sneered at the spectacle.
"Time to report back."
"Damn. No meat for days—got no strength."
"Told you to hunt boar for Wolfgan's arrival."
"What boar in this ratless shithole."
"Ah, rat meat's a delicacy though."
"Squirrel's better for me."
"Don't squirrels have that gamey tang? Boil 'em plain and they taste like raccoon—decent enough."
"You don't know meat! Grill over open flame."
As always, they veered into unrelated meat debates, vanishing swiftly.
Two days later.
Dozens of black dragon banners fluttered as a thousand-strong host encircled Brodin City.
Stern discipline shamed the force that sortied days prior; the scant hundred guards left quaked in terror and despair.
Clop, clop.
From behind the walls, a knight in priceless gear—no mere king owned such—rode forth slowly.
"I am Ranslo of Doolak! Knight to His Grace Duke Yan Eugene Batlla! Squire to His Grace the duke...!"
Ranslo paused, drew deep breath, and bellowed wide-mouthed.
"...who may or may not wed one Luke Cromarin Earl's consort-to-be—but first and foremost, the vile scoundrels holding hostage the brother of the prisoner Lady Lorein Count, one Lord Leoma—show yourselves! Come out now!"
"What in the blazes is he saying!?"
Too fast, too long, and utterly baffling—the quarter-elf knight's roar left Cameron III clutching his head.
(To be continued)
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