Chapter 169
Chapter 169
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 169
Chapter Title: Fransil's Submission
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Every time Prabo's longsword danced through the wind, a human head would tumble to the ground one by one.
Galpredic wielded a spear, and with each thrust, two or three mercenaries were skewered like spits, squealing like pigs being slaughtered.
The knights, led by Edmund, rampaged like wolves let loose in a livestock pen, while the true werewolf Beowulf warriors unleashed a literal massacre.
Watching the entire scene from the rear, the lord of House Fransil spat foam, forgetting all about dignity.
"Retreat! Retreat! Fall back and reform the lines... What!?"
Lord Fransil's eyes widened at the sight of the black knight charging toward him like a gale.
That knight, reins dropped, black spear in one hand and shortsword in the other, was undoubtedly the enemy commander's champion.
For such a figure to charge alone into a cluster of dozens of knights?
Did that mean he was that confident in his skills? Or perhaps, if not...
'He's overly excited. In that case!'
True to his vast experience as a knight, Lord Fransil instantly made the fitting judgment.
"Capture that knight! To the one who brings him kneeling before me, I grant one million selling and his armor as reward!"
"Leave that fellow to me, Lord Pellon!"
"On the honor of Belhaton, it shall be I!"
Knights vied with one another to claim the merit.
Toppling or capturing the enemy commander was a monumental achievement that could reverse the tide of battle in one stroke.
"I shall grant the chance to Sir Pellon. Do not disappoint me."
"Uahaha! Trust in me!"
Amid his comrades' envious gazes, the knight in the conical helm couched his lance and spurred his horse forward.
"My name is Mark of Pellon! If you know honor, then a fair duel..."
Swaeek! Puk!
"Argh!"
Pierced through the shoulder by the spear that flew like a black flash, Pellon tumbled from his horse.
Shuwaak!
The knights gaped as the spear pierced clean through chain mail and flesh, arcing back in a graceful curve.
"A m-magic spear!?"
Weapons imbued with magical mysteries were treasures any knight would covet.
But the knights forgot their greed in shock at the opponent's terrifying prowess, which had unhorsed the capable Pellon in a single strike, and his flagrant disregard for convention.
"You there! Have you ever seen such a lawless brute! Knights! It matters not who—seize him and drag him before me at once!"
Wooo!
Roused by Lord Fransil's bellow, the knights roared and surged forward en masse.
With the mercenaries shattered, they had to capture this commander of such stature that even the king of Brodia had sent him as an envoy under white flag.
If they did that, they could lose the battle but win the war...
"I am Eugene Yan, Duke of Bartla! You honorless curs who attacked me without declaration of war! Who are you?!"
"...!?"
At Eugene's shout, the knights charging toward him like enraged buffalo halted as one.
"D-Duke of Bartla?"
"Why is he in Brodin?"
"What in the world is happening?"
As Fransil's knights exchanged bewildered glances, mercenaries led by Lanslo poured out from Brodin's gates.
"Huh!?"
It was shocking enough that the black knight was Duke of Bartla, but as over five hundred troops flooded out like a tide, Lord Fransil was utterly panic-stricken.
And that was not the end.
"Father! Fatherrr!"
Spotting Lema shrieking toward them amid a guard of several knights, Lord Fransil's mind went blank.
It was truly fucked.
* * *
"As Duke of Bartla, I am disappointed in House Fransil."
"..."
"Your daughter attacks me, and now your father does too. Is House Fransil a clan ignorant of honor and law?"
"..."
Lord Fransil could only hang his head, offering no reply to Eugene's curt and biting tone.
It was an irrefutable point, and after a crushing defeat that had nearly halved his forces, he couldn't speak even if he had words.
At best, he should be grateful that Bartla's knights and the Beowulf warriors had held back enough to prevent total annihilation.
"I have no words even with ten mouths, but this stems from a minor misunderstanding..."
"Attacking an envoy under white flag is a 'minor misunderstanding'?"
"..."
"Shall I treat you 'minorly' as well and slaughter you, Lord Fransil, and all your knights?"
"Surely not...!"
Lord Fransil snapped his mouth shut, having nearly cried out that it was lawless and dishonorable.
No one would take kindly to such words flung in their face, no matter how true.
"I apologize once more. But this incident arose because ignorant mercenaries broke ranks on their own whim."
"Mercenaries acting on whim stems from a lack of command ability. Wouldn't you agree?"
Lord Fransil's face flushed at the sharp rebuke.
"W-We never dreamed Your Grace would be in Brodin... In any case, I offer my sincerest apologies and fitting reparations."
"Your ransom, your sons' and daughter's ransoms, your knights' ransoms. And compensation for unlawfully invading my territory. Pay up."
"W-What do you mean by that!?"
He could understand ransoms after losing a fight. But unlawful territorial invasion?
"Come to think of it, you don't know yet. Marquis Cameron, over here."
"M-Marquis?"
Lord Fransil's stunned eyes caught sight of Cameron approaching slowly.
"As you see. House Cameron royal kin has submitted to me. Thus, you and your army invaded not Brodia, but territory of the House Bartla ducal family."
"Such absurdity...!"
"Why absurd?"
"Urgh!"
Lord Fransil gaped wordlessly, unable to retort further. There was no reason it shouldn't be true. Results spoke for themselves in such matters.
"I am Lanslo of Durak. I too am curious why this is absurd."
"As a true knight representing Elrand, I eagerly await what you—who unified Brodia's domains by force—have to say."
Lanslo and Prabo flanked Eugene.
With a Durak knight and Elrand's swordmaster stepping forward, Lord Fransil felt the heavens crashing down.
And above all...
"Lord, heir, daughter. All captured by me. Explain what's so absurd."
The moment he met Eugene's crimson eyes, Lord Fransil—who had waged wars across domains for Brantiia's throne—had no choice but to concede.
The tide had fully turned to Duke Bartla.
"...As Your Grace wills."
"Good. Then let us discuss reparations."
Suppressing an involuntary smile, Eugene maintained a stern expression and turned.
"Temporary fiscal officer, here."
Odd scurried over beaming, rubbing his palms.
"Hehe! A pleasure to meet you, Lord Fransil. I am Odd, temporary fiscal officer to Duke Bartla. Hehehe!"
"...!?"
Lord Fransil shivered as he read the feral glint of greed in those button eyes.
This pot-bellied fiscal officer was no ordinary foe.
"For starters, your ransom and those of your two children..."
"Kkihehehe. Ol' man's in deep shit. That merchant? Kki~ He's a money ghost who could make even this body yield ground!"
Mirian buzzed about the prisoners laughing, but Lord Fransil's face remained blank.
The ransoms for himself, his two offspring, and knights alone rivaled House Fransil's annual budget.
But the nightmare was just beginning.
"And for unlawfully invading Duke Bartla's territory, reparations scaled to your army's numbers..."
Lord Fransil's mind blanked into dizziness.
To pay that sum, House Fransil would graze on grass for at least three to four years.
No different from utter ruin for house and domain.
"...That concludes it."
"Y-Your Grace. Isn't this excessive...? Of course, we shall pay reparations, but..."
To the pallid, stammering Lord Fransil, Eugene spoke in a low, gentle voice.
"Follow my proposal, and I'll halve it."
"...!"
Lord Fransil's eyes flew wide.
Even halved, it was an enormous sum, but now was no time to quibble over goblin shit versus kobold shit.
"I shall heed Your Grace's proposal. Pray, speak it."
"Simple. Submit under Bartla and Krolmarin. Like Marquis Cameron did."
"...!"
To the flinching lord, Eugene offered a honeyed smile.
"You. Don't you claim to be Duke Fransil?"
"..."
Lord Fransil's face burned red again.
"Shout it alone for a hundred days, and it's just a joke. But if the throne's claimant grants the title, it's different. Earl, how about it?"
"I, an earl...?"
Eugene smirked inwardly at Lord Fransil swallowing dryly.
'The eldest son is useful at times like this.'
Eager to boast of his house, Lema had shared much about House Fransil.
Including the circumstances of his father, Lord Fransil.
Truth be told, Lord Fransil was no pureblood noble.
He had risen from mercenary captain to Brodia knight, then baron, but inferiority over his origins ran deep.
His stubborn archaic speech was born of that.
Small wonder he clashed with pureblood lords.
Thus, half by choice, half forced, he waged domain wars, expanding until claiming dukehood.
Lema had meant to praise his father's efforts and talents, but Eugene saw only inferiority and bravado.
Facing him confirmed it.
'Longing for "true honor" and inferiority had brought him here.'
"In the new Kingdom of Brantia, earls number fewer than five. Fransil could join the five great noble houses. Endorsed by the royals."
"Great noble... house. Endorsed by... the royals..."
No charm used, yet Lord Fransil's eyes glazed dreamily.
"Pay reparations, annual taxes, and you're a true great noble. Founding merit of the new dynasty: Fran-sil Earl."
At those final words, Lord Fransil's eyes bulged as he snapped his head up.
"I accept! House Fransil pledges to Your Grace's kingdom!"
"An excellent choice."
"Kkihehehek! As expected of my liege, the vampire king of temptation. Straight-up king-god-emperor."
Amid the spirit's awed headshake, Eugene smiled in satisfaction.
The campaign had minor bumps but ended in perfect profit.
Not only that, but after Brodia's royals, House Fransil was now under his banner.
'But it's still a bit short.'
He had reeled in Fransil via his ambitions, but that alone wasn't enough for full trust.
Thus, Eugene moved to the next phase.
"Bring the ones from the underground dungeon."
"Yes!"
Partek responded vigorously and departed with mercenaries.
Lord Fransil's expression turned puzzled, while Cameron's lit up.
"Your Grace. At last... you will do it?"
"Yes. Didn't I say?"
With a cruel smile utterly unlike moments before, Eugene gazed not at Cameron but Lord Fransil, speaking coldly.
"I always keep promises. The Brodia nobles who fucked with my vassal die today."
"...!"
Lord Fransil flinched, drunk on impending true honor.
'Defy him, and we're truly fucked.'
Recalling Eugene mercilessly butchering mercenaries and piercing a knight's shoulder in one blow, he shuddered.
(To be continued in the next installment)