Chapter 167: Game of Thrones
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 167: Game of Thrones
Every coin has two sides.
Erik had created an immortal army with the drugs and holy water he received from the Pope. I had to admit, the power of that army was formidable.
The problem was the price.
If rumors spread that he used drugs, mercenaries from the Northern Continent would refuse him even if he offered a fortune.
There wasn't a single person in the North who didn't know how horrific the effects of drugs were, thanks to the high volume of trade with the East, the source of the narcotics.
This meant that to replenish his forces, Erik would have to bring in clueless mercenaries from the Western Continent.
War mercenaries were already expensive, but adding the cost of transporting them across the continent?
Even for a family as ancient and wealthy as his, with a lucrative rock salt mine that served as a dutiful son, the burden would be staggering.
And it’s not like he can just raise taxes.
The reason commerce had flourished in the Northern Continent was due to its year-round low temperatures and poor soil.
In other words, commerce had to develop out of necessity for survival. That was why the continent's wealth was concentrated in the coastal cities.
But the territories Dresden had occupied were mostly inland. It was obvious that even if he taxed them, he wouldn't reap the profits he desired.
Furthermore, imposing additional taxes so soon after an occupation would surely incite a rebellion. In the end, it would be worse than doing nothing at all.
This meant that reinforcing his army was extremely difficult. And yet, he had suffered massive losses by recklessly trying to capture the Duke while caught in an ambush.
Now that the balance of power has crumbled, the Pope won't just stand by once he finds out.
Just as Erik had tried to kill Cynthia to destroy the Pope's future, the Pope would not miss this opportunity now that Erik was weakened.
Two tigers can't live on the same mountain. And since both tigers shared the same goal, conflict was inevitable.
All it needed was a small trigger.
This battle would be more than enough to serve as that trigger.
“Is that all?”
After hearing my reason for letting Erik go, the Duke watched me with a suspicious expression. When I looked back at him, he continued.
“It was a chance to avenge the stab wound you took. Isn’t it strange to just let him go?”
In truth, there was a reason I had to borrow the Pope’s hands. It was because killing Erik myself could become a problem when I eventually swallowed the Dresden territory.
Just as modern law strips inheritance rights from a child who murders their parents, if I killed Erik with my own hands, my plan to inherit the Dresden territory through Adeleade would surely hit a snag.
That bastard already killed the Count and Aron for me. No need to spoil things now.
It was a grim and sinister plot. That was why I couldn't reveal the whole truth.
“I believe I told you earlier. If we pursued him recklessly and got counter-attacked, we’d be in deep trouble. One fool’s mistake is enough for today.”
Fortunately, I had a perfect example right in front of me of someone who had pursued recklessly and suffered for it. I used Erik as an excuse to deflect the Duke’s suspicion.
“Father!”
Just then, Isabel, who had confirmed the enemy’s retreat, galloped over on her horse, helping to dispel the Duke’s doubts.
“Isabel! How did you get here…!”
Stroking the hair of Isabel, who was now in his arms, the Duke glanced back and forth between her and me.
“The reason I rushed to the Duke’s aid as soon as I recovered was because of Isabel’s request.”
“Isabel’s…?”
The Duke looked deeply moved. Isabel, nestled in his embrace, also thanked me with her eyes.
I just shrugged. If I don’t take care of my woman, who will? I silently mouthed the word ‘promise’ to her.
Isabel’s face instantly turned red, as if she remembered the promise I had made before charging into battle.
“Ah. Come to think of it, I haven’t even thanked you properly. Thank you, truly. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, today would have been the day of my memorial service.”
After their emotional father-daughter reunion, the Duke grasped my hands with both of his and expressed his gratitude.
“I did it because I felt I also bore some responsibility for brokering the alliance with Erik. You don’t have to be so grateful.”
The Duke shook his head.
“Though the Baron’s persuasion played a part, I was the one who ultimately made the decision. If we’re talking about shares of responsibility, mine is the largest.”
“Are the Count and Aron really dead?”
Lacking any tolerance for this sort of thing, I changed the subject. The Duke smiled. The smile deepened when he saw Isabel, who had approached and linked her arm with mine.
“The Baron’s mercenary captain would know more about that.”
“Hodgson?”
As if on cue, Hodgson emerged from among the mercenaries who were cleaning up the aftermath of the battle. He immediately knelt before me.
“My apologies. Due to my incompetence, I have lost all of the Baron’s troops.”
A group of mercenaries followed, kneeling in a line behind Hodgson. There were fewer than a hundred of them.
“Of the seven hundred soldiers stationed in Aran, fewer than a hundred remain?”
“I am sorry.”
Hodgson bowed his head again.
They probably weren't all dead. Most would have surrendered when the tide of battle turned against them. Or perhaps Erik had cleverly induced their surrender beforehand.
That’s just how mercenaries are. My expectations weren't high, so my disappointment wasn't great either.
I helped the penitent Hodgson to his feet and patted his shoulder in encouragement.
“I won’t hold this against you. Even I was backstabbed by that bastard. It would be greedy of me to expect you to have prevented his betrayal.”
“My lord Baron…!”
Hodgson looked deeply moved. I mean, who wouldn't be? I wasn't punishing him despite him losing seven hundred soldiers. And he was just a mere mercenary, at that.
But I was glad to have Hodgson and the surviving mercenaries. With these veterans, managing newly recruited mercenaries would be much easier.
“So, how did the Count and Aron die?”
“Poison. It seems he intended to dispose of the Count and his followers all at once, so he poisoned the meal. By the time I realized something was wrong, it was already…”
He was saying he had fled as soon as he confirmed Aron was dead. It was fortunate for him that there were many more valuable targets in the dining hall.
“So, he’s really dead.”
The Count was dead, and Erik was now the head of the family. In the end, it had turned out just like the game. I was feeling a strange sense of irony when the Duke spoke again.
“What will you do now?”
The Duke, who had taken a step back, stepped forward again.
“First, let’s get out of here.”
I needed time to sort out my thoughts, so I deferred my answer. The post-battle cleanup had just finished.
We couldn't go back the way we came. It would be a disaster if we ran into Erik. Instead, we headed for the Duke’s capital, Foesterheim.
It would be a long detour to the Holy Land, but it was better than risking an encounter with Erik.
Riding at the head of the column alongside the Duke, I fell into thought. All I had left were the three hundred soldiers stationed in the Holy Land.
The Archbishop was likely winning over local nobles and recruiting mercenaries with funds from the coastal cities, so I might be able to raise a large force.
If only I had enough time…
The problem was that time was short.
Bronx II had begun to make his move, so I needed to wrap things up in the Northern Continent as quickly as possible and return to the West.
This meant that even with newly recruited soldiers, my forces would struggle to exceed a thousand men.
“My situation isn’t much better,” the Duke said with a grim expression, adding that Erik’s betrayal had cost him not only troops but also many of his most trusted vassals.
With Dresden and the Pope allied, it was hard to deny our numerical inferiority.
“This is actually for the best.”
“What do you mean? For the best?”
“Since they have the superior force and are armed with drugs and holy water, the Pope won’t even consider defeat. Therefore, he’ll prefer an open battle to a siege.”
If we had the superior force, the Pope would have hunkered down in the capital, Aran, and opted for a defensive siege.
The problem was that the capital, Aran, was no easy fortress to conquer. Sieges were a headache to begin with, but having to take a well-maintained castle?
Even with my transcendent martial prowess, it would be impossible given the time constraints.
“Besides, the Pope will be prepared for my strength.”
He had grown accustomed to superhuman individuals through Alex, and he had been bested by me several times. He might have even laid traps, going beyond simple preparations.
Moreover, this was a major war with thousands of soldiers clashing on both sides. It was hard to be certain how effective individual strength would be.
A look of bewilderment colored the Duke’s face.
“You saw it yourself, didn’t you? The power of an army armed with drugs and holy water. That power will be even more prominent in an open battle. How do you intend to face them?”
“We only need to win once. He couldn’t have stockpiled enough holy water to supply that many soldiers indefinitely.”
It had been nearly ten years since the Pope took in Cynthia and began stockpiling holy water, but since she was the only one who could produce it, the quantity had to be limited.
“Also, judging by how they fled the moment Erik retreated, they are not a perfectly trained army.”
The truly terrifying thing about an immortal army was that even if its commander died, it would faithfully carry out its last orders until the very last soldier fell.
It seemed there were some flaws, likely because it wasn't the Pope's own army and the alliance had been hastily formed.
That’s why now was our chance.
“As I said, if we can win just one open battle, it will all be over. The Pope is nothing without his holy water. In fact, he’ll have to pay the price for overusing drugs with bitter regret.”
I waited for the Duke’s answer. In reality, he only had one choice.
Once Erik and the Pope were dealt with, wasn't he the only one with the justification to become king?
Moreover, I, the only one who could threaten his position, had reasons to return to the Western Continent immediately after the war, so he had nothing to worry about.
He doesn’t know I plan to rule the Northern Continent through the Archbishop, so he has no choice but to accept.
The Coastal City Alliance, which I had entrusted to the Church as a test, was operating without any major issues.
Expanding the scope to a national level would surely bring unforeseen problems, but those too could be solved with effort and ingenuity.
“Hmm…”
The Duke couldn't decide easily. The fruits of success were sweet, but failure could mean the downfall of not just himself, but his entire family. It was understandable.
I waited patiently. Just as the Duke was finally about to reach a decision…
“Enemy—!”
A scout who had been on patrol galloped back frantically, shouting. Had Erik regrouped and started a pursuit? Or were these reinforcements from the Pope?
Whatever it was, the deliberation would have to wait. The Duke and I met each other’s eyes and, without a word, drew our swords to await the enemy.
But the flag carried by the approaching troops in the distance looked familiar.
“…That looks like the Duke’s family crest.”
At my words, the Duke glared at the scout. The scout’s face turned pale, and he backed away. One of the Duke’s knights went after him.
“Ahem. It must be the supply unit. Supplies from Foesterheim were due to arrive.”
The absurd little farce completely dispelled the tension from the battle. The faces of the soldiers, who had escaped with only their lives and had no food, also brightened.
But only for a moment.
“Ptooey! What is this? It’s all sand!”
The soldiers’ faces, after checking the supplies, were even more contorted than before. The sacks were half flour and half sand. The quality of the other food was also terrible.
“Wh-what is the meaning of this!”
The Duke, his abysmal supply situation exposed in front of an outsider like me, flew into a rage. The face of the knight leading the supply unit turned white as a sheet.
“Gasp. I-I told him it was a bad idea! But the Young Lord insisted that the supplies were his responsibility and pushed it through!”
It seemed one of the Duke’s sons had been messing with the supplies. If only that were the end of it.
“F-Father? What are you doing here…!”
Upon arriving in Foesterheim, we found his other son in the Duke’s office, caught red-handed while rolling around naked with three or four prostitutes.
“While their father risks his life on the battlefield, one son messes with the supplies, and the other fools around with prostitutes in my office?”
The Duke’s face, which had turned beet red, finally gave way. He clutched the back of his neck and collapsed.
“Father…!”
Isabel, after having the servants attend to the Duke, approached her brothers, who couldn't lift their faces. She then mercilessly kicked them in the shins.
“Are you two out of your minds!?”
Her brothers, both grown young men, couldn't do a thing against the small and youthful-looking Isabel. An older sister was still an older sister, it seemed.
It was only a day later that I heard the brothers were powerless against Isabel because she had taken on the role of their mother after she passed away at a young age.
Meanwhile, that night.
The Duke, lying sick in bed, stared blankly at the ceiling. But what he was seeing was the past.
“With two sons and both of them so immature, perhaps Erik’s words will come true after all.”
The Duke felt a sense of futility. What was the point of struggling to put his family on solid ground? It was obvious his sons would ruin everything he had built.
And that would be the best-case scenario. There was a high probability that things would become even worse than before.
“They’re still young. They’ll change once they get older and gain more experience.”
Isabel defended her brothers as she wiped the Duke’s forehead with a tightly wrung cloth.
“You never once caused me any trouble.”
“I had to act as the mistress of the house in place of our late mother. I had no choice. My brothers will do well when the time comes, I’m sure.”
The Duke stroked Isabel’s hair.
“If only you had been born a man, I wouldn’t have had to worry like this… It’s a shame, a real shame. Truly… Hmm?”
“Father?”
Just then, an idea flashed through the Duke’s mind. He continued speaking to Isabel, who was looking up at him with concern.
“You seemed quite close with the Baron… Don’t tell me, did you succeed in seducing him?”
Isabel hadn't left Allen’s side the entire way to Foesterheim. And Allen didn't seem to mind it either.
Their relationship must have developed during their journey to the Holy Land! That was the Duke’s conclusion.
“Seduce…?”
Isabel’s face flushed crimson. Her hands, with nowhere to go, fidgeted restlessly.
“So you succeeded?”
Her reaction was answer enough. As the Duke’s face brightened, Isabel shook her head.
“It’s true that the Baron is fond of me. But… he has too many women.”
The Duke hoped Allen would serve him as a son-in-law, but Isabel had realized that no matter how hard she tried, she could never have him all to herself.
There was Cynthia, for one, and Allen had also implicitly mentioned women in the Western Continent.
He has far more territory in the North, but he wants to return to the West. That must be why.
Another problem was that Allen was not the type of man to be under anyone. In Isabel’s eyes, Allen was a born ruler, a conqueror.
He was the exact opposite of what the Duke expected. And yet, upon hearing this, the Duke’s expression was bright.
“Excellent!”
“Huh?”
Just as Isabel was beginning to worry that the rage had finally made her father go mad, the fugitive Erik was facing the Pope.
The Pope spoke.
“You let him get away? After I provided you with holy water and drugs? Duke. Just how much more are you going to disappoint me?”