Chapter 52: Borrowed Knife to Kill
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 52: Borrowed Knife to Kill
Gulp.
The vassals’ gazes, all fixed on Bolton, turned icy cold. Bolton took an involuntary step back.
His mind must have been in turmoil. He would have realized by now that he’d been tricked by Joang. The problem was, he couldn't reveal that fact.
Taking advice from Joang, his faction’s greatest political rival? The situation would only get worse.
“A mistake, it was a mistake! I didn’t think that far ahead. Do you think I would have said anything if I’d known? My own neck would have been on the line!”
The only thing he could do was play dumb.
“Hmm…”
“That’s true…”
Since he wasn’t wrong, the vassals’ sharp glares softened.
If he had left it at that, I would have too. There was no physical proof that he was in contact with Joang. Mere suspicion wasn't enough to oust Bolton, who held the most influence among the vassals.
But as their suspicion faded, Bolton quickly regained his confidence and turned the tables on us.
“Honestly, how could you all look at me like a traitor over one little mistake? Isn’t that going too far? Especially when you’ve done nothing but sit there without offering a single opinion! And that includes you, Sir Allen!”
Wasn’t the one going too far the man who not only feigned ignorance but was now shifting the blame?
I shook my head.
“How disappointing. I was merely giving you all a chance to earn some glory. I already have a way to draw the enemy out of the tower.”
“What…!”
Bolton shot back, his face a mask of disbelief. The other vassals looked no different.
“I’m going to challenge the enemy commander to a duel.”
My next words made their expressions sour even further. Bolton’s face twisted into a bizarre grimace, and the others exchanged awkward smiles.
“A duel? Surely you’re not thinking of ending the war with a duel, like some knight from a storybook? Good heavens, do you think war is child’s play?”
Duels usually only happened in small-scale pursuits when a horse was too exhausted to run any farther. While there were exceptions, they were just that—exceptions.
“There’s no way Sir Powell, who’s holed up in that tower because he lacks the courage to face us directly, would ever accept a duel.”
“Exactly! There’s no talk of him being a great warrior, so he’ll obviously avoid a direct confrontation.”
The other vassals sided with Bolton. As I thought, suspicion alone wasn't enough to break their bond.
“Then I just have to make him accept, don’t I?”
“Excuse me? What do you mean by that?”
Without explaining, I left the command tent. I immediately mounted my horse and galloped toward the tower.
“Hey, you…!”
“Sir! It’s dangerous! Come back!”
The vassals hastily gathered their troops and followed me, but they halted when an arrow fired from the tower landed in front of them.
In that time, I reached the front of the tower and shouted to the enemy soldiers lined up on top.
“My name is Allen Tobalts! By the just right bestowed upon me by the Lord, I have come to avenge my father, who died at your hands! Now, is there any brave soul who would dare stop me from exercising my right?”
“Is he actually challenging us to a duel? Is he insane?”
“Right? What reason do we have to accept?”
The enemy soldiers exchanged bewildered looks. Soon, Powell Osborne appeared, pushing his way through them. He looked just as dumbfounded.
“Sir Allen. Before you talk of revenge, shouldn’t you be paying the ransom to retrieve Sir Maxim’s body first?”
As if to say, Am I not right?, he shrugged at his soldiers. They responded with loud laughter.
“How dare you insult me!”
Truthfully, I would have laughed too. But contrary to my inner thoughts, I feigned rage and dismounted. Then I picked up a stone from the ground.
Powell Osborne and his men pointed at me, their laughter unabated. They were confident in their tower, which stood as tall as a three-story apartment building, and scoffed at what I could possibly do with a single pebble.
Their laughter didn’t last long.
CRACK!
The stone flew like a flash of light and struck the face of the guard who was laughing the loudest, his teeth bared.
With a sound like a bomb exploding, the man’s face was reduced to pulp. The headless corpse collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
The enemy soldier who had been laughing face-to-face with him slowly turned his head to look down at me, his own face splattered with his comrade’s blood and brains.
“Aaargh!”
Finally snapping back to his senses, he tried to wipe the filth from his face. It was the last thing he ever did.
CRACK!
Another head exploded. A second stone I’d thrown had kindly sent him to follow his comrade.
“I-Insane!”
“Arrows, shoot the arrows!”
Powell Osborne drew his sword and barked orders at his stunned soldiers. Arrows soon flew from within the tower.
But there weren't many. In an age where lords hired mercenaries because they couldn't afford to maintain a standing army, few could properly field expensive troops like archers.
A baron’s archers were usually just a hunter or a forest keeper from each village. In exchange for the right to freely hunt small game like rabbits in the lord’s forest, they were obligated to serve as archers in times of war.
Moreover, I had the eyes that see the world slowly. I took a single diagonal step. Almost simultaneously, arrows thudded into the ground around me. Not a single one touched me.
Unless it was a rain of arrows that blotted out the sky and cast a shadow on the ground like in the movies, it was impossible to harm me with them.
“What the…!”
Of course, the enemy didn't know that. In their eyes, it must have looked as if the arrows were avoiding me on their own.
I threw a stone at the guard who had spoken first. He wasn't a complete fool; he immediately blocked his face with his shield.
However, the superhuman strength behind the stone shattered the shield to pieces, and the remaining force in the fragments was enough to turn the guard’s face into a pincushion.
“Guh…”
The guard tumbled over the railing. I glanced at the corpse, its neck bent at a grotesque angle, then looked up.
“Feeling like apologizing now?”
“Arrows! Keep shooting the arrows!”
Powell Osborne answered by continuing to hound his men. A guard shot an arrow, his face filled with bewilderment. When I easily dodged it again, his bewilderment quickly turned to fear.
“A-a devil! That man must be a devil!”
The mysterious sight of arrows avoiding me on their own brought the devil to mind. The word ‘devil’ spread among the guards like a plague. I could see their morale plummeting.
Seeing this, Powell Osborne raised his voice even higher.
“Anyone who spouts such nonsense will die by my sword! He is only human! A human with a bit of luck! Keep shooting! Keep—!”
But no more arrows flew. The moment I feigned another throw, all the guards ducked their heads below the railing.
This tendency only intensified after one of them, unable to contain his curiosity, peeked his head up only to be turned into a bloody mess by a stone I threw.
The only person showing his face was Powell Osborne. He glared at me, gritting his teeth.
“Why… why aren’t you throwing at me!”
“Didn’t you demand a ransom for my father’s body, Sir? I don’t have a single coin, so I need to earn some money.”
“What does that have to do with…”
“A man called the Fox of the Battlefield doesn’t know the most profitable business in war?”
Powell Osborne looked down at me with a you-can’t-be-serious expression. I grinned and lifted a stone.
“If you don’t accept my duel, I’ll keep throwing stones.”
The most profitable business on the battlefield was prisoner ransom. A king could fetch a ransom large enough to buy a city. The ransom for Powell Osborne, the son-in-law of Baron Debussy, would surely be high as well.
“You madman, have you no honor!”
“A man who avoids a duel dares to speak of honor?”
“You honorless…!”
Powell Osborne, his face turning beet red as he shouted, fell silent when a stone I threw shattered a section of the tower’s sturdy-looking railing.
“So, are you going to do it or not?”
I asked, repeatedly tossing a stone into the air and catching it. Even I had to admit I was acting like a complete thug. Powell Osborne was trembling with rage, grinding his teeth.
“Sir Powell! Let me go! I will crush the arrogance of that honorless brute!”
The inside of the tower grew noisy, and then a knight emerged from a side gate. I vaguely recognized his face from the previous meeting.
I grabbed my horse’s reins and slowly backed away.
“I was hoping for Sir Powell.”
“How could a commander step out for a duel! I, Zant of Entrée, am more than a worthy opponent for you! It’s unlikely, but should you win, my family will pay a handsome ransom. You will not refuse my challenge!”
There was no reason to refuse. My plan from the start was to draw the enemy out of the tower while simultaneously reducing their knightly strength.
“I certainly hope you keep your word.”
We faced each other in the middle of the two camps. Swords pointed at one another, we circled. Our narrowed eyes ceaselessly searched for an opening. I let out a smirk.
“You acted like you were going to charge the second you drew your sword.”
“You…!”
He kicked off the ground. The fact that he fell for such a simple taunt suggested he wasn't very experienced. His skills weren't impressive either. He put too much force into his swing, as if he wasn't thinking about his next move. It made his movements large and predictable.
In contrast, I swung my sword with minimal movement. This was a duel where I didn't need to—and shouldn't—show off my monstrous strength. If the enemy knights got scared and refused to duel, it would be my loss.
Besides, whether I stabbed hard or soft, a man dies all the same once a sword pierces his body. And even if I conserved my strength, it didn't mean I was weaker than my opponent.
CLANG—
Sparks flew as our swords met. With a sharp screech, his sword was deflected, pointing toward the sky. His torso was left wide open. His eyes widened in disbelief at being pushed back despite using his full strength. He was clearly an amateur.
Because I hadn't used my full power, I was able to execute my next move much faster. I closed the distance and swung my elbow into his body. His nose broke, and blood gushed from both nostrils.
He should have considered himself lucky. If I had used my full strength, his head would have vanished without a trace, just like the soldiers before him.
“Guh.”
He staggered back and fell to one knee. I slowly approached and placed my sword against his neck.
“Surrender. Or I will kill you.”
The man, who had been glaring up at me with clenched teeth, finally lowered his head. The sword he was holding clattered to the ground. His earlier bravado had vanished like the wind.
“I surrender.”
“Zant of Entrée is now my prisoner. As is custom, I will treat you as a guest until your ransom is paid.”
I tied him up with a rope I had prepared and made him kneel beside my horse. Then I walked back toward the tower.
The guards who had been peeking over the railing ducked down again. Powell Osborne’s face was crumpled like a sheet of paper.
I held up my palms and shrugged.
“Sending out a kid who’s still wet behind the ears while you hide in your safe tower? Is this the honor you spoke of?”
“You…!”
Before Powell Osborne could finish, the side gate creaked open again. Out came a fully armored knight, holding a kite shield in one hand and a war hammer in the other. He pointed the spike at the end of his hammer at me and shouted.
“I, Balmung of Otte, will prove that there are knights who know honor under Baron Debussy!”
He charged without waiting for my reply. Unlike Zant, this one had no manners.
I hated impudent fools who didn't know their place. This time, I swung my sword with all my strength.
This will be the last one, anyway.
Powell Osborne was not the kind of man to make the same mistake three times. If that was the case, there was no longer any need to hide my power.
The rude knight tried to block with his shield. Judging by the angle, his plan was to deflect my sword and counter with his war hammer.
Heh.
It seemed he hadn't grasped the extent of my strength, even after seeing a guard’s face explode from a thrown stone.
CRASH!
The moment my sword struck his shield, it shattered into pieces as if a bomb had gone off. The hand that held it didn't escape unscathed. I felt a clean break as his arm went limp.
“Kugh.”
His face contorted in pain. Even so, the fact that he still tried to swing his war hammer showed he wasn't just a rude oaf.
I lifted my foot before he could. A kick to his abdomen sent him flying backward. Considering his large frame and the weight of his armor, it was an unreal sight.
“Gack.”
The man, clutching his stomach and gagging, looked up at me as I placed my blade against his throat.
“I-I’ll pay the ransom!”
Regardless, my sword slid across his neck. A long gash appeared, and blood spurted out.
He looked up at me, trying to cover the wound with his hand, though he must have known it was pointless.
“Why…?”
His face seemed to ask, Didn’t you need the money? I flicked the blood from my sword and said:
“If you wanted to live, you should have shown some basic courtesy.”
“For a reason like that…”
With a hollow sigh, his head slumped forward. Leaving the ill-mannered corpse behind, I advanced toward the tower once more.
Two knights had been subdued in a matter of moments. The atmosphere in the tower was as grim as a funeral. They still had more knights than we did, and twice the number of soldiers, yet it felt as if they had already lost.
Powell Osborne looked down at me, his face now devoid of any expression.
“Sir Powell. How long will you hide behind your knights?”
“Do you think I’ll fall for such a pathetic taunt?”
“Even so, you can’t hide in that tower like a rat forever, can you? If we start building an earthen rampart, will you be able to stop us?”
With me providing cover, the tower guards wouldn't dare stick their heads out to interfere with the construction. Once a rampart taller than the tower was complete, the geographical advantage would be reversed.
Of course, building a siege mound took a considerable amount of time, so it wasn't an option I, being on the verge of bankruptcy, could choose.
But Powell Osborne doesn’t know that.
Gritting his teeth, Powell Osborne looked down at me for a moment before turning his back. The inside of the tower became a flurry of activity, and finally, the main gate opened. One by one, the enemy soldiers who had been hiding inside began to emerge.
I returned to our camp before they could form their lines. The vassals who had scoffed when I said I would challenge them to a duel now stared at me blankly, their mouths and eyes wide open.
The hundred or so soldiers had much the same reaction. One of them muttered, as if to himself:
“How can a man open a castle gate with three stones?”
It wouldn't be long before that soldier’s casual remark became a rumor, a legend that would follow my name into the future.
It wasn't a castle gate, just the main gate of a small tower, but aren't rumors always exaggerated?