Chapter 56: Borrowed Knife to Kill
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 56: Borrowed Knife to Kill
The military camp was in an uproar from the crack of dawn. A night watchman, having belatedly discovered the prisoner's escape, had sounded the alarm. Bewilderment spread across the soldiers' faces as they learned the reason for their early awakening.
Who was Powell Osborne? He was the prisoner with the highest ransom, captured personally by Piole—a woman tougher than most men. Everyone knew the fallout from this would not be light.
Only the new recruits, who had previously served as guards for merchants and pimps, watched the situation with bewildered faces.
Bolton and his vassals appeared only after two elite soldiers, bought with bribes, were bound and forced to their knees in the middle of a clearing.
Upon seeing this, Bolton's and his vassals' eyes trembled minutely. They exchanged looks, their faces etched with bewilderment.
They had instructed the guards to flee after being bribed to do the deed.
But for some reason, the guards hadn't fled. Instead, they had brazenly remained at their posts, only to be caught by me.
I couldn't understand it either.
Was the bribe not enough for them? Did they believe that if they played dumb, they could join in the plunder of Baron Debussy's domain? Or perhaps they were banking on their connection with Piole.
I had planned to feign ignorance of the escape, to act as if I had fallen for Bolton's trick, but this made it difficult to play dumb.
Still, it wasn't a major problem. After all, the ones who should fear the guards' testimony the most were Bolton and his vassals.
"W-what is all this?"
If the guards confessed who had bribed them, it would be all over for Bolton and his vassals.
That must be why beads of cold sweat formed on Bolton's forehead and why he was anxiously shifting his weight, glancing my way.
"A prisoner escaped last night. These men, who were on guard duty, claim they dozed off and didn't notice his escape. Hah, to be so brazen after letting a prisoner worth hundreds of gold coins get away?"
"I-it's true! We were exhausted from the last battle and...!"
"The prisoner must have pulled some kind of trick!"
The guards, failing to grasp the situation, stuck to their excuses. With Piole absent, the mercenary captain, Dreng, cautiously stepped forward.
"Sir Allen. Please, have mercy..."
I shook my head. To make Bolton believe he had fooled me, I had to show anger here.
Besides, making an exception would ruin military discipline, and the mercenaries might try the same thing again.
Moreover, with the new mercenaries who used to guard merchants and pimps having just joined, I needed to establish firm military discipline from the get-go.
"I have treated you all well. I distributed the spoils of war fairly and promised to do the same with any future plunder. I even mediated your deals with the merchants so you wouldn't get ripped off. All so that everyone could become rich by the end of this war."
The mercenaries watching the scene nodded in agreement. Dreng was no exception.
"You are the only one who takes care of mercenaries like this, Sir Allen."
"And yet, these men have repaid my kindness with betrayal."
"Sir Allen, this was a mistake."
"Don't be so sure, Dreng."
Dreng whipped his head around to glare at the bound, kneeling guards. He had sensed something in my words.
"You two..."
Only then did the guards' faces turn deathly pale as they realized something was terribly wrong. The faces of Bolton and his vassals, who had been watching anxiously, were much the same.
Ignoring them, I continued calmly.
"Thanks to my mediating between you and the merchants, I know how much you earned. And yet, these men who let the prisoner escape were found with more than double the money I brokered for them. How should I interpret this? Dreng, would you care to explain?"
These were mercenaries who had made a fortune from the spoils. An amount double that was far too much to claim they'd had it all along.
Dreng squeezed his eyes shut.
"I apologize."
I shook my head. Dreng was a fairly competent mercenary captain. Holding him responsible for something he didn't do would be a loss.
"How can I expect a professional army's discipline from mercenaries? I know that even though you're the captain, it's just a nominal title. Stand down."
Dreng bowed his head and stepped back. Realizing the situation was turning against them, the two guards desperately raised their voices.
"Sir Allen! We'll tell you the truth! The fact is...!"
Before they could finish their sentence, a flash of steel sliced through their necks. The heads that dropped and rolled on the ground belonged to men who hadn't even realized they were dead.
Behind the collapsing bodies stood two men, their blood-soaked swords steaming in the cool air.
Bolton and Muel, each having beheaded one of the guards, shouted angrily, their faces splattered with blood.
"They were colluding with the enemy! They deserved to have their heads cut off!"
Bolton had acted before the guards could speak his name.
It was a truly awkward scene. The guards had been on the verge of revealing the truth, and beheading them right at that moment was suspicious to anyone watching.
For a moment, the camp fell silent, and a strange tension settled over it.
The problem was, I couldn't do anything to Bolton over this. He and his vassals were not my subordinates. We were more like an alliance, temporarily joined for a common goal.
"They were my soldiers, Bolton."
The reverse was also true. No matter what crime my soldiers committed, Bolton had no authority to punish them.
Bolton's eyes darted around before he lowered his head. It was the first time he had ever bowed to me.
"M-my apologies. The humiliation from the last battle suddenly came back to me, and I couldn't control my anger."
"Tsk, what a weak-willed man."
In the modern world, that might have been a sufficient excuse. Even ordinary people know about PTSD.
But here, it just made him look weak. That was why the soldiers' gazes held a hint of ridicule.
Bolton gritted his teeth but couldn't retort, even though it must have been an even greater humiliation for someone who had always been so arrogant, backed by his family's name.
Deciding to be satisfied with this, I clicked my tongue and turned to the soldiers.
"I promised you wealth. But for any scoundrel who disobeys my orders, there will be a price to pay."
As a head rolled to my feet, I stomped on it firmly. The skull, said to be the hardest bone in the human body, shattered instantly. A pinkish residue of blood and brain matter oozed out.
Gulp.
The mercenaries hastily bowed their heads. Even the new recruits, who had been watching as if it were none of their business, tensed up and held their breath.
Dreng spoke on behalf of the mercenaries.
"We will repay your generosity with our loyalty."
Having used this opportunity to seize control of the mercenaries, I headed for the command tent. On the way, my eyes met Muel's, and he gave a slight bow. The man was astonishingly quick-witted.
He knew that the guards revealing the truth wouldn't be good for me either, so he had helped Bolton deal with them. This, of course, included the benefit of earning Bolton's trust.
'His ambition is commendable.'
My assessment of Muel rose slightly. As if he knew it, the corners of his eyes curved into a smile.
Bolton and his vassals followed me into the command tent, watching my expression carefully.
For their plan to work, I had to march on Baron Debussy's domain, regardless of the prisoner's escape.
"When do you plan to march?"
Knowing their intentions all too well, I adopted a cagey tone.
"Well, now that the prisoner has escaped, the enemy's defenses will be strengthened, won't they? With our small numbers, we could lose our lives if we're not careful."
"But isn't this a chance to plunder the enemy's now-defenseless territory? If we move quickly, it should be fine."
The other vassals chimed in.
"Didn't we start this war for revenge? We must avenge Sir Maxim! And we deserve to get his body back!"
"If we retreat now, the enemy will have lost nothing! Our domain will be the only one to have been plundered!"
The vassals were more motivated than ever. Then again, with their necks on the line if things went wrong, they were bound to find motivation they never knew they had.
"Hmm, then you all should prepare quickly as well. You'll have to trail behind me since you have no troops, but isn't it better to participate in the plunder, even a little, than to return empty-handed?"
I extended a final lifeline. If they took it, I was willing to at least spare their lives.
But they exchanged glances and shook their heads. Not a single one took my hand. Bolton spoke.
"How could we possibly burden you, Sir Allen, when we are responsible for such a great loss? We will remain behind, reflect on our actions, and secure the battlefield while we await your return."
The other vassals agreed with him. In the end, they had chosen to remain my enemies.
*
It didn't take long to get from the tower to Baron Debussy's domain. Piole was waiting at the border between the two territories. Beside her was Powell Osborne, his face swollen and puffy. It seemed he had put up a fight.
"Sir Powell. I treated you well as a prisoner, yet you leave without a word, ignoring my hospitality? What is the meaning of this?"
Powell Osborne managed a smile with his battered face.
"The door was open. I thought it was an invitation to leave."
"And no one opened it for you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
I let out a short laugh.
"Would you give me the same answer if I sold you to your wife's uncle?"
"...!"
The composure vanished from Powell Osborne's face. He glared at me in shock, his expression hardening. I continued, my smile unwavering.
"Djak wouldn't refuse even if I demanded a fortune. With you out of the way, he could take control of the family. Your young son would have to spend every night trembling in fear."
Powell Osborne's wife was Baron Debussy's only child, and the son he'd had with his much younger wife was just an infant.
Without a husband and father to protect them, the baron's younger brother, Djak, would soon reveal his true colors.
I could be sure of it. In the future that would now never come to pass, Aenya had joined hands with Djak to oppose Powell Osborne.
"You honorless...!"
"You dare speak of honor after escaping as a prisoner?"
Powell Osborne bit his lip. But he couldn't refuse. The information about the traitor wasn't important enough to gamble his and his family's lives on.
"What do you want?"
As expected, he quickly raised the white flag. I gave him a cynical smile.
"Do you have a subordinate you can trust with your life?"
They weren't the only ones who could use a borrowed knife to kill.
*
Baron Debussy's domain was in a temporary power vacuum. The few militiamen in the villages didn't dare to confront us and had no choice but to allow the plunder.
"Take only what's light and valuable! We don't have room for planting seeds or household goods!"
A mercenary who was about to loot even the seeds for the spring planting reluctantly put them down at my command. Leaving behind the complicated gaze of a wrinkled old woman, I left the shabby hut.
After passing through several villages, the mercenaries were adorned with jewelry like noblewomen, their pockets were bulging, and the carts they pulled were piled high with plunder.
Yet the mercenaries were still not satisfied. Neither was I, the one who had taken the largest share of the loot.
It was on the evening of the seventh day after crossing into the domain that Melbourne, a village famous for its wine, appeared before us.
Melbourne was a large village with over a hundred households. It had no walls, not even a palisade, but a contingent of soldiers was encamped at the village entrance. It seemed they had been waiting for us.
"It's the militia. Looks like about thirty of them."
Piole, who had ridden up beside me, commented. Seeing their lack of proper equipment, it was definitely the militia.
The problem was that we only had fifty men ourselves. Among them, fewer than twenty were elite mercenaries; the other thirty were guards for merchants and pimps, hired to fill our ranks.
The latter were no different from the militia, meaning our losses would be heavy even if we won.
"Is the capital city three days from here?"
"Yeah. Word has probably reached the capital by now. This is basically the last place we can plunder."
There was still plenty of room in the carts, and my greed was far from sated. The same went for the mercenaries.
"First, we'll send an envoy to demand their surrender."
"They'll try to stall for time, won't they?"
It was a village three days from the capital. By now, news of us would have reached the city, so it was reasonable for them to wait for reinforcements.
"If they don't surrender by dawn, we attack."
"Got it. I'll go deliver the message."
Piole raised a wooden stick tied with a white cloth and rode toward the village. After exchanging a few words with the militia captain who came out to meet her, she returned with an unfamiliar waterskin in her arms.
"They said they'll decide before dawn."
I narrowed my eyes and stared at the waterskin. Piole flinched and subtly hid it behind her back.
"So that's why you volunteered to be the envoy."
"Ahem, it's rude not to accept a gift they force on you. Besides, aren't you curious about the taste of a wine that's supplied to the royal family? If you keep looking at me like that, I'm not sharing."
I held up my hands as if to say I couldn't help it. Piole chuckled and quickly entered her tent.
"Wine..."
Wine was a luxury. I'd heard that on the continent farther south, across the sea, grapes grew so well that people drank it like water, but here it was a delicacy served only to honored guests.
This meant that even Piole, a knight's daughter, wouldn't have had it often. Moreover, wine was surprisingly potent, and Melbourne's vintage was famous for having an even higher alcohol content than usual.