Chapter 203
Chapter 203
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 203
Chapter Title: Splitting Sides (2)
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Berta Ishtaven, the chieftain of the Ishtaven tribe and leader of this gathering, found himself deep in thought.
'Fuck, it was like the bread was already baked to perfection. Why the hell did that damn Khan Slayer have to show up as the Northern Army Commander? Shit. Anyone else, I could handle, but that bastard is dangerous.'
Of all times, the news and letter from Major General Jaeger arrived right as the sixty chieftains were holding their meeting.
In front of the flustered, murmuring chieftains, he forced a calm facade and responded.
"Let's start by reading the letter they sent. We need to know what it says before we can decide anything, right?"
"You're right."
With that, one of the chieftains picked up the letter left by the messenger and began reading it aloud.
"I am Major General Peter Jaeger, newly appointed as Northern Army Commander. The reason I'm sending this letter today is simple: now that I've taken command, we'll hold an official inauguration ceremony next week. I hope you all can attend and make the occasion shine."
Even though he hadn't finished reading, the chieftains erupted in shocked murmurs once more, tense and on edge.
"Fuck, honestly, wouldn't it be nice to surrender to the Stockholm Kingdom, snag a knighthood like those fancy Reich Empire nobles, and live a life of luxury?"
"You have to size up your opponent before stretching your legs. Any other Northern Army commander, we could smash from behind and win once or twice. But Major General Peter Jaeger? Even that Ludwig bastard couldn't touch him...?"
"We're done for. We should kowtow now, lick his boots if we have to, beg like dogs. Otherwise, we're all dead meat."
Meanwhile, Chieftain Ishtaven sighed inwardly at the cruel twist of fate: why did the new commander arriving at this exact moment have to be that Peter Jaeger?
'I've already got promises from Stockholm that if I lead these guys to defect, they'll recognize my power and make me an earl. It's the perfect opportunity—can't let Jaeger ruin it.'
And so, Ishtaven racked his brain for a way to bring all sixty tribes with him to Stockholm.
"Also attending will be Anastasia Kerzhit, chieftain of the White Wolf Tribe and colonel in the Imperial Army. She's eager to see you all, with whom she's maintained close ties for years, so please come. We'll host you with utmost hospitality."
After reading that far, the chieftain reading the letter let out a heavy sigh and quietly set it down.
"Looks like the Empire's dug in their heels. What do you plan to do, Chieftain Ishtaven? Honestly, starting with Chieftain Kerzhit, the Empire's done a lot for us. Just last winter and this one, their aid meant not a single tribesman starved to death. And next year, my son gets to enter the Imperial Academy—the gateway to nobility in the Reich Empire."
He didn't say more, but everyone there knew the unspoken message loud and clear.
'We're sixty chieftains ready to follow you to Stockholm because they promised better aid and treatment than the Empire's giving now. But what's the point if we're dead?'
To Ishtaven, though, the letter carried another meaning entirely.
A warning from Major General Jaeger: among the chieftains scheming with you now, those who come to their senses and return will be specially pardoned—everyone except you, the ringleader Ishtaven.
For a battle-hardened veteran like Ishtaven, such threats were as routine as morning bread and soup.
But when the one issuing the threat was Northern Army Commander Peter Jaeger—the man who'd personally slain the Khan?
It sent chills down his spine and made him tremble.
Still, he knew that in a situation like this, pretending to stay calm was the best way to boost his survival odds—even if just a little.
"True, the Empire's given us plenty. You're right. Hell, if Peter Jaeger ordered me to bow to him three times a day, I'd do it without hesitation. Without that man, you and I would've ended up as meat shields in some Stockholm or Swedia border fortress, or frozen to death hugging our tribesfolk in the snow."
"Hasn't he come back? For this North, no less."
"But tell me—tell all of you here—since when did we nomadic folk care about loyalty? And even if your kid gets into the Academy, leave Jaeger out of it. That man's promotion speed leaves even the Empire's top collateral imperial officers in the dust. Do you really think your Academy brat will be treated on equal footing with the real noble knights' sons? I doubt it, Chieftain Kinga."
Kinga had no retort.
"If there's one thing the Empire and us Northern nomads have in common, it's that to rise in rank, you need military merit. So to avoid discrimination, our young men need to join the army. But let me ask you, Kinga: why can't they even enlist easily? Wasn't it just targeting those who ditched their lands to follow that Kerzhit woman?"
"...... Fuck. Isn't it because we tribesfolk still don't know Imperial culture well enough as Imperial citizens?"
"If that's the case, shouldn't they at least let us serve in the Northern Army? Don't you get it yet, Kinga? We're being discriminated against. Sure, we're grateful Jaeger killed the Khan, but to get proper treatment and live well, we need to switch to the Stockholm Kingdom."
Ishtaven realized it.
The conversation's momentum and mood were shifting in his favor.
Seizing the moment, he handed out documents from a few days prior—decrees from Stockholm's Major General Karpelen promising titles and lands to everyone except himself.
The chieftains' eyes lit up at the sight of the Stockholm king's familiar royal seal.
They tore open the delicate documents in their haste and read.
"No way—this officially grants us knighthoods."
"Not just that. It says after we conquer the North, more land based on merit."
"As Stockholm nobles, we'll be treated with respect. This looks legit."
To convince the still-skeptical fools, Ishtaven pointed to the cloth-covered crates.
"Think about it. The Empire just lets us scrape by after surrender—barely enough bread crusts to survive. But from Stockholm's king's view, we're delivering Reich territory on a platter. We'll have more voice, power, wealth, and glory than under the Empire."
At those words, a few chieftains pulled back the cloths.
Beneath lay about sixty crates, each roughly 40cm by 40cm, brimming with gold and silver coins.
He couldn't verify the exact amount, but each box held around 1,000 gold—enough for the bare minimum living expenses of a thousand serf households for a year.
For these impoverished Northern chieftains, far poorer than other Imperial regions, it was a mind-numbing fortune.
"A few days ago, Major General Karpelen from Stockholm brought these. Direct gifts from the Stockholm king himself. And we haven't even defected yet—they're paying this handsomely already. Imagine the rewards when we deliver our tribes and lands at the perfect moment to stab the Empire in the back?"
In the Empire or other nations, nobles couldn't just switch countries willy-nilly. But Northern nomads? If the money was right, they'd jump ship anytime.
After all, if things went south, just hop on a horse and bolt—a tradition ingrained long ago. Even as Reich citizens now, that mindset hadn't changed.
Ishtaven hadn't mentioned it, but his full plan included linking up with the Warsaw Grand Duchy and Stockholm the moment these sixty chieftains betrayed the Empire.
"So decide for yourselves. If you're with me, skip Jaeger's inauguration. If you wanna wag your tails for the Empire like cowards, get out. Think it over by tomorrow."
Deep down, Ishtaven wanted to identify and slaughter any chieftain here who wouldn't join him on the spot.
'But that'd scare off even the loyal ones. This is the best play.'
Leaving the assembly hall, he muttered skyward.
"Fuck, my faction's size depends on how many of these sixty stick with me. Need all Northern sixty tribes to wield real political clout in Stockholm. How many will bail...?"
His small mercy: the next day, only about a third—twenty tribes—defected from Ishtaven back to the Empire.