Chapter 116
Chapter 116
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 116
Chapter Title: The End of Resentment
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“How did things end up like this...”
Stone let out heavy sighs as he gazed out the window. As the eldest son of the Wayne family, his sole focus had been competing with Marble for the position of family head. The crisis now facing him was something he could scarcely overcome.
Far from claiming the seat of family head, he was on the verge of being confined to a monastery by Viscount Lucas, who had dragged in some bastard child. Stone figured that even if the man respected noble honor—at least on the surface—seeing as how his own father, Viscount Wayne, had come home dead, it probably wasn't so straightforward.
“Damn it! You there! Bring more booze!”
He bellowed toward the door.
...
But only silence answered. In that instant, cold sweat dripped down Stone's back. No matter how desperate the situation, the servants and maids should still be around.
He'd shouted so loudly in the dead of night—the maid outside couldn't possibly have missed it. For it to be this quiet meant...
Shing—
The blade slid free of its sheath with a chilling ring. The sword's edge gleamed orange in the flickering light of the fireplace and candles. Stone swallowed hard, rose shakily from his chair, and cracked the door open. A man loomed over him—a giant towering two or three heads taller.
“Gah!”
He'd grabbed his sword on a hunch, but he never got the chance to swing it. His legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor. Worse, down the hall where his eyes fell, a maid lay sprawled as if dead.
“Y-You... Why the hell are you here...?”
Stone stammered in shock, but Kyle simply raised his sword without a word. That massive blade would end him if it swung. Clutching at Kyle's trouser leg, he thought as much.
“Spare me! Please, just let me live...!”
“Let you live?”
Kyle finally spoke, and Stone latched onto the hope of survival, blurting out whatever came to mind. He'd serve under him faithfully. If Marble was taken care of, he'd hand over all the territory's mines. In his panic, no noble pride surfaced to question such groveling.
But Kyle only clamped his mouth shut and glared down with clear distaste. Here this man was, begging for his life while scheming to off his own brother for a shot at power.
“No point in keeping you alive.”
Slice!
Stone's head hit the floor, his panicked expression locked in place. His headless corpse sagged forward onto its knees.
“Besides, what gain would there be in sparing trash like you?”
He already had Cisella in hand—an obedient puppet who had to listen. No need for Stone at all. And a man who clung to power even in desperation? He'd rebel sooner or later. Kyle knew the type.
“That's enough for tonight. Everyone, head back.”
Wayne family's second son, Marble. Aware he fell short of his brother, he held evening sessions with the vassals for heir training.
It doubled as a chance to sway the neutrals, but who cared now? Viscount Lucas's army lurked outside, ready to storm the castle. Some unheard-of bastard would ship them all off to monasteries and claim the Wayne headship.
“Hoo... I figured beating my brother was all it took.”
If Count Osland and Viscount Wisili's reinforcements arrived, things might revert. But Marble sighed deeply, convinced the castle would fall first.
“...”
Marble sat reading a beloved fairy tale from his childhood. He sensed an odd tension in the room and glanced up. A hulking figure filled his vision.
“Wh-Who...”
He ached to yell for help, but the greatsword in Kyle's grip sealed his lips. All that escaped was a tiny whisper: “Who are you?”
The firelight caught the man's face, and recognition dawned.
“Viscount Lucas...? Why you...”
“Your brother said the exact same thing. Asked why I'm here.”
“Have you come... to kill me?”
Kyle nodded.
“Why you...? I thought you were a man who honored noble ways...”
But the words died as Kyle's greatsword whistled through the air, lopping off Marble's head. His body pitched limply from the chair onto the desk, blood pooling.
Creeeak!
After assassinating Wayne's two heirs without a soul the wiser, I slipped out of the lord's castle undetected and flung open the gates uninterrupted.
True to our deal, I shook a torch right at the gates to signal. My waiting troops erupted in cheers and charged.
“Waaaaah!”
Hundreds roared as one, shattering the night's silence over the castle.
“Enemies! The enemy's attacking!”
The watchmen snapped to and shouted, but they couldn't turn the tide. With siege warfare already a stretch, now the gates gaped wide and foes flooded in—how could they hold with no real weapons?
Less than thirty minutes after I cracked the gates, Wayne Castle fell completely.
“I hear Viscount Wayne had heirs. Fetch them.”
My vassals from the Wayne house didn't dare object to the command. One muttered with a face like doom.
“The Viscount's heirs... were assassinated in the night...”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Playing dumb despite my handiwork, they shook their heads in ignorance. They'd rushed over at the attack cries, only to find both dead already. Feigning fury, I tore into them.
“You lot killed them, didn't you? Hoping to grovel for mercy once the castle's ours!”
“No chance!”
“Don't slander our honor!”
The vassals cried out, faces twisted in outrage. Fair enough—they must've been baffled. Castle breached at night, and both heirs dead at once?
“It wasn't us! Viscount Lucas! You slunk in like a rat and opened the gates!”
One finally snapped, leaping up to jab a finger at me. I flinched inwardly. How'd he figure that out? But landing a zinger on the man holding your life feels great for a second—won't save your neck.
“How dare you insult me! Seize him!”
Soldiers grabbed his arms and hauled him off. That gutsy noble won't see the sunrise. The rest averted their eyes and clammed up.
“And Baroness Cassia! Where's that wretched merchant?”
Next up: the bitch who'd sparked this mess. She hadn't bolted to the Osland count's yet, had she? A noble sneaking glances piped up that she was still inside.
“Twenty gold to whoever drags her here!”
“Waaaaah!”
Money lit a fire under them. Soldiers tore through the castle—from quaking townsfolk homes to noble quarters, warrants be damned. They struck gold fast.
They hauled Baroness Cassia—cowering in some hidey-hole—before me. She quaked like an aspen at my face. Her captors beamed with pride.
“Hiding in the castle! Found her stuffed in a wardrobe myself!”
“Good work. Here's your bonus.”
I dropped twenty gold into the soldier's palm and eyed Cassia. She lunged for my legs.
“Mercy! Please!”
Hard to believe this groveling wreck had ignited a territorial war on pure spite. Tears streamed as she sensed her doom.
“You're the one who brewed this storm. Still begging to live?”
“I was wrong! Take my whole fortune...!”
Her wealth's mine either way once she's gone. Why leave loose ends? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I'm the fool.
“Don't need it.”
One word, and off to the dungeons she went. Noble or not, can't chop her head in public—but a little rat poison in the slop? Harsh prison claims another “delicate” soul. What a tragedy.
With her sealed away for good, I turned to Cisella. Still that mopey look.
No more of that. She wasn't plain Cisella anymore—she'd be Viscountess Cisella Wayne.
“Viscountess Cisella Wayne, chin up. Face your new vassals with pride.”
Sure, loyalty was a pipe dream, but they'd be hers on paper. She'd need my muscle to keep them in line.
“Understood...”
The gloom lingered, but she straightened up and mustered some dignity. She fetched her mother from the castle grounds and brought her into the lord's hall.
Her expression was a tangle. All she'd wanted was to pair Viscount Wayne with her mom—now he was dead, and she'd landed the viscountcy she never sought.
“I'll never forget this favor. It means I'll serve under you, Viscount Lucas...”
Damn right. I looked down at her kneeling form like it was obvious. Just like that, a whole viscount house under my thumb. Half-baked without vassal backing... but serviceable.
“Congratulations, Viscount Lucas.”
That evening in the office with Cisella, Asher vaulted the window. He knelt with utmost deference.
“So... Count Osland left you lurking here after all. Won't your men spot you slipping in like this?”
Asher chuckled. His underlings were already bought—promised spots when he claimed the countship. Then he dropped fresh intel.
“Count Osland's army's mobilizing. Three thousand strong—watch yourself.”
Three thousand! Cligrove's old force was about that size. Could I scrape together two thousand now?
“Conscript ratio?”
Key detail. Three thousand was massive for one lord, but heavy on levies? Manageable. Wayne's border skirmish and the elf showdown proved they crumbled easy.
“Over half. Eight hundred elites, rest mercenaries.”
Asher's tips checked out. Doable didn't guarantee victory, though. My cavalry and knights were paper-thin—one solid charge, and poof. Still...
“That's what connections are for.”
I had pull. A rich city meant troop power nobody touched. Cligrove's count—my fiancée, Lenia.