Chapter 51
Chapter 51
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: Those Who Became Thieves
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"Whoa! Big bro! I never imagined you'd actually get your own territory. See? My eyes didn't fail me. From the first time I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the type to pull off something big."
We were walking along the road to Sarisa. It was a path I'd traveled back and forth several times already, but this trip was for a preliminary survey of the territory. Once the emperor's decree came down, it would officially become my land. I couldn't just leave it unattended, so the future lord had to go check on its condition first.
"I figured you'd get a manor at best, but looks like the Lady pulled some strings for you."
I gave Cutter's remark a nonchalant reply, but there were a few things nagging at me.
Even with the vote in my favor, granting a territory to someone like me—a noble with barely any track record. And the fact that the Lady hadn't even shown her face this time. Finally, the financial state of the viscountate that had been the Sarisa Count's domain... no, should I start calling it the Lucas Kyle Viscountate now? It had been shattered by multiple wars.
My first worry was whether I could really manage the place well. I'd received it purely on merit, with no wealth or foundation to speak of. And even if some of the count's old nobles were still around, it was doubtful they'd cooperate with me willingly.
Either way, with those concerns lingering, I couldn't exactly relax. After losing two wars, how could the territory possibly be in good shape?
"But for a lord's procession, this seems a bit too shabby, don't it?"
Cutter grumbled just as those thoughts were crossing my mind. We were the only ones here. At least another noble had lent us two horses, or we might've ended up carrying all the luggage ourselves and looking like total fools.
Of course, the Lady hadn't planned to send me off empty-handed. Though we hadn't met in person, she'd offered swordsmen as escorts and errand boys through other nobles. But I'd turned it down. What good would they do? I couldn't even afford to maintain them.
Every time money got tight, I regretted leaving behind the prize from that hunting tournament. Sure, it was chaos back then, but that was a sack full of gold coins. Things might've been different if I'd had it.
That was when we crossed from Cligrove's territory into Sarisa's. As I walked holding the horse's reins, I sensed someone watching us.
"Cutter."
"Yeah, bro? Want some water?"
Cutter thought I was thirsty and reached for his waterskin, but I shook my head.
"No. Someone's watching us right now."
He kept his expression neutral like a pro. Without moving his head, he just rolled his eyes to scan the surroundings.
"Which way? Bro?"
"The direction we're heading. At least five of them. Doesn't look like they're hiding out of goodwill."
We'd confirmed enemies were nearby, but we pretended not to notice and kept walking. If they were bandits, better to wipe them out on the way.
And then, just as we passed what seemed to be their hiding spot...
"Waaaaah!"
Out of the woods burst a gang of starved-looking men. They weren't even properly armed—just farm tools and crude spears whittled from branches.
The sight left me dumbfounded. Attacking a knight with that kind of gear? Sure, they outnumbered us—over ten—but a lone knight might gamble on it if they lacked fear. Except no one without fear charges like that.
Conscripts weren't good for much more than filling ranks for a reason. Even well-trained soldiers rout when morale breaks. How well could peasant-born bandits fight anyway? One slash at the front-runner, and they'd scatter in terror.
"...H-Hand over that armor and horse, and we'll let you live!"
"Locals from a nearby village, huh? Things must be rough if they're turning to banditry."
My words hit home, and the men shook their heads in panic.
"W-We ain't from no village... No! We ain't villagers!"
Amateur hour. Looked like their first rodeo. In a way, that was a relief. Better their debut target was me than some innocent getting hurt.
"I'm Viscount Lucas Kyle. Kneel now, and I'll spare your lives."
The tables turned so suddenly they exchanged glances, debating attack or flight. I decided to nudge their choice.
I stepped forward, drawing my sword. The ragtag bandits flinched and backed off at the sight. One squeezed his eyes shut and yelled.
"What're you waiting for? It's just him and that guy! That armor and sword'll get us through winter and then some!"
That snapped them into action. They gripped their weapons and charged.
"Kill 'em!"
Like moths to a flame, they howled and swung wildly. Pathetic against me now. Trained soldiers couldn't even resist my blade—what chance did peasant thieves have?
Slash—
I cleaved the frontmost one in a single stroke. The sword sank into soft flesh like cutting meat. The spear-thruster didn't react in time—his head flew.
"Gyaaak!"
Seeing their buddy's head roll pathetically, they froze mid-charge, staring between me and it. The one right behind collapsed screaming.
His face was splattered with his comrade's fresh blood.
"F-Fuck..."
Wrong prey. Their faces paled as they realized it. One swing had them terrified. No real armor made them slice like butter.
Like hacking practice dummies. I spun my sword idly.
"One more chance. Drop your weapons."
They looked at each other. Then...
"Run!"
They scattered like startled rats into the woods. Chase them? I considered, but what if they circled back while I was gone? Could Cutter handle them alone?
"Don't worry about me, bro. I ain't that easy to take down."
I nodded at Cutter's words. He was a veteran mercenary with plenty of real combat under his belt. If it got bad, he'd bug out.
"If shit hits the fan, run. We can recover the gear later."
"Heh... I ain't that dumb."
"Huff... huff..."
A typical village in the count's domain. Not serfs, but their lot was no different. Taxes had spiked suddenly—they'd starve before winter even hit. Desperate, they'd turned to banditry.
Farming was still their trade, but thieving as a side gig paid well. Luring clueless mercenaries to the village, drugging them unconscious, stripping their gear to sell. All those mercs died, of course.
Today, riding high from their first success, the second outing bombed. Spotting a wandering knight leading a horse with just one squire—that was the problem.
The spotters hesitated.
"A knight's... too much..."
"You idiots! Even a knight's just one guy! How great can a wandering one be?"
Sounded convincing. They'd never seen a real knight. Might not even be one—just assumed from the horse and armor.
Someone suggested luring him for drugs, but with no bait, they trusted their numbers and attacked straight-up. Now they were paying for it.
"Damn it! 'One guy's doable' my ass!"
Something flashed, and his buddy's head dropped like harvested wheat, rolling across the dirt. The sword swung so fast his comrade couldn't even block. Sure, peasants weren't fighters, but still.
One slash shattered their morale. They fled like panicked mice, planning to regroup at the village. But bad luck always picks a victim.
"Hiiik!"
Glancing back, Johnson freaked—the knight was chasing at terrifying speed. Through the woods in heavy armor, one-handed with that massive sword!
"Hyaak!"
Johnson screamed and bolted deeper into the trees.
'Damn nuisance.'
Without armor, he'd catch him easy. Kyle grumbled as he pursued. But it'd take too long. He grabbed a rock from the ground.
Could throw the sword, but it'd split the bandit group's attention. Wanting to capture him alive, he resisted and hurled the stone instead.
Whoosh!
The hefty rock whistled sharply from Kyle's hand. Just a pebble, but in his grip, it became a lethal projectile.
"Aaaagh!"
It smashed Johnson's thigh dead-on. A meaty thunk exploded there—pain so bad he tumbled, wailing like a baby, crawling on the ground.
Like being speared. Hole in his leg agony. He sobbed uncontrollably.
Clank—clank—
Crawling, he heard armor behind him, flipped, and slammed his head to the dirt.
"Waaah! Please spare me! I won't do it again! Please...!"
Kyle stared at Johnson's blubbering, then hauled him up by the collar.
"Serf-born? Or commoner?"
Serfs were manageable; commoners spelled bigger trouble. Most famine bandits were ex-serfs, then commoners.
"Commoner! Commoner!"
Kyle's face twisted. Not even a serf—a commoner with some breathing room turning thief? Proof the territory was in dire straits.
Serf villages and free ones alike turning bandit—it'd be a thief paradise soon. He'd figure out why later. For now, he slapped Johnson's cheek as he knelt.
Smack!
He'd held back, but it rang like a horsewhip crack.
"Ow! I'm dying!"
Johnson rolled, wailing. Kyle shook him by the collar till the dramatics stopped. Real near-death folks don't scream like that.
"How many times have you done this? How many've you robbed?"