Chapter 51
Chapter 51
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 51
Chapter Title: The Eve of the Storm (7)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Renheim. A land known as Purgatory. The reason such an ominous name clung to a territory that clearly had an owner was simple.
It was a living hell constantly invaded by man-eating monsters and beastkin tribes.
Thanks to that, Renheim was stripped bare. It lacked not just population and resources, but even the most basic military provisions.
Provisions are the foundation of any army. Without them, even the most elite force will inevitably crumble.
Of course, the Empire supplied some provisions, and if the territory's people settled in and farmed, the issue would resolve itself naturally.
But there was one unforeseen variable: a severe shortage of manpower.
'We pulled the locals for construction work, disrupting the farming... but we can't skip the construction either. It's maddening.'
Demanding labor to the point of crippling agriculture was the hallmark of a tyrant.
Yet Renheim was the exception. Over half its fortresses had lost all function, leaving it wide open to invasions.
To put it bluntly... it was like pouring water into a cracked jar. Fail to plug the leaks, and you'd be thoroughly ravaged.
They had tried to tend the farms too, but disruptions were inevitable.
"Damn it, what the hell am I supposed to do..."
"Lord! A messenger has arrived!"
"A messenger?"
And so, the rewards accompanying that messenger were like sweet rain in a drought.
Carriages poured into Renheim—a territory that saw almost no visitors aside from the army.
Cain stared at the sight in stunned disbelief. He hadn't expected them just half a month after his victory report.
Morgana savored his reaction thoroughly from beside him.
"This is nothing. Don't underestimate the Empire's resources."
"I never did... but handing over five years' provisions for fifty thousand troops all at once? That's genuinely astonishing."
"Oh, it's not all at once, of course. The immediate shipment covers two years, with the rest delivered over the next two."
"..."
Cain marveled at the razor-sharp precision. Still, it didn't lessen the provisions' value.
Over half of Renheim's land lay abandoned, utterly nonfunctional.
Reclaiming it was challenge enough—farming on top of that? Yields were bound to drop.
Scraping together provisions from those meager harvests had seemed impossible, but this changed everything.
"Our gratitude to His Majesty the Emperor..."
"Did you think that was it?"
"...Pardon?"
Cain's utterly blindsided expression was unbearably cute.
Suppressing a sudden rush of personal affection, Morgana pressed on with pride.
"It couldn't end there. If His Majesty's commendation stopped at mere provisions, the entire continent would mock the Empire."
"..."
Five years' worth for fifty thousand troops was already massive.
But the very next day proved her words no bluff.
After the provisions came two hundred horses—and carriages brimming with iron ore and other resources. Cain was floored.
"Two hundred horses? And resources like iron ore and timber too...?"
"That's not all. His Majesty has a personal reward for you, Lord."
"A personal reward from His Majesty himself?"
"Naturally. You're the top hero of this victory."
The horses were valuable in their own right—and useful as wyvern fodder if needed. A personal reward on top?
Best of all, it would accelerate the stalled construction. The holdup had been simple: a dire lack of materials.
With a full year's supply promised, progress would surge.
'Let me tally it up. Provisions: two years upfront, balance over two more. Materials like iron ore supplied steadily for a year...'
Cain sighed deeply. Even with this imperial backing, shortages loomed.
True, it plugged major gaps in their forces. But there was no margin for error.
Restored fortresses demanded ongoing maintenance materials—and they had none to spare.
In a word... the cursed budget was woefully short.
"Wait—didn't you say His Majesty granted a personal reward?"
"Yes. A handsome sum in gold, no doubt..."
"Then we'll buy what the territory needs with it."
Cain felt no greed for wealth. Endless brushes with death had etched survival as his sole priority.
And that priority encompassed everyone around him.
Hence his instant resolve to divert personal funds to public use.
Morgana, oblivious to his past, reeled in shock.
"Y-you're serious? His Majesty's gift won't be trivial..."
"What lord fails to protect his own domain? Duty comes first."
It hit her like a thunderbolt—almost literally. The shock was that profound.
She'd seen records of lords dipping into private coffers for their lands before.
But those men were immortalized as peerless heroes.
In other words, transcendent figures who shed even basic human desires.
'His words carry weight, his gaze steady... no empty rhetoric. He's planned this from the start.'
Unaware of Cain's secrets, she could only conclude as much.
A peerless hero. How many triumphs would shadow his path?
She wanted to walk it beside him.
As close as possible.
...Right at his side, if she could.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The Seven Beast Kings.
A federation of seven beastkin tribes pooling their might—but equality was an illusion.
Rats and tigers might both be beasts, but equals? Hardly.
Thus, it formed a peculiar hierarchy among allies.
And for beastkin, nothing trumped raw power.
The bear clan—Ung tribe—inherited those traits, ranking among the top three powers in the Seven Beast Kings.
Daring to defy the Beast King and act alone spoke volumes of their standing.
Yet even the Reverse King couldn't evade the Beast King's fury this time.
"Gahk...!!!"
Reverse King Ban—the unchallenged lord of the bear clan—found his throat crushed in the grip of a smaller boy.
Ban clawed desperately at the twig-thin arm, but it held like unyielding stone.
The boy eyed his pathetic flailing with icy contempt, unworthy of the Reverse King's title.
"Didn't I warn you? Staying silent this time would be wise..."
"W-what manner of strength...!!"
"Think I've tolerated your antics from weakness?"
Beast King. The sovereign who forged the Seven Beast Kings through force in a mere decade. A "federation" in name only...
Merely his concession to kin. True parity? Never.
Otherwise, why impose ranks at all?
His grip tightened as if to snap the Reverse King's neck—then he sighed and flung him aside.
"I'd love to end you... but I'll spare you this once. Better a fool like you than none."
Wyverns subjugated, remnants eyeing each other warily. Striking first meant disadvantage.
Victory over the man who'd slain the Present King and tamed wyverns? Far from certain.
And triumph brought scavengers to a weakened Seven Beast Kings.
At least the Lost Empire proved amenable to talk—no aid, but no immediate threat.
'The Empire-prodded alliance ramps up purges. Lost Empire's tied down blocking them... no choice.'
Over a thousand kin already slain, blood spilled. Blood called for blood.
Even if they struck first—it mattered not. This was a world of might makes right.
The Beast King's eyes blazed orange with resolve.