Chapter 9
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Two Counts
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"You're volunteering as my escort? Why?"
Sir Heinrich lifted his head and looked straight at me.
"I wanted to watch you grow up."
"What?"
I doubted my ears.
Sir Heinrich repeated it slowly, enunciating each word.
"I want to see with my own eyes what kind of person you'll become."
Ah.
Aha.
That uncle.
He seems to have some massive misunderstanding.
Lize muttered softly beside me.
"Wow... Sir Heinrich acknowledging you like that..."
No, Lize.
That's not acknowledgment.
It's a misunderstanding.
A serious one.
Middle-aged knight. The man who followed my orders in Granfeldt. And one of Father—His Excellency Duke Walter von Krushtein's—most trusted aides.
Such a person following me, a bastard?
This is... a huge disaster.
The Bastard Society members are still alive only because their 'pranks' don't register as serious threats in the heir's eyes.
If they ever felt a real threat...
They die.
If they're lucky, they die cleanly.
If not?
They end up worse than dead, rotting miserably in some forgotten corner of the territory.
And that pathetic fate warns everyone else what happens to bastards who cross the heir.
That uncle...
His eyes were sparkling.
That man... he truly believed in me.
We're screwed.
Totally screwed.
I, Heinrich, didn't trust strategists.
Nearly forty years of life, twenty-five of them on battlefields.
Dozens of battles under my belt, and in all that time, I'd seen plenty of so-called 'strategists.'
Self-proclaimed tacticians.
Self-proclaimed advisors.
Self-proclaimed wise counselors.
Most were just props for incompetent nobles.
Or scapegoats to take the fall when plans went south.
"Sir, I think the enemy will come from the east."
"What's your basis for that?"
"Uh... a hunch?"
That was their style.
Waging war on hunches.
And when those 'hunches' failed?
"This was an unforeseen development! Who could have predicted it?!"
Excuses.
That's why I despised them.
His Excellency the Duke felt the same.
Walter von Krushtein solved everything with his own strength.
Strategy?
Just smash them head-on and win.
Advisors?
Unnecessary. One swing of His Excellency's blade was enough.
I believed in that way too.
Speaking with the sword.
Proving with power.
That was a knight's path.
But that day in Granfeldt, I saw a true war commander for the first time.
"We'll lure the orcs into the ravine."
A ten-year-old boy said it calmly, with utter conviction.
"Impossible, young master."
I objected.
Of course I did.
Five hundred orcs.
Sixty-five of us.
Even with a ravine, how do you lure them, hold them, and win?
"It's possible. Go check the ravine yourself. You come with me, Sir."
And then I saw it.
"Look at the ravine's structure. Sheer cliffs on both sides, narrow width. Pile oil-soaked hay here, and when the orcs are deep inside, light it up... No escape. Luring them is simple. I read in a book that orcs lose their minds at the smell of pig blood. A few knights with good mobility should suffice."
Only then did I realize.
We could win.
No.
We would win.
And we did.
Over five hundred orcs annihilated.
Zero losses on our side.
A perfect victory.
Can you believe it?
A ten-year-old boy devised the perfect strategy?
A ten-year-old boy pushed that strategy through and crushed an enemy several times our size?
And I thought.
This is the one.
The successor to His Excellency.
No—not just any successor. He must be the one.
Not some mediocrity like young master Ernst.
He'd made some grand misunderstanding.
But there was nothing I could do about it right now.
Whatever the case, my command had wiped out hundreds of orcs without a single casualty. That much was fact.
For now...
Let's ask about this mission.
"Sir, do you know about the two counts?"
"You mean Count Gregen and Count Valdemar?"
"Yes."
"Count Gregen is a brute with a fiery temper. Swordsmanship around mid-Expert level."
Oho.
Surprisingly detailed.
"Count Valdemar is cunning and politically savvy. Average sword skills, but excels at schemes."
"The disputed area?"
"An undeveloped mine on the border between their territories. Rumors say a silver vein was confirmed."
Silver.
A mineral far more valuable than iron or copper.
That's what they're fighting over.
"Both houses have been under House Krushtein for about twenty years."
Twenty years.
Before I was even born.
Sir Heinrich's explanation continued.
Terrain of the border region, troop sizes of both counts' houses, recent clashes.
It flowed out smoothly, like reciting a report.
I was puzzled.
"Sir."
"Yes, young master."
"You don't seem the type to love books. How do you know all this in such detail?"
He was renowned as an orc-slaying specialist.
Yet in Granfeldt, he'd proudly admitted to owning an orc ecology book but never opening it.
For such a man to know the two counts' houses inside out was odd.
Sir Heinrich fell silent for a moment.
Then he spoke slowly.
"Twenty years ago, I was there when those two knelt before His Excellency's army."
"...What?"
"I saw it with my own eyes. Count Gregen surrendering covered in blood. Count Valdemar swearing fealty in a trembling voice."
I was speechless.
Kneeled?
Surrendered?
The books said...
No.
I shut my mouth.
The books in the family library.
History of House Krushtein
It was written there:
"The two counts were moved by His Excellency's virtue and prowess, voluntarily joining his service."
Voluntarily.
Moved.
What nonsense.
I was the idiot for ever believing it.
History is written by the victors.
It was true in my past life, and here too.
"That day... Count Gregen's eldest son died. Cut down by His Excellency's sword in battle. Count Valdemar's eldest daughter as well."
Fuck.
My mind went blank.
"They hate us. But they can't show it. Not while His Excellency lives. So they turn their blades on each other. They can't strike at House Krushtein, so they take it out on a fellow sufferer."
"..."
"And we're going there to mediate."
I could guess why the Bastard Society dumped this mission on me for a hundred gold.
Those bastards.
They couldn't know all this, right?
No, they probably didn't.
Not the full backstory.
They just saw it as a 'political minefield.'
But it was worse.
"Sir."
Lize's voice came.
"Hm?"
"What are the two counts' family makeups?"
Lize asked Sir Heinrich.
No hiccup.
No trembling.
Nothing like her usual demeanor around strangers.
I was puzzled.
"Lize."
"Yes, young master?"
"It's strange. You aren't stammering in front of Sir."
Lize tilted her head.
"Of course not. We're comrades-in-arms who fought together."
"......Comrades?"
"Yes!"
Lize beamed.
Sir Heinrich burst into hearty laughter.
"Hahaha! That's right! This little miss and I are comrades who fought a great battle together!"
He ruffled Lize's hair.
Lize accepted it without a single hiccup.
On the evening of the third day.
We arrived at the mining village—our destination.
Or rather... it was more like a military outpost than a village.
A wooden palisade encircled it, watchtowers standing tall.
And on either side of the palisade, two separate encampments.
Left: Count Gregen's banner.
Right: Count Valdemar's banner.
The two flags fluttered as if glaring at each other.
"Young master, looks like they've come out to greet us."
Sir Heinrich pointed out the carriage window.
People emerged from both camps.
I opened the door and stepped out.
Lize and Sir Heinrich followed.
And the moment I saw them, my breath caught.
The two counts.
Count Gregen and Count Valdemar had come out personally.
Normally, they'd send proxies. No reason for counts to show up themselves.
But here they were.
Glare locked on each other.
Count Gregen.
Mid-fifties. Massive build, bushy beard. Face flushed red all over.
Armored, sword at his hip.
Count Valdemar.
Late fifties. Neat appearance, but deep wrinkles around his eyes. Cold gaze.
Armored too, sword sheathed.
The distance between them: barely ten meters.
But the air between... frozen solid.
"Are both counts well?"
I spoke as calmly as I could.
"Of course, young master."
"Quite well, young master."
Young master? Something felt off.
Two counts addressing a ten-year-old bastard so deferentially?
"Glad to hear it. Then, about the mine ownership issue..."
Count Gregen suddenly stepped forward.
His hand jabbed toward Valdemar.
"Young master! Look at that traitor!"
"...What?"
"That man is a rebel who betrayed His Excellency the Duke!"
"Nonsense! You're the traitor!"
Count Valdemar's face twisted as he advanced too.
"Young master, the mine is irrelevant! There's a graver issue! There was an overseer dispatched by His Excellency!"
Count Gregen shouted.
"Overseer?"
"Yes! An official His Excellency sent personally to monitor and report on the disputes here! And that man killed him!"
"What?!"
Valdemar bellowed.
"You killed him! I have proof!"
"You fabricated that proof!"
My mind went blank.
Overseer.
Dispatched from the ducal lands.
That was Father's direct authority.
Father's—Walter von Krushtein's—eyes and ears.
And that person was dead?
"Young master!"
Count Valdemar stared right at me.
"This is direct treason against His Excellency!"
"Treason is you!"
"The overseer was found poisoned in Valdemar's camp! There are witnesses!"
"Lies! The body was found near Gregen's camp! Stabbed!"
The two counts' voices rose higher.
"That man is a traitor who mocked His Excellency! He deserves execution!"
"You deserve execution!"
The surrounding knights surged forward.
Gregen's knights encircled Valdemar.
Valdemar's knights encircled Gregen.
In an instant, the spark of imminent violence.
"That man must be executed!"
"No, that one is the traitor!"
Both counts shouted at once.
Trial.
Verdict.
Execution.
Treason.
And I—a ten-year-old brat—had to judge one of these two counts a traitor... and order his execution?