Chapter 32
Chapter 32
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 032
Chapter Title: Threat
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The world curses cowards.
Conversely, it praises those who face everything with boldness and never hesitate to do what's right. But such people inevitably die or get weeded out.
If that tragedy ends with the person themselves, it's somewhat fortunate. But if it extends to the family left without their head, that's a different story altogether.
—What crime have the family committed?
As that excuse goes, the reason people grow more cowardly with age is largely due to the dependents that multiply alongside the years.
One among them finally mustered the courage to speak up.
"Do you seek our submission?"
"Me, who just condemned human selfishness? Are you lot really pinning your hopes on fools like that?"
Arun replied in a dismissive tone.
"I've laid bare my true intentions multiple times. If you're still trying to hide yours, then get out of the fortress. Those who keep refusing to the end will be made serfs."
"Absolutely not."
"Please, dispel this misunderstanding."
Those who had nowhere left to go bowed their heads low.
"What would you have us do? Most of us are women and children, with only a handful of coins hastily scraped together. Will you at least conscript the few able-bodied men we have?"
"How dare you!"
Pendersen, the squire standing behind him, could no longer hold back and stepped forward.
"You're under our protection, yet you still test the waters. Is there truly no one here willing to take responsibility for their share?"
"...!"
Even as Pendersen lost his temper, Arun remained silent.
'Step forward if you don't want to become slaves.'
The message was clear.
"House Bethill has three men over fifteen versed in swordsmanship and eleven women who can read and write. We'll do our utmost, no matter the task assigned."
"The youngest one opens his heart first. Thank you."
As Arun's expression softened, others began to follow suit one by one.
"Forgive our folly. In Bear Village, even women chop wood and haul stones if they're of age. If food is secured, we can muster over forty laborers."
"I was just looking for people to handle cooking duties in the territory."
"Oh, entrust it to us, please."
"House Mirrermount has one blacksmith, four apprentices, one knight, three squires, and eighteen soldiers. And we'll pay in gold as compensation for the rations."
Arun simply nodded without a word.
"We'll provide one knight, three apprentice knights, and fifteen soldiers. We'll report on the other able-bodied workers later."
"Apprentice knights—your comrades? How skilled are they?"
"It's hard to tell who's superior between them and me."
"They've crossed the line of death, so they're qualified enough. Bring them. I'll knight them."
"Ah, thank you."
Donern Hamel stood and bowed deeply.
Knights without oaths of loyalty— it might seem foolish. Depending on their future conduct, blame could come back on him, leaving him shouldering the responsibility alone.
'But if they live long enough to bring dishonor...'
He'd cut their heads off himself.
"Kallika Outpost has only one squad leader and eight soldiers. We haven't assessed the civilians yet. Now that we've reported this, we'll investigate promptly and submit details."
"Understood. Those in similar straits, go and gather the info."
At Arun's words, three men rose, offered silent bows, and left.
"Salt Village specializes in hunting and herding. Through winter hunts, we slaughter beasts and process hides..."
"Severto Village..."
"Sliver Village..."
The remaining representatives calmly listed their villages' compositions and specialties, which Squire Pendersen meticulously noted down on wooden tablets.
Arun brought the cooled tea to his lips.
'Clean and efficient.'
His blend of logic and intimidation had yielded quick results. It might not be the perfect answer, but for now, it was the only one.
Slurp.
His empty cup was refilled once more.
In that same moment, far away in Brennenton, the threats were taking hold as well.
Brennenton was a city that was one massive fortress.
Having endured the Wave to the bitter end thirty years ago, this fortified city housed 50,000 residents, and including its satellite towns, its scale rivaled the capital of any decent kingdom.
Beyond its sheer size, its unique structure drew the eye: an inner citadel connected directly to the northern gate at the outermost edge of the outer walls, embodying the family's resolve to stand at the forefront against monster incursions from the north.
A heavy atmosphere hung in the central hall of the earl's castle.
At the throne in the hall's center sat the aged patriarch, chin in hand, flanked by elders including the eldest son arrayed in formation. From there, a young knight raised his voice.
"Don't dismiss it as merely a matter 500 kilometers away."
Though surrounded by heavyweights, he showed no hint of intimidation.
"Westguard Fortress is the vanguard of the frontier and a key pillar of northern defense. If it falls, Brennenton becomes the front line."
"Do you even know where you are?"
Clink.
One knight drew his sword halfway, positioning it straight ahead. A chill gleam emanated from the exposed blade.
"I'll hold you accountable for your insolence. Benjamin Roth, face me."
"I refuse."
"Dishonor! How can a knight—"
"There's no greater dishonor for me than failing to carry out my lord's will. And you, senior?"
"Will you keep flapping your tongue? If you're a knight, speak with your sword."
"Apologies, but upholding my lord's will comes first."
"Hah."
His brazen confidence drew all eyes in the hall.
"To the family elders: now is not the time for succession struggles. Beyond the reports we've received, I assume you've all investigated yourselves. It's the Wave. The Wave itself!"
Gulp.
Someone's swallow echoed unusually loud.
"It's still just your claim for now. Still, we've increased supplies as a precaution."
Responding in place of the elderly patriarch was not the eldest son, Lloyd van Brennenton, but his father-in-law, Baron Brisel.
"Knight Brad Cahill and Knight Bolt led the bulk of the soldiers to their deaths. If even their passing isn't proof enough, what more do you need?"
"Sir Brad's death was unexpected even for us. We recognize the gravity of the situation."
Knight Brad Cahill had been a key figure in the house's revival, carrying weight even in Brennenton's main forces. His death had played a role in expanding supplies, at least.
"My lord has sold off his entire fortune to recruit, arm, and train soldiers. On another front, he's negotiating slave soldier purchases through capital merchant companies."
"We heard about the sale of his residence."
"He's currently liquidating farms and ranches, and some retainers have begun relocating."
"Why the retainers?"
Families typically stayed in safe havens, serving as fallback shelters for emergencies.
"He said to bring in those who will fight and send away those who would leave."
The hall stirred in an instant.
"Hm. That much resolve, eh?"
"Looks like desperation to me. Either way, good attitude."
Somehow, his rudeness had faded into the background.
"If I may be bold: what matters now isn't some distant future, but right here and now. If you don't intend to let Brennenton's glorious history end like this, make your decision swiftly."
"Hah, look at you."
"Sir Benjamin, mind yourself. Your insolence has gone too far."
"I'll gladly accept any punishment. Compared to the house's grace, my life is worth nothing."
As a storied house, it brimmed with illustrious knights on par with the late Brad Cahill and influential figures of equal stature. Some frowned, others nodded in agreement.
"His phrasing is rough, but the lad has a point."
"That confident demeanor is at least a sight to behold."
As the mood shifted, Baron Brisel stepped in once more.
"We understand your intent well. But deploying troops will take more time, as you must realize."
"My lord only hopes it won't be too late."
"Heh heh heh. Cough, cough."
"Father."
"Ahem. I'm fine."
Earl Bellad van Brennenton waved him off. As he straightened in his throne, his sparse white hair rippled.
"It's been ages since I last saw such fine timber. Benjamin, was it?"
"Benjamin Roth greets the master of Brennenton once more."
"The battlefield isn't only where swords are drawn. When you must realize your lord's will, that place becomes a knight's true field of battle. Don't let that resolve waver."
"I will keep it in mind."
Benjamin slowly drew his sword, cradling it in both hands as he knelt.
"I beg you punish my insolence and save the fortress."
"Sincerity always harbors truth. We grasp the situation. Go and rest now."
"Your retainer obeys."
Clink.
Unable to defy the earl's command, Benjamin sheathed his blade. As he withdrew, the elders patted him reassuringly.
"Well done."
"You've done all you could."
For a knight, Benjamin's sharp tongue might warrant a frown, but it seemed accepted as loyalty.
"Brad Cahill went first, huh."
The earl sighed, reminiscing about his old comrade-in-arms.
"His influence, perhaps? Looks like the third son has grown a lot too."
"With the dispatched inspector in place, best to observe a bit longer."
"Baron Brisel Anto."
"Yes. Speak."
"Helping Lloyd is fine. As my heir and your son-in-law, the justification is impeccable. However."
A glint briefly sharpened the earl's hazy eyes.
"Don't forget you're part of Brennenton too. The moment greed blinds you to the whole, you—and the house—end."
"I will keep it in mind."
The earl rose from his throne.
"It's been a while since I saw a promising young man. As long as talents like him exist, Brennenton will never— cough, cough."
"My lord. Are you all right?"
"You've overexerted. To your chambers, quickly."
With those final words of praise for the young knight, the earl departed.
Baron Brisel, seeing off the elder, declared an adjournment.
"One hour's recess. We'll resume the meeting over lunch afterward."
"Yes. We'll prepare the meal."
As servants and attendants set the tables, the attendees dispersed into factions, gathering in small groups.
But Benjamin's defiance wasn't over.
As he exited the hall, the eldest son's squire grabbed him.
"The young master wishes a word."
"Lead on."
The squire glanced back at him and clicked his tongue.
'Doesn't even seem tired.'
Facing off against the house's powerhouses in the hall for that long wasn't easy mentally or physically. Yet Benjamin looked as if it suited him just fine.
Before Young Master Lloyd van Brennenton, he charged ahead without so much as a courtesy.
"Please purchase Elbaron Farm and Medihill Ranch."
"Hah. Straight to the point."
Lloyd van Brennenton furrowed his brow at the sudden demand.
"My lord said if mutual destruction is what you want, support us all the more. Otherwise."
"Brennenton becomes the front line?"
"As I stated in the hall, most of the forces have already perished. Without Sir Brad, holding off orcs with just women and children is impossible."
'Consistent to the end. This is a ploy.'
Investigations into Arun's assets were already complete. Lloyd shrugged, recalling their value.
"Farm and ranch combined: 8,000 gold. That work?"
"If we can take the horses excluding the stallions."
"Succession will be decided in the council of elders, so don't tell me what to do."
Though Lloyd's father-in-law chaired that council, harping on it would exceed Benjamin's mandate.
"Further support as well..."
"If you're right, I'd have to for my own survival."
One-sided requests continued, and Lloyd signaled acceptance to most.
With business done, Benjamin stood.
"Time is of the essence, so forgive the lack of formalities."
"I'll speak well of you to my father-in-law and the others."
"Thank you. Then."
As he turned to leave, Lloyd's lips curved up.
Delaying a competition that favored him? Unthinkable. Now was the pivotal moment.
'Work is always urgent, time always delayed.'
He saw it as a gamble. The one who bet more took all.
But it didn't take long to realize it wasn't that simple. Moments later, a merchant caravan entering through the north gate crossed paths with Benjamin departing—and at its center strode Baron Millen Gafner, face set like stone.
"Baron Millen Gafner, capital dispatch inspector. Notify the inner citadel."
"Ah, hold on. Hunt, a VIP has arrived. Go inform them."
"Yes, sir."
One guard set down his spear and dashed toward the inner citadel.
"I'll wait at the company headquarters. Sir Millen."
Moheni Lorn, second clerk of the Loyton Merchant Company, bowed.
"Won't drag it out. See you tomorrow morning."
"We'll prepare accordingly."
"I'll escort you to the inner citadel."
The baron nodded curtly, and the guard captain took the reins and led on.
Clop, clop.
It was as if a wolf had departed, only for a bear to take its place.