Chapter 91
Chapter 91
"You must already know. Right now, I'm holding back because of my master, but if just a little more time passes or the slightest pretext arises, Roger Vifros won't restrain himself."
"And by then, we'll have grown stronger. We're still weaker than Vifros—weren't those your own words?"
"That's true. But if I were Roger Vifros, I wouldn't just sit back and wait for us to grow. He'd find some excuse to act."
"...Right. You're probably correct."
Even without knowing the future civil war, this was a reasonable assumption if one recognized the conflict with Vifros.
Yet, despite nodding, Father wore a somewhat shocked expression.
...Well, that's not strange.
People instinctively hold onto hopeful expectations about their own affairs.
This had nothing to do with intelligence or social standing—it was purely a matter of perspective.
Logan, who constantly thought about war, was the unusual one.
"...You must have a plan in mind if you're bringing this up."
"Yes."
Logan confidently began explaining his plan.
And shortly after—
"It's a reasonable strategy. But the aftermath will be the bigger problem—what do you intend to do then?"
"We endure."
"What?"
"It's difficult to explain the details now. But trust me—it's entirely possible."
Patrick's face, which had relaxed slightly at Logan's plausible plan, crumpled like paper again.
"You can't even present a countermeasure for the most dangerous part? And yet you want to start a war anyway? Just trust you?"
"Yes."
"...If anyone else had said this, I would've thought them insane and refused to engage. No—I might have cut their head off on the spot."
Despite the murderous tone, Logan remained unmoved, staring back at his father.
With a deep sigh, Patrick eventually nodded with a grave expression.
"Fine, I'll trust you. If I don't trust you, who else would I trust? Let's do it. But this plan stays between a select few—until the very end."
"Of course."
It wasn't some masterful scheme.
Simply to preserve morale, father and son agreed to keep this seemingly reckless tactic hidden until the eve of war.
"Then the timing? When do you think we should act?"
"Soon. We must begin on the night of the next full moon."
Patrick tilted his head at his son's words.
Logan spoke as if he had received the date from someone.
"...That's barely twenty days from now. But why must it be that exact day?"
"Yes."
"Is it related to the plan you mentioned earlier?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Then we must prepare. It's tight, but our forces are already ready."
"Thank you, Father."
"Those are my words. Thank you for shaking me out of my complacency."
With the discussion of their perilous future concluded, so too ended the conversation between father and son.
"Tomorrow, I'll convene a council of retainers. Be prepared."
"Yes."
Once again, war loomed on the horizon.
The next day.
At the Lord's command, all of MacLaine's retainers gathered at the Lord's Manor.
Though smaller than the grand hall of MacLaine Castle, the newly built manor in town was more than spacious enough for the fewer than forty attendees.
Compared to the old-fashioned, stately grandeur of the past, this ironwood structure was simple yet clean—far more conducive to discussion.
But the expressions of the eight administrators and twenty-four knights who had served since MacLaine Castle's days were far from bright.
"A full summons..."
"Something major must be happening."
"Let's hope it's nothing too serious."
Baseless rumors spreading through the territory had taken on various forms, circulating among the people.
Something had happened to the Lord's family.
Construction projects worse than before would begin this winter.
Taxes would rise to previous levels.
For the people of MacLaine, who were preparing for their first warm winter, unease was inevitable.
Yet the rumor that worried most was this:
War was coming.
Just as they were settling into livable conditions—
No one in MacLaine wanted the worst-case scenario of war.
At least, the administrators didn't—but the knights, sensing the increasingly brutal training, had already guessed.
So when the Lord appeared and cut straight to the point, they weren't entirely surprised.
"This winter, we go to war with Pereta."
Of course, the administrators—except for Dwain—looked as if struck by lightning.
"W-war?!"
"Impossible! War at this time?!"
"Wait, no one's declared war on us—we're starting it?!"
Rugel Hais, his bald head flushing red, nearly jumped out of his seat.
"I-I knew something was off with all the weapons coming in..."
Feran Doyle clutched his plump cheeks, trembling.
The knights, who had anticipated this, calmly raised objections.
"Even if we strike Pereta, Vifros won't stay idle."
"Agreed. We must consider Vifros behind them. Our territory's strength still can't handle Vifros."
"We'd need allies or absolute certainty that Vifros won't move."
But Patrick remained still, his gaze shifting to his son beside him.
Understanding the silent command, Logan stepped forward.
"The family's decision is final. This is an order. We've gathered you not for debate."
His resonant voice and oppressive aura silenced the retainers.
"This meeting is to ensure the coming war is executed as effectively as possible. Speak only of how to wage it—objections will not be heard."
In short: Shut up and obey.
A tyrannical act unbefitting a council—yet no one dared openly oppose.
MacLaine's hierarchy was far stricter than most noble houses.
That's useful at times like this.
Logan smiled faintly.
After crushing dissent with an iron tone, he planned to force acceptance with prepared justifications.
But then—
"Is this the Grand Prince's idea?"
"Hm. If so..."
"He must have some plan."
"He wouldn't act without reason."
Instead of tension, warmth filled the air as gazes brimming with trust turned to him.
What's this...?
Logan froze in surprise—
Then his father's declaration sealed the moment.
"As you suspect, this war is Logan's design. Naturally, the Grand Prince will lead. Any objections?"
Logan turned back, bewildered—
"None!"
"We will follow!"
"Command us!"
Voices erupted.
The anxious expressions from earlier had vanished without a trace.
This easily?
Dumbfounded, Logan stood frozen—until Patrick's quiet voice reached his ears.
"Well, Logan?"
"Yes?"
"This is the result of your work. Doesn't it make you proud?"
At those words, Logan scanned the faces of his retainers one by one.
Even Heinkel, who still looked somewhat worried, nodded firmly when their eyes met.
Dwain, who had long supported him unconditionally, gave an awkward wink and thumbs-up.
Bald Rugel, plump Feran, the now-thin Rupen—
Even Henderson and the knights—
All looked at him with unwavering trust.
"We're not without concerns, but if it's the Prince's plan..."
"We believe in you, my lord."
"Show us another miracle."
For a moment, Logan was speechless.
A tingling warmth in his chest choked his words.
Finally, drawing deep from his heart, he declared with conviction:
"Of course! I'll show you definitive results once more!"
"Oh—!"
"Trust me! This war will propel MacLaine to even greater heights!"
Logan's proclamation lit up the retainers' faces—
"All of you—prepare for war!"
The Lord's command rang out—
"We obey!"
A thunderous cry erupted in unison, shaking the small hall with its force.
The moon hung high in the night sky.
As usual, Logan meditated in his room—but focus eluded him. Quietly, he rose.
Through the window, the faint glow of moonlight and starlight bathed MacLaine Town in peaceful silence.
Occasional laughter drifted from afar.
The serene scene inexplicably unsettled him.
Couldn't we just grow safely like this? Wouldn't that be enough to sustain the family?
Despite countless reassurances, unease resurfaced.
This war carried immense risk.
A single misstep could send the family plummeting into ruin.
Worry was only natural.
Logan pulled out the records he'd written upon returning—reviewing them once more.
Things he must not forget—and the most critical date of all.
The day the King died.
After countless reviews and being an easy date to remember, he was certain—even decades later—he couldn't be wrong.
The last day of the year.
That day, the King's death would be announced.
Yet anxiety refused to fade.
What if, like the territorial war with Tesron, the timing shifts for reasons I don't know? Or if I misremembered the date? Are we truly prepared?
Would he betray the absolute trust his retainers had shown him?
Such thoughts spiraled, feeding his unease.
But the conclusion was clear.
We must do this.
Creak.
If they didn't seize this chance to soar, even rapid growth wouldn't grant them enough influence by the Imperial War in eight years.
Then, they'd only share this kingdom's fate.
Unless they abandoned their ancestral lands, their nation—and fled en masse to that hateful Empire.
"We must succeed!"
Logan spoke aloud, forcing down the creeping dread.
No matter what.
Gazing at the cold moonlight filling his vision, he prayed it would carve away his weakness—standing there for a long time.
Two weeks later.
Three days before year's end.
"Advance!"
At Logan's command, MacLaine's army marched.
152 knights.
2,532 soldiers total. (Including 1,000 crossbow cavalry—trainee knights—and 1,532 infantry.)
Every available force—even knights and soldiers defected from Silvan—was mobilized.
Leaving only the bare minimum for security, MacLaine's full strength rode west.
Even infantrymen who couldn't handle horses climbed onto their comrades' backs.
Carrying minimal supplies—only weapons and equipment—the army charged forth.
A larger but otherwise identical sight to Silvan's conquest.
A sprint declaring their resolve to end the war swiftly.
And the declaration delivered to Pereta:
We demand retribution for the insult six months ago.
Thus, the brief peace of the kingdom's southwest shattered once more.
Pereta Territory was thrown into chaos by MacLaine's sudden declaration.
"Send word to Vifros! The MacLaine bastards have lost their minds!"
Max Pereta, pale-faced, screamed repeatedly.
"Abandon Flen Castle and concentrate all forces at the main stronghold! Hold out until Vifros arrives!"
Since Silvan's humiliating fall, Max had analyzed the battle endlessly.
He realized it was sheer luck MacLaine's first strike hadn't been against him.
And the envoy Rihalt, who had cautioned him back then, now enjoyed far greater favor.
But as MacLaine marched despite Vifros's warnings, Max knew his luck had merely delayed the inevitable.
When he learned MacLaine was bypassing Flen Castle—Pereta's second stronghold—to head straight for his capital, he lost his last shred of composure.
"Conscript everyone! Round up the conscripts! Make those demonic arrows waste their shots!"
At the cruel lord's command, every villager near Pereta Castle was forcibly drafted.
No distinction between young and old—any man who could lift a weapon was dragged into the fortress.
The emergency summoned by MacLaine's advance left Pereta Castle trembling in terror.