Bandit Knights' Fortress (2)
“Wait, why is Magnus here?”
As he looked closer, he spotted the banner of Drun Count as well.
A famous power broker in the East.
“This is strange…”
Magnus was under suspicion as the mastermind behind this mess.
But why would he be attacking the Bandit Knights' fortress?
And what was this random Drun Count doing here?
“Hold on.”
Owen suddenly recalled a clue from the interrogation.
'Someone important was kidnapped.'
Could it be someone from the Drun Count's family?
Otherwise, there was no reason for his army to show up like this.
But Magnus's soldiers? That was still a complete mystery.
“Young master, ain't that Magnus the fella we tangled with before? If he's down there, maybe we oughta steer clear, y'know?”
“No need. I haven't done anything wrong, so no reason to tuck tail. If anyone's gotta worry, it's them.”
“But when's the world ever fair like that?”
“You're right, Ben. But now I've got power of my own. It's not like before—don't worry.”
Ben couldn't help but grin at Owen's bold attitude, which he'd always seen as a bit naive.
“Well, ain't ya turned into a real man's man! Just gotta get yerself hitched now. Heh heh heh!”
“Quiet down.”
Just then, a knight spotted the bickering pair and approached with his men.
He was in charge of rear guard during the battle.
“Who goes there!”
His voice was sharp, but his demeanor differed from Luke's earlier hostility.
He hadn't even drawn his sword yet.
And understandably so—Owen was clad in splendid armor.
Thanks to the ornate gear looted from Magnus, he looked every bit the young scion of a fine house.
“Greetings. I am Owen Leire, son of Sir Logan Leire.”
“Sir Leire? Is that true?”
The man's eyes widened in surprise, and his attitude softened instantly.
“Ha ha! Who'd have thought.”
He even signaled his men to stand down.
“You know my father?”
“Of course. A famed Dragon Knight from days past. I heard he'd retired to the countryside.”
Owen realized Sir Leire was more renowned in the East than he'd imagined.
“He'll be thrilled to hear such kind words.”
“But what's your business here? This ain't no place for sightseeing. Or are you out to earn some glory?”
The knight seemed to peg Owen as a knightly son out for a jaunt with his servant.
“I have my reasons for coming this far.”
Owen explained how bandits had raided the farm recently.
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Fortunately, Father and our guest Sir Gunter drove them off. But I felt the need to deal with the ringleaders, so here I am. I never expected a battle, though…”
“You're a noble and brave young man. But reckless, too. The Bandit Knights are no pushovers—how could you come alone?”
Of course, that was because he didn't know about Owen's dragon.
But the senior knight's rebuke carried genuine concern, so Owen simply nodded.
No need to argue; the man's goodwill toward Sir Leire's son made it pointless.
“Is Drun Count here in person? I see his banner.”
“He is. Perfect timing. Follow me—I'll introduce you. His Lordship will welcome Sir Leire's son.”
Owen happily obliged, thinking it a fine chance to get acquainted with the count.
Just then, the retreat signal blared.
Injured soldiers limped back.
Bodies littered the base of the walls.
“Doesn't look like it's going well?”
The escorting knight sighed at Owen's casual query.
“They're down to thirty-odd defenders, but we can't breach the fortress. His Lordship's mighty vexed.”
Indeed, shouts erupted from the command post as they approached.
At the center stood Drun Count, his beard thick and wild, his voice booming like a wild boar's roar.
“Damn it all! A handful of rats holding us off, and you can't break through!”
“My lord! The walls are too sturdy—there's no way in.”
“Blast! Shouldn't have bothered with those light cannons!”
In his rage, Drun Count yanked at his beard and bellowed for Luke, Magnus's subordinate.
“Sir Luke! When's the heavy artillery arriving?!”
“Don't worry, my lord. It'll be here in a day.”
Upon Luke's report, Magnus swiftly decided to dispatch troops to aid Drun Count.
To eliminate potential threats while forging a strong bond—and committing precious heavy guns to the siege, which the count desperately awaited.
“It's burning me up!”
“It's a cannon renowned even among heavy guns. Needs fifteen horses to haul it—that's why it takes time. Please bear with us a bit longer, my lord.”
The cannon weighed over three tons and fired twenty-kilogram shells, ideal for sieges.
“Hoo! If we had a dwarf ground dragon, it'd be here in no time! Fine, I'll be patient.”
“Rest assured—these walls will crumble like dust before its might!”
“That's some comfort. Hey! Bring me some ale!”
Drun Count plopped down heavily, his sturdy chair creaking in protest.
Then his eyes flicked to Owen nearby, one brow arching.
“Who's that shiny-armored young knight? Don't recall anyone like him in our camp.”
All eyes turned to Owen.
The knight who'd brought him stepped forward.
“Son of Sir Logan Leire. Says his lands were raided by the Bandit Knights recently, so he came himself.”
“What! Logan Leire?”
The boar-like count's reaction was vivid.
He shot up and stared hard at Owen.
Then nodded to himself.
“Spitting image of his old man!”
Striding over, he clapped Owen's shoulder heartily.
“Ha ha ha ha! Unbelievable! Sir Leire's boy, eh? Heard he retreated to the sticks after the great purge. But look at this strapping lad!”
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The surrounding officers showed clear surprise.
“Logan Leire?”
“Wait, isn't he our little lord's benefactor?”
Some even rose to approach Owen.
“Welcome!”
“You really Sir Leire's son?”
Owen, unprepared for such a warm reception, stood dumbfounded.
“I'm grateful for your kind words about Father.”
Drun Count nodded vigorously.
“You can be proud of him. Back when Sir Leire rode dragons, he saved many Eastern knights from orc hordes—including me!”
His earlier frustration evaporated.
The arrival of his old comrade's son had him buzzing like it was a feast day.
The man's hearty nature came with wild mood swings.
“Come, sit! What a joyous reunion!”
“My lord! You can't seat him beside you!”
Owen balked at the chair arrangement and demurred.
“A spot at the end of the table would suffice.”
“Hush, you fool! He's my benefactor's son—right beside me, naturally. From now on, you're like my own boy! Ha ha ha!”
The count, who ignored his own bastard son, fussed over Owen tenderly.
It spoke volumes about his character.
He valued loyalty and competence above blood.
His bastard was worthless scum, unworthy of pity.
But Owen, son of his savior, earned this hero's welcome.
Conversation flowed in the lively mood.
Owen learned the reason for the siege, too.
Then his eyes met a man's.
Ashen hair, long scar across his face.
The only one here giving Owen a cold stare.
Owen had his suspicions but asked Drun Count calmly.
“Who's that? No Drun crest—must be an outsider.”
“Oh, him? Sir Luke. Vassal to Baron Magnus, helping us out. Fine fellow!”
“Hoo…”
Figures—Magnus's man, glaring like that.
Owen smiled deliberately and addressed him first.
“How has Baron Magnus been? I'm ever grateful for the armor and sword he provided.”
“Guh!”
Luke bit his lip.
The clueless Drun Count blinked wide-eyed.
“He gave you that armor? What's that about?”
“My lord, this very armor is from Baron Magnus—a gift.”
“What? Looks worth a fortune! He's got real class!”
Vassals in the know snickered at the count's praise.
Luke's face hardened at the faint mockery.
Owen met it with a knowing smile.
“Please tell him I'd love to treat him to a meal sometime. Sir Luke.”
“Gr… Understood.”
Luke yearned to throttle the brat before him but couldn't.
How the hell did he get here?
Did he suspect something?
Bad omens swirled.
Then Drun Count asked.
“Got a dragon? I know Sir Leire's died, but it's been years—might've tamed another.”
“My lord, I have one.”
Owen unfurled his Dragon Scroll.
The count slapped his thigh in delight.
“No kidding! Like rain in drought! You came to thrash these Bandit Knights, right? Help me out—with a dragon, we can take this rundown fort in one go.”
“Gladly. I came to crush them anyway—no hesitation.”
“Ha ha ha! Father and now son aiding me! The Leire house are true benefactors!”
The vassals' faces lit up.
“My lord! That fortress is nothing now!”
“Damn right!”
They'd endured days of the count's tirades.
A solution appearing? Pure relief.
But one objected.
“My lord, reconsider using the dragon.”
Luke.
The count scowled.
“Why? What's better than a dragon right now?”
“Not blindly, my lord. But let's be cool-headed. Hear me out.”
“Speak.”
“Dragons are invaluable, true. But if the rider's a novice not even a full Dragon Knight?”
“Hm?”
“No offense to the young man, but nothing beats battlefield experience.”
The count nodded reluctantly.
“…Fair point.”
“My lord, you called the Leires benefactors. This youth is their budding flower. If hot blood leads him to rashness and death, how will you face his father?”
“Khm!”
“Dragons rarely die. Riders? Common enough.”
Luke's logic doused the count's enthusiasm for Owen.
Desperate times begged borrowed hands, but a mere boy not yet of age?
His death would shame him before Logan Leire.
Sensing this, Luke smiled slyly and soothed.
“The heavy guns arrive tomorrow. One breach, and it's over. No need to push.”
“You're right—I was hasty.”
Clever words, Owen thought—polite sabotage, just like his master Magnus.
But this was prime for glory.
Owen had no intent to back down meekly.
Yet he stayed composed.
Thanks to the map he'd acquired—the seemingly plain walls hid special defenses.
Luke, never inside the fort, was clueless.
He'd dealt with Morton outside for safety.
Even heavy guns won't topple it easily. My chance will come.
Fully informed, Owen responded calmly.
“How could a youth like me presume? My skill may lack, but my courage yields to none. My lord Count, call on me anytime if needed.”
The count was impressed by his poise.
No surprise if he'd snapped at Luke's words.
“Sir Leire raised a fine son!”
In the Eastern power broker's heart, Owen's stock soared.
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