The Thieves' Knight Order's Fortress (6)
A single mutation was already remarkable for a dragon.
The odds of two or even three mutations occurring were exceedingly low.
Yet Grenville had three confirmed mutations, leaving Owen no choice but to be astonished.
"What an incredible beast."
Owen couldn't hide his excitement.
He knew full well the effects of the Giant and Solid Eye mutations.
"Grenville, with the Giant mutation, you'll grow even bigger."
"Eung?"
"You're about ten meters now, so once Giant manifests, you'll hit around fifteen meters. Not only that, but your stamina and physical durability will skyrocket too."
"Eeung?"
The Giant mutation wouldn't make him as large as a medium dragon, but among small dragons, he'd boast an unparalleled size.
Plus, he'd be able to shrug off attacks from ballistae—precisely what Owen had been worried about.
"Your entire skeleton will harden up. Especially your head. You could probably headbutt away light cannons now."
"Eung!"
Grenville didn't fully grasp what Owen was saying, but he was thrilled that his rider was pleased.
Owen kept explaining anyway, even if Grenville couldn't follow.
This habit of chattering away to his dragon about every little thing had been with him since his past life.
"Solid Eye is great too. A massive mutation appears in your eyes. During the day, your vision sharpens like an eagle's. At night, you'll see straight through the dark. You're already sharp at night thanks to your nose, but adding vision on top? Nothing will stop you."
Another trait of Solid Eye was that the entire eye turned pitch black.
Right now, his pupils were long vertical slits, but post-mutation, the whole eye would become like a black marble.
"Hmm..."
Owen stroked Grenville thoughtfully.
I shouldn't evolve him just yet.
Grenville was already drawing eyes as a Super Red.
Adding Giant and Solid Eye on top? The powerful wouldn't leave him alone.
This would be the pinnacle among small dragons.
Small dragons might be diminutive, but they had uses and value that medium or large ones couldn't match.
No matter how massive your dragons were, you still needed small ones—which meant interest was inevitable.
"Grenville, we'll evolve you once I've gained enough power myself. Got it?"
"Eung?"
Not quite understanding, Grenville tilted his head.
After checking the Dragon Core, Owen rested in his tent.
The next day, Drun Count summoned him.
When he arrived, torture of the prisoners was already underway.
They were grilling bandit knights captured from all over.
"There you are. Come, sit."
"Yes, my lord."
Drun Count had beer foam all over his mustache since morning.
Even as nails were being ripped from prisoners right in front of him, he calmly dipped bread in his beer.
"Owen, I had them roughed up hoping for good news, but they know nothing."
"Is that so?"
Owen wasn't disappointed—it was what he'd expected.
Magnus's involvement in the farm raid was certain, but he'd handled it cleanly, leaving no trail.
"Yeah. Looks like only dead Malton knew the truth."
"Can't be helped. But I don't see Sir Luke anywhere."
"Ah, about that..."
Apparently, Luke had left last night after leaving a message with his men.
Some urgent business back at his territory, he'd said.
Magnus's troops were withdrawing even now.
No sign of the cavalry—they must have all gone.
"Heh, what's so urgent? He even passed on the spoils."
Drun Count looked baffled.
There was no such thing as a free lunch in this world.
Even if purging bandit knights served the public good, sharing spoils was only natural.
Moving an army cost money, after all.
Owen muttered offhandedly in response.
"He left like he was fleeing."
"Hm? Fleeing?"
"Just a figure of speech, my lord."
Owen brushed it off, but he knew the truth: they'd bolted.
Scared something might come up during interrogation.
The thief's foot burns, indeed.
Despite dragging in heavy artillery and mercenaries under Owen's manipulation, they'd gained nothing and even fled.
Talk about being played.
And skipping spoils out of panic? That would only raise suspicions.
"Hmmm?"
Even Drun Count, no genius himself, tilted his head.
But Owen couldn't spell it out bluntly, so he scanned the count's retainers.
Drun Count's unbroken success owed to his excellent advisors, despite his own lack of cunning.
Owen soon spotted one: a dignified gentleman with a long white beard.
Viscount Avenne, schemer of Drun's domain.
Famous even in Owen's past life, so easy to recognize.
Unlike Drun, he could infer various possibilities from the situation.
Owen addressed Viscount Avenne casually.
"Viscount, perhaps discuss this matter with my lord later."
Viscount Avenne nodded without a word.
But he soon added softly,
"I hold your father in high regard as well. Fine knight that he was. A shame about the farm raid."
That was answer enough.
Viscount Avenne would've heard about Owen's bet with Magnus.
"Hm? What are you two on about?"
Only Drun Count looked puzzled.
Viscount Avenne replied calmly.
"My lord, I'll explain later. First, hadn't we agreed to reward Sir Owen?"
"Right! My head's all over the place. Good catch, Avenne."
Drun Count shook off his confusion and smacked his forehead.
"Owen, time for your reward."
Torture screams filled the air, yet he beamed with genuine warmth.
"I seek no reward, my lord. Just did my duty."
"Bah! Don't play coy like some kid. When an elder offers, you say thanks and take it."
"Hahaha."
"Before the reward, one proposal: care to serve under me? I won't treat you poorly."
It was a natural offer.
What lord wouldn't covet Owen's skill and dragon?
But Owen politely declined.
"Truth be told, I'm en route to the Suffolk Duke. I have a letter of introduction."
"What? His Grace?"
Explaining his history with Bobert Count, Drun slapped his thigh in regret.
"Damn! That scheming Bobert beat me to it!"
Real regret showed in Drun's eyes.
He wouldn't let go easily.
Thus, Viscount Avenne interjected.
"My lord, knowing Bobert Count, he won't stop at a letter—he's already reported to His Grace. Best to give up."
"Grr... True. That's just like him."
Drun nodded reluctantly, then added,
"If things don't pan out later, come find me. Understood?"
"My thanks for your kindness, my lord. One request, if I may."
"What is it? Gladly."
"May I take some of these bandit knights when I go to the Suffolk Duke?"
"Ha! Good idea! Bring gifts on your way—establishes you before you even arrive. Smooth sailing ahead."
"I'm humbled."
"Nonsense. It's no undue request. You earned the biggest merit here—fact is fact. Take all the prisoners!"
Drun Count was a big-hearted man.
Owen had aimed for five; he offered them all.
And that wasn't the end.
"You'll need hands to manage them. I'll give ten knights too."
"My lord, I couldn't."
As Owen hesitated, Viscount Avenne smiled.
"His lordship likes you more than expected. Just accept—he's backing you."
A young man getting Drun's knights? People would take notice.
All the prisoners too?
This positioned Owen as the event's hero.
Viscount Avenne added,
"Plus, once you're famous, the farm plotters won't dare act rashly. I'll lend a hand too, of course."
He smirked faintly.
He planned to harass Baron Magnus for a while.
No hard evidence for direct action, but tripping him up to curb wild ideas? Trivial.
Once the nitpicking started, clever Magnus would lay low.
Owen grasped the intent and bowed deeply.
"My deepest gratitude."
"Thank your fine father."
Owen was glad anew he'd saved Logan Leire's life in the war.
He'd reaped the benefits plenty since reviving.
"Good! Let's make it grand! Kahahaha!"
Drun roared with laughter.
Suddenly recalling something amid the torture, he bellowed at the soldiers,
"Hey! No killing! Cancel the limb-chopping too!"
"Yes, sir!"
"But they're scum, so yank all their nails!"
"Understood, my lord!"
Thus, Owen set off for Bris, Suffolk Duke's capital, surrounded by all captured prisoners and Drun Count's knights.
No mere country knight's son could boast such a procession.
Soon, Bris's citizens would rave about the young knight who crushed the rogue knight order.
Magnus's hands trembled with rage.
Luke's report had him fuming to the scalp.
"What? Say that again!"
"As I said."
"You bastard! All that swagger!"
He hurled his goblet.
This time, Luke took it square on.
Thud!
Blood trickled from his forehead with a dull sound.
Magnus's fury showed no sign of abating.
"Do you know how much the artillery and mercenaries cost? And you come back empty-handed, like some volunteer?"
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"That... the kid seemed to catch on."
"Idiot! Your flight just fanned suspicions!"
Luke had no rebuttal.
Last night, anxiety had gripped him.
As dawn broke and interrogations loomed, panic set in—what if it turned on him?
So he'd fled after a hasty message.
Calmer now, he realized he'd botched it big-time.
Magnus flailed his prosthetic wildly in ire.
"What use is a moron like you? Hell, you bolted at that whelp's one word!"
"Guh...!"
True enough—Luke bit his lip.
Humiliation upon humiliation.
Owen had toyed with him completely.
"I'll make him pay."
"Shut it! Lie low first—revenge my ass!"
Word was, Owen had seized the fortress and become a hero.
Magnus couldn't touch him for a while.
He'd wait till Owen weakened and slipped.
But that wasn't priority.
"Luke, you pay first."
Magnus snapped his fingers; the door flew open, burly mercenaries swarmed in, and seized Luke.
"Drag him off—I can't stand the sight! Toss him in the dungeon!"
Luke snapped back.
"Baron Magnus! I've handled your dirty work all this time—discard me like this?!"
He struggled, but held firm, it was futile.
Beaten soundly, he was hauled underground.
As he left, Magnus sighed and slumped into his chair.
"Hoo... damn mongrel."
Weary, he closed his eyes—to a responding voice.
"Dogs need training, Baron."
A soft, seductive alto.
Laced with foul magic.
Magnus scowled in distaste.
"Show yourself. Do your kind only whisper from shadows?"
"Oh, my apologies. Hehe."
Black smoke billowed; a woman emerged.
A dark elf of bewitching beauty.
Near-nude, her voluptuous form on full display.
She approached Magnus with a alluring smile.
"Would've been easier if you'd left it to us from the start."
"Shut your trap. A lowly dark elf thinking to rampage in the Empire?"
"But we are helpful, no? How did your sturdy father meet his end again?"
"Ho? Threatening me?"
"Perish the thought. Hehe."
The dark elf perched one hip on his desk.
Her firm thigh gleamed, but Magnus ignored it.
"More like, a proposal."
"What?"
"Hand Luke to us? We'll remake him useful."
Dark elves excelled in drugs, poisons, body mods.
Masters of the grotesque.
"Remake?"
"That fool of any use to you now? We'll craft him anew—a living weapon."
Magnus pondered, then shrugged.
"Fine. He's shit now; can't get worse."
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