Valley (5)
Owen shot back at Baron Maroon.
"Anything at all?"
"That's right! Anything, I tell you! Just spare my life, please! Euheuk!"
Facing death by burning alive, Baron Maroon had abandoned all pretense of dignity.
He poured out his pleas to Owen, who was far younger than him, sobbing uncontrollably.
"I'll swear on my soul to the gods if you want! Please, I beg you! Sir Leire!"
Owen didn't trust a word from Baron Maroon.
A schemer like him would flip his words at the drop of a hat.
Still, to uncover the full extent of his crimes, Owen had to drag him out.
"Fine."
At Owen's consent, Baron Maroon slammed his forehead to the ground in relief.
"Thank you! Thank you so much!"
"We'll see how long that gratitude lasts."
Owen's words came true soon enough.
Back at the dragon stable, he tossed Baron Maroon and his cronies straight into the warehouse.
Stripped of nearly all their possessions, a trove of evidence related to the incident spilled out.
Owen contacted Count Bobert, who arrived at the stable by dawn.
"Owen."
"Welcome, sir."
Owen explained the night's events, then led him to Baron Maroon.
Count Bobert grilled the baron with a face full of fury.
"Have you lost your bloody mind?"
"Count, please hear me out! There's a huge misunderstanding here!"
As expected, Baron Maroon started with excuses.
He denied his involvement as much as possible.
But it was far too late.
Count Bobert, who had long despised the man, was practically gleeful at the chance to nail him.
The count claimed responsibility for the matter.
"Leave this pig to me. I'll send him straight to hell."
"Can you handle it? Some parts lack solid evidence, which could stir controversy."
Bobbling with cheer at Owen's concern, Count Bobert laughed heartily.
"Hahaha! No worries! Truth be told, the real prize was a pretext to strip that pig bare. You've handed it to me on a platter, so the outcome's as good as set. That bastard's corruption runs deep—dig hard enough, and we've got enough for ten hangings."
"I see."
Baron Maroon was doomed, it seemed.
He'd escaped the burning valley only to face execution in Bris's central square.
Naturally, he wailed, snot and tears streaming down his face.
"No, please! You can't treat an imperial noble like this! Count Bobert!"
"Ha! A piglet like you dares call himself noble?"
Count Bobert signaled his ever-present swordmasters.
"Beat this wretch senseless first. He's making me sick."
They rolled up their sleeves and laid into Baron Maroon and his gang with wild abandon.
Thwack! Thud! Crack!
"Squeeee!"
It was a proper pig squeal, and even as bloodied pulp, Bobert remained nonchalant.
It spoke volumes about how much the diligent official loathed him.
"You've done splendid work. Anything you want as a reward?"
At Count Bobert's question, Owen glanced at Bald John and his crew huddled in the warehouse corner.
Tied to the incident, they trembled in terror.
They figured they'd be next after the baron's thrashing.
"Could you leave their punishment to me?"
Normally, Bald John would hang, and his crew get sent to the mines.
But Owen taking charge meant leniency.
Bald John and his men gaped in shock.
"Showing mercy? I hear they've been skimming budgets and slacking off for ages…."
"You're right, sir. But they earned major credit this time. There were casualties, sure, but thanks to them, we've cut out Bris's festering tumor."
"Hmm… fair point."
"Compared to Baron Maroon, they're small fry. I'd like to give them a chance to reflect on their wrongs here in the Fifth Dragon Stable."
Count Bobert nodded slightly, then glared fiercely at Bald John and his crew.
"Thank your lucky stars for a good boss. Slack off again, and I'll hang the lot of you. Got it?!"
"Urgh… thank you!"
Bald John and his men dropped to their knees in unison, heads bowed.
For them, it felt like cheating death.
Hearts pounding, they couldn't even lift their heads until Bobert hauled the prisoners away.
"You can look up now."
At Owen's words, Bald John and his crew snapped to.
Still kneeling, they eyed him warily.
No one saw Owen as a green young noble anymore.
Owen sat in a chair, looking down at them.
"Decide your own fate."
"……."
"Leave if you want. You risked your necks this time, that's fact. Regrettable casualties, but I'll count your past graft as resigned."
"…Is there another path?"
"Yes. Repent your past mistakes and pour everything into this Fifth Dragon Stable. No more skimming supplies or slacking. Honest work—that's the deal."
Bald John piped up in protest.
"But honest work alone leaves us broke!"
Owen read the fierce resentment in Bald John's eyes.
Even in this cowed state, he had to speak up.
A lesser noble would've raged, but Owen nodded unexpectedly.
He'd seen it all in his past life.
"True. Honesty often breeds poverty."
"Uh, no… I mean."
Bald John flustered, unprepared for instant agreement.
Owen gave a wry smile and continued.
"Think I don't get it? Roads to riches twist and snag with obstacles. Cheat and lie, and it's a straight shot. Stick to law and morals? You wind around the bends."
Graft a bit, and you might afford a house in old age.
Stay honest? You're a slave-class drudge forever.
Owen knew this societal rot all too well.
"I'm not preaching empty morals. You'll play straight for a bit out of guilt, sure. But you'll revert eventually. Right?"
"…Can't deny that. But while you're here, Sir Leire, we'll work honest."
"Appreciated."
"Then why demand honesty? If it doesn't convince, we'll leave."
"Simple. You handle dragons."
What shocked Owen at the Fifth was zero breeders with high dragon intimacy.
Intimacy isn't just for dragon knights.
Handlers can build it too, rivaling riders.
It massively aids management, naturally.
"Dragons sense lies above all. Think they're dumb beasts 'cause they don't talk? Big mistake. Even simple-minded ones have sharp instincts. You've felt it—they see through you. Liars never bond with them."
Bald John and his crew fell silent, struck by the insight.
"The Fifth was a total mess. Sick, vicious dragons. Handlers who couldn't connect. Who started it? No clue. But it spiraled into a vicious cycle."
Owen, versed in stable dynamics, pictured it perfectly.
"Shitty stable shoves in sick dragons, handlers give up on care… so you lot skim budgets."
"……."
"One thing I heard: the Fifth wasn't always like this. Shockingly, it was top-tier a decade ago?"
"…True. Back when I was green."
"Think you can't go back?"
"No, it's just…."
"Scared? Too much rot piled up? Then leave. But hear this: I'll normalize this Fifth Dragon Stable."
Bald John and his crew stared, mesmerized.
They once took pride in their craft.
Then it all went to hell someday.
Whose fault? Unclear.
Maybe the noble overseers. Or the sneaky breeders pilfering like rats.
"You know dragon handlers get top respect. Not the Fifth—dangerous drudgery, scorned by others. So we'll fix it. Honest, and not poor."
Bris had five stables, run strictly by performance, pay wildly varied.
The elite First's handlers lived like kings.
Owen pointed it out.
"Nothing says Fifth can't match First. No rule isolating sick beasts here—it just happened. Right?"
"Yes."
A strange fervor flickered in the nodding crew.
First Stable?
Pie in the sky, but Owen's feats were unreal.
Nothing like the inept nobles they'd known.
"Get honest. You won't lose out."
"Really… possible?"
Owen affirmed.
"Yes."
Why? Simple—he was Owen.
Of course, they didn't know he'd been the empire's greatest dragon knight.
Still.
Overwhelmed by his presence, they nodded instinctively.
This extraordinary boy might pull it off.
Owen rose, leaving them to ponder.
"No need to stay trash forever. Right?"
In the end, Bald John and his crew turned a new leaf.
They'd give it a real shot under Owen.
They apologized to the breeders they'd bullied and buckled down to work.
Music to Owen's ears—every hand counted.
Dragon handlers were specialists; replacements were scarce.
That's why he'd bothered reforming them.
Grateful for survival, they pledged loyalty to Owen.
"Good day, sir!"
"Good day, sir!"
Bald John and his crew, scrubbing floors, snapped to military salute as Owen arrived.
Extreme trials do change people.
Owen couldn't help a smirk at their transformed demeanor.
"You'll dislocate a shoulder. Get to work."
"Yes, sir!"
Their boot-camp crispness lasted days, softening Owen's heart.
Feeling he'd pushed too hard, he footed their drinking tab that night.
"Hit the town after shift for drinks. But latecomers tomorrow? Pray."
"Thank you!"
All good.
But these roughnecks, tasting freedom after ages, stirred trouble.
At a Bris tavern, they boasted of the valley battle days prior.
Led by Bald John, their vivid tales captivated the crowd.
Nothing beats a true story.
Mixed with manly exaggeration, it became an epic saga.
"I, Bald John, swear on my honor! Sir Owen Leire felled the heretic Otto's massive dragon. Astride a blazing red beast matching his valor!"
Drunks perked up.
Bris brimmed with weird rumors lately.
"Ooooh! So that's how it went? Maroon got his from Leire?"
"Never guessed. Explains the fire talk."
"Told ya—merchants from east saw a sea of flames!"
"Nah, orc shaman botched burning a wheat field, they said."
Baron Maroon arrested, massive blaze east.
Bris folk buzzed with speculation; now truth hit, they went wild.
The tale spread like wildfire through the city.
"What? Leire thrashed that pig Maroon?"
"Small dragon beat a medium one, they say?"
By next day, it reached Duke Surpuk's ears.
He'd gotten the gist from Count Bobert.
Awaiting details, but wildly inflated rumors arrived first.
Patience snapped; no waiting for reports.
He bellowed.
"Hey! Fetch that Owen brat here now!"