Tanares' Legacy (2)
https://booktoki469.com/data/file/novel/5895/41940/165498264344.jpg
The Surpuk Duke laughed uproariously, pounding Owen on the back repeatedly. Only after repeating "Well done, well done!" several times did he finally let go.
"Uahaha!"
The Surpuk Duke kept laughing as he plopped down into his seat.
His face was utterly relaxed.
The vassals who had entered to check on the situation couldn't hide their bewilderment.
Just moments ago, this man had been demanding someone saw his head off with a handsaw because of his pounding headache.
They had all retreated because he'd explode in rage and hurl objects at anyone who came near.
But now, he was acting as if none of that had ever happened.
"What are you all standing around gawking for? Come in already!"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
Seeing him back to his usual self, the vassals relaxed.
The Surpuk Duke gave them a pleased smile.
"Come on, come on. Take a look at this. What do you think it is?"
The vassals had overheard the conversation between the Surpuk Duke and Owen from outside the tent.
Soon, Bobert Count spoke up.
"Is that Bargulgu's arm, Your Grace? The skull tattoo makes it look real enough. Good heavens…."
"That's right. Come closer, everyone, and get a good look."
At the Surpuk Duke's words, the vassals crowded around for a closer inspection.
Not just to flatter their lord, but out of genuine curiosity.
"So this is that damned bastard's arm."
"He really was a monster."
And no wonder—the enemy commander's near-destruction of their defensive line had left a deep impression even on the leadership.
They had thought their strategy was perfectly prepared.
Yet they'd almost been completely overrun.
Today's battle had felt like it shaved ten years off everyone's life.
"Kuhahaha! Owen chopped off that cursed bastard's arm and brought it back. It's like a rotten tooth finally pulled—such relief!"
As the Surpuk Duke straightened his shoulders and laughed, the vassals rushed to congratulate him.
"Congratulations, Your Grace!"
"A day like this is truly rare, Your Grace!"
Everyone rejoiced, except for one whose expression soured.
Russell Count, naturally.
Owen, his bitter rival, had just earned major credit.
He was already fretting.
This guy's growing terrifyingly fast. It hasn't been long since he got his junior baronetcy and mid-level diplomatic post, and now this….
His only consolation was that consecutive promotions in rank or position were unlikely.
Probably just a gold reward this time. Money's no threat—he's got plenty to spare.
Russell shook his head at his own thoughts.
It was complacent thinking.
That mindset was why he'd kept failing lately.
He resolved to actively block any further promotions or positions if the duke tried, and push instead for a monetary reward.
"I have one question for you all."
At that moment, the Surpuk Duke spoke up.
The quick-witted ones realized his good mood meant a reward for Owen was coming.
Some were pleased; others looked uncomfortable.
"Speak, Your Grace."
Bobert Count, practically Owen's patron, jumped in first.
He was close friends with Logan Leire and the one who had recommended Owen to the Bris court.
Naturally, he welcomed Owen's steady rise.
"This brat Owen freed me from long torment today. Setting aside personal gratitude, severing the enemy commander's arm and driving him off is a tremendous military achievement."
"Indeed, Your Grace. And Sir Leire also destroyed the enemy's powder wagons, turning the tide decisively."
"Right. I intend to reward them for it. Does anyone object?"
Of course, no one raised an issue.
Not even Russell Count opposed the reward itself.
"Your Grace's will is most just."
"Rewarding merit is the foundation of military law."
With unanimous agreement, the Surpuk Duke nodded and asked what reward would be fitting.
The vassals' faces grew complicated.
"Hmm…."
"Well…."
No wonder—Owen's promotions had been coming too quickly lately.
A reward was necessary, but nothing suitable came to mind.
Sensing the mood, Russell Count seized the moment.
"Your Grace, Sir Leire is a Dragon Knight. How about granting him gold to acquire more fine dragons?"
The other vassals quickly agreed.
Upon quick reflection, they saw stuffing him with cash as better than another position.
And besides, it wouldn't come from their own pockets.
The Surpuk Duke stroked his chin beard thoughtfully.
"Gold, you say? I was thinking of granting a new position to lead the Dragon Knights…."
"Your Grace, that's most considerate. But Sir Leire's current station is already ample for his origins."
Ample for his origins.
It was a barbed remark.
In plain terms: plenty enough for a lowly rural knight.
Soon, others chimed in agreement.
"Young knights are brave but lack prudence. Isn't it the duty of superiors to let him rise steadily?"
"I fear arrogance might cloud his talents. Let him prepare for the future with ample gold."
They phrased it more politely than Russell.
They held no ill will toward Owen.
Yet noble instincts for power still made them wary of this young upstart.
"Hmm…."
The Surpuk Duke wasn't blind to his subordinates' attitudes.
With so much opposition to a reward from his cheerful mood, even he hesitated.
Maybe just pile on the gold, like they say? These rotten nobles would accept that….
He had high hopes for Owen.
Promoting him too fast might invite backlash; gold seemed safer.
He was a strong yet seasoned lord.
He knew better than anyone that even the East's overlord couldn't always have his way.
"Hmm, in that case…."
As the Surpuk Duke moved to decide, Bobert Count interjected.
"Your Grace."
"Yes? Bobert."
"As you know, Sir Leire's ambition is to lead Dragon Knights. And he's more than capable."
"True enough."
"You've always said assigning fitting positions and duties to the able is the basis of governance. Why change your mind over talk of origins?"
It was straight talk only Bobert Count could get away with.
The objectors scowled.
Russell hurried to smooth things over.
"Sir Bobert, who's saying His Grace is changing his mind? He's simply gathering his vassals' counsel for the right decision."
"No, that's not it."
Then Betshel, who despised Russell, jumped in.
Betshel didn't care much either way, but he opposed Russell on principle.
"Your Grace, Owen Glendower Duke first shone on the battlefield at sixteen, just like Sir Leire here. How could leading Dragon Knights be unfit?"
Russell bristled, of course.
That meddling old fool was blocking him again.
"He was the heir to the Glendower dukedom!"
"Heh heh! Russell, you're talking strangely. Does being a duke's son mean he knew dragons better? Then as a man of the Surpuk house, I must ride dragons like child's play!"
With Bobert Count followed by the influential elder Betshel weighing in, the scales began to balance.
As opinions clashed, the Surpuk Duke grew awkward. He turned to Owen, who had stayed silent.
"My vassals are divided. What's your take? Speak freely—I'll consider it fully."
All eyes turned to Owen.
They were curious how this quick-witted boy would respond.
Whatever he chose, he'd displease one side.
Opting humbly for gold over position would appease Russell and company.
But disappoint his backers like Bobert and Betshel.
Choosing position over gold would breed more who saw his rise as excessive.
A tough call, by any measure.
Yet Owen ignored both sides.
His goal was clear.
Revenge.
Especially after facing Bargulgu, the hybrid lord's hunting dog—it had crystallized.
Leading Dragon Knights was essential for revenge.
But how to phrase it smoothly?
Pondering, Owen spotted the duke's sword at his waist and had a flash of inspiration.
"Your Grace, with respect, may I draw my sword to show you?"
One didn't unsheathe freely before a lord, so he asked first.
The boisterous Surpuk Duke permitted it at once.
"Go ahead."
Owen drew his sword from his belt—it was snapped in half midway.
The Surpuk Duke tilted his head.
"Hm? Wasn't that the treasured sword from Baron Magnus's house? Traitorous scum, sure, but it's a fine blade. How'd it break?"
"It took the Human Reaper Bargulgu's axe and ended up like this."
"What a shame. That brute orc smashes not just humans but swords too!"
https://booktoki469.com/data/file/novel/5895/41940/16549826434406.jpg
"Thus, I have a request. Grant me the treasured sword you're wearing now, Your Grace. I'll wield it honorably in battle."
"What?"
"I've heard you have several such swords. I ask for just one."
Everyone was stunned by Owen's demand.
Asking for his lord's treasured sword sounded quite rude.
"Hm…."
Bobert Count's face fell in disappointment.
A chance for real position, squandered on some object.
The Surpuk Duke, meanwhile, stroked his waist with an enigmatic expression.
"This sword?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Owen replied without hesitation.
The duke gave a faint smile and turned to Russell Count.
"Russell."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"The lad wants a treasured sword. I think it's fine instead of gold. What say you?"
Russell brightened at the question.
"Of course. Granting a treasured sword is perfectly acceptable."
He was thrilled inwardly.
Asking for a sword? Fool! It's worth less than gold. Perfect. Back in Bris, I'll spread the word: Owen Leire covets his lord's possessions. Haha, still a child chasing trinkets.
This blocked a position and tarnished his reputation too.
Best of both worlds.
No wonder Russell was delighted.
But the Surpuk Duke asked once more.
"You're sure it's fine?"
"Yes…? Absolutely."
Russell felt something off in the question.
But with no reason to object, he acquiesced.
What's this? His Grace's expression feels oddly unsettling.
He knew his lord well.
That subtle look held playful mockery.
As if to say, You're making a mistake.
Yet even racking his sharp mind, Russell couldn't see the issue.
"Russell, you've gotten your way. Don't complain later, or you'll be a petty man. Got it? Hahaha!"
The Surpuk Duke laughed heartily as he unbuckled the sword from his waist. Not just handing it over—he moved to buckle it onto Owen himself.
"Your Grace, no need."
"Hold still, boy."
Ignoring Owen's protests, the duke personally fastened the sword. He nodded in satisfaction, then burst out laughing uncontrollably.
"Kuhahahaha! Owen, you rascal!"
The duke clapped and roared with laughter.
The watching vassals were baffled at the sudden turn.
Especially as he pointed at Russell, beside himself.
"Russell, you fool! My sides! Krhuhuhu!"
"Your Grace?"
Russell was puzzled, but then saw elder Betshel laughing too—his eyes widened.
Betshel openly mocked him.
"He doesn't even know what he's approved! Uhahaha!"
A few other old vassals reacted similarly.
Middle-aged ones like Russell and Bobert were left clueless.
Seemed like something only the older generation, like the duke and Betshel, knew.
Finally, Betshel blurted it out.
"You idiot. This sword is from the imperial house—far more than just a sharp blade!"
At those words, something clicked in Russell's mind.
"Ah!"
The imperial family granted treasured swords for specific reasons. And such swords often symbolized position.
https://booktoki469.com/data/file/novel/5895/41940/1654982643441.jpg