Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Boris's Desperate Plea
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"It's not too late even now. Please reconsider just once more."
Boris Pamell, the eldest son of the Pamell Count family, knelt on one knee and pleaded earnestly.
But the Pamell Count pressed down firmly on his sunken eye sockets and made no reply.
"Father. This really isn't right. Gedes Sion of Paloma holds no stake above the duke. If Blint Sion fails to inherit the title, it's only natural for his son to succeed him. Gedes Sion has no grounds to object. Why in the world..."
"The Iron Mountain Dwarves will back Gedes."
Though he was technically his son-in-law, the Pamell Count—who served as governor of Paloma and might even become Duke Sion—addressed him curtly by name, as if he were a mere subordinate.
But what he had just said was enough to render that rudeness trivial.
"The dwarves of the Sion Dukedom? Ah, Father, surely you didn't... drag the dwarves into this too?"
"Half the wealth of the Sion Dukedom comes from the dwarves. If those shorties support Gedes, even the smug vassals of Triune Eagle Castle won't be able to ignore it.
That's the weakness of those stipendiary titles. They're men who receive only a salary without assured land for food or resources, so they can't help but waver before the decisions of the dwarves, who hold a major share of the dukedom's finances."
"...Then wouldn't that be enough? There's no need to send troops as well, is there? No matter what excuse you make, this is an invasion. If things go even slightly wrong, we're finished. Don't you know the power of the Sion Duke family?"
"Shut your mouth! We're the Pamells! A prestigious house that has endured on this land for three hundred years! We can't even compare to those upstarts founded by rootless mercenary riffraff not even a hundred years ago!"
"And we were miserably defeated by that rootless dukedom!"
Boris raised his voice in response to his father's bellow.
"You dare, you insolent whelp...!"
"We lost even when our strength was comparable, so what do you think will happen now, when they outmatch us several times over!? What will we do if things go wrong and Sion turns their blades on us?
No, they'll come for us a hundred times out of a hundred! They'll attack us to unite their long-unsettled internals! Don't you see that even if Gedes takes the title, it'll be the same?"
"Gedes is already in the same boat as us! The moment he betrays us, he's done for too!"
"How? Once he seizes the title and pacifies the dukedom, who will end Gedes for you? Right now, Father, you're blinded by old grudges and failing to judge the situation!"
"You insolent cur!"
Thud!
The old man nearing sixty slammed the table with all his might.
Normally, Boris would have urged his father to calm down out of concern for his health, but this time, he could not back down.
"You must recall the mercenaries, Father. And rescind the order to mobilize troops from the vassals."
"You..."
"Even one month from now, the funds needed to maintain the forces will dry up. After two months, the territory could go bankrupt."
"Hmph! Everything will be settled within a month—what's there to worry about? If it's even slightly short, we can just take out a loan."
"Ha..."
Boris felt like he was going mad.
Just borrow and pay back later.
Countless lords had waged wars with that mindset and ruined themselves. They had gambled their house and territory's future, only to meet a wretched end.
"Father, please..."
"Enough! I don't want to hear it! Is no one there? Escort him out with an escort! Confine him to the Rose Thorn Tower!"
"Father!"
Soldiers entered and firmly seized Boris's arms, dragging him away.
They couldn't manhandle the next head of the house too roughly, but the soldiers under the Pamell Count's orders showed no hesitation.
"Father! You mustn't! You'll regret this! Father...!"
The door closed, and Boris's voice faded away.
With his face flushed red from excitement, the Pamell Count sank into his chair.
"Win, just win. Help Gedes suppress the fools of Triune Eagle Castle, and it's over."
Muttering to himself like a vow, the Pamell Count lit a cigarette.
Come to think of it, this pipe tobacco was also a specialty product of the Sion Dukedom. They imported tobacco leaves from overseas across the sea and mass-produced them using dwarven techniques, or so it was said.
When Gedes Sion became duke, a portion of the dukedom's wealth—built on such marvelous goods—would flow to the Pamells.
And that wasn't all. His grandson, born of his daughter and Gedes, would one day become Duke Sion.
It was fine if he became a foolish eldest son who only obeyed his grandfather's words, or even the clever but hot-tempered and immature Sirban—his reliable grandsons could coax and soothe him, bending him to their will.
Someday, the entire Sion Duke family might fall into the Pamells' grasp.
"Let this chance slip? That fool who only knows how to crunch numbers. Staring at numbers keeps him from seeing the big picture."
Even entertaining the thought of skipping Boris and passing the title straight to his eldest grandson, the Pamell Count exhaled a puff of smoke.
"It's different from back then. Different from..."
When his father had sent the family's great army, only to suffer a crushing defeat and eventually sign a humiliating agreement with the Sion Duke family, the Pamell Count had been a mere child.
He still remembered how the knights and soldiers who had proudly marched out of the castle returned like beggars, less than half of them surviving.
The horror of his younger sister and cousins being dragged off as hostages under the guise of marriage, and the family's direct forces being capped at under five hundred—it was still vivid.
But.
"Ugh..."
At the thought of the silver-masked man who had decided and imposed it all, the Pamell Count shuddered involuntarily.
Duke Sion Jang, hero of the Demon Dragon War and one of the six heroes.
At the banquet after the defeat negotiations ended, he had casually proposed sparring matches with the Pamell Count family's knights for entertainment.
Though they had lost the war, the knights who had stayed in the castle instead of joining—thinking they might beat the duke family's head—burned with competitive spirit.
With over ten applicants and the duke saying numbers didn't matter, it only fueled them further.
And so the spars began.
The first knight crumpled in a single exchange.
The second, the third—all felled in one blow.
By the fifth, the knights who had been so eager fell deathly silent.
When the seventh knight's shoulder shattered in one strike, the eighth gave up.
It was a humiliation greater than the armistice, utterly crushing the Pamell Count's castle.
"But he's gone now."
Crack.
The Pamell Count snapped the half-smoked pipe in two.
Over three generations into the fourth, the monster-like blood of Duke Sion Jang had diluted, leaving the current Sion Duke family with jackals instead of a lion's whelp.
At least, that's how it seemed to the Pamell Count, who had experienced Duke Sion Jang firsthand.
"So this time will be different."
The Pamell Count's gaze lingered on the report that had arrived yesterday.
It was a report that the other mercenaries he had hired had just entered the Echo-less Forest.
In the past, his father's expeditionary force had lost nearly half its men in that devilish forest.
The massive casualties had been caused by none other than the elves of the Sion Dukedom.
Taking the past as a lesson, the Pamell Count had not sent a great army.
A "special" group of about a hundred mercenaries would enter the forest and secure a bridgehead.
And those special mercenaries were none other than...
"Elves must be countered with elves. They'll earn their pay."
* * *
Crackle! Snap!
Campfires blazed in spots around the campsite.
With the delegations from the three elf tribes joining Stellman's Zanstrick mercenaries and Yonas's cavalrymen, the numbers easily surpassed fifty.
Including the Iron Mountain Dwarf delegation with Langrif—the tribe's hero—and the dwarf warriors, Sion's group was quite sizable.
Though humans, elves, and dwarves were intermingled, the atmosphere wasn't bad.
Normally, they wouldn't even speak to each other and would stick to their own kind, but those gathered here chatted, prepared dinner, pitched tents, and handled various tasks together.
And the sixty-odd people knew exactly who had made this decent atmosphere possible.
As if to prove it, the leaders from each tribe had gathered around the campfire where Sion sat.
"Then it's settled that way. Dwarves, go get some rest."
"Yes, Sir Sailun."
Smirnov, who knew Sion's true identity, replied without argument and returned to the Iron Mountain Dwarves' tents.
Sion addressed the rest.
"The sudden change in plans must have left you all confused."
"..."
They were indeed confused but didn't dare ask, so they bowed their heads.
"Look at this."
Sion placed the letter he had received on the makeshift table.
It was part of a report sent by Jenna, who remained in the Ogreste Territory.
Sensitive matters like internal Sion Duke family intelligence were written separately, so the report Sion now revealed contained only information about areas near the dukedom.
Most of it concerned the Pamell Territory.
"Gasp...!?"
Yonas, who read the report first, widened his eyes.
"Is, is this true..."
He didn't particularly like Jenna, but he didn't doubt the abilities she had shown as Sion's retainer from the start, so Yonas couldn't finish his sentence.
A report direct from the information guild's branch chief to Sion of all people would have been verified multiple times—it had to be true.
Piott and Stellman read the report in turn after Yonas.
Stellman merely twitched his thick eyebrows a few times, but Piott's expression darkened noticeably.
Priel was the only one showing no reaction.
"As you've all seen, Count Pamell is dead serious."
"Rather than that, judging by the troop numbers, isn't it just a vanguard?"
Stellman, the seasoned mercenary captain, pointed out cautiously, but Sion shook his head.
"That would be true if it were pure mercenaries or territory soldiers. But elves are mixed in."
According to the report, the forces assembled and dispatched by the Pamell Count family numbered around three hundred.
A significant force for an ordinary territory, but the Pamells were a great noble house that could muster thousands including vassals. Three hundred was fair game as a vanguard.
But the inclusion of elves was the problem.
Stellman, not yet fully versed in elves, was puzzled, but Sion understood the implications in the report all too well.
"We haven't pinned down the exact number, but the report says dozens. Let's generously assume fifty. Honestly, that's not something to be too wary of."
"Yes."
"In normal circumstances, that is."
"Yes?"
Sion continued to Stellman, who blinked in confusion.
"Elf warriors. Ones who have plunged into mercenary work and survived to this era mean the Echo-less Forest's monsters pose no issue."
"......!"
"Priel."
"Yes."
"If you and your brothers left the dukedom right now to subjugate monsters in another region, how would it go? Assume fifty of you."
"......"
Priel thought briefly before answering.
"The terrain might be an issue, but even just among ourselves, we could handle a few trolls without trouble."
"Any casualties?"
"None at all."
"Hear that?"
At Sion's glance, Stellman nodded with an impressed expression.
"And now add over two hundred seasoned mercenaries. What if these guys safely cross the forest and besiege the ducal castle? No."
Sion paused briefly and turned to Yonas, who sat dazed.
"What if they link up with all of Paloma's forces?"
"......!!!"
Yonas's eyes widened for a moment before slowly closing.
Though Sion had phrased it as a hypothesis, both he and Yonas instinctively knew the situation would unfold exactly that way.
(To be continued in the next installment)