Chapter 77
Chapter 77
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: The Flames Spread
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“Hey, ball-less prick, what’d you say before? What was it, that the northeastern bastards have no nuts so they can’t fight?”
“Yeah. The nutless ones are you central bastards.”
Having received Sion’s orders through Juang, the Zanstrik Mercenaries charged at the Betisect Family soldiers and the mercenaries they’d brought along, without a second thought or even bothering with weapons.
And the result? Just two of them suffered fractures, while the rest took only minor injuries as they beat the enemy soldiers and mercenaries into the dirt.
The guy who’d mocked the Zanstrik Mercenaries about balls and such? He ended up literally without any. They burst.
“Hey, guards! Tie all these fuckers up and toss ’em in the jail!”
“Yes, sir!”
Compared to the Zanstrik Mercenaries—who shared meals with them and occasionally bought them drinks, treating them like humans—these beaten-down lot had treated the guards like servants. So the August guards followed the order eagerly, as if they’d been waiting for it.
Thwack!
“Argh!”
“Look at this pasty skin. You a mercenary? Or a male whore?”
“You dog bastards! Move it!”
Venting all their pent-up frustration, the August guards shoved the battered men into the prison cells.
And just like that, the conflicting ambitions of the various factions surrounding August Territory were swiftly resolved in a clash.
But the sparks from that clash flew in every direction.
Of course, the main culprits who’d bared their ambitions and sparked the conflict never imagined the flames would reach them.
* * *
An army is a money-devouring beast.
It’s a group that contributes almost nothing to production.
It costs money to raise them, to maintain them, and to move them from here to there.
So, the forces dispatched from Sion Dukedom for the showdown with Count Pamell’s family had cost a pretty penny.
…Or so Count Pamell’s territory and other nobles from various regions would think.
But that’s just because they didn’t know much about Sion Dukedom.
“What? You think mobilizing over a thousand men cost us a fortune? Pfft! Good one.”
“Listen up. From the start, Sion Dukedom allocates a massive budget to the military. Just huge. So whether the troops are stationed at their bases or off to war, no extra costs pile up.”
“In other words, a massive mobilization like this would rack up expenses for other territories, but not us. So it’s not a loss—it’s a profit! PROFIT!”
It sounded like miracle logic at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it was partially true.
Sion Dukedom maintained a standing army of a whopping three thousand, including the guards protecting its cities, towns, and townships.
Small and mid-sized territories in the Obla Kingdom typically kept around a hundred troops on hand at most, and even major domains with multiple vassals had no direct standing forces numbering in the thousands.
Because a group that barely contributed to production devoured massive, ongoing sums of money.
There were only three territories with populations over a hundred thousand to begin with, and even with that, throwing every man, woman, child, and elder into production couldn’t sustain a thousand-man regular army.
Well, unless you didn’t care about quality, just bloated the numbers, and resolved to bankrupt your territory in your lifetime.
But Sion Dukedom was different.
After the founder laid the groundwork, followed by three generations of grueling, relentless effort from his son and grandson, Sion Dukedom surpassed a population of two hundred thousand. It achieved the ideal feat of maintaining a regular army at around 1.5% of its total population.
This was thanks to a web-like administrative division system unlike any other territory, coupled with annual household censuses that played a decisive role.
With relatively accurate tallies of households and population, they could collect and spend taxes systematically, ultimately allowing them to train a regular army without dipping into the producing populace.
Thanks to this stable regular army, even though it guzzled an incomparably massive annual budget compared to other territories, mobilizing a thousand troops for war elsewhere—like this time—incurred no additional costs.
“See? Easy math, right?”
“Y-Yeah. I suppose so.”
But this was only feasible in Sion Dukedom, so nobles from other territories couldn’t replicate it, or even comprehend it.
That’s why.
When word spread of the trouble in August Territory—Sion Dukedom’s neighboring (distant) domain—most people assumed Sion would just divert a token force there while recalling its money-pit main army to the dukedom.
But it didn’t take long to prove that assumption dead wrong.
* * *
“W-What? Sarina’s dead? Murdered right in August Castle, in front of all those other nobles?”
The Baretti Family—Sarina Baretti’s birth family and the baron’s second wife—erupted in chaos.
It was one of countless minor territories, but hugging the vital waterway linking central and southern Obla Kingdom, it had solid internals. With all the trade flowing through, plenty of mercenary bands operated there too, making it no small player. And now, the lord’s married-off little sister was suddenly dead.
Right in the middle of the lord’s office, with multiple witnesses.
“Raaagh!!!”
Baron Baretti—self-proclaimed strongest in the central-south (aspiring)—let out a howl.
The ultra-awesome (aspiring) man bellowed ferociously.
But his retainers weren’t Balrogs cowering before a TouX TouX Gon, and they knew Baron Baretti wasn’t the central-south’s boss, so they didn’t flee.
“Round up the mercenaries right now! Scrape together every band operating in my territory! I’ll kill them! Kill them all!”
He’d already been in a foul mood over his nephew Anser losing his succession rights in August, and now his sister’s position was shaky too. This news just poured oil on the fire.
“What’re you waiting for? Get out there and muster the troops! I’ll lead the campaign myself!”
Baron Baretti, eyes blazing with fury as if to incinerate everything, looked like a fiend incarnate.
In that moment, it was as if a terror-king had descended to bring apocalypse to the world.
“My lord.”
One brave soul stepped forward to face the terrifying fiend.
“What!”
“Sion Dukedom’s 1,200 regular troops are marching straight for August Territory.”
“Huh…?”
“They say it’s to hold Sarina accountable for slandering and ousting the provisional lord appointed by mutual agreement between the royal family and Sion Dukedom.
Given the severity, they may dispatch additional forces. They won’t stand by if more are involved.
Finally, His Majesty the King’s secretary is overseeing the investigation, and since your sister-in-law’s guilt is confirmed, punishment from His Majesty is coming.”
Flash!
Transcending all cultures and races, the eternal proof of a hero is the Sword of Light.
Thus, the Baretti nobles beheld their comrade—who moments ago had been a mere mortal like them—drawing the Sword of Light.
That sword’s name was the fusion (physical force) of Sion Dukedom and the royal family.
“…Once she married in, she’s an outsider. Even if she’s my sister, how could she commit such an outrage!? It’s all that damn father of hers for spoiling her rotten!”
Baron Baretti didn’t quite become ultra-strong, but he was a cold-blooded operator with a sharp mind.
Scraping together every mercenary and young male yeoman in Baretti Territory might yield three to four thousand.
Hiring, arming, and sending them all the way south—not even nearby?
Baretti Territory would be bankrupt in a year. Ergo, Baron Baretti too.
- Futile revenge for already-dead sister <<<<<< My territory
Was the obvious conclusion.
“I heard Sion Dukedom went through some big upheaval and switched to a system run by Hander and the ministers? What does Hander like? Maybe we should send a gift he’d really appreciate?”
Ever eager to live long and keep dreaming of becoming ultra-strong, Baron Baretti made an ultra-wise decision.
The still-spinning wheels in Sion Dukedom were too terrifying.
* * *
“These clueless mad bastards are begging to die.”
Yonas, who usually maintained a dignified air, was foaming at the mouth and growling over this matter involving the dukedom and the founder.
He’d just heard that Baretti’s lord was furious and mustering an army, and he was genuinely pissed.
“Easy there, brother. They got the message quick and sent an apology letter with gifts, didn’t they?”
Piot, who’d come to August Territory via Yonas’s messenger carrying Sion’s orders, comforted the now-Handler Yonas.
“Hmph. If that letter had dodged the point with endless excuses, I’d have sent an army straight there. The gifts show some sincerity, at least. Not a total idiot.”
Yonas’s expression softened a bit upon seeing the wagons loaded with Baretti specialties and silver coins.
“Exactly. This much shows proper remorse and saves face for our ducal house.”
“Desperate men will do anything to survive. Grandpa told me the Betisect Family’s done for soon.”
He’d felt it during the pre- and post-war talks with Boris Pamell, but King’s Secretary Juang Teber was truly competent.
Juang had urgently requested top-priority contact from Jenna Allot, whom he’d personally rescued, via the information guild. In just three days, a report reached the capital.
The swift, discreet report went straight to the king, and his reply came in another three days.
And the reply’s content?
Within a fortnight, the nearest royal direct territory’s royal army would move, holding the Betisect Family accountable for illegally intimidating and attempting to seize August Territory—a royal vassal.
“If not for Grandpa’s decision, Baretti would’ve gotten the same. Of course, their lord might not know the details, but they’ve figured out we operate by firm standards. They just lucked out dodging them.”
“Ha! Where’d you learn that?”
“Huh? Isn’t it obvious just thinking about it?”
“What? Heh…”
As Piot tilted his head and countered, Yonas could only let out a hollow laugh.
It had taken him years under the late Gede, handling this and that, to barely pull his weight. And here was this kid, just past twenty, already with that kind of insight.
‘Too good to waste as a knight.’
True to his initial promise when bringing Piot along, Sion had assigned him to Swordmaster Blaho.
With excellent aptitude, diligent training, and combat experience far beyond his peers, Blaho took a real shine to Piot.
Sparring and training daily with a Swordmaster, Piot’s skills were improving by leaps and bounds.
But Yonas felt Piot’s other talents were going to waste.
Especially since becoming the dukedom’s Handler.
“As always… he must’ve had his reasons for that decision.”
“Huh? What was that?”
“Nothing. Anyway, where’s Master Blaho?”
“He went to see Grandpa with Frielle and Vodka—no, Smirnoff.”
“Huh? Those three? That’s a rare combo.”
“Yeah. Must be something specific for each.”
“Yeah…”
Yonas nodded slowly.
But as Sion Ducal House Handler, he couldn’t shake a vague ominous(?) feeling.
And that feeling was spot on.
(To be continued next time)