Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: The Three Truce Conditions Declared at the Conference Hall
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By afternoon, I headed to the circular conference hall in Kara's main palace. The entrance was bustling with local leaders and retainers, as the meeting time approached. Amid the crowd, I spotted an elderly man. He had a gaunt build and sharp eyes, yet contrary to his appearance, he greeted the local leaders and retainers with utmost gentleness.
When he saw me, he bowed deeply and politely.
"Welcome, Master. It's an honor to meet you like this."
"Who are you, and how do you know me?"
"I am Udin Ibrahim, the chief retainer."
The chief retainer held the highest position among Kara's tattooed nobles. By Prosia Continent standards, he was barely recognized as lower nobility, but in Kara, he was one of the top officials with policy-making authority second only to the tribal lord.
"Udin?"
"Yes, that's me."
I took a closer look at Udin Ibrahim.
Udin was the current tribal lord of Kara's mentor, a man who would gain notoriety in the upcoming war between the Lobros Kingdom and Kara. Infamous as the ultimate treacherous minister and traitor.
But I didn't put much stock in that historical account. It was just the victor's record from Lobros, and there were several oddities in the records of Ibrahim's life and death.
First, they claimed Udin's reckless policies plunged Kara into ruin, leading to its fall. But from my time living here, the people were prosperous and peaceful. Second, he supposedly used cunning words to incite local tribes to rebel against Lobros—hardly surprising in wartime. Third, he clashed repeatedly with the loyal Commander-in-Chief Rajal over military reforms to suit his tastes; I'd have done the same, so no issue there.
But pressuring the tribal lord to commit suicide by fire on the eve of destruction was undeniably problematic. Suicide was an absolute sin across all faiths, unforgivable by any means.
"Got it."
Anyway, he was a dead man soon enough—and a pathetic end at that. I brushed it off and entered the conference hall.
The hall had seats divided into two sides from the center. The right side was packed, but the left was empty. It seemed the Lobros delegation hadn't arrived.
I took a seat on the left for now. My mission for this job was to keep close tabs on Marquis Fabius. Better to stay near him.
"His Excellency the Tribal Lord enters!"
With a soldier's gruff shout, a procession of palanquins draped in white silk curtains entered the hall. It was the tribal lord of Kara's ride.
The palanquin soon passed the standing local leaders and retainers showing their respects and came to rest at the head of the right side. I waved to Armida sis standing by the lord's palanquin. She was currently handling his close protection.
'Why aren't they coming?'
Even after a long wait, the delegation didn't show.
It was a major diplomatic faux pas, but common between great powers and small states. Clearly, the Lobros envoys were making Kara's lord wait to assert their nation's dignity.
I glanced cautiously at Armida sis. She was tapping her foot impatiently, looking irritated.
'My sis isn't the patient type.'
Soon, the corridor outside grew noisy. The synchronized footsteps sounded intimidating. The doors opened, and the delegation filed in precisely, standing at their seats as if awaiting someone.
Finally, Marquis Fabius entered with his high-ranking nobles in tow.
I stared at the blond young noble behind the marquis. 'Count Boris.' Orphaned young and elevated to count early, he'd later become a warmongering diplomat whose name echoed worldwide.
'That guy's a total asshole.'
Count Boris was unremarkable otherwise, but he had one extraordinary talent: provoking others. Arrogant speech, insolent tone, condescending demeanor—he was perfect as an envoy declaring war.
"White Face, over here."
Marquis Fabius tapped my shoulder and headed to the delegation's head seat.
I stood and sat in the seat he offered—right beside him.
"Gramps, that was pretty risky just now."
The marquis reacted to my casual tone.
"What was?"
"Next time, come early."
He tilted his head, feigning confusion.
The meeting began right after the opening formalities. Count Boris was first to speak. He stepped to the central podium and unrolled a scroll from his robes.
"This is the decree of His Great and Noble Majesty, King of Lobros! The Goddess Terra of the Earth watches over us..."
The opening praised Lobros's state religion, the Earth Goddess—mostly fluff to ignore.
After a while, Boris got to the point.
"Thus, though the vast great desert brims with Terra's blessings, vile bandit hordes profane the sacred land with blood and wring screams from the people. In deepest pity, His Majesty has received Terra's oracle and shall deliver her judgment upon these savage bandits and their wicked collaborators. Yet His Majesty is merciful. To the righteous who repent past sins and bow humbly, he shall bestow Terra's grace; to the noble desert folk who fight alongside his armies, infinite glory. People of the great desert! Heed not lightly His Majesty's wrath—it reaches the heavens alongside Terra herself. Fear and obey! His righteous legions approach even now."
It was a lengthy declaration, but boiled down to one word: war.
The hall erupted in murmurs from worried local leaders and retainers as war's shadow loomed. They'd come thinking this was just the annual Lobros outburst.
"War?"
"No way. To strike Kara, they'd cross the Devil's Trade Route—impossible."
The hall buzzed, but Chief Retainer Udin rose to question.
"Count Boris, from Kara's perspective, this declaration..."
"Silence! How dare a mere retainer speak before this count—your insolence pierces the heavens!"
Boris's signature move: crushing foes with status. No real talk possible under him.
Boris glared at the curtained lord's seat.
"Tribal Lord of Kara, ask yourself."
The hall fell silent. Kara was a city-state, but a overlord to many lesser desert states and tribes. No great power's count should address its lord so rudely.
Kara's guards flushed with murderous intent, but Marquis Fabius stomped hard. The marble floor cracked loudly. Recognizing his presence, the guards humbled themselves.
I chided the marquis.
"Don't scare the kids too much."
"Gotta earn my keep."
"Shameless. Breaking marble and calling it your pay?"
"Don't worry. Plenty more where that came from."
The marquis grinned, baring thick white teeth, and shot a chilling glare at Kara's lord—a silent threat to speak.
Ah, forgot for a sec behind that innocent grandpa look. This old man turns rabid dog on the battlefield.
Finally, Kara's tribal lord spoke.
"What does the King of Lobros intend for our Kara?"
A calm, refined baritone.
I rolled my eyes. Weird. Sounded familiar. But I dismissed it. Kara's lord would suicide in the coming war—no ties to me.
Boris replied arrogantly.
"Ruin or submission."
"Why does Lobros threaten us with ruin and demand submission?"
"Because you Kara wickedly aid those desert bandits with all your support."
The lord paused. Not fully, but Kara's friendliness to the bandits was common knowledge.
Without the desert bandits on the Devil's Trade Route, Kara would lose its prosperity and become just another waystation. Symbiosis, unavoidable.
"But without Kara, who would keep those bandits in check?"
"Worry not. All desert bandits will be exterminated by Lobros forces."
"You think that's possible?"
"Do you doubt Lobros's might? Our kingdom is strong and great."
I chuckled listening.
Even as a great power, Lobros couldn't eradicate all desert bandits. Profits from raiding the Devil's Route were huge, the area too vast for policing.
Bandits would rampage more, grow fiercer. Under independence banners, countless Sikh warriors joined, turning terrorist, slaughtering Lobros merchants mercilessly.
Maybe eventual eradication with persistence, but not in eight years.
And this saga would drain Lobros's national power. Trade volumes plummet, budgets bled by security forces.
"Who laughed!"
My chuckle was loud; Boris glared. But beside Marquis Fabius, he turned away.
The marquis whispered.
"White Face, Count Boris holds grudges."
"No worries. He shows vast magnanimity before the strong."
"You know him?"
"Heard rumors."
Boris bellowed at the lord.
"Tribal Lord of Kara! Choose quickly! Ruin or submission?"
The lord pondered briefly, then replied.
"State the truce conditions."
Demoting submission to truce irked Boris, but he read on.
"First. Kara shall pay Lobros 8 million leafs in gold as reparations for damages inflicted."
An unimaginable sum. 8 million leafs gold was 30 tons. If Kara's lord gave me that, I'd be his house husband for life.
"Acceptable. Next."
I stared blankly at the curtained lord's seat. Sudden love bloomed. Knew he was rich, but this rich?
"Second. Establish a governorate in Kara's capital; all policies require approval from Lobros's appointed governor."
The hall exploded. Surrender of sovereignty. The lord stayed silent—unacceptable.
"..."
"Third. Kara's tribal lord enters as the Lobros King's 78th concubine. These three conditions allow only acceptance or rejection—no negotiation. End!"
Groans erupted everywhere.
The third severed Kara's legitimate bloodline. No siblings, and Lobros's old king was dying.
I sighed instinctively.
"Jealous..."
"Of who?"
"Lobros King. Seventy-seven concubines already."
Fabius chuckled.
"I have over twenty myself."
My eyes widened.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Jealous..."
"White Face, I have some overgrown granddaughters. Fancy marrying one?"
I eyed Fabius's burly, rugged frame and turned away coldly.
"Pass."
Then, Kara's Commander-in-Chief Rajal couldn't hold back, rushing forward to prostrate before the lord desperately.
"Your Excellency! Their insolence is unbearable. Grant permission, and I'll lead the full army to dispatch these rude fools in one stroke, elevating Your Excellency and Kara's prestige across the desert."
My gaze narrowed at Rajal. He screamed "comedy relief incarnate."
Kara's forces topped 4,000 at best.
Beating Lobros's expeditionary army with that? Absurd.
One wish: on the battlefield, drop the gags. Few tragedies match comedic battlefield blunders.
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