Chapter 50
Chapter 50
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Grand Duke's Heir, You've Run Away
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The heart of Kara had lost its vibrancy, plunging into an eerie silence. The kids who used to swarm the streets every day, kicking balls and raising a racket, were nowhere to be seen these days. Even the continental trading caravans that once bustled through the city center, haggling over merchandise, had thinned out dramatically.
'The Robros Kingdom's million-strong army has marched out to strike Kara.'
Once the citizens of Kara heard the news, they began living in dread, anxiously awaiting the nightmare that loomed over their future.
Of course, honestly speaking, it wasn't a full million. From what I knew, it was around 150,000. But whatever—when 150,000 combat troops mobilize, they're followed by nearly as many war merchants, engineering technicians, construction laborers, camp followers, and the like, pushing the total close to 300,000. And once you hit 300,000, it's not stingy to round it up to a million just like that.
Still, 150,000 wasn't a force to take lightly. If they lined up in formation before Kara's walls, the horizon would vanish entirely on their side. So whether it was a million or 150,000, the terror gripping those who saw them as enemies was practically the same.
"You don't need to worry during the height of the battle. I promise you won't die."
In the information agency's office, I was deep in an impassioned consultation with an elderly man seated before me. He was a prominent landowner in Kara, who'd come seeking advice amid the war's unease.
The old man listened intently to my words before posing a question.
"But won't flaming arrows and catapult stones fly over the walls?"
"How many people do you think that kills? Even in the fiercest close-quarters fighting, you're lucky if one in a thousand dies. The real terror hits right after the war ends."
"Pardon?"
"Once the city falls, plundering goes on for days, and that's when most civilians get wiped out. Murder, rape, looting—it's all rampant. Human lives become cheaper than flies."
The old man swallowed dryly.
"Just how bad is it?"
"Think of it as hell unfolding on earth. Sure, if the enemy commander is some noble paragon, he might ban looting, but is that ever easy? One scruffy soldier comes out of a house with a gold candelabra or silverware, and everyone's eyes go red."
"Oh dear..."
"Knights and regular soldiers are still somewhat human—they're under orders from above. Some naive ones will even pass on a few coins and leave happy. The real problem is the mercenaries. Don't think of them as human. They're just attack dogs. The moment mercenaries barge into a house, assume everyone inside is dead."
Mercenaries weren't under any real control. Unlike the occupying forces who'd have to govern the city later, these guys were just in it for the cash. Naturally, they wouldn't hold back when it came to looting.
"Are mercenaries that brutal?"
"Yeah. They storm a mansion to loot, and first thing, they chop down anyone in sight. It's to create an atmosphere of terror, forcing people to hand over money and valuables willingly. Then they kill them off one by one. Finally, you're the last one left, begging on your knees that you have nothing more to give. That's when they go, 'Guess that's all,' stab you through, and move to the next house."
"H-how could they...?"
"That's why I'm asking just in case—do you know any mercenaries?"
The old man nodded hesitantly.
"Yes. We've hired a few for our large farm when monsters appeared."
"Damn. You're as good as dead, old timer. What now?"
"Pardon?"
"The mercenaries operating in Kara are vanishing one by one. Where do you think they've gone? To join the Robros army and strike it rich by robbing houses like yours."
The old man looked incredulous.
"No, they have some loyalty, surely? They wouldn't turn on us like that."
I scolded him harshly, utterly exasperated.
"You're so naive, old man. Where's the humanity in mercenaries? These are the types who slice open a pregnant woman's belly alive and play ball with the fetus. And now you've got your address and assets stamped in their minds. Chant it with me: you're dead. They'll hit your place first."
The old man's face drained to a pallid gray.
"I-is that true?"
"Yep. Spot on. That's why I'm telling you how to survive."
"Please, tell me."
I leaned in and whispered as if sharing a secret.
"Right now, head to the brothels, grab some pretty girls, pay them well, and take them in as retainers."
"Pardon? Why?"
"Looting usually lasts a few days. Survive that, and order gets restored. So when the plundering starts, invite passing Robros soldiers into your home. Feed them, lay out drinks, stick a girl by their side. Keep them staying. There's a code even in looting—they avoid houses already being ransacked by others. Just hold out like that for a few days."
"Ah..."
"And if you have a daughter or granddaughter who's drop-dead gorgeous, the kind men would lose their minds over?"
The old man hesitated uncertainly.
"Well... not really."
"Then starting today, scour the streets. Spot a beauty, adopt her as a foster daughter."
"Why on earth?"
"There are knights whose swordsmanship isn't elite enough for the main orders, so they command companies of five hundred or a thousand. If one happens by your house, rush out barefoot, drag him inside. Introduce your foster daughter, slaughter a cow, a pig—hell, hold the wedding right there. Done. Who'd dare touch your house?"
"Really?"
"Absolutely. Those guys handle the dirty frontline work. Nobles? Elite knights in orders? Useless with their high noses. But knights leading troops? They're practical, low standards, command hundreds at least. Who's gonna mess with them? And if luck shines and he stays in Kara, jackpot. No need for top ranks—you become Kara's premier influencer."
"Ah..."
I stood, pulled a book from the shelf, and handed it over. Titled 100 Ways to Survive Looting—my name was on it, but someone else ghostwrote it.
"Take this. It's packed with gems I've compiled from countless wars. Carry it everywhere from today, read it over and over till it's etched in your heart. This book will save your life."
"Thank you, Master."
The old man clutched it to his chest like a sacred relic.
I headed to the display case with the mana shell launchers.
"Any tough guys in your household?"
"Yes. A few martial retainers we've taken in, and about a dozen able-bodied men."
"Perfect. Buy a few of these."
I opened the case and pulled out mana shell launchers—cheap ones loaded with lowest-grade essences, mass-produced at 38 gold leaves each from the nearby magic workshop.
"What's that thing?"
"Mana shell launcher. With this, even kids can take down mercenaries—up to three at a time."
"Is that so? But why do we need something so dangerous?"
"During looting, mercenaries prowl in packs of five to ten, specialized raiders. Small elite teams, highly mobile, strike fast. They're the first you'll likely face."
"Ah, I see..."
"Dying to them would be such a waste—they're nobodies. So bolt the door and blast them with this."
"But..."
"Don't think about later. Kill them, bury in the backyard quick—no one will know amid the chaos. Who tracks who killed whom? Survive first. They're pro looters, utterly ruthless. Do nothing, and your whole family dies."
The old man nodded, grasping it. After all, deal with consequences later—survive now.
"Yes, guess we have to. How much?"
"60 gold leaves each, fair price."
A bit high, but reasonable. War time. Selling offensive magic gear this cheap was honest dealing.
"Three... no, make it four."
"Smart choice. Excellent decision. Worth your years."
I grinned slyly and tallied: 10 gold consultation fee, 1 for the book, 240 for four launchers—251 gold total.
After deducting 152 wholesale cost, pure profit was 99 gold. Not bad for a quick chat.
I ushered him out, hung a "Closed" sign. Local notables lined up outside, clamoring for consultations, but I shooed them with a glare. Noon now—lunchtime.
"Shura. Sis. Lunchtime."
I climbed to the second floor and opened the door to Shura and Armida-sis's room. They stared at a large crystal orb on the shelf, faces etched with odd concern.
"Oh my. How many are there? They just keep coming."
"Yeah. Looks like thousands already."
I slipped between them.
"What's up?"
"It's live footage from Polkin Pass, beamed from Euroa's Reinjeinas."
"Reinjeinas?"
"Euroa's floating battleship."
Floating battleships were combat vessels operated by Sky City Chronos, sailing the skies instead of seas—a marvel. They usually docked at Chronos but emerged during humanity's pivotal crises or wars for surveillance.
From afar, they looked like distant specks, known to humans only as "stars of war," their true nature as Valkyrie floating ships unknown.
But I'd seen one up close in the Age of Ruin: Hildepernos, Catrine's ship. During the Polkin Pass battle, it provided air support, aiding the defenders greatly.
I sat and watched the projection on the orb's surface—a bird's-eye view of Polkin Pass from high above. Robros soldiers poured endlessly from the gates.
"That's a savage number."
Shura eyed the feed worriedly.
"Can Kara really win?"
"No way in hell. Duke Bastain's leading that host—how? Anyone sane packs up and flees."
Shura shot me a concerned glance.
"Is Duke Bastain that formidable?"
"Yeah. Even future-seers can't beat him. His strategies shift unpredictably; he's a master of improvisation. Tactics adapt on the fly—foreknowledge means nothing."
"Really? Is that even possible?"
"Yep. But it demands exceptional frontline commanders. Bastain's genius stems from them. No incompetents under him."
Shura clung to me desperately.
"No way to win at all? Not even a one-in-a-million shot?"
"Nah, no such miracle. That's what makes him scary."
"Why?"
"One example: Shura, ever played chess?"
"No."
"Imagine you, a total novice, facing the world's top grandmaster. Think you stand a one-in-a-million chance?"
Shura's eyes twitched.
"No."
"See? Told you."
"But Master, you said everything has exceptions."
I stroked my chin thoughtfully.
"Well, technically, it's not zero."
"What way?"
"You change the rules. Every piece becomes a queen. Even Bastain's stumped. Heh."
"But that's absurd."
I nodded calmly.
"Sure is. But it could happen."
"How?"
Simple. Just give me my old 1,000 subordinates. Even limbless with pierced hearts, as long as their minds held, they'd fight monsters with swords in their teeth.
Crazy bastards. Before marches, they'd stab their families' hearts to sleep soundly. Mesh a thousand of them with my strategies, and Bastain's current self plus 150,000 troops? Doable.
"Madmen executing insane strategies, piercing Robros weaknesses in a frenzy. Bastain's got no counter. His plans assume humans. Can't handle the inhuman. At least, not now."
I added "now." Today's Bastain differed from eight years later. That Bastain was mad too.