New Vassal
The knights and vassals who rushed over, wondering what the hell was going on, all took in the scene and promptly fainted in shock.
Rommel, in particular, gaped in awe.
"To think our lord, who can already manifest Battle Aura, has mastered spirit arts—and now magic on top of that!"
"Heh heh, the lord's always been amazing. I knew he could pull this off."
The vice knight captain jumped in with his bootlicking, too.
The scarecrow lay in pieces, scattered everywhere. The destructive power was so immense it made me wonder if magic had always packed this much punch.
Judging by Laila's expression, I seemed to be a special case. Well, even I hadn't expected a 1st Circle spell to hit like that.
So, time to tell Laila what I wanted.
I ignored the gods' voices chiming in.
The imperial mage had made a bet, so she'd honor it, I trusted.
"Laila, we made a bet, and you're an imperial mage. That means you're tied to the imperial honor, too."
"Why make it sound so grand? What are you getting at?"
"Heh heh heh, was it that obvious? Ahem. What I want is simple: become this territory's mage."
"That's impossible!"
She shrieked. She'd barely clawed her way into becoming an imperial mage, and now I was telling her to drop to some backwater fief? Unacceptable.
She scrambled for excuses.
"First off, I can't leave the post His Majesty assigned me. Second, getting dragged to some rural hole for life over a silly bet like this? It's unfair! No real gain, just absurd demands!"
"You agreed to grant one wish, I stated mine, and now you're refusing. Kinda disappointing."
"I'm saying make a more realistic offer!"
Laila's face twisted up and wouldn't relax. She was desperate to wriggle free, terrified of getting hooked and becoming the territory's eternal ghost.
Sorry, but I had zero intention of letting her go. Talented people were in short supply as it was.
If I didn't recruit her by force, we'd wither from talent drought.
So, force it was.
"Just tough it out for 10 years. I'll get His Majesty's direct permission for the transfer. Tell him an honorable imperial mage lost a bet to me and asks to serve as this territory's mage for 10 years—think he'd say no?"
"Ughhh!"
Laila, who knew politics, groaned. The emperor couldn't refuse. It wasn't some huge ask—just borrowing a mage for a decade—and turning down a potential ally like me? He'd regret it.
If I wanted, I could storm the palace solo and assassinate him. He knew that, so refusal wasn't an option.
Laila pondered, then shouted,
"Five years! I could maybe consider five!"
"Five years, huh."
She's properly hooked.
That's how negotiations worked. Start with impossible terms, dial it back, land on your real target.
Five years was enough to spark a rebellion and swallow the empire whole. By then, she could "return" to imperial service.
Though she'd still be under me, of course. And even if I didn't conquer in five years, would the imperials take back a rebel affiliate?
"Deal! Let's do it!"
"Huh, that easy...?"
"Sign here."
I slid the employment contract over. She hadn't expected me to have this ready; her face was priceless.
Laila realized she was trapped. In the end, she signed.
The next morning, my vassal roster gained one more.
With so few vassals, I aimed for top talent. And soon, Laila—on the cusp of 6th Circle—would join.
In the novel, after the early parts, she broke past 6th Circle to become a grand mage. Started as a villain blocking the protagonist, mid-story forced to cooperate, later fell for him and fully joined his territory.
Now, she'd skipped straight to forced cooperation.
The territory's admin power would skyrocket.
On the march north, she'd keep teaching me magic. No other chances outside travel, so learn now. Max out here, then master it all at the Tower of God.
That was the plan.
As we prepared to advance, Count Abon arrived, carried in a litter. His leg bones were shattered, but life mattered more.
"Commander!"
Post-reeducation, Count Abon never spoke casually to me. Branded a traitor already, that was why.
I could guess his plea. Time to squeeze every last drop.
"Who might this be? Could it be Count Abon, who mocked His Majesty's army at the front, sowed evil seeds in his territory, and tried dragging the empire into heresy?"
"Please, spare me such words!"
Depending on my report, he faced execution at worst. Demotion and title stripping at best. He was begging to mitigate.
Probably viscount or baron rank. Post-war, my own ennoblement was set. My current low title was nominal; everyone knew my real power.
"Why does the empire's traitor seek me?"
"Commander! Can't you put in a good word with His Majesty?"
"Why should I?"
"Burying a worm like me won't hurt you! Please, help me out!"
I'd already taken troops and supplies. Still, take more.
"With empty words?"
"This is a heirloom from my house! A relic from the ancient mage empire!"
"Oh ho!"
Mage empire relics held huge value. Especially enchanted ones.
They were rare and pricey, varying by function.
He offered a ring. Tempting.
"What does it do?"
"Yes! It saves your life in emergencies! A protective treasure against sudden ambushes!"
"Not one-use, right?"
"Of course not! Recharges mana every three days!"
"What circle shield?"
"Not sure, but it blocks arrows no problem!"
"Oh ho!"
Pretty useful. My skin's tough against normal hits, but sudden vitals strikes? Unpredictable. Eyes, organs—vulnerable spots.
Fits my left middle finger perfectly. Nice design. Could save my life someday—priceless.
Might rethink things.
"I'll ensure His Majesty preserves your title and lands!"
"Oh! Thank you!"
"But supply us once on the way down after smashing the giantkin."
"Of course!"
"Good. See you soon. Giantkin scum won't take long."
"I beg you. The empire's lucky to have a noble like you."
The count groveled like a merchant. "Iron Count" from battlefield fame, but with life on the line, no choice.
We turned away.
"Hahaha! Nothing's dearer than life. Damn right!"
In Abon County lord's castle, with leg bones maybe never healing, he'd lost 25,000 elite troops, vast supplies, and heirlooms. Rage boiled over.
Snapping to, he was a rebel ringleader—in Odin's church territory, no less. Couldn't deny, had to beg.
"Ughhh, ughhhh."
It broke him mentally. Waking in injustice fits, powerless since my report decided his fate.
War with giantkin, and their cult active domestically? Perfect for treason charges.
Ruin awaited.
"My lord! Bandits razed Haton Village and are heading north!"
"Bandits?!"
"Yes! 2,000 strong—must deploy army now!"
"2,000? Mobilize at—"
As he ordered, another soldier reported.
"Monsters descending Abon Mountains in the west, smashing villages! Urgent reinforcements needed!"
"My lord! Signs of revolt in southern cities!"
"Gah! Ack."
"My lord!"
Count Abon clutched his chest.
He knew Aron Viscount's rep: empire's problem child, thug-like. One-man army strength, arrogant, half-mad ideology. Nobles avoided him.
He'd gutted the count's house. Stripped all security forces, sparking crises everywhere.
But it didn't end there.
"M-my lord!"
"What now?!"
"Th-the underground castle armory's been cleaned out!"
"What?!"
The castle basement held his lifelong weapon hoard. Enough to arm 5,000+, secretly stockpiled for army growth. Northern hegemon dreams shattered.
"Aron Viscount!!"
Pffft! In the end, Count Abon's rage erupted—he vomited blood.