A Cry for Salvation

Did you think I'd simply let this pass?

That was what Johan's eyes said. Reward and punishment were the two pillars upon which any lord held his vassals in check.

Turning vassals against vassals carried a host of advantages. For one thing, it let him field their soldiers instead of his own — Gerldorf and Aclada need only lead the columns and watch from the rear. For another, the resentment of those stripped of lands or titles was directed not at Johan but at their fellow vassals, who had been the instruments of their ruin.

And to defy one's lord, a vassal first needed allies. Set them hunting one another, and far from uniting, they began to suspect each other first. Vassals split apart in this way had only one recourse left: to offer ever more lavish loyalty. The penalty of revoked titles on some, the rewards showered on the faithful, together cinched the bridle of obedience tighter than ever.

The sharper-eyed vassals grasped all this at once, and their faces went pale. They had known the new count was no ordinary knight, but they had never imagined he would be this adroit. Young as he was, he ruled and commanded his vassals with the sure hand of a lord who had governed his domain for decades.

"Set out! I expect great things from you all."

As he marched his forces from the keep, Baron Ginovansi let out a long sigh. From the look of things, the other castellans and lords were in much the same spirits.

The good old days are over, it seems...

When a capable lord appeared, the vassals beneath him had to walk on eggshells — weighing every move, divining his will before he spoke it.

"My lord. Isn't this going a bit too far?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come with me and speak to His Excellency together. We arrived only a little late, and to be treated like this..."

"Heh heh."

"So you do think so too?"

"No. I was just wondering who you were trying to snare with that little speech."

The lord was far older than the count, though still young for a landholder, and his family had long been on friendly terms with the baron's — the two men traded counsel freely.

"Oh, come now. You wouldn't hold honest counsel against me? I'm even acquainted with Bluah the steward..."

"Even if it's overlooked here, you'd likely earn his lasting enmity. Frankly, I feel eyes on us just for talking like this."

"Surely not..."

"Surely nothing. Look behind you."

The lord glanced back at the warriors staring holes into them and felt a chill crawl up his spine. That was not the gaze of comrades-in-arms. It was the gaze of men who suspected betrayal at any moment.

"I hate to say it, but the pleasant days are done. If you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠go on acting like you did under the old count or the steward regent, you'll be in danger yourself."

"I... I shall bear it in mind. My thanks for the advice."

"Good. Don't grieve too much. Winter has its own pleasures, doesn't it?"

"Ha, ha..."

The vassals who had failed to read the situation were dragged in with a squeak of alarm, weeping and pleading their innocence. Not one of them tried to dig in and resist from within their walls.

Holding out was a gambit you played when it could actually accomplish something. No fool in his right mind dug in when there wasn't a single ally to be found in any direction.

Johan forgave some by revoking their titles and others by confiscating their wealth. His heart wanted to take everything from all of them, but he was exercising what restraint he could.

It bears repeating, but it seems I really am governing this place with remarkable diligence.

Even Johan himself had not expected to rule a domain this hard — or this well. As a boy, rolling around on his family's land, he had drafted plan after plan for how he would run a fief if he ever had one, dozens of times over.

He consolidated the patchwork of customary laws within the county, finished untangling the tax rolls, and petitioned the Kettana Merchant Guild and the House of Allifam for scribes gifted with numbers. At the same time, he did not forget to appease the Church. He stripped the bishop of his fortune, donated it to the county temple, and summoned priests to perform regular prayers. It was dreadfully boring, but Johan had been trained for boredom since childhood.

By the time the ripened grain swayed in the fields, the county had taken on a respectable shape, and the vassals, having grasped what sort of man the new count was, had finished adapting to him.

And then, quite unexpectedly, an offer came flying in from the west.

"You are requesting rescue?"

"Yes, Your Excellency! As brothers of the same faith, I beg you — do not turn away the outstretched hand of a lord in such desperate straits!"

"Well..."

Johan stared at the envoy with utter incredulity. The man had been sent by Baron Monrado — who was not Johan's vassal at all. He was a vassal of Marquis Crucho.

"I have sworn no oath to your master. What is this nonsense?"

"I know, my lord! But still! As brothers who share one faith..."

The envoy wept as he pleaded. His lord's domain had been reduced to wreckage, ravaged not only by mercenaries but by heathen pirates besides.

By rights the Marquis should have responded — but the Marquis himself was too busy defending his own demesne. This was hardly the moment for him to ride out in aid of his vassals.

And when rumor spread through that chaos that Johan was summoning his vassals and massing an army, the Marquis's hardest-hit vassals began to waver.

The very first thing Johan had done upon taking the county seat was break his oath of vassalage to the Emperor. The nobles who had failed to grasp the situation until then finally understood what he truly was.

The vanguard of the Church faction! Clearly he had struck a bargain with the Church — their backing and support in exchange for crushing the Emperor's partisans. To beg help from such a man was no less absurd than begging help from the Republic dogs.

But desperate people think what they want to think. As the chaos deepened, so did the rumors, and the vassals began believing exactly what they wished to believe.

"And if we ask for aid and the Marquis takes offense..."

"The domain will be gone before he has time to be offended! We may not even manage the harvest — what does it matter!"

In the end, the most desperate and hard-pressed vassal had sent his envoy first of all.

Hah. It's so good I'm half inclined to suspect a trap.

A vassal of the Marquis, begging him of his own accord to come to his lands!

The baron surely understood it too — that the moment Johan answered, he would be breaking his oath to the Marquis and entering Johan's service anew. As long as Johan had a head on his shoulders, he was hardly going to march an army out, help the man, and then simply ride home.

"Very well. I cannot abandon a brother in the faith."

"!"

"In the name of Eitz, I shall prepare to march. Return to your master and tell him so!"

"Thank you! Thank you, my lord!"

The term of compulsory service owed by the vassals was nearly at its end. If their lord meant to drag them into further fighting, he would have to secure their consent.

"...And so we march to war against the heathens. Is there any man here unwilling to perform this sacred duty?"

Every last vassal agreed with burning enthusiasm. Partly to please the new count's eye — but more than that, because the rewards were simply too tempting.

The west, right now, was a chaotic free-for-all where merely showing up meant a cut of the spoils. Every sort of scoundrel was busy plundering, and anyone who crushed them got to keep their loot intact.

Nobles or no, the vassals here were perpetually strapped. An income like this was cause for open celebration.

Gold coins leaked from a nobleman's purse with every breath he drew. Though none of these vassals were especially extravagant, they spent more than Johan did — it was simply the customary burden of their station.

Which left a man three options: welsh on his debts, sell his land, or conjure money from somewhere.

"I am delighted to find such fervent piety in you all."

At Johan's words, the vassals smiled knowingly at one another. Each of them knew precisely what the others were expecting.

"Lady Suetlg. I entrust the stewardship to you in my absence."

"I suppose I can do it, though..."

Suetlg accepted the post of proxy with a distinctly unenthusiastic expression.

"There is no one I can trust but you, Lady Suetlg."

"You may spare the flattery; I've already agreed. My only worry is that you'll be marching without a mage at your side to counsel you."

"There is Kaenern, is there not?"

"Ah. Quite right."

Suetlg had genuinely forgotten Kaenern existed — she had never once thought of the girl as an advisor. Had Kaenern heard it, she would have been furious.

"Why not leave the elf of House Bluah behind as proxy instead? Is she still hard to trust?"

"It isn't that. She says she wants to march herself."

Johan could have refused, but saw no reason to. Indulging Izelia's request cost him nothing.

"I'll leave Gerldorf and the elite behind."

"And you?"

"The eastern warriors and the dwarves will be more than enough. Gerldorf is a steady, oxlike knight — he'll prove quite useful to you, Lady Suetlg."

With the vassals' forces added to the mix, Johan had plenty of men to spare. He assigned the very best of his mercenaries to guard Suetlg, and left Stephan and even Bishop Biagione behind — there was no need to drag them along.

Cheered on by the priests' hosannas, Johan's host set out for the west.

To pass from the County of Culia into the western half of the peninsula, one had to skirt the mountain ranges straddling the border. Assuming one did not simply cross them, three roads presented themselves.

The northernmost was a tedious, looping detour. The middle road ran straight into the Marquis's border castle. And so the choice fell, naturally, on the southern route — the coastal road along the peninsula's southernmost edge.

Baron Ginovansi ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was chosen to guide them, being the best-traveled of all the vassals assembled here.

"This forest ahead, my lord, is famous for harboring forest trolls..."

"Keep watch and route around it."

"You won't hunt them?"

"Why on earth would I? We didn't march out on a troll hunt."

"Ah — ahem."

Baron Ginovansi cleared his throat. Of course, Johan was right. Having led an army out, the wise course was to waste no time on foolishness and accomplish one's object swiftly.

But none of the world's pomp and ceremony was ever judged by such rationality.

A noble's army was the symbol of his authority and power. That was precisely why lords hunted and held feasts mid-march.

For all his title of troll-slayer, Johan spared the forest not a single glance and went around it. It was a strikingly agile maneuver. The vassals, running themselves ragged just to keep pace with Johan's relentless marching tempo, wheezed along in his wake.

Does the man never rest?

It's about time for a feast, surely...?

"My lord count."

When the centaur approached, several of the vassals watched with expectation glinting in their eyes.

"The scouts report ships sighted toward the sea. Strange-looking vessels, too — which means, most likely..."

"The pirates have come ashore nearby?"

This stretch of coast ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was ideal ground for the corsairs' hit-and-run trade. The shoreline itself was shaped for easy landings.

"That would be my guess, my lord."

"You suspect an ambush? I've had every likely ground for one checked."

"It's not that — but something is strange about why we can't see them. Marching in like this and not knowing would make us fools, wouldn't it?"

The answer came before long. The scouts who had pushed ahead returned and began making their report.

"Your Excellency! Beyond that hill, the heathens are locked in battle with a swarm of monsters!"

Monsters, as a rule, tended to roam alone the stronger they were. For humankind, this was a mercy — otherwise, the villages smashed to splinters by monsters would have numbered far more than a few.

Even so, the struggle against them was never an easy road. Monsters poured ceaselessly out of the untamed frontier, and men had to fight them at every turn.

And then, on occasion, the monsters went mad all together — and their savagery erupted at once.

A moment such as this, right now!

More than three hundred goblins came howling down upon the heathen corsairs alongside a horde of ghouls to match them — and the pirates, struck dumb by an ordeal beyond anything they had ever known, could not even find their voices.