The Price of a Hostage Knight
As Johan charged, Marco threw himself backward, drew a bow from his saddle, and pulled the string taut.
"!"
Knights from the Holy Empire and the Kingdom of Erance rarely made use of bows. They might learn archery as part of a knight's training, but they never handled the weapon with the same skill as their swords and lances.
Which was exactly why the sight of this knight reaching for a bow told Johan, beyond any doubt, that the man was Catalian.
Thwip!
A sharp hiss cut the air, and a heavy impact ran up Johan's arm. He blocked it without much difficulty. With no confusion to muddy the field, reading the man's movements and turning aside an arrow was nothing special.
Marco dropped the bow and drew his sword. Against Johan, however, it changed nothing. A single stroke sent the blade spinning from Marco's hand, and Johan seized him by the throat and hauled him down from his horse.
Thud!
The moment one knight was subdued in a single exchange, a current of tension ran through the others.
"Will you surrender?"
"You'd have us yield without even fighting like knights?"
"Then so be it."
Johan had expected exactly that kind of answer. He cut down the remaining knights one after another.
Foolishly, the knights kept trying to match weapons with him. But every time steel met steel, Johan's monstrous strength threw them off balance on the spot. The utterly unexpected shock sent the entire lot of them tumbling from their saddles in humiliating fashion.
And there, dismounted, they became prey for the knights waiting in reserve. Defeated so cleanly that no excuse could be made, the knights acknowledged it and surrendered.
The Marquis had barely escaped with his life and fled to the city, while Ulrike's army returned laden with plunder. With the enemy force wiped from the field, Ulrike withdrew his troops at his leisure. Leaving behind the new castellan, a handful of men to puppet him, and a garrison to hold the castle was more than enough.
"Congratulations on your great victory."
"The Marquis ran away without honor..."
"Don't trouble yourself over failing to capture him. It was a victory that made his capture unnecessary."
Ulrike praised them all in a voice brimming with satisfaction.
It was a shame they hadn't taken Marquis Crucho himself, but the total destruction of his army was a result no one had dared imagine. Johan had led the pursuit personally, and Ulrike had allowed himself a sliver of hope because of it — but not even that had prepared him for this.
He always exceeds expectations.
The annihilation of the Marquis's army was one thing; the ripple this victory would send through the region was something far greater. Seeing the strength and reach of House Abner on full display, what judgment would the Empire's other lords reach?
"I'll distribute the rewards after paying my respects to Count Abner, so rest easy, all of you."
At Ulrike's words, every face lit up with anticipation. War was paradise for the victors — wages on top of a share of everything plundered in the fighting.
"Good work out there. I hear you took some knights captive?"
"They say he's the Marquis's bastard. Will his ransom fetch much?"
"Hm. I doubt it. The other knights might actually be worth more. Just selling off the armor and weapons they're wearing would cover their ransom."
At Swetleg's words, Johan clicked his tongue.
"I'd hoped he might receive a warmer welcome than Stefan did..."
"Bastards rarely get that kind of treatment."
"And if no ransom comes, what should I do with them?"
"Handle it as you see fit. Keep them locked up, release them, hand them over to another noble... Execution would be poor form. In any case, don't set your hopes too high on ransoms — knights often wear their fortunes on their bodies. Besides, haven't you already skinned plenty from this war besides that?"
Swetleg looked around. Perhaps because of the victors' return, the domain was bursting with life. Merchants kept arriving from afar, and travelers bustled in and out — it was plain to see.
"Rest until spring comes, then prepare for the next season. Now, I'm a wizard with no interest in such things, but you're a young knight with ambition..."
"I'm not particularly ambitious."
"Don't talk nonsense. Have you made any plans?"
At Swetleg's question, Johan nodded.
From the last punitive expedition through this war, victory had earned him an enormous fortune.
The baron's and Stefan's ransoms. Doris's stockpile of goods. The fee for the bandit suppression and the troll's blood. The village's tax rights and the rewards from the siege...
All of it together came to nearly a thousand imperial gold coins.
He wouldn't take hold of it all at once, but even so, it amounted to clutching in a single grasp what most lords, castellans, or barons earned in an entire year.
The largest share, of course, had been the baron's and Stefan's ransoms — several hundred gold coins in a single stroke. Measured against that, the troll's blood, the battle rewards, and the suppression fees felt almost small. The village's tax rights had fetched a decent price, but its ceiling was obvious; it had been a small village to begin with.
It made Johan understand, anew, why knights threw themselves at war so desperately.
Ransom.
War — where one could legally strip ransoms from the defeated — was both an opportunity for social ascent and a business.
"Honestly, I did dream of building a castle like Saint-Darge or one worthy of House Abner."
"A castle? That money wouldn't come close."
Swetleg looked exasperated by the absurdity. And more to the point, what would be the meaning of building one?
"I know. And it seems rather pointless anyway."
If a castle were truly needed, that would be one thing, but the domain Johan was set to receive had little use for one. Raising a castle to defend it would be extravagant waste.
"Even if not a proper castle, you could raise a grand manor. Build it in timber and it would be far cheaper and faster."
Swetleg spoke cautiously, wondering if his words had been too harsh.
Why did men fight like that as knights? For renown, was it not?
To win a domain and rise in the world, only to live miserably in some hovel — to a young, hot-blooded knight, that could feel like a grievous insult.
"No thanks."
But Swetleg still did not know Johan. Such things simply didn't concern him.
Building a manor on one's lands to flaunt one's wealth and power was the dream of other nobles and knights. Not Johan's.
Even his wish to build a castle had been purely practical — a wall to shelter behind if enemies came swarming. But a look around the village had told him it was better to simply abandon the place than to raise walls around it, so he'd given up on the idea.
"You truly have no interest?"
"I never intended to stay in the village long anyway."
What could possibly come of developing a village that, on a good year, produced barely a dozen gold coins? And Johan had no confidence in himself on that front either. He'd rather spend that time wandering and earning gold.
"So what I had in mind was hiring more mercenaries."
With the war over, a good number of the mercenaries would drift away. Johan intended to select the well-armed ones among them and put them on retainer. Cavalry would be even better.
"Now that... is not a bad notion."
Swetleg was honestly impressed. The idea wasn't some stroke of brilliant genius, but the fact that Johan could think of it at all, in this situation, was remarkable.
Any other knight would be giddy, dreaming of flinging gold about. Johan, without wavering an inch, was already preparing his next move.
The Empire's situation was growing more chaotic by the day, and Johan had already dipped his toes into it. More soldiers could only be a good thing.
It seems I had no advice to give after all.
Swetleg had worried that Johan might grow drunk on gold, arrogant, or careless. The fact that he was worrying about this at all meant he'd grown rather fond of the young knight.
But looking at Johan now, he realized none of that worry had been necessary.
"My one concern is — suppose I do hire these mercenaries, and no one calls for them..."
"I wouldn't worry about that."
Swetleg declared it flatly. The exploits from this siege would spread faster than even the troll hunt at Marcel had.
The only question was on what pretext they'd be summoned. It was impossible that no one would call.
"That delegation approaching looks to be from Count Zarfen's house."
"They'll be busy enough preparing the marriage. Thanks to the victory, both sides can wear smiling faces about it."
Swetleg stopped mid-sentence.
Listening to it, Count Zarfen's house seemed to covet Johan quite a bit as well. What would they make of this expedition?
The delegates were flustered by the flood of news at first, bewildered by the middle of it, and by the end simply accepted it.
"You're entering House Abner's service?!"
"It will be a vassal contract, yes."
Regardless, the way outsiders saw it was different. Once he became a vassal, the only reasonable reading was that Johan had aligned himself with House Abner of the west.
"Dear me... what are we to do about this..."
The Zarfen delegates murmured among themselves. Johan asked, with a puzzled air.
"Is there some problem?"
"Well... as you know, my lord the Count had hoped to arrange your knight investiture, Sir Johan."
"Yes."
"We were ordered to keep silent until the matter matured, but now that we have your answer, we'll say it plainly. The one who would perform the ceremony is Duke Brudhe."
"...!"
Duke Brudhe.
A grand lord whose name even Johan, tucked away in his backwater, knew well. One of the Empire's Prince-Electors, and the duke who ruled the vast dominions of the Empire's southeast.
Receiving his investiture directly from Duke Brudhe carried staggering weight.
To bear a knight's name granted by one of the Prince-Electors — even if Johan walked into the Emperor's own domains alone, his opponents would hesitate and think twice before mistreating him. That was the kind of power it conferred.
Amid the confusion, Johan gathered his thoughts and asked.
"Count Zarfen isn't on particularly good terms with the Kingdom of Erance, is he?"
"Ah... I see what you mean. House Abner, is it. The Count does maintain some ties, but nothing so close as that."
The one Count Zarfen had pinned his hopes on was Duke Brudhe. Johan weighed his options.
If he accepted the domain as it stood, the investiture from Duke Brudhe would most likely slip through his fingers. The duke's own retainers would rise in opposition the moment it was raised.
But small as it is, a domain is a domain.
What mattered was a steady source of income, however modest.
As Johan deliberated, Swetleg, who had been listening nearby, spoke up.
"Want both?"
"Of course I want both."
"If you had any interest in lording it over a domain, I'd not say this — but if the burden troubles you, take only the rights. So long as you don't sign a vassal contract, the Duke's side won't object either."
"...!"
Come to think of it, ruling villagers and putting them to work meant little to Johan. He wasn't the sort to summon people about and find pleasure in directing their labor.
"It's a good plan, but... would Lady Ulrike permit it?"
"Of course Ulrike will be displeased. But nothing in this world is absolute. Everything depends on how you speak and how you persuade."
Despite Swetleg's words, Johan found it hard to believe.
From Ulrike's standpoint, it was a loss no matter how he looked at it.
Declining a vassal contract meant forgoing the service a lord was due. An already threadbare contract would grow threadbare still further.
"I don't think she'll go for it..."
"Hm. Well, you're the one who wants both, so you're the one who ought to rack his brains, no? Go persuade Ulrike. Tell her that even without a vassal contract, you'll swear on a knight's honor to show her loyalty."
"......"
Johan pulled a sour face. Ulrike was no fool; she was hardly going to be swayed by glittering words with nothing behind them.
"Do try, Sir Johan. You have nothing to lose by trying, do you?"
"He's right, Sir Johan."
The Zarfen delegates, meanwhile, seemed to see this as their one and only chance, and egged Johan on. From their standpoint, they wanted him invested by the Duke by any means necessary.
"Fine. I'll have a word with her. Just don't expect much..."
"I'm proud of you, my son."
At Count Abner's words, everyone nodded. The exploits Ulrike had earned deserved such praise.
"Sir Gerdolf. I have heard of the deeds you performed."
"Thank you, my lord."
"I intend to send you to Saint-Darge Castle and place duties in your hands..."
Inno smiled warmly. It made the campaign — following at Johan's heels alongside Gerdolf — feel worthwhile.
Saint-Darge was newly conquered territory; it would need many capable men.
To be counted among them was an honor, and one that promised rich rewards besides.
"My apologies."
"Is that so? If you refuse, then so be it."
Inno's eyes went wide. He refused that?!