Dragged along as though bound, Cain had been put through a hellish training regimen over the past few days. Ghislain had taken quite a bit of joy in pushing him to his limits. There was no point in resisting; facing such overwhelming, unyielding power left Cain with nothing he could do. Training together was one thing, but this almost looked like he was about to drag him right onto the battlefield, and Claude couldn't help but feel deeply concerned. Taking the heir of an estate and throwing him in as a common soldier was a dangerously reckless move. But Ghislain brushed it off without a second thought, saying dismissively, "The debt he owes me is no small matter. If I let him off easy, he'd take me for a fool. If he doesn't have the coin, he’ll just have to pay in other ways." "But if he ends up getting killed in this war, it could turn into quite a headache." "Don’t worry; that guy’s not dying anytime soon." "Why? Does he have some hidden skill?" "Surviving after running off with my money? That just means he's lucky as hell. A guy with that kind of luck isn’t going to die in just any old war—it wouldn’t make sense." "...Right, understood." Claude, giving up on arguing, clicked his tongue a few times. Trying to make sense of this lord’s logic was utterly pointless. "Then, if we’re doing this, make sure you smash them to bits. Let it be something they’ll never forget." "Don’t worry. I’ll crush them thoroughly—that’s my specialty. You know I’m undefeated, right?" "Of course, one win so far, hoping for a second in this round. I hope that crazy plan of yours pulls through. Please, stay safe." Claude had been stunned when he first heard Ghislain's strategy at the tactical meeting. But he couldn’t deny that if it succeeded, it would be the best way to achieve victory with minimal casualties. For this reason, the plan was kept strictly secret. It was a strategy that could only work under very particular conditions, ones unique to this war. ‘If the plan fails... the lord will definitely die. Should I try to stop him even now? It’s just too dangerous.’ Claude closed his eyes, lost in thought. The time to intervene had already passed. If he couldn’t dissuade him during preparations, there was no stopping him now, not when they were already about to set off. All he could do was leave the outcome to fate and pray they achieved victory. While Claude was worrying, Ghislain examined the knights one by one, nodding in satisfaction. Despite the impending war, none of them appeared fearful or tense. Thanks to the grueling training they had undergone, they all looked confident. And it wasn’t just a facade. In reality, most of them were brimming with barely-contained aggression, eager to release it somewhere. Fear, however, was not in sight. Ghislain was thoroughly pleased with those expressions. ‘This is perfect. And if I can upgrade their equipment after this war, it’ll be even better.’ Currently, the knights wore under-armor made from Blood Python leather beneath their steel. With that alone, they wouldn’t fall so easily. If the rest of their gear could be improved according to plan, they’d become even stronger, he was sure of it. When each unit had finished its preparations, Gillian approached and bowed. "Ready to depart." "Good. Now then, let’s set out..." Just as they were finishing the brief departure ceremony and about to leave, a commotion erupted from one corner as a group approached, shouting. It was the dwarves and the wizards. Galbarik yelled, his face on the verge of tears, "Lord! Going to war?! All of a sudden, what's this about? We did everything you asked, we made everything! You said we wouldn’t be the vanguard!" Standing beside him, Alfoi openly wailed, "We did everything you told us to! We don’t want to go to war! Can't we just stay here and guard the keep?" Ghislain looked at them with a wide grin. "Not a chance. You’re crucial for this operation. Don’t worry; I won’t throw you into the front lines." Galbarik begged, almost pleading, "You said we’d get leave once the urgent work was done! We’re supposed to be on leave now! You liar!" "What are you talking about? We never set a date, did we?" "..." "Don’t worry—I never lie. Your leave starts after the war. Procedures must be followed, after all." Galbarik was at a loss for words. Now that he thought about it, they’d left in such a hurry that they hadn’t settled on any dates. They’d just assumed their leave would start once the immediate tasks were done. He had to admit their mistake in not pinning down an exact timeline. But here Ghislain, who could be the most reckless man in all of Ritania, was talking about following "procedure," and it was making his blood pressure spike to dangerous levels. "Ahhh! Strike! We’re on strike! We’re not going! We refuse! Give us our rights!" "We mages won’t go either! Even slaves have human rights!" The dwarves and wizards protested loudly, but Ghislain, with a simple nod, ordered them to be hauled off. "Take them." "Ahhhh! Noooo!" Dragged off by Gillian, they were placed behind Cain, who also looked like he was on his last legs. Finally, when everything was set, Gillian and Kaor took their places on Ghislain’s flanks, with Belinda, clad in a black robe, stationed at the rear. Ghislain surveyed his group and spoke slowly. "Alright. Let’s move out." Standing beside Claude, Fergus gripped Ghislain’s hand tightly. "Young Lord, please stay safe. Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?" Looking at Fergus’s worried expression, Ghislain gave a somewhat awkward smile. "Don’t worry, just stay home and rest. You come along, and your heart won’t take it." Before Fergus could reply, Kaor interjected. "Hey, old man! No need to worry about anything. I’m so damn strong now." Fergus had to admit Kaor seemed pretty strong, though somehow he just didn’t feel reassured. Still, he gave him a kind smile. "Alright, alright. I’ll trust you. Take good care of our Young Lord." "Heh, you can count on me." Having learned new mana control techniques and swordsmanship from Ghislain, Kaor exuded a new level of confidence. Belinda clicked her tongue a few times at Kaor’s boasting, then adjusted Fergus’s collar, saying, "Take care of yourself, alright? Eat on time, take your meds, and don’t worry too much. You know what I can do, right?" "Of course, of course. I know our steward’s capabilities well. You take care too." Fergus gave his farewells to Gillian and the others, urging them repeatedly to return safely. Finally, after Fergus’s heartfelt goodbye, Ghislain and his knights began to move out. The news that the lord himself was marching out spread quickly, and soon, people were flocking in droves to see him off. Worry was etched on every face. The territory had been getting better and better, but now there was suddenly talk of war, and people couldn’t understand it. And for their lord to be going to battle personally? If anything happened to him, their newfound peace would be lost too. "What are we going to do? He’ll be alright, won’t he?" "If we’d known it’d come to this, we should’ve signed up to fight ourselves." "The lord said there’d be recruitment once the construction was done, but who knew war would come so soon?" Murmurs of concern grew louder and louder among the people. It was a stark contrast to the last time this land’s lord had marched to war, to attack Ferdiem. Back then, nobody cared if he lived or died. In fact, they’d wished he wouldn’t come back. But now, their current lord was their hope, the pillar that held them all together. Just then, a few people, overcome with emotion, shouted out. "Lord! Return safely!" "Knights, soldiers, take care of yourselves!" "Goddess, bless Fenris!" Their cheers soon spread, and before long, the entire territory was filled with cries of genuine support and concern. It was the first time the knights and soldiers had received such earnest encouragement, and though a bit taken aback, they quickly straightened up, feeling a sense of pride. Ghislain, too, raised a hand in acknowledgment and smiled at his people. "Woohoo! Bring us victory!" With the resounding cheers of his people behind him, Ghislain turned his horse and gave the command. "All forces, from here on, full speed ahead. We need to strike before they’re prepared." "Understood!" Riding on this wave of morale, the knights and soldiers responded with vigor. Neighhh! At the cry of Ghislain’s horse, the forces of Fenris surged forward, like the wind, toward Count Cabaldi's domain. --- Count Cabaldi had already heard the rumors that Fenris had stockpiled food. Given that his own territory was suffering from a dire food shortage, he couldn’t deny that he’d been tempted by those whispers. With a grave expression, Count Cabaldi began discussing the matter with his retainers. "What did Count Desmond say?" "He asked us to hold on a little longer. It seems they’re struggling to manage things internally." "And the Duke?" "They promised to send food as soon as possible. Just a bit longer, they said..." "How much longer?" Count Cabaldi’s roar reverberated as he slammed his hand down on his chair. He was already scraping up every last bit of hidden reserves from his people to feed his soldiers. They couldn’t hold out much longer. The people of his territory, already worn down by forced labor in the iron mines, were simmering with resentment. Count Cabaldi had been suppressing them with his military force, keeping them from uprising. But now, even the army was close to starvation; if they turned against him, there’d be no way to control the situation. "I hear there’s plenty of food in Fenris. Can’t we just take it by force?" Count Cabaldi’s retainers recoiled, shaking their heads. "We don’t have enough provisions to sustain a war. We can’t even manage supply lines. The soldiers are starving, and morale is plummeting." "Didn’t the Duke strictly warn us against any reckless actions?" "If we make a move now, we’ll give the Royalist faction an excuse. Stabilizing the situation should be our priority." Count Cabaldi bit his lip. His retainers made valid points. If they moved now, it’d be akin to mutually assured destruction with both the Royalists and the Ducal faction coming down on them. Even if they won, it would be a hollow victory. And they couldn’t be certain other lords would lend their support. As a last resort, he proposed, "Then let’s trade iron for food from Fenris." This decision drew worried glances from his retainers. "Baron Fenris is aligned with the Royalists. If we offer them iron, the Ducal faction won’t be pleased." "The Duke and Count Desmond have promised to support us; perhaps we should wait a bit longer...." At their reluctant response, Count Cabaldi gritted his teeth. "Who do you serve?! The soldiers are about to starve; how much longer can we wait? If you’re unwilling to trade, I’ll start by confiscating all your assets." Silenced by his anger, the retainers quickly quieted down. The Cabaldi territory was the largest producer of iron in the north, giving Count Cabaldi considerable influence within the Ducal faction. But Count Desmond had suddenly cut off the promised food supply. Desmond had already sold off his surplus to Ghislain, meaning they were barely holding on themselves. But not knowing this, Count Cabaldi’s faction felt abandoned. He’d also requested support from the Duke, but with so many others in need, they’d been put at a lower priority. Quick to read the situation, Count Cabaldi, known for his political acumen, understood what was happening. "Think about it," Count Cabaldi said. "No matter how much we accomplish, to the Ducal faction, we’re still just backwater northerners. They don’t see us as irreplaceable—the iron mines aren’t exclusive to our territory." The retainers had no counterargument. While the Cabaldi territory was significant, the Ducal faction had many other priorities that outranked it. With no support from the Ducal faction, there was no point in maintaining a one-sided loyalty while starving. Count Cabaldi himself was notorious, one of the most ruthless lords in the north. His strong military presence offered him a measure of security that others didn’t enjoy, but even that advantage would vanish if someone incited his soldiers to rebellion. "In any case, it’s us propping up Count Desmond. Sure, trading with that guy might ruffle some feathers, but it’s not like a few trades will get us ousted." When Count Desmond had first sought to ally with the northern lords, Cabaldi was his primary target. The territory’s strategic importance made it a key ally. Count Cabaldi, a skilled player in the realm of political chess, had aligned himself with the Ducal faction, sensing which way the wind was blowing. He also knew how far he could push his limits with them. "Baron Fenris is as good as dead anyway. A little iron won’t change his fate. And his military strength is weak. He won’t pose a problem." The retainers nodded, seeing the logic. They realized that Baron Fenris was already a doomed man. A little iron in exchange for food wouldn’t change his destiny. Alliances often transcended faction lines; even sworn enemies made deals when needed. Iron was simply too vital a resource for the Ducal faction to ignore. One retainer asked carefully, "But with Baron Fenris in such a favorable position, might he not demand an extortionate price? We’ve effectively cut him off from our iron supply until now." "Tell him we’re willing to open up iron supplies in the future. But if he tries to get too ambitious, remind him we can cut him off entirely. He doesn’t have any other options." "Understood. With a careful push and pull, he’ll have no choice but to accept our terms." "Exactly. If he has any sense, he’ll use this opportunity to get on our good side. After all, he’ll need us to keep acquiring iron at a fair price." Confident, Count Cabaldi and his retainers were certain that Ghislain would have no option but to accept. In the north, iron production and trade were under Cabaldi’s control, meaning Fenris had been struggling to get iron until now. Though food prices had soared recently, iron would ultimately regain its value once the crisis passed. Acting arrogantly because of a temporary food advantage would only make future dealings more challenging. "Send the envoy immediately. We don’t want this getting to Count Desmond’s ears—could complicate things." Count Cabaldi’s retainers nodded and began to leave when the hall doors burst open. A knight sprinted in, shouting urgently. "Enemy forces have attacked!" Count Cabaldi and his retainers were dumbstruck by the news. There had been no declaration of war, no sign of impending battle. No alarms had sounded from the border defenses. And yet, what was this about an enemy force? He was only concerned about a possible rebellion. Steeling himself, Count Cabaldi asked, "What do you mean? Explain yourself clearly. Are you saying a rebellion has broken out?" The knight swallowed, looking as though he himself could scarcely believe what he was about to say. "It’s Ghislain Ferdiem...no, Baron Fenris’s army—they’ve set up camp right outside our fortress!"