Count Jimbar, regaining his composure, asked again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “All of it? I must have misheard you. Surely, you didn’t mean all?” “You heard me correctly. From this point on, every military force in the North will be under my command.” Ghislain’s words had crossed a line, and not just a thin one. What did it mean to be a lord? A lord was someone who held autonomous power in exchange for loyalty to the crown. In their own domain, they were akin to kings themselves. Yet here was someone demanding they relinquish their private armies—the very forces that safeguarded their lands and upheld their sovereignty. BANG! Count Jimbar slammed his hand against the table as he rose from his seat. “Count! Even as the Commander of the Northern Army, this demand is outrageous! How dare you suggest that we hand over the very armies that are our lifeblood?” “If we don’t stop the Ducal faction and the Rifts, we’re all dead anyway,” Ghislain replied coldly. “You... You insolent brat!” Jimbar gnashed his teeth at the young man who, during his youth, had been nothing more than a whelp. Now, that same boy stood tall, issuing threats from a position of authority. As the tension thickened, the other lords intervened to calm the situation. “Now, now, let’s not forget why we’re here. Please, Count Jimbar, take a seat.” “Count Fenris, perhaps your joke has gone too far. Kingdom law limits requisitions to half at most, does it not?” “Exactly! If the monarchy doesn’t respect the rights of lords, then who would pledge their loyalty to it?” “Even half is excessive. The kingdom has never demanded such measures before, even in its gravest crises.” Though still visibly furious, Jimbar begrudgingly returned to his seat. But Ghislain remained impassive, his expression and tone unwavering. “This is the kingdom’s greatest crisis. The number of monsters emerging from the Rifts will only increase.” A skeptical lord asked cautiously, “Are you truly asking us to relinquish all of our forces?” “Yes,” Ghislain confirmed. “In return, I’ll ensure sufficient compensation, including food and supplies, once the war is over.” Despite his assurance, the lords shook their heads. They couldn’t risk being left defenseless, especially since such promises could easily be broken after the war. One lord hesitantly spoke up. “And if we refuse?” Ghislain responded with a feral grin, baring his teeth. “Do you think I’d just stand by and let that happen? If Fenris marches to war and we fall, you’d all swoop in to claim our lands, wouldn’t you?” The lords flinched at his words, their guilty expressions betraying their thoughts. It was true—many of them had entertained the possibility. Fenris had become a symbol of prosperity in the North. If Ghislain’s forces were defeated by the Ducal faction or the Rifts, the opportunity to seize Fenris would be ripe. Jimbar growled, his frustration evident. “Count! No matter how strong Fenris claims to be, you’re being arrogant. Do you think we came here empty-handed? Or are you suggesting we settle this by force?” None of the lords had arrived without their armies. They had brought troops to safeguard themselves, wary of being taken hostage. Around the meeting grounds, banners of various territories fluttered, and heavily armed guards stood vigilant. Ghislain’s gaze swept the area, estimating the combined force at over five thousand soldiers—far outnumbering his own. Still, he smirked. “Do you think I can’t?” “Are you really prepared to take this to the bitter end?” Jimbar challenged. In response, Ghislain raised a hand. “Gillian.” “Yes, my lord.” “If any lord refuses to follow my orders, attack their forces immediately.” “As you command.” Gillian mounted his horse and bellowed, “Prepare for battle!” Clang! Clang! Clang! Knights mounted their horses, lances raised high. The Fenris cavalry lined up with precision, exuding an air of ruthless discipline. The soldiers’ readiness to attack any target was unmistakable, their eyes trained on the banners of each lord’s domain. The sudden mobilization sent shockwaves through the lords’ armies. “What’s going on?!” “Are they serious?” “Prepare for combat! Ready the men!” The lords’ soldiers, who had followed their masters believing this was merely a meeting, scrambled in confusion. The lords themselves were equally unprepared for Ghislain’s audacity. One lord, wiping the sweat from his brow, stammered, “Must you go this far, Count? Surely there’s a better way to resolve this?” “And what would that be?” “Well, perhaps you could approach this less aggressively. Engage us in more dialogue, help us empathize with your reasoning, and then persuade us to see things your way...” The lord was desperately trying to buy time. But he clearly underestimated Ghislain. Ghislain unsheathed a sword and laid it on the table with a heavy thud. “This sword is one of my most cherished weapons. I often use it in duels. Its name is ‘Dialogue.’” “...” He then drew a hatchet from his belt and placed it beside the sword. “This axe is my go-to tool for various tasks. Because of its versatility, I’ve named it ‘Empathy.’” “...” Finally, with a nod, Tenant handed him a spear from the saddle of his black steed. “This spear is my weapon of choice on the battlefield. It has carried my will through countless fights, so I’ve named it ‘Persuasion.’” Ghislain’s piercing gaze swept over the room as he asked, “Now, which one would you prefer?” The lords swallowed hard, unable to utter a word. He’s insane. The rumors didn’t do him justice—this man was far crazier than they had imagined. Ghislain locked eyes with one lord seated nearby and asked pointedly, “If we fail to stop the Ducal faction and the Rifts, we all die. This is your last chance. Will you join forces, or will you die here?” The lord, drenched in sweat, stammered incoherently, looking to his peers for support. But they too were paralyzed, unable to voice any opposition. In the suffocating silence, the lord finally bowed his head. “I... I will follow your orders, Count.” “Wait, what?!” “Hold on—!” The other lords tried to interject, but a sharp glare from Ghislain silenced them. One by one, they too bowed their heads, overwhelmed by the sheer force of his presence and the readiness of the Fenris army. Even Count Jimbar, the leader of the Northern Alliance, eventually relented. “We will comply...” The atmosphere left no room for defiance. Though some had initially spoken of standing united against the "young whelp," no one dared challenge the might of Fenris directly. Finally, Ghislain relaxed, a triumphant smile on his face. “I’m pleased to see we’re all in agreement. I’ll count on your support for supplies and operational costs. Rest assured, once the kingdom is at peace, you’ll receive ample compensation.” Compensation? More like scraps... We’re ruined. Truly ruined. Whose spawn is this? How did someone like him even come into existence? Though silent, the lords’ faces betrayed their despair. And so, the "Northern Alliance" that had formed moments earlier dissolved just as quickly. As the lords left, Ghislain made sure to remind them, “No need to send anything directly. I’ll dispatch my officials to collect everything. Ensure there’s no mismanagement.” The lords, aware of Fenris’s infamous efficiency and ruthlessness, left with heavy hearts, preparing to strip their lands bare to meet his demands. As the meeting concluded, Tenant asked, “Do you always handle matters this way?” “Most of the time. I find dragging things out to be tiresome.” Tenant chuckled faintly. Ghislain’s methods were reminiscent of Marquis Rodrick’s oppressive tactics. But unlike Rodrick, whose greed knew no bounds, Ghislain’s motives seemed different. ‘Could it be... for the people?’ Tenant wasn’t yet certain. But as someone who had witnessed true greed firsthand, he sensed that Ghislain might be driven by something else entirely. In time, he would know for sure whether his journey with Ghislain would allow him to atone for his sins as a knight. *** Marquis Ferdium chose not to join the Northern Army. He argued that, with the kingdom in turmoil, he needed to prepare for possible barbarian incursions in his territory. Amelia Rayfold also abstained from joining. Having cleverly secured her autonomy in advance, she couldn’t be forcibly conscripted—and Ghislain had no intention of trying. He knew all too well that Amelia was the type of woman who would retaliate fiercely if pressured, and that would only create unnecessary complications. Besides, her recent request for a domain in the East hinted at her underlying strategy, one Ghislain could vaguely discern. “Well, if she’s determined to act on her own, I’ll let her be—for now. She’ll still be useful in the short term.” If a civil war were to break out, the Ducal faction would undoubtedly find Amelia a thorn in their side. Neither Ghislain nor Amelia had achieved their ultimate goals yet. Both were using each other, which had brought them to this point. Armies Gather at Fenris With Ferdium and Rayfold excluded, the armies of the remaining northern lords began converging on Fenris. “Count Jimbar’s forces have arrived!” “Brivant’s troops are here!” “Promel’s soldiers have joined us!” The North, more barren than other regions, had a smaller population and thus fewer soldiers. Yet, when all the northern territories combined their forces, the resulting army was substantial. Ghislain turned to Claud for a report. “Is everyone here?” “Yes, my lord. Approximately 60,000 troops have gathered.” “That’s more than I expected.” “Well, our administrators have a way of squeezing out every last resource.” Ghislain chuckled. “They’ll need to adapt to our military discipline. There’s no time to synchronize properly, so we’ll have to train them on the march.” “They’ll hate every second of it,” Claud replied with a grin. Ghislain smirked in return. The Mage Corps “What about the mages?” “We’ve gathered as many as possible, though the numbers are small. The North has never been abundant in mages, after all.” “That’s true, but we’ve built up our own mage corps, haven’t we?” “Yes, we now have nearly 200 mages. Our magical forces are now among the strongest in the kingdom, rivaling even the Ducal faction.” This strength came largely from Ghislain’s earlier capture of Marquis Rodrick’s mages. Those who hadn’t been executed had been forced into servitude with binding contracts, reinforced by royal approval to ensure compliance. While there was always the risk of betrayal or desertion, Ghislain had accepted it as an inevitable consequence of his methods. “Is it true that Alfoy is overseeing the mages?” “Yes. Vanessa is in charge of the 6th and 5th Circle mages, but the rest are under Alfoy’s supervision. His temper is notoriously harsh, but that makes him perfect for keeping them in line early on.” “...Fair enough.” Though slightly uneasy, Ghislain nodded. Alfoy had managed the mages before, effectively catching any who tried to flee. The rapid expansion of the mage corps was a concern, but for now, there was no alternative but to trust in his lieutenants. Priests and Mercenaries “What about the priests?” “Various temples have dispatched reinforcements. We now have 120 priests.” “That’s excellent.” Having 120 priests was a significant achievement, reflecting Fenris’s growing importance to the kingdom. “Piote is in charge of them, correct?” “Yes, despite some initial resistance, your orders pushed it through.” “Good. Piote is critical in battles against the Rifts.” Ghislain smiled sharply. Priests, typically forbidden from participating in territorial wars, had no such restriction when it came to combating the supernatural horrors of the Rifts. “It’s time for the other priests who’ve been living comfortably to pull their weight.” “And the mercenaries?” “We’re making every effort to recruit more from across the kingdom. With the Rifts becoming more active, mercenaries are in high demand, but that makes them easier to find.” “Good. Spare no expense on that front.” “Understood.” Pressure from the Royalist Faction With the preparations nearly complete, Claud added another report. “The Royalist faction has been pressuring us for action. In several areas, the Rifts have expanded beyond containment, forcing their armies to retreat.” “Have we instructed them to isolate any forces that came into contact with the Rifts?” “Yes. We advised them to evacuate nearby towns and fortresses while reorganizing their forces to assess the situation.” “That might not stop the spread entirely, but it’ll help mitigate the damage.” Ghislain trailed off, shaking his head. The kingdom was breaking apart at the seams, with simultaneous disasters erupting everywhere. Even with all his power, he couldn’t oversee or resolve every crisis personally. It was time to focus on the broader picture and act decisively to bring an end to the chaos. Marching Toward the Rift “Let’s move out. It’s time we made our move.” Fenris’s total forces numbered 30,000. Of those, 20,000 were integrated into the Northern Army, while the remaining 10,000 were left behind to defend and supply the region. Finally, the combined 80,000-strong Northern Army, led by Ghislain, began its march toward the nearest Rift.