Chapter 43: Seizing Calpion (2)
"God Faeron, why on earth are you doing this to me?"
Hardin kept muttering the same words over and over, sighing heavily.
‘I thought I might be able to rest for a while.’
Ever since I had possessed this damned descendant’s body… I truly hadn’t had a moment’s rest, constantly on the run.
I had finally managed to end the territorial war in perfect victory.
To be honest, I had hoped I might be able to enjoy a little leisure until this body, wrecked by Maelstrom, recovered.
But seeing the situation unfolding before my eyes, that hope came crashing down.
Just as I was scratching my head in frustration, a shout came from the front.
"Oh, Young Master! You’re safe!"
When I lifted my head, I saw Mikkelsen dragging a man tied up with rope toward the fence.
"Uh… yeah."
"Please wait just a moment!"
As I listlessly raised my hand, feeling as though my soul had left me, Mikkelsen opened the fence gate and shoved the man inside.
"Get in there, you bastard!"
"Aaagh! Aagh! What did I ever do to deserve this!"
Mikkelsen was trying to push him in while the man resisted with all his might.
"What did you do? You were robbing people, you bastard!"
"That’s all because of you people!"
"Oh, for the love of—say something that actually makes sense, you fool!"
Thunk! Crash!
In the end, Mikkelsen kicked him hard in the back, barely managing to shove him inside, then quickly slammed the gate shut.
The man immediately jumped up and grabbed the bars, shouting at us.
"You filthy… You son of a…!"
A torrent of obscenities poured out, too foul to repeat, making the Maw mercenaries click their tongues in disgust.
"…"
Mikkelsen clenched his teeth, his body trembling with rage. He took a deep breath and turned around.
He looked like he was just barely holding his temper in check.
Then, the man opened his mouth again.
"What, you scared now?"
At that…
"What?"
Deep wrinkles creased Mikkelsen’s forehead, his face flushing red as he gripped the gate.
"Hold it in, Mikkelsen!"
"Beryl, sir! Didn’t you hear what that bastard just said? He even cursed my mother! Damn it, let me go. I’m going to beat him to a pulp."
"But you’re an orphan!"
"I know, but even so…!"
Just then, the man behind the fence kept provoking him.
"What’s this? You really don’t have a mother? Figures—look at the state of you."
"You bastard!"
Mikkelsen shook off Beryl and charged toward the gate.
Thud!
I stepped in front of him and spoke.
"Calm yourself."
"Young Master! You heard it all, didn’t you! That bastard, he… he…!"
Mikkelsen jabbed his finger accusingly, his face twisted with rage and indignation.
I placed a hand on his shoulder, heaved a sigh, and shook my head.
"If you lose it like this, the others will get riled up too. Get a grip and clean up this mess first."
At that moment.
"Kyahhh! Ptoo!"
One of the men inside let out a wet spit.
Thunk!
And it hit someone on the cheek.
The problem was… the person it struck was me.
"…"
Hardin touched the phlegm stuck to his cheek with an expressionless face.
‘Ah, shit.’
‘…Why me, of all people.’
In that instant, the faces of the Daphne men stiffened.
"Heh heh heh… Heh heh heh heh."
I let out a hollow laugh.
Then I turned my body sharply and started walking toward the fence.
Mikkelsen hurriedly tried to grab my shoulder.
"Young Master?"
"Let go."
"D-didn’t you just say we needed to calm down?"
Smack!
I roughly slapped his hand away and turned my head to look straight into Mikkelsen’s eyes.
"Does it look to you… like I’m agitated?"
"…N-no, sir."
With a face like a vengeful ghost, I exuded a chilling aura.
Just seeing me like that made Mikkelsen hastily step aside.
I walked straight up to the pen and opened the gate, stepping inside.
Crack! Crack!
Flexing my knuckles, I raised one corner of my mouth in a grotesquely forced grin.
"The bastard who just spat… who was it? Confess quickly."
Then, at least your life… I’ll spare that.
---
"Uuugh…"
"It hurts…"
One of the prisoner pens built atop the training grounds.
On the heads of a dozen prisoners crammed inside, lumps were swelling up in clusters.
They all had tears streaming down their faces, rolling around on the floor in agony.
‘Which bastard was it that spat, damn it!’
‘Shit… it hurts!’
At that moment.
"Damn it, my arm’s killing me. Look what you bastards made me do."
The fiend—no, Hardin—shook out his hand.
Then, he slowly turned his head and looked around.
"If anyone else has complaints, step forward."
"N-no, sir."
"…"
The prisoners in the other cells quickly clamped their hands over their mouths or shook their heads.
‘He’s insane.’
‘If you get on that bastard’s bad side… you’re dead.’
Everyone could feel it instinctively.
Unlike the rest of the Daphne men, who struggled to deal with the rowdy prisoners, this blond-haired man was truly the sort who would beat them all into the dirt without hesitation.
Just then, Gadolph spoke from beside me.
"Good grief… and your body isn’t even well yet. Why go this far?"
"Then should I just sit here and endure this?"
My body already felt like it was going to die, and if I held this in too, I… I’d drop dead from pent-up rage.
As I spoke with a relieved expression, Mikkelsen quietly sidled up to put in a word.
"Then can I rough them up too?"
"Why, you want me to hit you too?"
Crack!
My fist let out a sound.
"…No, sir."
‘…Why is it only me who can't?’
Mikkelsen drooped, stepping back with a sullen look.
From behind, Manton watched this scene, his face full of bewilderment.
‘Was the Young Master… always like this?’
The former Young Master certainly had an arrogant and pretentious personality, but he never went around doing things like this.
Come to think of it, defeating Donfel, or his exploits in the war…
While Manton was stroking his chin, lost in thought.
I snapped my head to the side and asked.
"Manton."
"Yes."
"Where are the prisoners?"
"If you mean prisoners…"
"The Calpion knights and their retainers—you locked them up around here, didn’t you? Where are they?"
"What do you need them for?"
"Because I need them. Hurry up."
When I glared at Manton with eyes like a wolf, he pointed to one side.
"Th-that… over there."
A building stood in one corner of the training grounds.
I strode toward it with irritable steps.
Bang!
I kicked the door open violently and stepped inside.
"W-what is this?"
"That person is…."
Dozens of eyes inside the iron cages on either side turned to me at once.
Compared to the thugs who had been raising hell outside, this lot looked relatively clean and orderly.
I stroked my chin and swept my gaze around.
Most of the men in the left cage were burly, their bodies covered in wounds, and several of them were wrapped in bandages.
‘Those must be the knights….’
Then I turned my head to the right.
Pale-skinned, scrawny men who looked like scarecrows for the most part.
I could tell at a glance.
‘Those bastards are the ones who push pens.’
The ones locked up over there were Calpion’s retainers.
At that moment, some of the Calpion knights murmured.
"Y-Young Master Hardin."
"What’s that man doing here…?"
They all averted their gazes with faces stricken by fear.
There was even one man trembling all over.
They had witnessed me rampaging across the battlefield, even cutting down that formidable Commander Andrea with their own eyes, so it was only natural they looked like they were staring death in the face.
In contrast…
"Did he say Young Master Hardin?"
"Ohh…"
A strange expression mixed with expectation and hope appeared on the faces of the retainers.
I strolled over toward the side where the retainers were locked up and spoke.
"Among you lot in here, who’s the highest ranking man?"
"…That would be me."
One man slowly rose to his feet and raised his hand.
A man with a sly little mustache, who looked to be in his mid-thirties at least, with a body thin as a cucumber.
He slowly stroked his mustache and spoke in a calm voice.
"I am Syllot, chief steward of the Calpion Viscounty."
My brow furrowed slightly.
‘Why is this bastard so composed?’
He didn’t have the air of a prisoner at all.
There was something vaguely grating about it.
Then the steward continued speaking.
"Additionally, I am also the Third Young Master of the Count of Landen."
"Count of Landen? What’s that?"
"…What do you mean, ‘what’s that’?"
"Yeah, what is it supposed to be?"
A faint wrinkle formed between Syllot’s brows, and I turned my head aside to ask Manton, who was standing by.
"Hey, where’s that supposed to be?"
"Do you truly not know?"
"I said I don’t."
"…"
You don’t know that?
Manton blinked a couple times in confusion, then cautiously whispered in my ear.
"That… it’s a count’s house at the western edge of Luden Shire. It’s quite a powerful family, and the Lord specifically ordered that we never lay a hand on this man."
"Ah, so he’s from a veeeery grand house, and I’m not supposed to touch him?"
"…"
Manton silently nodded.
I stroked my chin, staring fixedly into the cell.
‘So that’s why his neck’s so stiff?’
…I could pretty much guess how it was.
I let out a heavy snort and stepped closer to the bars.
As tension gathered between Syllot’s brows, I gave a crooked grin and scratched my head.
"Ah, I didn’t realize you were from such a distinguished house. My apologies for the disrespect, truly. Heh heh!"
At that, the Daphne men watching behind me blinked in confusion.
‘All of a sudden?’
‘That demon of a man… why’s he acting like this?’
Meanwhile, a faint smile spread across Syllot’s face.
"Ahem, I appreciate you saying so, even if belatedly."
That smile quickly spread to the other Calpion retainers and knights imprisoned with him.
‘As expected, even these bastards don’t dare lay a hand on Lord Syllot.’
‘…Thank goodness.’
No matter how overwhelming Daphne’s victory had been, the difference in power compared to the Count of Landen was like that between an adult and a child.
Just as everyone’s faces brimmed with relief and expectation, I gave a wide grin and continued.
"Hey, Mister Syllot?"
"What is it?"
"Have you perhaps thought about working under us?"
"…What did you say?"
"As you can see, we’re pretty short on manpower right now. You must know all about Calpion’s estate, and you were their chief steward in the first place. If you convinced your retainers and those knight bastards to cooperate, it would be a big help."
At that, Manton, standing beside me, tried to stop me with an awkward look.
"Young Master, such matters aren’t something you can decide on your own…"
"I’m just asking, just asking. Of course I know I can’t do it all as I please."
"…"
Syllot thought for a moment, then gave a faint smile as he replied.
"Sorry, but that will never happen."
"Why not?"
"Daphne is too small of a vessel to hold us."
"What the hell does that mean? We won the war."
"The stature of a house is something unrelated to victory or defeat in a war. No matter how far I’ve fallen… the fact remains that I am a son of House Landen."
His tone shifted naturally as that fishy smile spread across his face.
I stuck out my lower lip and asked curtly.
"Then what do you plan to do? As a prisoner, you’ll either have to pay your ransom… or come under us. One or the other."
"Well, if Daphne is a wise house, I imagine it will know the proper choice… wouldn’t you all agree?"
He swept his gaze around as he spoke.
"Yes, exactly."
"Lord Syllot speaks the truth."
The retainers and knights quickly nodded in unison.
‘So all of you bastards are siding with him.’
With such solid backing, none of them… were even considering coming over to Daphne.
Well, prisoners often got treated poorly, so I supposed they’d all made their calculations.
I looked around at the captives and asked again.
"So, in any case, you’re saying you refuse to work under us?"
"Indeed. Before long, word will arrive from House Landen. We will wait for that time."
"…Hoo."
He really had a knack for pissing people off.
I took a slow breath to steady myself… then simply pulled the iron door open and stepped inside.
"W-what do you think you’re doing, Young Master Hardin? If you mean to intimidate me, get back at once!"
"What do you think."
Curling my fingers into a fist, I smiled and pressed it to his forehead.
SMAAAAAACK!
"Aaaagh!"
With just that single flick to the forehead, Syllot collapsed flat on his back, froth bubbling from his mouth.
"Did he just faint? From that little tap?"
Kids these days really had no grit…
Hissing white steam rose from my fingers as I flicked it off, staring down at Syllot with a face full of disgust.
‘Is… is he insane?’
‘He just… struck Lord Syllot?’
Everyone’s faces were frozen in shock.