Too Many Corrupt Nobles (1)

Guillaumevalt immediately ordered his men to cross the river and reinforce the outpost, but his retainers and the conscripted soldiers opposed the idea. They argued that it could be a trap and insisted on observing the situation before making a move.

Their argument made sense.

A large force couldn’t simply cross the river without first assessing the situation. And the Kora River was not so easily forded on a whim.

The problem was that by the following morning, scouts with keen eyesight reported back.

“The outpost has been annihilated!”

That meant Count Lantarique’s long-cherished ambition had been crushed.

The conquest of Salasma had failed, and instead, Count Lantarique himself was now stranded deep in enemy territory, facing grave danger.

Moreover, a horrifying rumor began circulating among the soldiers—that Count Lantarique’s army had been attacked by monsters near Salasma, and that the Count himself had gone missing. The growing fear and uncertainty spread chaos throughout the camp.

“You so-called knights are all talk! Even slaves have more courage than you! You opposed crossing the river at night out of fear, and because of that, we lost the outpost while standing idle! And now, not one of you takes responsibility! In the end, the burden falls on me—the commander, the noble! They’ll call me the fool who let his father die before his eyes!”

“I insisted on crossing immediately to save him, yet my proposal was trampled on, and now I bear all the disgrace! Is it because I’m ugly? Do my own retainers look down on me?!”

Fuming, Guillaumevalt swung his sword wildly, slashing through the undergrowth as he pressed forward.

“Fine. This place will do—we can cross here!”

“What?”

“You and I! We’ll cross the river ourselves. I need to see the situation with my own eyes. Don’t worry, I’ve been trained by the Holy Knights.”

Guillaumevalt had given up on persuading his retainers. Instead, he had brought mercenaries from the Cell Sword Guild, knowing that they were loyal to coin rather than noble titles. His plan was to cross the river with them alone and conduct reconnaissance on the Salasma outpost himself.

“Wait, my lord. Heh… Didn’t you hear what the shamans and Holy Knights said last night?”

“We’re against crossing the river too. We came here just for reconnaissance.”

The night before, skilled shamans and Holy Knights had reported hearing a monstrous roar echoing across the land.

It was the cry unleashed by the Nightcrawler after absorbing Scott McGreen’s necromantic magic, a sound that had carried for miles.

“Are you all cowards too? Do you want me to report you to the Cell Sword Guild for insubordination?”

“Ahaha.”

“That would be troublesome.”

“Then go prepare for the crossing. There should be boats nearby—find them.”

The mercenaries, who were superstitious and easily spooked, had no real will to resist. They obeyed Guillaumevalt’s reckless command and started making preparations to cross.

“We’ve confirmed the location of some boats. We can requisition them from the fishermen.”

Just as Guillaumevalt spoke, something unexpected happened.

“Huh?”

As his men pushed through the reeds, they stumbled upon a camp—one occupied by another group of adventurers.

And among them…

“Sir Brand?!”

“Lord Guillaumevalt?!”

There stood Brand, clad in bloodstained armor.

“Sir Brand?! What happened? We heard you had disappeared without a trace—what is going on?”

A masked man standing beside Brand spoke up.

“Who is this?”

Brand turned toward him and answered.

“He is the heir of Count Lantarique. I once taught him how to read and write.”

“I am Guillaumevalt, son of Count Lantarique, Baron of Adirov, and heir to House Garnahaer.”

“Ah….”

Instead of the masked man, a Holy Knight standing nearby stepped forward.

“I am Zebec, Holy Knight of the King’s Church.”

“But wait…”

Suddenly, the mercenaries of the Cell Sword Guild grew tense.

“An orc!”

They had just realized that among the strangers stood an orc.

“Oh, this one is our prisoner.”

The masked man calmly explained.

Guillaumevalt, however, was more focused on something else.

“Wait a moment. Did you cross the Kora River?”

“Huh?”

“Did you come from Salasma? What happened to Count Lantarique’s forces? There are troubling rumors. If you have detailed information, I will reward you handsomely.”

“Well… about that…”

Things had just gotten complicated.

“We were too absorbed in training and setting up camp.”

Azadine regretted how carelessly they had been caught off guard by unexpected visitors.

Should they have set up proper watch patrols?

But then again, their uninvited guests included Count Lantarique’s son. If they had stationed sentries and appeared too defensive, it could have raised suspicions.

Had they claimed they were just passing through? Then they’d have to explain why they were camping so close to the river.

At that moment, Brand stepped forward.

“Count Lantarique’s forces were attacked by monsters. His army was scattered, and the Count himself is missing.”

From Brand’s perspective, Count Lantarique was a mortal enemy, someone he could never forgive. Naturally, he had no fondness for Guillaumevalt either.

Yet, he still maintained the decorum of a former retainer speaking to his lord’s heir.

“What?”

“We saw it from a distance. A massive horde of undead overwhelmed the army. We were too busy running for our lives to get a clear picture, but by morning, we noticed that no movement was coming from the far side of the river. It wasn’t hard to guess that something had gone terribly wrong.”

“I see. Understood. Then, may I interrogate that orc? If monsters attacked the Count’s army, this creature might have information.”

Guillaumevalt requested custody of Scott McGreen, the orc necromancer.

Azadine shook his head.

“Ah, well, you see… He’s not exactly in a sound state of mind.”

“Not in his right mind?”

“Yes. He keeps ranting about the Age of Jupiter coming and all that nonsense.”

Azadine casually plucked a reed and flicked it with his fingers. The sharp tip of the reed struck Scott’s face.

“The end is near! When Jupiter’s pull reaches Hubris, the ancient kings of the Nether World shall return!”

“He must have lost his mind after practicing dark magic.”

“…Then why keep him as a prisoner? Why not just kill him on the spot? Orcs eat too much.”

As Guillaumevalt drew his sword, Scott flinched, sensing genuine killing intent.

“Is this idiot too focused on acting? You’re about to die, you know?”

Azadine stepped forward to block Scott and spoke.

“I know a shaman skilled in mind-reading. We plan to extract his knowledge through them.”

“Where does this shaman live? Who are they?”

“Well, you know how shamans can be… tricky.”

Azadine evaded the question, causing Guillaumevalt to eye him suspiciously.

“And why are you wearing a mask?”

“Oh, I have scars on my face.”

“Hmm? Just in case, would you mind taking it off?”

Guillaumevalt’s suspicion grew, and Azadine found himself in a difficult position.

“I ask for your understanding. My father has gone missing, and monsters have been seen nearby… I need your cooperation.”

Though Guillaumevalt’s words were polite, his actions were not.

At his side, the Cell Sword mercenaries exchanged glances before drawing their weapons in unison.

“Hmm?”

Were they about to attack?

Azadine prepared to defend himself but quickly sensed something was off.

The killing intent was misdirected.

Sure enough, one of the mercenaries suddenly struck Guillaumevalt on the back of the head.

However, Brand, anticipating the move, intercepted the attack with his spear.

“Watch out!”

“Guh?!”

Guillaumevalt recoiled in shock, watching as his own men turned against him.

“Traitors! You traitors!”

The mercenaries remained silent, drawing their weapons to encircle him.

“You lot are free to go.”

“We only want Guillaumevalt.”

They smirked, acting as though they were doing Azadine and his group a favor.

“Y-You bastards! Why?! I paid you properly!”

Guillaumevalt glared at the mercenaries in disbelief.

“Because the true heir of Count Lantarique is Lord Adler.”

Brand, observing the situation, calmly explained.

“Adler?!”

“Yes. Lord Adler shares the Count’s… darkness. Whereas you, Sir Guillaumevalt, are ignorant. You only know the surface of the Count’s affairs.”

“What nonsense! Adler is just my youngest brother! He only visited Father’s study often!”

Hearing this, the mercenaries chuckled.

“As expected of a former scribe, you catch on quickly.”

“So, what now? Are you going to run?”

“You’re outnumbered.”

There were over twenty armed mercenaries, all well-equipped.

Azadine’s group, on the other hand, appeared weaker.

Zebec, clad in heavy armor, looked formidable, but Azadine wore only light armor. Mediam and Ismail were just kids. Shati and Scott were in robes instead of armor, and Brand’s battered armor looked laughable.

The seasoned mercenaries were confident of their victory.

“Leave. This isn’t your concern. Even if you save Guillaumevalt, no one will thank you. Lantarique already belongs to Lord Adler.”

“And if we leave, you’ll frame us for his murder, won’t you?”

Azadine smirked.

The mercenaries laughed.

“You’re not a fool, huh? But wouldn’t it be better to run than die here?”

Azadine sighed.

“Why do I keep getting dragged into other people’s family feuds? Brand, you know this land better than I do. It’s your call. Do we save Guillaumevalt, or do we leave?”

As an outsider, Azadine lacked knowledge of Lantarique’s political landscape, so he left the decision to Brand.

“We save Lord Guillaumevalt.”

“In that case…”

Azadine nodded.

The mercenaries laughed.

“Hah! These idiots have a death wish!”

“They think one Holy Knight makes them strong?”

“This swampy riverbank isn’t suited for mounted combat. Here, experience decides the battle.”

“That much, I agree with.”

Azadine suddenly dashed into the reeds.

Mediam and Ismail followed, disappearing almost instantly.

“What the…?”

— Swish!

An arrow shot toward the mercenaries.

But strangely, it came from an unexpected angle—sideways from where Azadine had disappeared.

He had curved the arrow’s trajectory, making it seem like it came from another position.

— Thud!

A mercenary collapsed, an arrow lodged in his chest.

“Guh?!”

“What?! He went that way!”

“It’s an ambush!”

The mercenaries panicked.

They couldn’t believe that Azadine, who had just vanished into the reeds, had already taken a shot.

Then, more arrows rained down from multiple directions—far too many for just three archers.

“Argh!”

“D-Damn it! It was a trap!”

The mercenaries miscalculated.

They assumed that Azadine’s team was outnumbered, but now it seemed like they had been walking into a prepared ambush all along.

They mistakenly believed that a larger force of archers had been waiting for them.