NOVPUBCount Cabaldi doubted his ears for a moment.
He had just decided to negotiate a food deal with that very man, and yet—now he was being attacked by him?
Unable to believe it, he asked again.
"Baron Fenris? Why would he do that?"
"...I'm not sure, my lord."
"Why! How dare he! That wretched nobody dared bring an army to my lands?"
Surprise quickly gave way to uncontrollable rage.
He was one of the northern region's rising powers, soon to take his place as a great lord. He operated a formidable armed force, thanks to a steady supply of iron and advanced forging skills. And backing him was Duke Delphine, the most powerful man in the kingdom.
Yet here was some rat from the fringes—Ghislain, barely more than a petty baron, and not even of noble rank—marching an army straight into his territory!
"What were our defenses doing? How did the enemy arrive here without any warning at all?"
Count Cabaldi couldn't contain his fury, roaring out in rage.
Nobody had thought anyone would dare to attack Cabaldi. Most of his fortress guards had been replaced by a skeleton crew of watchmen. If an enemy had prepared a proper surprise assault, the fort would have fallen easily. The retainers knew this all too well, but none dared voice the truth aloud.
"I need to see that arrogant whelp’s face for myself!" Count Cabaldi shouted, marching outside.
As he left, his retainers scrambled to keep up.
"Perhaps this isn’t all bad, my lord. If Baron Fenris has come looking for a fight, this gives us a clear justification."
"Exactly, we won’t even have to worry about supplies. If we march out now, we can crush him swiftly."
"It’s as if fate itself has smiled upon us. Neither the Prince’s faction nor the Duke’s could blame us now."
Count Cabaldi nodded along to the retainer’s words.
"I don’t know why he came, but we’ll crush him immediately and take over Fenris’s lands in one fell swoop. What’s the current strength of our forces?"
"We have forty-two knights and, if we mobilize all available troops, we can gather 1,800 soldiers. If we call up conscripts, we could raise over 3,000, but that would take too long; it’ll have to be our main forces."
"That should be enough."
"Indeed. Fenris is a poor barony, and a small one at that. At most, he could field 500 troops."
Listening to the conversation, a knight tried to interject, but by then he’d been entirely forgotten in the crowd's excitement.
Count Cabaldi strode forward with satisfaction, his anger easing as he imagined sweeping away Ghislain’s forces with overwhelming numbers and securing a new supply of food.
"We might end up securing food easier than expected."
Even if he hadn’t come for war, Cabaldi wouldn’t pass up such a golden opportunity.
But as he approached the gate, his steps faltered, and his face turned ashen at the sight that awaited him outside.
"M-More troops than I thought... What on earth?"
He stared out, aghast at the sheer number of soldiers. It looked like an army of at least 3,000 soldiers set up right outside his fortress.
This wasn’t an unfamiliar force. The flags across the field unmistakably bore Fenris’s insignia.
Where he had expected his forces to dominate, he now found his own side utterly outmatched.
"What is this? How does that brat have so many troops?"
"...."
The retainers, too stunned to speak, simply stared in silence.
A force of this size was unthinkable for a mere barony.
"He took in all those refugees, didn’t he? Couldn’t he have raised a bunch of conscripts?"
"Look closely! Most of them are infantry! They must be conscripts, poorly trained at best."
"But those cavalry over there... there must be at least 300 of them. Isn’t that a bit worrisome?"
With no real information, they could only make guesses based on what they could see.
Count Cabaldi bit his nails, trying to make sense of it all.
"What’s going on here? The Duke’s faction explicitly advised us to keep a low profile. If this is something engineered by the Prince’s faction, they would have warned us. Could there have been some secret negotiation?"
There had been no official declaration of war, nor any formal dispute with Ferdiem. He couldn’t fathom why he was suddenly under attack.
"Could the Prince’s faction be backing that whelp?"
He hadn’t yet learned that Ghislain had traded food to buy soldiers from other territories. Ghislain had ensured that everything had been prepared quickly, moving before rumors could spread.
The difference in preparation between a carefully planned campaign and an unprepared one was stark.
While Count Cabaldi wrestled with his confusion and the nervous sweat beading on his brow, two figures on horseback approached from the enemy’s side—Ghislain and Gillian.
They stopped at a distance from the fortress walls, and after a brief moment, Ghislain called out loudly in the direction of the count.
"Hey! Count Desmond’s lackey!"
Ghislain’s voice, infused with mana, reached clearly to the people atop the fortress wall.
Hearing the taunt, Count Cabaldi’s face flushed with fury.
"That—that wretch! How dare he?"
It wasn’t just the vulgarity; the content of the insult itself was infuriating.
Count Desmond, technically his peer, often treated him like a subordinate. Though Desmond couched his demands in polite terms, Cabaldi knew all too well the underlying condescension.
And now, look. As soon as things got tough, Desmond had cut off food supplies, after reaping all the iron he could.
Ghislain’s words only inflamed the resentment and inferiority complex already festering within him.
Too enraged to even wonder how that brat knew of his ties with Desmond, he lost himself in his anger.
"Open the gates! I’ll lead the army myself and take that bastard’s head!"
The retainers beside him frantically urged him to stop.
"My lord, we cannot engage them head-on! Their forces are too numerous! Let’s at least hear them out; perhaps there’s been a misunderstanding."
"Ugh, fine!"
Count Cabaldi bit his lip. His retainers were right. Even if they were to fight, he needed to understand the enemy's motives to justify his actions to the Ducal faction.
Grinding his teeth, Cabaldi spat out an answer, which the knight next to him repeated in a loud voice for the enemy’s benefit.
"Baron Fenris! Why have you come here with an army? Storming another noble’s territory without warning—have you abandoned all sense of honor? If you’re so set on war, return home, draft a proper declaration, and come back when you have legitimate grounds for battle!"
In short, he was stalling for time, hoping to buy time to prepare.
"If you attack our lands without cause, the Ducal faction will not stand idly by! Leave now if you wish to avoid ruin!"
He invoked the Duke’s name, hoping to intimidate.
Hearing the knight’s shouts, Ghislain simply smirked.
"A formal declaration? Well, I can do that."
Ghislain extended his hand, and Gillian handed him a bow and arrow with a message attached.
Even though he’d launched a surprise attack, Ghislain needed a pretext to ensure that neither the Prince’s nor the Duke’s faction would interfere too openly.
Ghislain drew back the bowstring.
Count Cabaldi’s guards had already reacted by raising their shields to form a protective ring around him.
But in a sudden motion, Ghislain shifted his aim and released the arrow toward the knight who had delivered Cabaldi’s message.
Thud!
"Ugh!"
Caught off guard, the knight’s chest was pierced, and he fell to his knees, coughing up blood.
The arrow embedded itself halfway, just as Ghislain had intended, carefully adjusting his strength.
Few people could grasp just how precise this attack had been.
Satisfied as he saw people rushing toward the wounded knight, Ghislain tossed the bow aside and grinned.
"Consider this my declaration of war."
The nobles aligned with the Crown’s faction gathered daily in the capital, wrestling with how to manage the crisis.
Except for the houses of Marquess Branford and Count Aylesbur, most had been unable to amass enough food supplies. Even what little they had stored was depleting rapidly, leaving them in a state of constant worry.
"How are we supposed to deal with this?"
"People are starving to death!"
"Climate change is real!"
The room was loud with complaints, yet no one had a concrete solution. The drought had devastated the entire kingdom.
"Enough! What’s done is done!"
The bickering halted as Marquess Branford’s voice cut through the noise, and all eyes turned toward him. Everyone was acutely aware of the rumors surrounding the Marquess’s well-stocked reserves, and they wanted to stay on his good side in hopes of receiving some of those resources.
Count Aylesbur, who had listened to Ghislain’s warning early on and stockpiled food, had a comparatively relaxed demeanor. Internally, he let out a sigh of relief.
"Phew, if it weren’t for my wife, we’d have been in serious trouble. From now on, I should just follow whatever she suggests."
His wife, Meriel, had insisted on buying a massive amount of food, despite his initial resistance. Thanks to her foresight, the Aylesbur family had risen in prominence, second only to Marquess Branford among the Crown’s faction.
Marquess Branford surveyed the room, now quiet, and spoke deliberately.
"This is indeed unfortunate, but perhaps this crisis works in our favor."
The kingdom’s supreme military commander, Marquess Maurice Macquarie, frowned.
"How could this be favorable? Everyone’s starving, and the situation is dire."
"Because the nobles aligned with the Duke’s faction are also starving."
"...?"
"Think about it. Why have we been cautious of the Duke’s faction all this time? It’s because we feared they would trigger a civil war. But in these circumstances, even they cannot initiate one. They’re just as tied up with managing the crisis as we are."
"Hmm..."
"If we hadn’t stockpiled food, the Duke’s faction would undoubtedly have seized the opportunity and acted. Wouldn’t you agree?"
The nobles couldn’t argue against Branford’s logic.
Had the Crown’s side run out of food, the Duke’s faction would indeed have seized the chance to incite a conflict. But with both Marquess Branford and Count Aylesbur holding substantial reserves, the Duke’s faction couldn’t afford to make any sudden moves. They were in a defensive position, focused on damage control rather than aggression.
This was precisely Ghislain’s plan: to curb the Duke’s ambitions, unlike in his previous life.
In their defensive position, the Crown’s faction actually benefited from the current stalemate. All they wanted was to maintain a state of peace, not an all-out confrontation.
As the nobles began to understand, Marquess Branford continued.
"Of course, this situation won’t last forever. Whichever side resolves the crisis first will gain the upper hand. The Duke’s faction will do everything it can to recover and then resume pressing us."
The nobles’ eyes gleamed with renewed hope.
If Branford was implying that the first to recover would be in a stronger position, then perhaps he intended to assist the Crown’s faction in speeding up their recovery. And Marquess Branford did not disappoint their expectations.
"In addition to the royal reserves, Count Aylesbur and I will also release some of our own stockpiled food. It won’t be much, but it should be enough to hold out."
"Oh!"
"Thank you so much!"
"I knew Marquess Branford and Count Aylesbur would take decisive action."
Relief spread across the room.
Food was the kingdom’s most crucial resource for maintaining an army. However, none of the nobles intended to share the rations with the common people. They cared only about preserving their own power.
Seeing the relief on their faces, Marquess Branford remarked with a hint of disappointment, "You should have heeded Baron Fenris’s advice and prepared earlier."
"Urgh..."
No one had a response to that.
Who would have believed him? The fact that Marquess Branford and Meriel did seemed odd to them even now.
The nobles voiced the one question they still couldn’t understand.
"But how did Baron Fenris know about the drought?"
"I’ve heard rumors that he reads the stars."
"Surely he doesn’t possess such powers. It must’ve been a lucky guess."
The most indignant of the group was, of course, Marquess Maurice Macquarie.
Superstitious by nature, he had immediately assumed that Ghislain was using some kind of dark magic to predict the weather.
"Hrmph! That man must be a sorcerer, or he’s keeping a witch by his side! We ought to bring him in and weigh him against a duck! If he’s mastered dark magic, he’ll weigh as much as a duck!"
"...."
The nobles were silent, seemingly realizing that Macquarie himself was a bit reminiscent of a dark mage.
Marquess Branford shook his head, knowing that reasoning with Macquarie was a lost cause. The only reason the man still held his position was because of his noble lineage and a decent reputation in military tactics.
Still, there was one point on which Branford could agree with him: Ghislain’s knowledge was suspicious. It was hard to believe he’d simply guessed the drought based on a hot summer.
"Well, we can investigate that further over time. For now, thanks to him and Rosalyn, we’ve averted the worst," Branford thought.
The two had helped stave off disaster, and Branford looked around at the weary nobles with satisfaction.
"Hmm... perhaps I should consider bringing that young man into our family," he mused. "He might be a good match for Rosalyn."
If Ghislain had heard this, he would have been horrified. But not even Rosalyn could read her father’s thoughts this time.
Pushing aside his thoughts, Branford refocused on the nobles and issued a stern warning.
"I’ll say this just to be safe, but please avoid confrontations with the Duke’s faction for now. Even if your pride is hurt, it would be best to let it go."
The nobles understood his meaning and nodded.
"If conflict breaks out now, it’s nothing less than mutual destruction."
"We’ll ensure the message reaches everyone."
"Who here would be foolish enough to provoke them in this situation? That would be a death wish."
"Indeed, we don’t have anyone that reckless on our side. Hahaha!"
They shared a lighthearted laugh.
These nobles wanted nothing more than to survive this crisis quietly. They even dared to hope that, once this storm passed, they might be able to stand toe-to-toe with the Duke’s faction.
However, the hopeful atmosphere was shattered as a knight burst into the hall, breathless.
Marquess Branford frowned, about to reprimand him, but the knight spoke first.
"Baron Fenris has declared war!"
The desperate tone of the knight’s report wiped the smiles off every noble’s face in the room.
