NOVPUBHarold’s repeated failures had finally pushed the Duke’s family to take action against him.
This pressure had caused Harold to act prematurely, more hastily than anyone had expected. Then again, Harold’s pride must have made the Duke’s family’s decision intolerable.
Satisfied that he’d unraveled part of the mystery, Ghislain decided to dig further, just in case there was more to learn.
“Is that all? Nothing else? Who were they planning to send?”
“Shut your mouth! This land belongs to the Count of Desmond! You’ve made a grave mistake! Do you think you can stop the Duke’s family just because you’ve joined the royalists? You’re finished, you damned mongrel!”
Ghislain frowned slightly. It seemed the steward had nothing more to reveal.
“You’ve got quite the filthy mouth.”
“Your father is that beggar Zwalter of Ferdium, and your mother is a disgraced noblewoman with no pedigree! Do you think earning a countship and winning a war changes your lineage? A garbage family like yours dares to trample on Desmond?”
Arrogance oozed from every word. The steward still held nothing but contempt for Ferdium and Fenris.
Zwalter bristled, stepping forward angrily, but Ghislain was faster. He reached for the hand axe at his waist and swung without hesitation.
Thwack!
The steward collapsed mid-sentence, his skull shattered. Blood pooled beneath his body as Ghislain looked down at him coldly.
“Insulting someone’s parents to their face? That’s a bit much.”
The sudden attack left the onlooking residents of Desmond in stunned silence.
What kind of lord carried a hand axe and killed someone in broad daylight? As harsh as the steward’s words had been, the act was terrifying nonetheless.
Ghislain noticed the growing unease among the townsfolk.
“Ah, I shouldn’t let misunderstandings fester from the start.”
He sheathed the axe and flashed a cheerful smile.
“Don’t worry. I’m not such a bad person, really.”
The townsfolk began trembling even more. Usually, when someone said things like that, they were the worst kind of monster.
It felt like an unstoppable force had seized their land.
In stark contrast to the terrified residents, the soldiers of Fenris were beaming with pride.
They had faced and defeated Desmond, long considered the strongest force in the North. While they had received help from the royal army and Ferdium troops, there was no denying that Fenris had been the main force behind the victory.
Climbing back onto his black steed, Ghislain surveyed the sea of soldiers surrounding him.
Because of Amelia’s maneuvers, he had been forced to delegate cleanup operations and move quickly. Despite their victory, the chaos of transition left little time for reflection.
Victory in war wasn’t just about defeating the enemy; the victor had to declare it.
Now, it was time to proclaim that victory.
Ghislain smiled faintly, raised a hand, and shouted.
“Through your dedication and strength, we have triumphed over Desmond!”
Every soldier in Fenris straightened their backs, their chests swelling with pride. The three spies who had defected from Desmond stood the tallest of them all.
“We have not only won a battle but claimed this powerful land! We have shown this kingdom how strong we are and proved that no enemy can resist our might!”
Ghislain’s voice grew louder, brimming with determination.
“From this day forward, this place will stand as a symbol of our strength and resolve. To all of you who fought tirelessly and made sacrifices to secure this victory, I, as your lord, offer my deepest gratitude. Now...”
He paused briefly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered knights and soldiers of Fenris. Then, in a calm yet commanding voice, he declared:
“Fenris is the strongest in the North.”
“Waaaaahhhh!”
The soldiers erupted into cheers, their voices ringing out like thunder. Pride and confidence radiated from their faces as they exchanged glances.
The three spies from Desmond hugged each other, tears streaming down their faces.
Every soldier basked in the glow of victory, their eyes filled with admiration and respect for their lord.
Leaving the jubilant soldiers behind, Ghislain and the key figures who had participated in the war moved into the castle.
The real work of post-war administration was about to begin. 𝒏𝙤𝙫𝒑𝙪𝙗.𝙘𝒐𝙢
Zwalter’s eyes glistened with emotion as he looked at Ghislain.
“You... you really did it. It all happened just as you said...”
“It’s thanks to your help, Father. You couldn’t have timed things better.”
“No, no. None of this would have been possible without everything you’ve done.”
Tears welled up in Zwalter’s eyes. If they hadn’t been in public, he would have embraced his son right there.
The Count of Desmond had ruled as one of the North’s most powerful lords for decades, and Harold had been no weakling. Under his leadership, Desmond had reached its peak.
In the past, the name Ferdium would have been enough to strike fear into anyone, though not for its strength.
Yet now, Ferdium’s heir had claimed Desmond’s lands and risen to become a grand lord of the North.
“My dear wife... why did you have to leave us so soon...?”
Zwalter’s thoughts turned to his late wife. How proud she would have been to see their son standing tall like this.
Thanks to Ghislain, the once-impoverished Ferdium was undergoing a remarkable revival. Never in the family’s history had they seen such success.
While Zwalter was overcome with joy, Viscount Clifton, commander of the royal army’s Third Legion, and Viscount Idrian of the Investment Noble Alliance wore complicated expressions.
Clifton, in particular, was deeply troubled.
“I only wanted to ensure his survival... but to think he would turn out to be someone of this caliber.”
As a member of the royalist faction, Clifton had been aware of the general perception of Ghislain.
The Marquis of Branford had described him as a lucky upstart with a few tricks.
But the Ghislain Clifton had witnessed in this war was no mere upstart.
“He’s a monster. Few could stand against him. This man truly is the North’s greatest sword.”
Even as they fought Desmond’s forces, Clifton had kept a close eye on Fenris’s army, prepared to ensure Ghislain’s survival if necessary.
But such precautions had been arrogant.
Ghislain’s strength and tactical prowess were beyond anything Clifton could hope to match.
“And cavalry archers, along with a sixth-circle mage... even as allies, we knew so little about Fenris.”
Ghislain was growing into a formidable force, yet the high-ranking nobles of the royalist faction continued to underestimate him.
As Ghislain’s influence grew, more nobles began criticizing Marquis Branford, who had been supporting him from the shadows. Even Viscount Clifton, who had long dismissed Ghislain, had to confront his misjudgment.
Though Ghislain had risen to the rank of Count, Clifton had always regarded him as a lucky upstart—a mere boy who’d stumbled into his position.
But now, Clifton’s perception had shifted completely. The more he observed Ghislain, the more terrifying the man appeared.
Breaking into a cold sweat, Clifton inclined his head slightly toward Ghislain.
“Congratulations on your victory, Commander of the Northern Army.”
Ghislain, though nominally, held the title of Commander of the Northern Army. While his authority differed from the royal army’s chain of command, he still outranked legion commanders during wartime.
By lowering his head, Clifton was openly acknowledging Ghislain as his superior.
Ghislain offered a polite smile in return.
“We couldn’t have achieved victory without your support, Commander. I will not forget the assistance of the royal family and the royalists. Rest assured, I will repay your efforts. I’ll also ensure the family of the Second Legion Commander is properly compensated.”
“Thank you. That will allow my friend to rest in peace.”
Viscount Doren, the fallen Second Legion Commander, had been a close friend of Clifton’s. Though Clifton was moved by Ghislain’s words, a lingering heaviness remained in his heart.
“Can we truly control this man?”
With the combined strength of Marquis Branford and the royalists, they might be able to keep him in check—that was the original plan, after all.
But Clifton couldn’t shake his unease. Seeing Ghislain in action had left an indelible impression. The sheer ferocity and ruthlessness he displayed on the battlefield weren’t something that could be easily contained.
A man like Ghislain wasn’t the type to serve under anyone. The more they tried to rein him in, the harder he would fight back.
“No, this isn’t for me to decide.”
As a soldier, Clifton’s loyalty was to the royal family. His duty was to wield his blade in service of his master’s will, not to make judgments of his own.
With his formal congratulations complete, Clifton stepped back, and Viscount Idrian approached next.
“Ahem. My apologies for the delay in introducing myself. I am Viscount Idrian, representing the Capital Nobles’ Alliance—and, well, the investors as well.”
“Thank you. I deeply appreciate the contributions of the investors.”
“Of course, of course. But you see, we suffered a bit of a loss... since we only brought our private troops and, well, many of them didn’t make it back...”
The nobles from the Capital Nobles’ Alliance were notoriously sensitive about money. While they had contributed private troops to the campaign, losing those men was still a financial hit in their eyes.
Understanding their perspective, Ghislain nodded and offered a gracious reply.
“When you return, I’ll ensure you’re provided with ample supplies of food.”
Viscount Idrian’s face lit up with a smile. Although the drought was easing, food prices were still exorbitantly high. Knowing that Ghislain was serious about his promises made the gesture all the more welcome.
“Ha ha ha! My thanks, Count Ghislain. I look forward to working with you in the future.”
“Of course. We are partners, after all.”
Having invested heavily in Ghislain, Idrian saw no reason to withdraw his support. With Marquis Branford backing him and now holding Desmond’s territory, who could possibly challenge Fenris?
Idrian felt increasingly confident that his continued investments in Ghislain would pay off.
Thus, the atmosphere between the assembled nobles and Ghislain became a mix of tense formality and amiable relief.
After discussing the initial steps for post-war management, the group disbanded to attend to their respective duties. There were casualties to account for, and the army required reorganization. Everyone would remain busy for the next few days.
Finally finding a moment of respite, Ghislain was approached by Belinda.
He greeted her with gratitude.
“Thank you. Because of you, we were able to delay Amelia’s advance. If she had arrived first, it would have been a real headache. Once she plants herself somewhere, she’s nearly impossible to dislodge.”
“I’m just glad everything went smoothly, thanks to your foresight. Though I do wonder—are you ever going to tell me how you predicted her moves so perfectly?”
“Let’s just say I know Amelia well.”
“Oh? From all those times you chased her around because you were smitten with her?”
“...That’s not why. Or is it?”
Ghislain paused, reflecting on his past life. He had indeed pursued Amelia relentlessly—though his goal had always been to kill her.
Belinda laughed for a long moment before continuing.
“The dwarves complained endlessly about being dragged into this, you know.”
Galbarik and the dwarves had been conscripted right after completing their bows, forced to build traps for the campaign.
It had been Belinda’s job to manage them, often persuading them with her fists. Without her efforts, the victory would have been far less decisive.
Though Ghislain had asked Belinda to delay Amelia, he had left the execution entirely in her capable hands.
“As expected, she never reveals all her secrets,” Ghislain mused. Seeing no point in pressing further, he chuckled.
“Well, everything turned out well. Now, let’s prepare for what’s next.”
“Yes. We need to consolidate and integrate this new territory as quickly as possible. I imagine the steward will put up a fight—especially since we’ve killed most of Desmond’s vassals.”
“There was no other choice. Most of them were agents of the Duke’s family.”
Unlike Count Cabaldi’s territory, where corruption was rampant but contained, Desmond’s vassals had been direct operatives of the Duke’s faction.
Eliminating them completely was a necessity. Even the lower-ranking officials couldn’t be trusted without thorough vetting.
“Looks like the Fenris administrators will be working themselves to exhaustion again,” Ghislain remarked.
“We’re short-handed, that’s for sure. I doubt Piote can manage everything on his own. At least the academy has been training more administrators.”
“And Bishop Forisco sent us ten priests this time. That’ll help.”
“Yes, make sure they’re treated well. While they’re here, we should build small shrines across the territory to ensure they can stay long-term.”
“Brilliant! That’s why you’re the best, young master!”
The territory had grown so much that there were plenty of places to send the priests. Ghislain intended to keep them dispersed, knowing Piote would be uncomfortable if they all gathered in one place.
Without even needing to discuss it, Ghislain and Belinda found themselves in perfect agreement—a frequent occurrence when it came to such matters.
“To speed things up, we’ll need to relocate Claude’s base of operations here. Though I can already hear him whining about it.”
Desmond was a vast and resource-rich region, unlike any other in the North. Making it the center of their operations was the obvious choice, but it would require Claude’s presence.
Meanwhile, far from the battlefield, Claude was biting his nails nervously, oblivious to the war’s outcome and dreading the worst.
“What should I do? Should I run away now? But how would I even manage on my own?”
Claude’s thoughts spun in a spiral of panic. No matter how he looked at it, victory seemed impossible. Ghislain was a remarkable leader, but Count Desmond was no less competent. And the sheer disparity in troop numbers was overwhelming.
The logical choice was to seize an opportunity to escape.
“But I want to run away now!”
Claude had lived his life by one principle: stay out of danger. The idea of traveling alone back to his hometown filled him with dread.
To make matters worse, the bodyguards who usually watched over him weren’t with him anymore.
“Damn it! I should’ve kept Wendy here!”
The only people left to guard him now were a handful of soldiers and raw recruits who had stayed behind at the estate. Compared to Wendy, they were laughable in their lack of reliability.
When Wendy had been around, Claude had often wished she’d leave him alone. Her constant nagging and watchful eyes felt oppressive. But now that she was gone, he realized how much her presence had reassured him.
He felt a deep sense of unease—and fear. Claude was, after all, a coward at heart.
“Ugh... If they come here, they’ll kill me first!”
He had earned the moniker “The Bribery King of the North” alongside Ghislain, aggravating their enemies to no end. Count Desmond would never let someone like him live.
If Wendy had been here, they could have fled the moment the defeat was announced. With her around, Claude might have even felt brave enough to attempt it.
Foreseeing such a possibility, Claude had begged Belinda not to take Wendy away.
“I can’t live without Wendy! Please, don’t take her!”
“Oh my, what’s this? Have the two of you become a couple after all that time together?”
“That’s not it! I mean it literally—I’ll die without her!”
Despite his desperate pleas, Belinda had merely scoffed and taken Wendy with her.
Now, Claude could only stew in his anxiety, his worries gnawing at him.
Finally, the news he had been waiting for arrived.
“The lord has won! A decisive victory!”
A messenger ran through the estate, shouting the news at the top of his lungs. His face was bright with joy as he tirelessly spread the word to everyone in the territory.
“Hooray!”
The castle retainers, servants, and townsfolk all erupted in cheers, their voices echoing throughout the estate.
No one celebrated more exuberantly than Claude.
“I’m alive! I’m aliiiiive!”
As he was basking in his relief and shouting in jubilation, another messenger came rushing toward him, looking flustered.
“Lord Steward!”
“What now?”
“The lord requests your immediate presence!”
“Already? Why? He just took over the place!”
“There’s too much work to be done.”
“...How much?”
“It’s piled up like a mountain, sir.”
Claude, who had just moments ago been overjoyed by his survival, now slumped his shoulders in despair.
For a fleeting moment, he thought he might prefer death.
