NOVPUBThe Drake Mercenary Corps was the largest mercenary group in the West.
It boasted over 500 skilled mercenaries and had dozens of smaller groups operating under its banner. Altogether, the total manpower reached nearly 3,000, making it the largest mercenary organization in the entire kingdom.
While the North was home to mostly lackluster mercenaries, and the East had a few decent groups, none could compare to the West.
With its bustling trade routes and wealthy nobles, the West offered more jobs and circulated more money than any other region. It was a mercenary’s paradise.
At the center of this operation was Martin, a scion of the House of Marquis Rodrik. He wielded the Drake Mercenary Corps as his personal tool, using them not just for legitimate mercenary work but also for countless underhanded and illegal activities.
Their reputation was as infamous as it was renowned.
Dominic, the leader of the Drake Mercenary Corps, sat at a table, his expression perpetually sour as he gulped down another glass of alcohol. His sharp features and faintly murderous eyes made him appear even more menacing than usual.
He had built the Drake Mercenary Corps into what it was today, yet all he wanted was to throw it all away and run.
“That bastard...” Dominic muttered under his breath.
The bastard in question was Martin.
Dominic had been forced to carry out Martin’s dirty work countless times. From interfering in business disputes to kidnapping and even killing innocent civilians, he had been compelled to commit atrocities that made his stomach turn.
He had no choice. Martin held his family hostage, using fabricated charges to keep them under his thumb. Dominic’s hatred for the man knew no bounds.
“Following the orders of my enemy... how humiliating.”
Martin had already executed one of Dominic’s family members as a warning. He was a man Dominic could never forgive. Yet, with his remaining family’s lives at stake, Dominic was powerless to rebel.
It wasn’t just Dominic’s family either. Martin had taken hostages from other key officers in the mercenary group as well, ensuring their obedience through fear.
“There’s no way out of this,” Dominic sighed.
Every attempt to reach out to another noble for help had ended in failure. Martin was ruthless, killing hostages at the slightest hint of disobedience. Several of Dominic’s officers had already lost family members, leaving them paralyzed with fear.
The Drake Mercenary Corps was effectively shackled, bound to carry out Martin’s every whim.
Dominic downed another drink, muttering bitterly, “What a rotten world... that devil’s got power and influence to spare.”
Martin’s father, Marquis Rodrik, was the supreme commander of the Western Army and the most powerful noble in the West. No matter how formidable the Drake Mercenary Corps might be, it was no match for the Marquis.
Dominic knew he was trapped. His only solace came from drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
As he reached for another drink, a subordinate entered the room and hesitantly reported, “Commander, we’ve received a new order.”
“Who do they want dead this time?” Dominic asked grimly.
“...We’re to disguise ourselves as bandits and raid the Campbell Trading Company.”
“Crazy bastard.”
The Campbell Trading Company was one of the most successful businesses in the West and a direct competitor to Martin’s enterprises. It was rumored to have noble backing.
Attacking it outright was suicide, yet Martin expected them to carry out such reckless orders.
Dominic let out a heavy sigh and set his glass down. “At this rate, we’ll be the ones who die first.”
Martin’s demands had grown increasingly dangerous and unreasonable. Even the strongest mercenary corps had their limits. If they made a mistake, they’d find themselves crushed by the combined forces of enraged nobles.
And if they fell, Marquis Rodrik and Martin wouldn’t lift a finger to save them. Worse, they’d likely be used as pawns in the Marquis’ schemes, forced into a final battle to the death with one of his political enemies.
“Should’ve gone to the North while I had the chance,” Dominic muttered regretfully.
Rumors of the North’s prosperity had reached even him. Under Count Ghislain’s leadership, the region had undergone a remarkable transformation, with thriving industries and plenty of work for mercenaries.
Had he moved North earlier, he wouldn’t be trapped like this, a dog on a leash.
“If I’d been in the North, I might’ve even met the famous Count of Fenris.”
“You might... during a war,” his subordinate interjected dryly.
Dominic chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, probably.”
Marquis Rodrik was aligned with the Duke’s faction, while Count Ghislain was a staunch opponent of the Duke. If war broke out, they would undoubtedly find themselves on opposite sides.
“Still... I’d like to meet him once before I die. To start with mercenaries and achieve what he has... it’s inspiring. Makes my heart race just hearing about it.”
Dominic admired Ghislain deeply. For a mercenary like himself, the Count’s achievements were the stuff of legend. Compared to the degrading servitude he endured under Martin, Ghislain seemed like a beacon of hope.
But his subordinate, ever the realist, crushed his dreams. “If you tried, Martin wouldn’t sit still. He’d kill the hostages one by one.”
“Right. I can’t even meet people anymore.”
Dominic let out a hollow laugh. His life felt like it was already over. He would die as Martin’s pawn, his name blackened by the atrocities he’d been forced to commit.
Just then, the sound of commotion erupted outside.
“Attack! We’re under attack!”
“Who are these bastards? They’re fast!”
“They’re heading for the commander’s quarters! Stop them!”
Dominic frowned and turned toward the door, irritation flashing across his face.
Bang!
The door was kicked open, and a group of intruders stormed in. Brazenly, they had invaded one of the most heavily guarded places in the West.
Dominic’s subordinates rushed in, surrounding the intruders. The commotion spilled into the courtyard as reinforcements arrived, forming a tight perimeter.
At the head of the intruders stood a young man with an air of arrogance. Dominic locked eyes with him and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”
The young man grinned widely. “I heard you’re a fan of mine. Looks like we can skip the introductions.”
“What?”
“I’m the Count of Fenris,” the man declared, jabbing a thumb at himself with a smug smile.
Dominic’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man. Around him, his subordinates hesitated, unsure how to react. The invader had declared himself a noble, making it risky to act rashly.
“Tch. These men have lost their edge after years under Martin’s thumb. Not that I’m much better.”
Dominic clicked his tongue in frustration. While he admired the real Count Ghislain, he doubted the man before him was genuine.
“You’re no Count of Fenris.”
“What are you talking about? Of course, I am.”
“I’ve seen Count Ghislain’s face. I know what he looks like. You’re just some fraud trying to pull a fast one. But it’s not going to work.”
“...?”
Ghislain stared at Dominic in disbelief, his head spinning from the absurdity of the situation.
“He says he knows what I look like and insists I’m not the Count of Fenris? Is someone impersonating me?”
“I admit I traveled here discreetly, but I’m still the Count of Fenris,” Ghislain said firmly, pulling out his noble identification. It was an elaborately crafted card, bearing the insignia of his title.
Dominic glanced at the card and scoffed, unimpressed. “Anyone with enough money can forge an ID like that. We even handle those requests ourselves. Need ten of these? I can have them made by tomorrow.”
“...”
Ghislain felt a tight knot forming in his chest, the frustration mounting like he’d swallowed an unripe persimmon. He’d been insulted countless times before, called a brute or worse, but this was the first time someone outright denied his identity.
Trying to keep his temper in check, he asked, “Alright, but why are you so confident I’m not the Count? What makes you so sure?”
Dominic crossed his arms with a smug grin. “Because I’ve got the Count’s portrait. A very detailed and accurate one, I might add.”
Ghislain blinked. “What portrait? I’ve never sat for one except when I was a kid.”
With an air of self-importance, Dominic strode over to a corner of his office and retrieved a large, carefully sealed box. Opening it with reverence, he pulled out a grand, gilded frame containing a portrait.
“Here, take a look! I paid a fortune for this masterpiece!” Dominic exclaimed, presenting the painting as if it were a priceless artifact.
Ghislain’s eyes widened as he took in the image.
“...Wow.”
The portrait bore a vague resemblance to Ghislain, but it was so heavily idealized that it looked like something out of a fantasy novel. His nose was absurdly sharp and high, making it look like it struggled to breathe. His chin was unnaturally pointed, capable of piercing armor. The whole face was angular, as though sculpted from marble by an overeager artist.
“Do you seriously think this is the real Count of Fenris?” Ghislain asked, voice heavy with disbelief. “You’re basing everything on this?”
Dominic puffed out his chest. “Absolutely. I bought it from a trustworthy source and had it thoroughly authenticated.”
“...Trustworthy source?”
“Of course! I’m a huge fan of the Count, you see. I’ve collected countless relics tied to him.”
“...Relics?”
Ghislain’s mind went blank for a moment as Dominic proudly continued.
“I get the feeling you don’t believe me. Fine, I’ll show you. Consider it a special favor to you. Just don’t go around pretending to be the Count anymore.”
Dominic’s eagerness betrayed his true intentions—he clearly just wanted to flaunt his collection. He pulled out a thick book from the box and caressed it lovingly.
“This is the first edition of the Count’s biography, covering everything from his infamous days as the ‘Northern Scoundrel’ to his triumphs over the Earl of Desmond. It’s pricey, of course, but worth every penny.”
“Who the hell wrote this nonsense?” Ghislain thought, jaw tightening.
He had never authorized such a project, nor had any of his staff mentioned it. It certainly wasn’t a Fenris endeavor.
But Dominic was too absorbed in his monologue to notice Ghislain’s sour expression. One by one, he began pulling out more items, each one stranger than the last.
“This is a goblet the Count once drank from. Cost me a fortune.”
“...?”
“And this is a saddle he used. Also very expensive, very rare.”
“...??”
“This is an outfit he wore while traveling. It took ages to win at auction. And this... well, this is his undergarment...”
“...???”
Ghislain’s face froze as Dominic continued showing off item after item, many of which indeed seemed familiar. It was as though his home had been looted by an exceptionally determined thief.
Just as he was about to say something, Dominic pulled out the pièce de résistance—a sword.
“This! This is the Count’s personal sword, used in battle. Easily one of the most valuable pieces in my collection.”
Ghislain’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, that’s... my actual sword!”
Unlike the other items, which could plausibly be duplicates or lookalikes, the sword was undeniably authentic. It bore the distinctive crest and markings reserved for the lord of Fenris.
“Where... where did you get all of this?” Ghislain asked, his voice unsteady.
“Like I said, I bought them from a trustworthy source.”
“...Who exactly is this trustworthy source?” Ghislain pressed.
Dominic smirked. “The Count’s own steward, of course. He personally authenticated each item.”
“...Steward?”
“Yes, your steward. My men dealt directly with him, and he even provided certificates for everything. It was through an exclusive auction. I couldn’t attend myself, but my men handled it.”
Ghislain’s hands clenched into fists, his expression darkening. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the rising fury.
“I should have known... It’s him. Claude.”
The realization hit him like a thunderbolt. Of course, only Claude would have the audacity to gather and sell off his belongings as “collector’s items.”
