Chapter 113 - No Excuses

Chapter 113: 113 - No Excuses

Adrien let the pause stretch before answering. Marcus had picked his first words carefully enough, though calling the camp his territory was not something Adrien intended to let pass.

"Clairmont territory, you mean."

Marcus’s eyes narrowed, and Adrien spoke again before the man could answer. "I won’t hold the mistake against you. It’s the first time, and people usually learn from their mistakes."

Vikir stayed beside him without moving. Across the table, the younger Four-Star watched Adrien more closely, while Marcus’s expression hardened by a fraction.

"Right," Marcus said. "Then let me ask again. What brings the new lord of this territory all the way to our camp?"

He leaned on those two words with enough sarcasm to make the meaning unmistakable. Adrien took the seat opposite him without waiting for an invitation, while Vikir remained standing at his side.

"Reports have been reaching Greymoor for several weeks. Merchants attacked on the roads, guards injured, goods stolen. Crowns, food, normal weapons, items even, tools and anything else worth carrying away."

Marcus said nothing, so Adrien carried on. "I came personally because those roads are my responsibility now. I’ve spoken with people who were attacked, and I’ve reviewed the reports. Everything points here. There are witnesses as well."

Marcus leaned back in his chair. "Should’ve killed those bastards..."

The words were barely more than a mutter, but Adrien caught every one of them, since the Draconic Physique had sharpened his hearing until distance inside a tent counted for nothing.

The young man beside Marcus heard it too, and his face shifted at once, only a tightening around the eyes and jaw, though the displeasure behind it was unmistakable.

Adrien fixed his attention on Marcus. "What was that? You were mumbling. I couldn’t hear you."

Marcus held his gaze for several seconds before shrugging. "Nothing important."

"Alright. Then answer the important part."

Marcus’s fingers tapped once against the wooden table. "Yes. It was us. There. Happy?"

Adrien did not react, and Marcus kept talking to fill the quiet he left behind.

"After Arquenay fell, our contract disappeared with it. I have men to keep fed and satisfied. Equipment costs money. Food costs money. People don’t work for free."

"So you started robbing caravans."

"We survived."

Adrien surveyed the tent before returning to Marcus. The camp outside was poor, though nowhere near starving, and what the merchants had told him refused to match the story Marcus was selling.

"From what I’ve seen, a single loaded caravan would’ve given you enough supplies and Crowns to survive while you looked for another contract."

Marcus’s jaw shifted, and Adrien pressed the point. "But it wasn’t one caravan. And you weren’t only taking food."

"Some of my men may have picked up other things while I wasn’t watching."

Adrien did not move his eyes from him. The excuse had come out too smoothly, worn thin from use.

"I have more than a hundred men outside. I can’t have a pair of eyes on every one of them every second. If someone decided to take something extra, that’s on them."

"That’s your excuse?"

Marcus leaned forward. "See it however you want, Adrien. It’s the truth."

The missing title escaped nobody in the tent. Vikir’s expression stayed controlled, but Adrien caught the younger Four-Star glancing at Marcus again, and it was becoming plain that the two men on the same side of the table did not read the situation the same way.

Adrien stayed quiet for several seconds. Marcus did not look worried. If anything, the man seemed bored by the whole conversation, as though attacking merchants inside Clairmont territory were a nuisance he had been forced to explain rather than something capable of bringing ruin down on every person in his camp. Adrien had met enough men like him in his previous life to recognise the pattern.

"What it looks like to me," Adrien said, "is that this started with food."

Marcus’s eyes returned fully to him, and Adrien held them while he went on. "You lost your contract. Your people still needed to eat, so you took what you needed. Wrong, but understandable."

Adrien rested one arm against the table. "Then you realized nobody stopped you."

Marcus’s expression changed, and Adrien did not slow down. "You had trained fighters. Merchants were easier targets. Their guards couldn’t match your people, and every successful attack made the next one easier to justify."

"Careful."

Adrien ignored the warning. "Food became Crowns. Crowns became tools, weapons and anything else valuable enough to sell. At some point this stopped being about keeping your company alive."

The younger man lowered his eyes to the table, while Marcus stayed motionless as anger settled into his face. Adrien went on without raising his voice.

"Maybe you liked having people move aside when your company appeared. Maybe after losing Arquenay’s contract, taking whatever you wanted made you feel like you were still above everyone else."

Marcus pushed his chair back, the legs scraping harshly across the ground as he rose, though he did not shout. The restraint he forced on himself showed all the clearer for how abruptly the movement had come.

"You’ve been here for less than an hour. Don’t pretend you know me or my men."

"I know what you’ve done."

Marcus stared down at him. "And I have work to do. My people don’t organize themselves."

He rounded the table and adjusted the belt at his waist. "You can stay if you want. I don’t particularly care."

Adrien remained seated. "I will."

Marcus paused near the entrance, and Adrien spoke to his back. "When you’re finished, I expect we’ll speak again. As you already know, I have to put an end to the mess you’ve created on Clairmont roads."

For the first time, Marcus looked ready to answer out of pure anger. Instead he pulled the tent flap aside and walked out without another word, his footsteps fading into the camp.

Adrien turned toward the other side of the tent, where the young Four-Star still stood. Up close he seemed even younger than Adrien had first judged, perhaps in his early twenties, white hair falling loosely over his forehead and sharp purple eyes that had tracked almost every exchange between Adrien and Marcus. He had not defended his leader once.

Adrien leaned back in his chair. "You aren’t following your leader?"