Chapter 425 - 402: At Odds with Each Other

Chapter 425: Chapter 402: At Odds with Each Other

Hector’s forward command camp.

The once-solemn command tent was now filled with an oppressive and agitated atmosphere.

"We can’t fight this war... We really can’t."

The portly Viscount Perez slammed his helmet onto the table, his voice cracking.

His face was flushed, but it wasn’t just from anger—it was a grief as profound as if he’d lost his own parents.

"Lord Hector, just yesterday! Those damned birds dropped bombs on my manor! My art gallery, the oil paintings my grandfather left me... They’re all ruined!"

Perez clutched his chest as if his heart were bleeding.

"My newlywed wife is crying amidst the ruins, and my people are fleeing in droves. My lord, for the past three months, I’ve been paying for the food and supplies of the five hundred private soldiers I brought out of my own pocket! I’ve already mortgaged two mines for this war!"

At this, Perez snuck a glance at his peers. Seeing their sympathetic expressions, he grew bolder. Though his voice still trembled, it took on an exceptionally firm tone.

"Now my entire livelihood has been blown to bits, and I truly... truly cannot afford these exorbitant military expenses any longer. Please have mercy, my lord. Allow me to lead my men back to defend my home. Even if it’s just to let me see the ruins with my own eyes!"

The eyes of the dozens of nobles in the tent—Barons, Viscounts, and even two Counts—were shifting uneasily.

For the past three days, bad news had arrived in relentless succession.

Yet beneath this veneer of gloom, a flicker of indescribable relief was hidden deep in the eyes of many.

According to the laws of the Duchy, there was a time limit for how long vassals were required to serve and provide for their own troops after being summoned. But this damned stalemate was a bottomless pit. Every day they opened their eyes, thousands of mouths were waiting to be fed, and Golden Suns poured out like water.

Compared to repairing a collapsed castle roof, the endless military expenditures were what truly pained them, like being bled dry.

Now, things were better. Their own backyards were on fire.

The losses were devastating, but they provided a reasonable, rational, and even legal ’reason for withdrawal.’

"Lord Hector."

Another noble, a tall and thin Baron, stepped forward. He gave Hector a deep bow, his posture humble to an extreme, but his words left no room for negotiation.

"An urgent report has arrived from my fief. With the main keep of my castle collapsed, mobs are taking the opportunity to loot and pillage. If I do not return, my family’s centuries-old legacy will be destroyed. At that point, even if I wished to serve you, I fear I would not have a single soldier to offer."

He looked up, his expression a picture of sincerity and helplessness. "Please, my lord, understand our plight."

"Yes, my lord, we can’t hold out any longer either."

"We implore you, my lord, to allow us to return to our defenses."

A chorus of agreement rose and fell.

There was no shouting, no slamming of tables or kicking of chairs. They simply put all their energy into playing the part of loyal vassals who had been driven into a corner.

’This is the most difficult kind of opposition.’

Hector sat in a chair draped in black dragon-lizard hide, a stemmed glass in his hand. The red wine inside was as still as a mirror.

He watched them.

He watched the perfectly measured grief on their faces, and behind it, their desperate eagerness to escape.

’This is the nobility.’

’When their interests are on the line, they are shrewder than anyone.’

"Perez," Hector’s voice was soft. "You want to leave?"

"My lord, it is not that I wish to leave, but that I truly lack the means to carry on!" Perez bowed again, his tone firm. "If you do not grant my request, I fear I can only die here and beg forgiveness from my ancestors."

In the shadows, Hector’s pale face was indistinct, hard to read. A muscle near the corner of his eye twitched as his gaze swept over every face in the room.

One second. Two. Three.

"Leave."

Hector finally spat out a single word.

Perez looked as if he’d been granted amnesty. The grief on his face subsided as he respectfully performed a standard Knight’s salute. "Thank you for your mercy, my lord. Once I have settled my family, I will be sure to pray for you."

"Take your men and go back to repairing your gallery." Hector waved his hand as if shooing a fly, then his eyes turned cold. "However, you will leave half of your heavy crossbowmen and Mages. That is the bottom line."

Perez’s expression stiffened slightly, his mind clearly calculating the gains and losses.

’Losing his elite forces hurt, but taking several hundred mouths off the payroll and escaping this meat grinder... It was worth it.’

"Thank you for your mercy."

Where one went, another followed.

In just half an hour, the command tent was more than half empty.

As the nobles left the great tent, their steps were hurried, yet noticeably lighter.

Outside the tent, a bitter wind howled.

Perez wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He glanced back at the great black tent, the symbol of power, and lowered his voice to the tall, thin Baron beside him.

"Phew... We finally made it out. It’s a shame about the paintings, but if this damned war had dragged on for another two months, I would’ve had to sell off my ancestral estate."

"Tell me about it."

The tall, thin Baron adjusted his collar, a trace of contempt in his eyes. Then, as if recalling something amusing, the corners of his lips quirked upward.

"If the old Marquis were alive, he would never have let things get this bad. Having someone climb on your neck and take a shit... heh, that saying has come true now."

"Huh?" Perez faltered. "What do you mean?"

The tall, thin Baron glanced around, then leaned close to Perez’s ear. His voice was a bare whisper, but it was dripping with malicious glee:

"You haven’t heard? A report just came in from White Rock City... Lord Hector’s statue was, ah, given a bath by those strange birds. With bird shit."

Perez’s eyes went wide. The muscles in his face twitched as he struggled to contain himself, but in the end, he failed, letting out a short, choked laugh.

"Really? All over the face?"

"All over the face. I hear the stench made three Priests in the square throw up."

"Ha! How... utterly undignified."

Perez shook his head. He said it was undignified, but he couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes.

"Shh—keep your voice down."

Perez glanced around again, the sneer on his lips deepening.

’He’s too young, after all. Compared to his father, this ’Lord Hector’ is still too green. He can’t even protect his own dignity, yet he expects us to die for him? Let’s go, let’s go. This ship... is not just leaking, it stinks to high heaven.’

They exchanged a look of mutual understanding, quickened their pace, and vanished into the shadows of the camp.

Back in the tent, Hector stared at the empty long table and suddenly let out a laugh.

It was a cold laugh, devoid of any emotion.

"Steward."

"Present."

A subordinate stepped forward.

"How many have left?"

"An estimated six thousand."

The steward reported the number quickly, his head bowed.

"Mostly their private armies. We’ve lost a third of the line."

"One-third."

Hector repeated the number.

Then he rose, his gaze falling on the large parchment map hanging on the wall.

The once-impregnable defensive line was now, like his disgraced statue in the square of White Rock City, riddled with holes and exuding a nauseating stench.

’What kind of devil could have orchestrated such a venomous plot?’

"My lord," the steward’s voice was low, as if he were afraid of disturbing the palpable tension in the air. "Should we consolidate the line?"

"Consolidate?"

Hector scoffed.

"The moment we cede the main channel of the Angry River, the master of this unknown Sky Knight Order will have a clear path to advance unopposed."

He reached out, his finger tapping several red dots on the map.

They marked several mining districts hidden deep within the Broken Teeth Mountain Range, along with a few secret, underground factories.

That was where his final trump card was stationed.

The private army he had been preparing for his future bid for control of the Duchy.

"Send the order."

"Mobilize the Black Iron Guard from the mines and the ’Executioner Legion’ from the secret workshops. Move them all to the front to fill the gaps."

"Since I can’t rely on these useless fools, I’ll use my own men."

The steward’s head snapped up, his face a mask of astonishment.

"My lord! You mustn’t!" The steward’s voice was strained with panic. "That is our core defensive force! If we move them all, the mines and workshops will be left completely undefended! If those strange birds decide to attack there, our very foundation..."

"Attack? With what? Those iron lumps they drop from the sky?"

Hector scoffed, cutting off the steward’s lament. He walked to the map and tapped his finger heavily on the red dots deep within the mountains.

"The only reason those birds could destroy castles is that these nobles were stupid enough to build their vaults right under the roof."

"But our workshops are carved deep into the mountainsides, and the mines are buried hundreds of feet underground." Hector turned, his face a mask of confidence. "Even if they leveled the entire mountain, they couldn’t touch what’s inside. And since they can’t be bombed, keeping a large force there is a waste."

"As long as the front line holds, the factories are safe. But if the front falls..."

Hector didn’t finish the thought. He simply waved a dismissive hand, turning his back on the steward without another word.

"Go."

The steward opened his mouth, but looking at Hector’s resolute back, he could only swallow the words of protest. He bowed deeply.

"Yes, my lord."