Chapter 91: Northern Expedition

Ser Damian blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the question, though he quickly recovered.

To any outsider, Craig’s casual inquiry about purchasing an entire mercenary guild would have sounded like the height of unbridled noble arrogance.

But to Damian, who had watched the young viscount grow, it was simply the reality of the realm Craig inhabited.

Craig von Darkstar had been born into absolute opulence, breathing the elevated air of the supreme aristocracy since his first cry.

At just ten years old, while most noble children were still practicing basic swordsmanship in private courtyards, Craig had been granted an entire Barony to govern, accompanied by a formidable Sword Master assigned as his personal Guardian Knight.

Back then, he was merely an exceptionally talented young master.

But now, as a recognized successor of the grand Ducal bloodline, his titles had expanded, his lands had upgraded, and his geopolitical standing was leagues beyond his physical age.

The Myrain Viscounty alone operated on a massive annual budget of 50,000 gold coins—and that treasury was strictly dedicated to the administration, infrastructure, and defensive upkeep of the domain itself.

On top of that, as the Seventh Successor of the Darkstar Ducal Family, Craig’s personal monthly allowance had recently been raised to a staggering 15,000 gold coins.

With such an overwhelming, continuous influx of wealth, buying out a mid-sized mercenary guild was far from an idle fantasy.

It was a trivial transaction for someone of his stature.

Before Damian could voice a figure, Ser Hughway took a deliberate step forward, his gauntleted boots clicking against the marble floor as he offered a respectful bow.

"My Lord Viscount," Hughway began, his voice deep and measured. "While your wealth could easily move mountains, buying a mercenary guild is not as straightforward a transaction as acquiring a merchant estate or a trade shipment."

Craig raised an eyebrow, gesturing for his Guardian Knight to elaborate.

"Mercenary Guilds were first founded roughly fifty years ago," Hughway explained, his sharp eyes reflecting the faint torchlight of the hall.

"They were established by independent Superhumans who sought freedom from the binding feudal oaths of the nobility, yet still required a structured means to survive in a world infested with monsters.

They earned their coin by accepting bounty contracts, hunting Abominations, clearing danger zones, and conducting high-risk merchant escorts for silver and gold."

Hughway paused, casting a stern look toward the lower hall before continuing.

"Yes, an established guild can be bought out if the price is high enough. However, the sheer cost to purchase the contract rights, combined with the colossal ongoing maintenance fees required to supply, feed, and equip dozens of wild, unprincipled sellswords, would be an immense drain on your personal treasury. I strongly advise Your Lordship to reconsider this approach."

A relaxed, knowing smile spread across Craig’s face as he listened to the veteran knight’s caution.

He leaned his head against his knuckles, his golden-crimson eyes glinting with calculating intelligence.

"You misunderstand my intentions, Ser Hughway," Craig said smoothly, his voice echoing through the silent chamber.

"I have no desire to establish or manage a merchant guild, nor do I care for the long-term administration of sellsword contracts."

He gestured with a open hand, breaking down his tactical logic. "The sole reason I intend to buy the Blue Tiger Guild outright is time. I refuse to waste precious months traveling across the North, painstakingly screening and recruiting random, unvetted Superhumans one by one.

By purchasing the guild in its entirety, I gain immediate, absolute authority over its entire roster. Once the transaction is finalized, I will simply disband the guild structure entirely."

Craig’s grin turned razor-sharp. "Once the guild is dissolved, I will offer those ten Superhumans and sixty veteran soldiers a price so astronomical—and a pledge of resources so overwhelming—that they will happily drop their mercenary identities and swear absolute, binding fealty directly to my banner.

A mid-sized guild operating without a recognized Ranker holds no true strategic threat to us, meaning their leadership will have little leverage to refuse a buyout. As for true Rankers? I will handle their recruitment personally. The presence of true Rankers is the essential foundation required to formally construct the Crimson Dragon Order."

Silence fell over the Audience Chamber once more.

Ser Hughway stood frozen, his mouth slightly open as he absorbed the profound efficiency of Craig’s strategy.

The veteran Sword Master found himself completely speechless; Craig wasn’t thinking like a wealthy noble spending money—he was thinking like a grand sovereign leveraging capital to rapidly build a loyal army from scratch.

Seeing that Hughway had no counterarguments left to offer, Craig turned his attention back to Ser Damian, his tone shifting into immediate command.

"Ser Damian," Craig ordered firmly. "Begin the necessary preparations. The moment Craig’s Festival reaches its formal conclusion and the internal security of the Viscounty is fully stabilized, we will ride north toward the Blue Tiger Guild’s headquarters. Annie will be joining our expedition as well."

Ser Hughway adjusted his posture, a faint trace of curiosity crossing his weathered face.

"My Lord... will I be tagging along for this northern expedition as well?"

Craig looked down at his long-time protector, a warm, genuine laugh escaping his lips.

"Ser Hughway," Craig chuckled, his golden-crimson eyes softening with deep respect.

"You shouldn’t even have to ask such a question. You are my Guardian Knight. Wherever I tread, your blade walks beside me."

However, Craig’s expression quickly hardened, his gaze locking onto both men with absolute seriousness. "Remember this well: this northern movement must remain an absolute secret.

Not a single word of our departure or our true destination is to leak outside this chamber—especially to the ears of Head Maid Arya."

"Understood, My Lord Viscount!" both knights declared in unison, bowing deeply.

The next morning arrived with swift, unrelenting momentum.

**

As dawn broke over the Western Continent, news of the miraculous survival and dark details of the Seventh Successor’s assassination attempt had already erupted across every major city, trade hub, and noble court.

Craig von Darkstar was already wildly famous throughout the West for his unprecedented feat of bonding with three top-tier dragons simultaneously, making any news regarding his person instantly viral.

The shadow of the mysterious, fanatical organization known as Hydra became an overnight sensation, sending ripples of shock, fear, and intense speculation through the grand aristocratic networks.

Within the Myrain Viscounty itself, the atmosphere was a masterclass in military efficiency.

Ser Gunther had carried out Craig’s directives to the letter, deploying heavy garrisons across all major thoroughfares, doubling city wall patrols, and raising the territory’s defensive readiness to its absolute maximum.

Despite the heavy steel presence, the populace remained calm, reassured by the overwhelming display of force.

With the grand festival entering its final, most glorious phase, the time had finally come for Craig to restructure his internal administration and select the new ministerial heads of the Viscounty.

Sitting at his grand mahogany desk within the castle’s primary study, Craig dipped his quill in black ink and issued a binding, urgent decree across all eight subordinate baronies of his domain.

Each baron was commanded to immediately nominate and send forth their absolute finest administrative official.

Craig would personally interview every single nominee himself, ensuring that only the sharpest, most loyal minds were elevated to govern the prosperous future of his realm.