Digging Trenches First, Building Forts Later

Victor had not forgotten the uprising of the freemen that had left him in such a humiliating predicament. That upheaval had taught him two things: first, a transmigrator could die in an unfamiliar land through sheer mischance; and second, it was impossible to get by without power.

At the time, to contain the freemen’s unrest, Victor had used his alchemical war mastiffs to frighten away uninvited newcomers, while his hillfolk followers took control of the freemen’s makeshift camp. He had thought he had handled things well and could weather the crisis in safety. Only after meeting Sylvia did he learn that the camp had long been under the control of House Buryat. They could incite the freemen to storm his inner territory whenever they pleased. Had the ant tide not broken out, he would have had no choice but to shelter beneath House York’s wings. As a result, Victor had a minor, though not insignificant, grievance against House Buryat.

Baron Matthew’s seemingly provocative remarks had in fact been a way of making his position clear to Victor: he and Austin Buryat were not allies. If Victor wanted to guard against the Queen and Austin, he would have to keep dealing with Baron Matthew—and that was precisely what the baron hoped for. So, before leaving, Baron Matthew had warmly invited Victor to visit his estate at a convenient time. Victor had made no commitment.

Victor knew that if he visited Baron Matthew’s estate, the baron would find a way to make sure everyone heard about it. The members of House Buryat would then have to reassess their position, since in most people’s eyes Victor represented the formidable power of House York.

That was the art of borrowing another’s influence.

Borrowing influence from Victor, however, would not come easily. Victor had no plan to take revenge on the Queen or Austin. The conflicts between lords were not as trivial as brawls between thugs. Still, if the opportunity arose, he would not mind making life a little harder for them. In short, Baron Matthew would have to prove himself valuable before Victor would support him—perhaps by sending over a few more fire crystals.

Victor turned the fire crystal over in his hand, while Lilia pouted.

“Victor, why didn’t you settle the question of who owns the forest with Baron Matthew? I can’t believe this crystal is worth as much as that land.”

Victor smiled faintly. The fire crystal was the red crystal Busso had mentioned. It could shorten the production cycle for stone bricks by five days, and it could also be used to refine purer thorium, mithril, and fine iron. That, in turn, would improve the quality of all kinds of equipment while reducing the amount of rare metals required. Put simply, red crystals could greatly increase the efficiency, quality, and volume of thorium equipment production.

Unfortunately, Lilia knew nothing about this, and Victor had no way to share his delight with her. He could only explain, “Lilia, no lord negotiates over borders, because there aren’t any.”

“How can that be? Aren’t they all marked on the maps?” Lilia exclaimed.

“On a map, a border is just a line. But where is that line in the real world?” Victor shook his head. “It’s power, not maps, that decides who owns a territory. Whoever can actually control the land owns it. When the Chipman family controlled that mithril mine, I didn’t go to court against them. On the map, the banks of the Goldenwater River are also our territory, but in reality, the fishfolk are the lords there. That forest is under our control, so it’s ours. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“I see.” Lilia nodded thoughtfully, then asked, “So the borders on the map are meaningless?”

“They were never meaningful. Otherwise, how would our territory be more than ten thousand square kilometers? House York simply drew those lines wherever it pleased. I’ve heard of a minor eastern house that claims descent from an ancient empire and says its lands encompass the entire Northern Wastes—more than ten million square kilometers. But it has only one castle and two villages. In practice, its territory is no larger than a baronet’s.” Victor laughed.

Lilia laughed too, then said with disappointment, “I thought our territory really was that big. I didn’t realize House York had just drawn it on a map.”

“Well, not every house is entitled to claim land on a map. What House York marked out was not territory, but a sphere of influence. Such claims mean nothing to monsters, wild beasts, or freemen; they only serve to deter other lords. The Centaur Hills are vast, and House York can’t stop other powers or freemen from entering to gather or hunt, or even to dig up ore. But anyone who dares build castles or villages in the Centaur Hills will be slaughtered by Sylvia’s Rose Knights. That’s why the Chipman family pretended to be freemen and dug their mine in secret. And when House York said it was giving up sixteen thousand square kilometers of land, what it really meant was that it would allow other powers to build castles and fortresses in the Centaur Hills. That would severely constrain House York, so the royal family immediately accepted the proposal.”

“Of course, a sphere of influence and actual control are two entirely different things. Monsters and orcs certainly won’t recognize the spheres of influence laid down by humans. Only knights and castles can determine who owns a territory: knights establish a sphere of influence, and castles establish control. The first emperor of the Lant Empire had a famous saying: ‘Wherever my knights ride is within my domain; only the lands on which I build castles are truly mine.’”

Lilia said dejectedly, “We have neither knights nor castles. Doesn’t that mean our territory is pathetically small?”

Victor scratched his head. With alchemical ravens working alongside alchemical war mastiffs, he had not only gained complete control of the viscounty, but also of a mountainous region seven hundred kilometers long and twenty kilometers wide. In time, he would control even more land. But Victor could not admit that the alchemical war mastiffs were connected to him, and so no one would recognize his sphere of influence. Unlike other lords, for Victor it was castles and villages that defined his sphere of influence, while his actual area of control was far larger. This appearance of weakness where there was strength could cause him trouble. Most notably, it made it difficult to recruit people and keep them settled.

Many alchemical humans lived around Victor. Ordinary people might not notice anything amiss, but a knight could easily spot the oddities. So, until the population of his territory reached ten thousand, Victor would not recruit knights.

He could do without knights, but not without a castle. A castle was not only a defensive structure, but also a symbol of a lord’s status. Under the arrangement Victor had made with Sylvia, House York would supply the stone for his castle, while Victor would produce green bricks for the family to build kilns. Once House York had produced its first batch of stone bricks, Victor would be able to use them to build more towns and fortresses.

Victor and the leaders of House York both understood the value—and the complications—of stone bricks. Only close cooperation between them could minimize the upheaval they would bring. That was why Victor was currently making ordinary green bricks for House York to build giant kilns.

“Lilia, we’ll have a castle. House York is dismantling the castles abandoned by the Prince’s Party, and the stone from them will be supplied to us first. Of course, we’ll have to trade green bricks for it. By the way, how is brick production going?”

“Not very well. The clay pit is too far from Brickkiln Village, and we don’t have enough ox carts.” Lilia shook her head. “Why can’t Victor dig for clay nearby? Why does he have to go all the way to the Goldenwater River?”

“Because I want to dig a hole,” Victor said with a knowing smile.

* * *

Sixty kilometers north of the Gambis capital lay a vast stretch of forested hills. The great hunt organized by House Auguste was being held there.

Hunting was an important pastime and social occasion in the lives of the nobility. It had its roots in the pioneering expeditions of human knights and embodied their courage and martial skill. The royal family’s great hunt therefore also served as a military exercise. The royals invited powerful lords to take part, and the lords brought their knights and retainers. Under royal command, they worked together to hunt their quarry.

Normally, a great hunt should be held during the Season of Wind, when the animals were at their fattest. Gambis was holding this one in the Season of Water to send an important message to the outside world: the lords of Gambis stood united, and no one could break them.

Banners fluttered across the hillside. Among them, House York’s flag stood beside the encampment of House Auguste. Inside the tent, Sylvia, Baron Garon, and Roland sat facing one another. These three peak knights were the ones who could decide the fate of Gambis.

“According to the Night Owls’ investigation, the Sassan Empire is supporting the Radiant Knights in an assault on a centaur tribe. It’s exceedingly rare for humans to launch an offensive into the Northern Wastes; the few attempts in history have ended in failure. Only Saint of the Sword Draven ever won a victory. We still don’t know why the Sassan people have chosen to attack a centaur tribe. What we do know is that nine of the Sassan Empire’s Golden Knights are taking part. Of the other two, one is defending the imperial capital, and the other the great grasslands,” Marquis Garon said to Sylvia.

“Heh. The Sassan people can’t spare their attention for the south, and Gambis has to defend itself against the antmen. This should have been the perfect opportunity for the Doto Kingdom to reclaim the great grasslands. But their plans fell apart because a certain princess didn’t want to get married.” Sylvia shot a sidelong glance at Roland, who was sitting there with nothing to do.

“The Doto people are cowards. They’re all useless,” Roland said, wrinkling her pretty nose to make it clear she would not take the blame.

“The Doto people have lost their nerve. Their opinion doesn’t matter. The question now is this: if the Sassan heir really does ask for your hand, will you marry him?” Sylvia asked Roland.

The atmosphere in the tent grew tense. Marquis Garon and Sylvia both fixed their eyes on Roland. Her answer would determine Gambis’s future. If she said no, Garon would have to force her to be crowned queen to reassure their allies. If she said yes, the situation would be entirely different; at the very least, Sylvia would draw closer to House Auguste.

“Are you so sure the Sassan people are serious?” Roland asked.

“Hmph! They’ve already drawn their swords, and you’re still doubting their resolve? Once the war between the Sassan Empire and the centaur tribe is over, the Sassan heir will propose to you. The terms will be the same,” Sylvia said coldly.

Roland rested her chin in her hand and sighed. “I wonder if the Sassan heir is handsome. Is he my type? If he’s young and beautiful, and I reject him, might he lose heart and take his own life? Hey! What are those looks for?”

“Take your time deciding. I’m going out for some air.”

Sylvia rose and headed for the tent flap, her face expressionless. Just as she reached the entrance, Garon called after her.

“Sylvia, what if the Doto people and Neowest aren’t cooperative?”

“My presence here is an answer in itself!” Sylvia turned back. “But you must send the promised stone and supplies to the Centaur Hills as soon as possible. If the fortress isn’t finished before the next ant disaster, I’ll have no choice but to abandon the Centaur Hills.”