Chapter 35: Divergence

Victor’s slender fingers tapped lightly on the saddle, as if striking Byer’s chest—making his mouth dry, sweat pouring, muscles taut like compressed springs, ready to explode and flee the camp faster than a charging warhorse. The thought of seizing the seemingly weak young lord before him never crossed Byer’s mind—not for lack of courage, but because, as a former vassal, he was accustomed to reverence toward a lord.

All Byer wanted now was to retain his control and influence over the camp; for that, he was willing to pay Victor a generous tribute. Though Byer was more perceptive than ordinary commoners, he was no noble; unknowingly, he had touched the bottom line of the lordly class: what I give you is yours; what I do not, you must not even think of.

Everyone waited for the lord’s response. Bruce even took the battle spear from his squire and lowered the visor of his helmet. In his view, there was no forgiveness for freemen who threatened a lord’s rule.

Just as Victor was about to speak, a Blood-Eyed Crow landed on the shoulder of a guard. The guard swiftly untied the message from the crow’s leg and handed it to Victor.

Victor read the parchment note, his expression unchanged as he crushed it in his palm and asked Byer, who was still kneeling, “Byer, I’ve heard you possess a Brave Longsword issued by the Kingdom of Dodo. Why haven’t I seen you carry it?”

Hearing Baron Wimbledon mention the Brave Longsword, Byer cursed inwardly but feigned anxious humility and replied, “My lord, I do have such a sword, but it was taken from a gnoll bandit, not awarded by the Kingdom of Dodo.”

“Is that so? Go fetch the sword for me, and bring out ten people—I have something to say to them.” Victor smiled ambiguously. “Among the ten, there must be elders, women, and children. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord. Right away.” Byer said respectfully, wiping sweat from his brow, and rose to walk back to the camp.

He did not understand Victor’s purpose in summoning ten people, but clearly the lord would not declare them bandits, which eased Byer’s anxiety.

“Bruce, I’ve decided to let them go for now,” Victor said calmly once Byer entered the camp.

“Victor, I follow your will, but I think your mercy will bring you trouble.” Bruce shrugged, returning the spear to his squire with indifference.

Bruce regretted missing the merit of exterminating bandits, but spared his men from risk—a fair trade.

“It’s not just mercy. This news was just sent by Master Edwin.” Victor handed Bruce the note, his face grave.

“Ogres!?” Bruce’s brows furrowed as he read.

While Victor and Bruce led their men to deal with the freemen’s camp, scouts sent to investigate the entrance to the Great Marsh returned, reporting evidence of ogre activity. Edwin immediately used a Blood-Eyed Crow to relay the information.

“Destroying this camp poses no challenge, but there would be casualties. To muster more strength against the ogres, I decided to spare them for now. Ogres are the real threat!” Victor said solemnly.

“Yes, ogres are hard to deal with. We need to focus our forces,” Bruce nodded, his tone heavy.

Even without Edwin’s warning, Victor had no intention of wiping out these freemen.

On one hand, Victor could not bring himself to coldly order the slaughter of hundreds to preserve authority like other lords; on the other, he wanted to absorb the freemen to mask the production of his future Alchemical Humans.

Once enough Alchemical Humans were produced, even if these freemen became ten times more powerful, they could not stir trouble.

Still, Victor knew he must employ measures to restrain these people. Mercy alone would be seen by ambitious men as weakness.

“Nelson, I want you to test Byer’s strength. Are you confident?” Victor turned to Nelson.

“Byer is strong, but he’s not my match.” Nelson replied with a confident smile.

“Don’t underestimate him. Byer may well be a recipient of the Brave Longsword. My intuition tells me he’s a savage warrior like you,” Victor warned.

“If the Kingdom of Dodo awarded Brave Longswords to mercenaries, I’d have three. Mercenaries never underestimate their foes—those who do don’t live long.” Nelson raised his axe, his words carrying a chill of indifference toward life and death.

Victor nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Bruce, “Byer is strong; should we recruit some from this camp to fight the ogres?”

If these freemen wished to become Victor’s subjects, they could not refuse the lord’s summons—especially when the ogres threatened everyone.

“Ogres are formidable; only well-trained and united soldiers can defeat such monsters. Even your militia I won’t take, and I don’t trust Byer.” Bruce shook his head, rejecting Victor’s plan.

Militia untested by mortal danger would be unable to hold their weapons before ogres. If fear broke them, it would undermine the whole force—a chain reaction with dire consequences.

“In that case, we’ll just take tribute from them.” Victor decided to exercise his lordly rights toward these disloyal folk; collecting tribute would also steadily weaken their group.

As they spoke, Byer returned with ten men and women, young and old.

“Good day, my lord,” they greeted Victor reverently, led by Byer.

“I am Victor Wimbledon, Baron, legal owner of these lands. I agree to take you as my subjects,” Victor declared.

The freemen’s faces brightened; this meant they could live peacefully here.

“Byer, let me see your Brave Longsword,” Victor said.

Byer handed over the hilt respectfully. Though reluctant, if the sword bought the lord’s acceptance, it was a fair exchange.

“Borg?” Victor glanced at the inscription and gave Byer a knowing look.

“Yes, my lord. I took it from a gnoll bandit,” Byer replied bitterly.

“Byer, you want to keep the camp; I can agree. But ogres have appeared in the territory, so you must show you can protect this camp—or I’ll order everyone relocated.”

Victor’s words caused a stir among the freemen, but their trust in Byer soon calmed them.

“My lord, how shall I prove it?” Byer asked, his gaze intense.

To Byer, the ogre threat was mere scare tactics. They’d lived here for over two years; monsters were plentiful at first, but the fiercest were gnolls. Since the York family cleared the land a year ago, strong monsters disappeared. More freemen arrived, but no one had ever seen ogres here.

“It’s simple. This is my captain of guards. If you can last a quarter hour against him, I’ll grant your request.” Victor’s eyes gleamed slyly, indicating Nelson. He then stabbed the Brave Longsword into the ground.

“My lord, I need a shield,” Byer said, suppressing his excitement and drawing his recovered sword.

Byer was confident he could defeat Nelson; in the Battle of Whitewater Castle, he’d even slain a Saxon apprentice knight in open combat. Besides, he only needed to endure a quarter hour.

Still, he mustn’t overdo it. If he injured the captain, the lord would lose face; today, he’d have to hold back a bit, Byer thought.

Unaware, Byer had fallen into Victor’s verbal trap.

He did not know Nelson was also a savage warrior, even stronger than himself. If Byer went all out, he might match Nelson; if he merely tried to last a quarter hour, he was doomed.

Victor nodded and gestured behind him. A guard tossed Byer a heavy shield made from iron oak, plated with steel and wrapped in thick leather.

Byer hefted it easily, then said to Victor, “I am ready, my lord.”

Nelson, clad in full armor, advanced and raised his axe toward Byer, five meters away, signaling him to begin.

Byer’s pupils contracted. He struck the shield hard with his sword, taking a stance; instinct told him this burly, indifferent guard was a formidable foe and must be approached with caution. He decided to test his opponent first.

But Nelson had no intention of testing. He rushed straight at Byer, swinging his axe in a savage blow.

The chop was simple, direct, and brutally fierce; the blade cut the air with a howl, carrying a bloody ferocity.

Facing Nelson’s unrestrained axe, Byer’s heart tightened. He angled his shield to deflect the axe, hoping to knock it aside.

Yet, when shield met axe, Byer realized the blow’s power was astonishing. Nelson’s axe was not knocked away; instead, it pressed his shield back with overwhelming force.

Byer’s physique, at eighteen points, far surpassed elite soldiers, but Nelson boasted twenty points. His strength exceeded Byer’s. Against Nelson’s full force, Byer’s attempt to hold back put him at an immediate disadvantage.

Confronted by this sudden overpowering force, Byer displayed exceptional skill. He remained calm, turning his body right with the force and slashing his mithril sword at Nelson.

It was a counterattack from defeat; even if he missed, he might force Nelson back and regain his stance.

Nelson did not let him succeed. The War Bear mercenary’s techniques, though less refined than noble arts, were honed by life-or-death combat. Once they gained an advantage, they pressed ferociously, expanding it until their foe was beaten.

Nelson advanced instead of retreating, catching Byer’s sword with his axe and striking at Byer’s chest with the axe handle.

Byer could only shield his chest, the blow forcing him back. Instantly, he was caught in Nelson’s storm of relentless attacks.

Seeing their leader suppressed, the watching freemen stared in disbelief. To them, Byer had always been an invincible warrior, but now their confidence wavered.

Truly, the baron’s captain was not one a wandering warrior like Byer could rival!

If Byer knew his people thought him a mere vagabond, he would cough blood in fury.

A vagabond? He was a viscount’s captain of guards...

This was why Victor summoned ten old, weak, women, and children. He needed them to witness Byer’s defeat and impress upon them the lord’s superior power.

These elders and women had little combat ability and were unlikely Byer’s confidants, so he could not prevent them from spreading what they saw.

Byer had no time for such thoughts. Nelson had taken full control; the relentless assault left Byer struggling. He regretted not using his full strength at the outset. Even if he could not defeat the powerful captain, he would not have been so thoroughly suppressed.

Yet Byer was indeed a Brave Longsword recipient; under extreme disadvantage, he showed remarkable skill and tenacious will, occasionally countering skillfully to try to turn the tide—even Bruce nodded quietly.

The fierce battle between these two warriors raised clouds of dust, obscuring the spectators’ view. Only the clash of weapons rang out, and the trampled ground was battered and uneven, as if trampled by a giant beast.

Finally, Nelson’s savage upward strike sent Byer’s already deformed shield flying. Byer staggered back several steps, switching to a two-handed grip, panting heavily, ready for Nelson’s next attack.

But Nelson halted and stepped back. As Byer wondered at this, he heard the baron’s voice.

“Time’s up. Byer, you have proven your ability. I grant your request; the camp will remain.”

Byer was bewildered. Though Victor had agreed, he felt he had lost something more precious.

Victor looked at the ten equally bewildered freemen, pointed at an old farmer, and asked, “What is your name?”

“Lord, I am Dick,” the white-haired old man replied, startled.

“Dick, I have agreed to keep the camp. I now appoint you as the village chief. Do not betray my trust,” Victor said with a smile.

“Ah!?” Dick stood as if struck by lightning. Happiness so sudden made him feel he was dreaming.

“Chief Dick, I have a few tasks for you,” Victor continued, regardless of whether Dick was listening. “First, you must inform the camp that I allow them to move freely to my temporary camp—no one may stop them. Second, without my consent, this camp may not accept new freemen, nor may you continue felling the purple cane forest. Third, as my subjects, you must pay tribute; however, given the shortage of grain, you may substitute wood, stone, minerals, or fish.”

“Yes, yes, my lord. I... I will comply... I promise!” With a hard poke from a companion, Dick finally snapped out of it and assured Victor.

“Very good. In seven days, I will send people to collect the tribute. You must be ready. Understood?” Victor nodded with satisfaction, addressing Dick.

“Understood, my lord.” Dick nodded and bowed obsequiously.

After Victor and Bruce led their teams away, Byer glanced complexly at the dazed old Dick and returned to the camp.

The others, envious, jealous, or indifferent, also headed back, leaving old Dick muttering to himself, “I’m the chief? I’m a village chief now?!”

(The author is not good at dividing chapters, but there will never be fewer than 4000+ words a day. If not enough, another chapter will be added.)