Chapter 48: Arrogance and Greed

Count Chipman rejected the plan to seize control of Victor’s territory! DeWitt could hardly believe his ears—was this still the same Count Chipman, passing up a prize already at his lips?

“In truth, nothing we do within that land could ever allow us true control. The power that ultimately decides its fate lies outside its borders,” the count explained, seeing DeWitt’s confusion.

“The Grand Duke Williams!?” DeWitt, after all a knight of extraordinary rank, quickly grasped the point.

“Exactly. I am certain that with a mere nod from me, Grand Duke Williams would present that territory to us on a silver platter. As for the young baron, he would surely fall victim to another bandit attack, but this time, the York family’s knights would not be coming to his rescue.

“Until then, any little schemes of ours are pointless—they would only reveal our intentions.”

Hearing this, DeWitt suddenly saw things clearly. Indeed, it was always strength that conferred power. Here he was, a silver-ranked knight, wracking his brain over cunning plots to deal with a beleaguered minor lord—how laughable.

“My lord, your insight is unmatched. I am far from your equal,” DeWitt admitted with shame.

“Now tell me, could we openly ask Grand Duke Williams for that territory?” Count Chipman pressed, testing DeWitt’s political acumen.

“Absolutely not!” DeWitt answered without hesitation. Once he stepped out of petty scheming, his perspective widened beyond the ordinary.

“The Grand Duke holds sway in both the House of Nobles and the Senate, and enjoys the Church’s support. He appears unassailable, but his weakness is plain—military might! If not for Prince Roland’s relentless pressure on the Yorks, the Grand Duke would never have dared challenge the Prince’s faction. He must draw other military nobles to his side, and our Chipman family is naturally among those he values.

“Unfortunately, his opponents are simply too strong—two golden knights and half the kingdom’s military! It’s unthinkable to wager everything on him.”

“My lord, there’s something I don’t understand: since we have little faith in the Grand Duke, why not support Prince Edward?” DeWitt asked.

Political opportunism was risky but often rewarding. If they wouldn’t side with the Grand Duke, why not support the Prince’s party, instead of remaining neutral? DeWitt knew his master was not a man of indecision.

“Because I cannot see the outcome,” Chipman replied gravely. “In fact, the Prince’s faction is the weakest. All they possess is a legitimate claim, ample wealth, and Prince Roland’s support.

“However, Prince Roland’s backing does not equal the support of the kingdom’s three great knightly orders. Marquis Gorlon, the Minister of War, and the orders themselves only wish to see Prince Roland on the throne.

“Moreover, the Grand Duke is not without recourse. Rumor has it he is conspiring with the one atop the Mountain of Light, though our intelligence is too scant to know what scheme they’re hatching.”

“The Church?! What is the Grand Duke thinking? Doesn’t he realize this would alienate every lord in the kingdom?” DeWitt exclaimed in alarm.

The current Pontiff was ambitious, seeking to strengthen the Church’s influence over the human realms—a direct threat to every noble’s interests.

“The Church remains the mightiest power in the human world. Their ambitions extend far beyond the Kingdom of Gambis. The web of interests here is too tangled. Our safest course is to remain neutral,” Chipman said, rubbing his temples, weary from the kingdom’s shifting political winds. He sighed, “If only Princess Roland would accept the throne, she would have my wholehearted support.”

Princess Roland, a golden knight at twenty-three, defeated the seasoned golden knight Adrian at twenty-five. Her martial prowess and military genius had won the admiration of all the kingdom’s martial nobles and high-ranking knights. To call her destiny’s favored child was no exaggeration.

“My lord speaks truly, but… Her Highness Roland’s temperament is… truly…” DeWitt struggled to find words.

The two great knights exchanged a look, sighing and shaking their heads.

“To be honest, the one I most admire is Lady Rose. With a turn of her hand, she conjures storms and calms them; though on the losing side of the war, she lost no strength, yet gained control of all Horseman’s Hills—her fief now many times larger than the original duchy. Quietly, she befriended the Emperor of the Empire, who has entered the realm of legends. No matter which prince ascends the throne, she remains unshaken. Such wisdom and skill are truly awe-inspiring!” Count Chipman exclaimed, slapping the table.

“But isn’t the York family a core member of the Grand Duke’s faction? If the Prince’s party wins, how can she remain unshaken?” DeWitt asked, puzzled.

“The Yorks were driven to the Grand Duke’s side by Princess Roland herself. It was their allegiance that first gave the Grand Duke ambitions for the throne. But if the Yorks could be forced to side with the Grand Duke, why not with the Emperor? Remember, when the Emperor reclaimed the Eastern Three Provinces, the Yorks did not hinder him,” Chipman replied with a cold smile.

“I see. Truly, the family of the boar crest—push them, and they become fearsome,” DeWitt murmured.

“In that case, I’ll abandon the plan. But what if that incompetent little lord comes causing trouble? After all, we’re mining there as freemen, and he’s now ruthlessly clearing freemen from his lands,” DeWitt asked.

“Incompetent? DeWitt, your arrogance has blinded you. Have you not noticed that Baron Victor and I have already reached an understanding?” Chipman replied with a chuckle and a shake of his head.

“The old count used to say, ‘There are no foolish lords!’ I believe it entirely. Even if a lord is a true fool, his retainers will ensure he acts as a proper lord.

“Consider this: a lord whose captain of guards rivals a knight, whose own man was shot in the thigh by a band of freemen, yet he remains motionless—what does this mean? It means he knows those men are ours. So his people no longer approach the eastern lands. This is his way of showing me he acknowledges our de facto control there.

“And as for the points system you all dismiss as useless, I find it ingenious!”

Chipman paused, then asked DeWitt, who was still in a fog, “DeWitt, tell me, what is the foundation of our rule over our lands?”

“Our vassals,” DeWitt answered after a moment’s thought.

Knights and castles were the core of a lord’s rule, but vassals were the foundation.

“Exactly! Vassals. It takes three generations to test the loyalty of a vassal. But Baron Victor doesn’t have that luxury; his family abandoned him, he has no foundation. So he devised the points system.

“One thousand points for an acre of land—an offer his people cannot refuse. In pursuit of points, they will work themselves to the bone for him. And to ensure the system endures, they will defend his rule fiercely. That is loyalty—loyalty forged by shared interests!

“Now, what did Baron Victor, impoverished as he is, actually give up in this process?” Chipman pressed, his gaze intense.

“Nothing!” DeWitt realized in shock that Victor had given up nothing, yet won the devotion of his people. The land he promised would have gone to vassals regardless.

“No—he gave up the future! Remarkable, truly remarkable! With nothing but an empty promise of the future, he bought the people's loyal support. What a genius idea!” Chipman exclaimed, unable to contain himself, pacing the room.

“My lord, could we not do the same?” DeWitt asked, somewhat excited.

“Impossible. We already have vassals, and vassals are exclusive,” Chipman shook his head. “Don’t be absurd. If commoners could buy vassalage with points, what would our tested vassals think? Human society is always about keeping others beneath you.”

“What a pity that Baron Victor is still so young and inexperienced. He tied his points system to the copper sol, a clear mistake in my eyes! This will bankrupt him—he cannot imagine how eager his people will be for points!” The thought of Victor losing a fortune made Chipman wince, though it was not his own money—such was his nature. Yet he did not know Victor had already solved this problem.

“Still, his invention of purple cane wine may just see him through,” Chipman added, smacking his lips.

DeWitt, through spies in the hill camp, had procured some of the wine for Chipman to taste. Its unique sweetness had won his high praise.

“Who would have thought that something as worthless as purple cane could have such value in Baron Victor’s hands?” DeWitt sighed. Unconsciously, he no longer referred to Victor as “the little lord.”

“The Wimbledons—true merchant nobility. Their commercial instincts are enviable!” Chipman agreed. Victor was proof of this, and so was the former Marquis Wimbledon, the kingdom’s ex-minister of finance, whose lifetime of wealth exceeded that of several generations of the Chipman family.

Most nobles spent no more than a hundred thousand gold sols purchasing land and titles in Horseman’s Hills, yet Sophia spent half a million. Even knowing this was a political offering, Chipman couldn’t help but be envious.

That old lecher—why did he not marry my daughter? Chipman fumed.

“For now, the best course is to maintain the status quo. We continue mining mithril as always, but our people stay out of the rest of Victor’s lands. That’s the unspoken agreement between lords.

“Any rash move could alert the Yorks and expose the secret of the mithril mine. And joining the Grand Duke’s faction for the sake of that land would only bring political risks and force us to share the mine. Only by maintaining the status quo can we reap the greatest benefit. I won’t undermine Victor—indeed, I may help him consolidate his hold on that land.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“And have those purple canes harvested for our own winemaking. Keep a close eye on Baron Victor—see what other money-making ideas he devises!” Chipman ordered.

He accused DeWitt of being blinded by arrogance, yet he himself was blinded by greed. Little did he know that his covetousness for the purple cane would one day bring disaster upon his lands. For Victor and his vassals deemed the purple cane far more valuable than mithril.

Mine my mithril if you must, but touch my purple cane, and you court your own destruction!

“Too bad Baron Victor is still too weak, caught between the Grand Duke and the Prince’s parties—he could be crushed at any moment!” DeWitt shook his head, lamenting. Though Victor’s ingenuity impressed him, he lacked the strength to protect himself.

Yet DeWitt’s words gave Count Chipman pause. He had already missed out on the old Marquis Wimbledon—would he let the younger Wimbledon slip by too? He had a hunch that Victor would outshine even the old marquis as a merchant noble.

“DeWitt, keep a discreet watch on Baron Victor. If he ever finds himself truly desperate, we’ll offer him protection. If he’s willing to join our family, I’ll have Gillian marry him!” Count Chipman declared solemnly.

At the thought of that proud and headstrong beauty, DeWitt shivered involuntarily.