Episode 128 The Betrayal of Loyal Vassals - The Saga of Lioncourt

The Lioncourt army was marching northward. Their destination was the capital of the Count of Darmont's domain—Darmont Castle. Though they did resupply in the villages along the way, they refrained from pillaging. They graciously accepted assistance offered out of goodwill, for the Lioncourt army was a gathering of gentlemen. "However, Darmont's territory seems quite prosperous. Do they usually eat wheat?" "There are a lot of people here too." Rolo and I were both astonished by the prosperity of the Count's domain. The resources we were gathering were quite different from those in Lioncourt. First and foremost, there was wheat. Given the barren land and high altitude with extreme cold in Lioncourt, wheat cultivation was unsuitable, and I encouraged the growth of barley and rye instead. Although Darmont's territory is more northern from Lioncourt's perspective, it seems they can grow wheat. ...I recall the Count claiming he could mobilize as many as 3,500 men by himself... Of course, such claims couldn't be taken at face value, yet it was impressive nonetheless. Even though Lioncourt had become more prosperous, its mobilization capacity was probably limited to 2,800 men. In emergencies, like the Bachelard campaign the previous year, the number might barely exceed 3,000—and even that required some stretching. Bachelard might be able to muster 2,000, but given the public discontent with me, the actual number would probably be around 1,500. The army is the people. It's challenging for a despised lord to gather troops. "The population doesn't increase quickly... The wheat bread is delicious, and I envy them." "Yes, they have lots of onions, too. We grow them in Lioncourt, but theirs seem to be larger and more robust." Rolo picked up a bundle of onions, tied together. Onions, when tied like this and hung for storage, are a practical, long-lasting vegetable. Whether the size difference is due to cultivation methods, variety, or soil, I don't know, but I'd like to try growing these in Lioncourt. ...Well, I suppose I'd need to bring a farmer along with the onions... We could get someone who knows the cultivation methods. I thought about capturing a farmer and bringing him back to Lioncourt. "Ah, when you talk about food in Darmont, you have to mention the organ stew, right? That stuff's delicious." "It was incredibly fatty. I didn't expect it to be so hot since it wasn't steaming." Roger and Poncello joined us. It was an unexpectedly fresh pairing. The organ stew they referred to was a soup we tasted in Darmont's domain. It was made by stewing pig or goat entrails with onions and herbs. Despite the strong odor and richness, it was quite tasty. Apparently, it's a special dish eaten during festivals in these parts. "It might taste even better if we seasoned it with fish sauce." "Indeed, various ingredients would complement it well." Roger and Poncello seemed to get along surprisingly well. Poncello is quite nurturing, so maybe his personality meshes well with Roger, who is somewhat unreliable but spirited. "Anyway, as tasty as the organ stew is... Did something happen?" I asked the two, and Roger chuckled, "Oh yeah, there was." "A local knight approached us, offering cooperation. He's a neutral party." "Our reconnaissance team made contact. They probably thought they were going to be attacked since we passed by nearby. They seemed flustered offering it." I responded with a nonchalant "hmm" to their words. He was likely a local knight who had been sitting on the fence. He probably didn't have significant forces, so we could just leave him be. We had no reason to attack him. "Well then, let's take any supplies they offer. If they want to join, tell them to join Count Darmont's forces." "Understood. I'll inform them to meet up with the Darmont 'main force'." Poncello flashed a sly grin and left. The 'Darmont main force' he mentioned was a bluff. It was a ploy to imply, "We're only a detachment; there's a more formidable main force poised to join us." "And are you not going with them?" I called out to Roger, who was playing with the tied onions. "Yeah, I'm going. But these onions here, they sure are big. Is it a different variety?" "Probably. I'd like to bring back a few and try cultivating them... Now get going." With a dismissive wave, I shooed him away. Roger clicked his tongue but soon dashed off to catch up with Poncello. Apparently, he has an interest in cooking and farming. "Lord Roger is learning a lot and growing splendidly. But telling a knight 'shoo' isn't proper." Rolo nagged with his usual fussiness. Yet, since he wasn't wrong, I nodded with a "Yeah, I suppose." "But there's still a long way to go. He's supposed to succeed his uncle." "That's harsh. It's a tough comparison." Rolo and I shared a laugh, taking pleasure in the growth of the younger generation. Roger, Guy, and Albert were all young. Somehow, witnessing those younger than myself grow makes me feel like I'm aging, stirring a sentimental mood. When I briefly imagined my own old age, anxiety welled within me. "...Rolo, when I'm an old man, will you change my diapers?" "What!? All of a sudden with that! Why me... We're the same age!" Rolo's confused reaction after a long while made me laugh. In Amoros, those over fifty are considered elderly. It's not a tale of the distant future. Truth is, I've noticed my body's decline more frequently. Recently, I've been experiencing sudden vomiting—at times when burping or lying down, the contents of my stomach would reverse and I'd gag with an "ugh." It's nothing serious, but sometimes the heartburn is intense, and it doesn't feel pleasant. ...It might be gastroesophageal reflux disease... Too much stress... Rubbing my stomach, it felt like something was rising again, and I had to suppress a "urp." At my side, Rolo firmly declared, "I will not change them!" with a determined voice. Completely oblivious fellow. As the army continued moving north, enemy scouts were spotted repeatedly. We had destroyed their castle after all. There's no way the Clement faction wouldn't notice. "There they are again. Could we target them with the ballista?" "Hmm, it might serve as a deterrent." Andre crossed his arms and contemplated my casual remark. Currently, Andre served as my deputy, responsible for managing the army altogether. His meticulous nature made him adept at such work. During this expedition into Count Darmont's domain, I barely interfered with his decisions—there was no need. Right now, he was verifying the quantities of supplies, and with him, there were no oversights. Having capable subordinates to delegate to makes life easier. In our ranks, we have Poncello, skilled in the deployment of troops, and Andre, an adept manager. They're indeed the backbone of our army. Freed from daily chores, I leisurely enjoyed experiencing the warfront. In truth, since my first expedition as a commander of a detached force, this was the most relaxed I'd been. Until reaching Poussin Castle, I had worked hard managing the coordination with the armies of other lords. But now, there were only Albert's and Jean's armies. In other words, just family—no need for formalities. "Let's hold back on the ballista. However, those enemy scouts are a nuisance, affecting morale. Chase them off appropriately." "Understood. I'll have Lord Poncello keep watch." Andre glanced briefly at our scouts and was about to step back when Poncello approached us. His timing was impeccable, almost as if he had overheard our conversation. "A force has left Darmont Castle. There are 1,700 of them, and if we continue on this course, we might encounter them as early as tomorrow," Poncello reported. "Already? Well, since we've taken a castle, it's no surprise. We'd best find a suitable place to set up camp. I'll leave the positioning to you," I instructed. I acknowledged the report and directed Poncello to establish a position. The Count of Darmont's domain featured mostly flat land, making it difficult to set up camp on advantageous terrain. A high visibility, open area would be ideal for positioning our forces. Setting up camp on the plains should be no challenge for Poncello—his skill in this area surpasses mine. "We can use the dismantled remains from the recent castle destruction as materials. We can also cut out some building materials from here," Poncello suggested. "That’s a great help. I'll go ahead and scout the terrain myself, though I'm somewhat familiar with it; I need to see it firsthand," Andre said. In his younger days, Andre might have competed with Poncello, but now he was much more composed. These two are reliable—individuals I can trust with the future. "So, if I were to lose my marbles, would you two change my diapers?" My sudden question left Andre momentarily stunned, while Poncello remained silent. "Don't worry about it. Recently, Lord Varian seems to have taken a liking to this topic," Rolo interjected, somewhat exasperated, offering a lifeline to the two. This was the same traitor who confidently declared she wouldn't change my diapers. "Haha... But I'm considerably older," Andre replied. "Yeah, I'm... older too. If you have any concerns, I can pass them on to my sister, Sumina," Poncello added. Somehow, I felt like they'd said something harsh. I don’t have many concerns in that area, thank you very much. The biggest issue is the occasional mishap when a fart becomes more than just a fart. I've been betrayed by the three I trusted most. My later years promise to be lonely... I'll cling to relevance until the end, even if it means becoming a nuisance. They’ll rue this day. The Next Day The Lioncourt army had established its camp and was poised to meet Clement's forces. While the camp was temporary, it was surrounded by fences, with empty wagons serving as makeshift gates. They were moved to allow entry and exit. Despite frequent appearances from enemy scouts, the camp stood solitary and strong in the open, high-visibility terrain. Ambushes would be impossible. "A military envoy is here. The reconnaissance team made contact," Poncello announced. "Again?" I sighed. Since yesterday, Clement's envoys had come repeatedly, but their message was always the same. They insisted that "Lioncourt should not interfere in Darmont's internal conflict," claiming that "the fault lies with Desiree de Darmont (the Count)," and repeated that "the Count's wife and children are being held as hostages." It appeared they were trying hard to push our forces to withdraw, but that wasn't going to happen. Every time, we simply replied, "We are but a detachment. Conduct negotiations with Count Darmont." We wouldn’t give them any leverage. Before long, the envoy appeared. We'd seen him several times since yesterday, and he likely already anticipated the outcome. Originally an unimpressive middle-aged man, today he looked even more glum. His eyebrows formed an impressive eight-figure frown. "I bring words from my lord..." Before the envoy could begin, I cut in with, "Negotiations should be with Count Darmont." "Well, I mean... please, let me at least finish what I have to say," he pleaded, almost teary-eyed, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy... If this was a ploy to gain empathy, it was quite the strategy. "Yeah, well... I understand your position," I conceded. "My apologies for the repeated visits," he replied. This man was in a tough spot. He wasn't doing this out of personal desire. When I asked, "Want some jerky?" he accepted it gratefully and began nibbling. ...It felt like I was witnessing the sorrow of middle management... Here he was, munching on jerky in the enemy camp; one could sense an indescribable melancholy in his hunched back. "Since you've come all this way, should we arrange a proper battle?" "I would be grateful for that," he answered, faintly releasing his tension as he agreed to negotiate. We fixed a date and location for our forces to clash. Being outnumbered, we had the advantage, but he likely wanted to finish this swiftly as well. Without any objections, a battle for the next day was set. "Well, hang in there. If you ever want to change jobs, you're welcome to join us. How about working as a magistrate in a peaceful village?" I offered. "I would be grateful. However... I'm sorry," he responded, reacting only slightly to the "peaceful" part. He was probably overworked and stressed after running back and forth between armies multiple times. He seemed exhausted. "Take care of yourself," I said. Upon hearing my final words, a complex expression crossed the envoy's face. He bowed with another "I would be grateful" before taking his leave. His departure, devoid of vitality, resembled that of a salaryman catching the last train home. ...He used to be more straight-laced... Clement and Auger are probably giving him a hard time... Thinking about it, he had been shuttling back and forth numerous times since yesterday. He might have been working without rest... and he must've been starving to the point of accepting dried meat from the enemy. "You've gotten strangely kind," Rolo commented, hinting at some ulterior motive, though there was none. "I just feel a bit sorry for him," I confessed. Honestly, that was the truth. I'd crush the enemy swiftly and free the poor man from his oppressive company. The battle was scheduled for the next day, and it wasn't far off. I commanded the troops to rest up in preparation for the decisive engagement.