The Third Son of a Medieval Knight Family Chapter 6 - Prologue (5)

The atmosphere of war was thick in the air.

What had begun as a small whim of Lord Kobarov had now escalated beyond a trivial conflict in the Uley region into a renewed war between the principality and the barbarian tribes—a war that had only recently been halted.

The principality had long been expanding toward the vast steppe, met with resistance from the indigenous tribes.

The blood-for-blood war that had continued for decades was more than enough time to make them view each other as mortal enemies.

It was inevitable that their relationship would ignite again with even the slightest provocation.

****

Viscount Odor, the commander of Radovitz Fortress, was barely restraining his desire to beat the messenger before him.

Doing so himself would be too undignified, after all.

Perhaps understanding his lord’s reddened face and seething anger?

Sir Yeltsin, a knight under his command, shouted loudly.

“Do you call that a proper message?!”

“W-Well, that is…”

“Let’s put aside your shameless request for support when you were the ones who provoked them first! How could a so-called knight like your master be so disloyal! How could he forget the orders that came down less than three months ago to avoid major conflicts with those people!”

“Are you insulting Lord Kobarov, my master?”

“Shut your mouth, you lowly wretch! If Lord Kobarov were here before me, I would immediately challenge him to a duel! If you have any sense, how could engaging with barbarians at this time possibly be reasonable?!”

The servant who had come as a messenger blushed and remained prostrate.

While his lord’s name carried weight in their village, it was utterly useless even a short distance beyond.

The servant, who had lived quite arrogantly under Lord Kobarov’s protection within the village, now feared for his life if he spoke incorrectly here.

With a knight shouting at him with murderous intent, and others around placing hands on their sword hilts while glaring at him, he could hardly keep his wits about him.

“Now, now. Sir Yeltsin. Please calm yourself. Since this has already happened, discussing countermeasures would be more reasonable, wouldn’t it?”

As a more amicable-looking knight stepped in from the side to calm Sir Yeltsin, the servant was finally able to catch his breath and retreat.

“Ah, and as for that arrogant servant, strip him of his clothes and drive him out. He deserves death for wagging his tongue beyond his station, but out of respect for Lord Kobarov’s face.”

Though the servant was dragged away with a darkened expression, no one paid him any mind.

Viscount Odor, finally calming his face, asked with gravity.

“Now, what should we do about this matter? I would like to hear the opinions of you knights.”

Sir Yeltsin first stomped his foot indignantly and spoke.

“This matter was entirely brought about by Lord Kobarov acting on his own! He should resolve it at his own level!”

But the knight who had calmed him, Sir Lusimov, waved his hand in rebuttal.

“Sir Yeltsin, I understand your feelings, but you know we can’t do that. The eastern edge of the Uley region is an area the Grand Prince himself is paying attention to. Losing it could result in criticism for our lord as well.”

Viscount Odor held his head.

That was precisely the problem.

In his heart, he couldn’t care less if a few wretched villages disappeared.

It wasn’t even his territory, after all.

But reality wouldn’t allow that.

The eastern part of the Uley region was a prize obtained at the end of the previous war with the barbarians.

The Grand Prince wanted to stabilize that area and receive fur supplies for trade with the old empire in the south.

Moreover, he had an ambitious plan to civilize the natives—the barbarians—and incorporate them into the principality’s military force.

Establishing pioneer villages, appointing knights of barbarian origin, and even allowing them to forge direct vassal contracts with the Grand Prince were all part of that policy.

And for Viscount Odor, what hurt most was that these knights had direct vassal contracts with the Grand Prince.

The Uley region itself was practically under the direct control of the Grand Prince.

Viscount Odor was the castellan responsible for defending this region, but he didn’t even own any land in the area.

His own territory was fertile soil in the southern part of the principality, not this cold and desolate place.

He had come to serve as castellan here solely out of loyalty to the Grand Prince—or more honestly, mixing in a bit of ambition and desire for honor—but now he’d reached his limit.

The knights wouldn’t follow his control, they were willful, and above all, they were ignorant with not an ounce of culture or knowledge.

Of course, the principality itself couldn’t be called a nation at the cutting edge of fashion.

Even now, the westerners called the people of the principality northern country bumpkins and looked down on them.

But even to these principality people, the nobles and people of this region appeared to be nothing but hopeless blockheads.

Rough and fierce, hardly different from barbarians!

And finally, one of them, Lord Kobarov, had caused a massive incident.

Moreover, although Odor himself had to deal with the aftermath, Lord Kobarov had the audacity to send just one filthy servant scurrying over.

No properly assembled delegation, not even minimal sincerity, nothing at all.

‘Once this is all over, I’ll have him stripped of his knighthood no matter what words come my way!’

In his heart, he had already torn the man to pieces several times over, but for now, he had no choice.

If barbarians were attacking, support had to be sent.

That was the purpose for which his position had been created, after all.

“Sir Lusimov. What forces can we mobilize right now?”

At Viscount Odor’s question, Sir Lusimov pondered briefly before answering.

“Currently, we have thirty-three knights stationed at the fortress, and one regularly employed mercenary band. Excluding the minimum personnel required to defend the fortress, we could send between fifteen to twenty knights as support.”

“Good. The Uley tribes have limited forces they can mobilize anyway. They won’t be able to attempt anything significant on their own. What do you think, secretary?”

“Your Excellency is correct. Even if those tribes mobilize their forces, they would at most burn a few pioneer villages. To do anything beyond that, this region is too vast and barren. They would likely be satisfied after burning some villages and looting.”

As the secretary reported coldly, Viscount Odor nodded.

“I understand. Let me summarize. I believe we all agree that we must provide support according to our promise to His Highness the Grand Prince. If all the pioneer villages burn down, my head won’t remain safe either, hahaha.”

“Your Excellency…”

“Sir Yeltsin. I’ll assign ten knights under your command. I’ll also write conscription orders, so gather forces while making a wide detour to Lord Kobarov’s village. Sir Lusimov? Send someone to find a suitable new mercenary band. As soon as they’re available, have them join Sir Yeltsin to support Lord Kobarov.”

“Yes, understood!”

Once their lord had made up his mind, they had to follow without argument.

As the two knights bowed their heads, Viscount Odor continued in a low voice.

“And about this matter…”

Just then.

“Your Excellency, Your Excellency! Urgent news!”

As a messenger rushed in without permission, nearly tumbling inside, Sir Yeltsin frowned.

“Are you mad? Do you know where you are…?”

“The Grand Chief has raised an army! He says he will rescue the oppressed Uley tribes and punish the principality’s sin of breaking the peace treaty…”

“!!”

Viscount Odor stood up abruptly.

“Is this true? The Grand Chief has moved?”

“It’s certain! The Grand Chief’s envoy has already headed toward our capital…”

“Damn it all!”

Viscount Odor, unable to contain his anger, swept the items off the table.

Though the objects shattered with a loud noise, no one paid attention to that.

Sir Lusimov muttered with a pale face.

“The Grand Chief has moved…? The Uley tribes must have requested his support. How could this happen…?”

Sir Yeltsin was more direct.

“That garbage Kobarov has created this mess?! I’ll kill him!”

If the Grand Chief had moved, this was no longer a matter that Radovitz could handle on its own.

There would likely be an investigation from the upper echelons of the principality.

It was clear that Viscount Odor would be held accountable.

Failing to properly manage the sparks of war meant someone would inevitably have to take responsibility.

If it had ended as a conflict confined to the Uley region, it could have been dismissed as a common occurrence, but with the Grand Chief involved, matters changed.

How many principality soldiers had died facing the Grand Chief of the steppe in the last war?

Even the principality had to give its all to face him.

Viscount Odor collapsed back into his seat weakly and said,

“Send someone… we need as much support as possible… Radovitz is in danger.”

Reprimands would come later, but only if they survived.

True to their nature as people who mostly ride on horseback, the barbarians had terrible siege capabilities but boasted tremendous mobility.

If they decided to charge in earnest, Radovitz would be within reach.

And after passing the fortress, they would slaughter all the surrounding villages as they advanced.

Once the surroundings were scorched, the fortress couldn’t hold out for long either.

‘Is this… a nightmare?’

Because of what one pioneer village knight had done, wounds that had barely healed from the pain of war were about to reopen.

Viscount Odor hung his head.

“Withdraw the support. For now, focus on confirming the situation. Stock up on supplies as much as possible and recruit mercenary bands. Expedite conscription as well. Sir Lusimov. You are to find out how far the Grand Chief’s forces have advanced and what’s happening at the front.”

With his lord issuing orders coldly rather than completely falling into despair, Sir Lusimov’s face brightened slightly.

“Yes, Your Excellency. I will definitely find out what the situation is!”

As Sir Lusimov disappeared, Sir Yeltsin tilted his head.

“Hey, is that servant still inside the fortress?”

“Hm? Ah, yes, he is.”

“Bring him.”

Soon, a man’s scream echoed throughout the fortress.

****

Viktor looked around him.

Forests everywhere he looked.

“Why on earth do they call this the land of the steppe?”

As Viktor muttered to himself, a soldier beside him spoke up.

“The forest gets denser as you go upward, but if you go down further, there’s an endless wide plain.”

“Oh, is that true?”

“Yes. They say the broad plain stretching downward extends endlessly eastward. That’s why they call it the land of the steppe.”

Viktor took another look around.

In truth, since leaving the village and being assigned to scouting duty, all he had seen were dense forests and muddy ground.

Even that was green only because it was currently the warm season; otherwise, this place showed nothing but snowdrifts when it got cold.

Since childhood, he had always wondered why they called this the land of the steppe, and even after finally venturing outside the village, he couldn’t understand why.

To think that the origin came from the plains below…

“You’re knowledgeable. Is that also a hunter’s wisdom?”

The man laughed sheepishly and replied.

“Haha, not really. I wasn’t originally a hunter.”

“Oh? Then Lukovich, what was your original occupation?”

“I was originally a peddler. Hmm… you know the circumstances of how peddlers end up working in the village, don’t you?”

The man, Lukovich, scratched his head.