Chapter 184

Chapter 184
## Chapter 184

“An intimidation tactic? What benefit could he possibly derive from that?”

Marquis Bernhardt looked skeptical as he considered his subordinate’s theory.

Certainly, terrorizing a few minor landowners with pathetic defenses was a valid strategy. It forced them into submission, ensuring one could bypass pointless skirmishes.

However, playing the bully in the West—land that belonged to others—would only transform him into a universal target. Even the most fragile lords would unite in defiance if they were pushed with such blatant malice.

“To a man like him, the West is already enemy soil. Why would he go out of his way to harvest the hatred of the Western nobility?”

“That is… I believe he intends to weaponize Your Excellency’s own invitation.”

“Weaponize my invitation?”

“Because he was summoned under the banner of the House of Roglan, the Duke is technically your guest of honor. For any other lord to strike at the Duke would be the equivalent of spitting in your face.”

Since the dawn of chivalry, a host was bound by blood to ensure a traveler’s protection. Should a guest come to harm, it was a stain on the host’s capability. Essentially, unless a neighbor was ready to declare total war on the Marquis, they were forbidden from touching his guest.

“Since no power in the West has the stomach to defy Your Excellency, the Duke’s safety is practically set in stone.”

“What of it? If he marches in with five thousand blades, no one would dare lay a finger on him anyway, regardless of my protection.”

“Quite true. However, with that pretext in place, wouldn’t the local lords have a convenient way to save face even as the Duke tramples through their provinces?”

If they pressured Lucian too hard, they risked making an enemy of Marquis Bernhardt. For those who wished to avoid appearing like cowards, wasn’t that the ideal justification for looking the other way? They would surely insist they only swallowed the humiliation out of deference to the Marquis, hiding the fact that they had neither the courage nor the means to fight back.

“By the same token, it means they have zero obligation to halt the Duke. Only Your Excellency possesses that authority. But if the Duke is permitted to rampage across the West at his whim…”

“I will look like a toothless old man who can’t even manage his own estate. Meanwhile, he will be seen as a titan with the clout to do as he pleases in the West.”

The Marquis finished the thought, his jaw tightening. He finally grasped the depth of Lucian’s gambit.

“He plans to look down on me from a position of superiority.”

When one reached the heights of power, image was as vital as steel. If one’s prestige was chipped away and they failed to strike back, outsiders would start seeing them as ‘diminished.’ Factions on the verge of surrendering would feel their defiance return, and ambitious men who might have pledged their swords would look elsewhere for a master.

That aura of invincibility was exactly what Lucian was hunting. He wanted to demonstrate to the world that Marquis Bernhardt was his subordinate.

“Still as cunning as a mountain fox. Curse him.”

“But our hands are tied. The Duke will advance no matter our protest. To resolve this peacefully, we must dance to his tune, even if it hurts our pride.”

“…No, there is a counter.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting an open conflict?”

The advisors cried out in alarm at the Marquis’s low tone. As discussed, five thousand men was an awkward size for a campaign of total conquest. The danger of being picked apart grew as one had to leave units behind to hold every captured town. Therefore, if the Marquis stayed behind his walls, he held a massive advantage against such a number.

However, the dynamic shifted entirely if they were the ones to initiate a battle in the open field.

“It is too risky. Since the foe has a massive host, they will be devastating in a pitched battle. If we slip up, we, the aggressors, could be the ones facing ruin.”

“Furthermore, if we suffer even a single defeat on the field, our reputation will never recover. Please, think this through.”

The frantic aides scrambled to talk Marquis Bernhardt down. The Duke wasn’t a fool; he wouldn’t commit to a war of total occupation. He would likely be content with a single triumph before retreating to the North. The issue was that if they were beaten in a physical clash rather than a verbal one, a permanent pecking order would be set. Unlike the world of words, where losses can be spun, the blood on a battlefield tells only one truth.

Marquis Bernhardt snorted at the desperate pleas surrounding him.

“Quiet down. When did I ever claim I would meet a force of five thousand in a head-on collision?”

“Sir?”

“There isn’t even a need for a fight. I’ll ensure he exhausts his strength and crawls back to the North on his hands and knees.”

Marquis Bernhardt smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes. So, you’re invading the West with five thousand men because the Marquis invited you?

‘Very well. Try your luck. If you can even make it this far.’

The logistics of maintaining a legion of five thousand would be ruinous. If they were stalled in a single location, how long could they truly sustain themselves?

—

After sending his reply to the House of Roglan, Lucian departed for the West the moment his columns were ready.

Five thousand infantry, three hundred heavy knights, an Archmage, and the reigning Sword Saint. Since the beginning of this era of strife, it was the most formidable war machine ever put together by a single lord.

Naturally, there was no way for such a sprawling army to travel without crossing through the domains of others. While a handful of elites might move unnoticed, the roads capable of supporting a grand army were few. It was a move guaranteed to offend other noble houses, yet Lucian marched without a second thought.

“If I stop to worry about the feelings of every man who might be a friend or a foe, I’ll never move an inch. If priorities must be set, my needs come first.”

“But aren’t you creating an army of enemies? There are scores of territories belonging to other lords that we must cross.”

“We aren’t laying siege; we’re just taking the road. What enemies? If someone decides to become my eternal rival over a simple march, they are a fool not worth a moment’s thought.”

In times of peace, leading a host into another’s land was a declaration of war. It was a visceral spit in the face of the local lord, so a lifelong grudge would be expected.

But in these chaotic times, this hardly registered as a threat. This was a world where a family’s legacy could be extinguished by a single surprise raid. Everyone was looking to thin out their enemies and find safety in numbers, and someone was going to pick a fight with Lucian just for walking past? Such a person was an idiot who wouldn’t survive a year before their lineage was wiped out.

“And I haven’t ignored them. I sent formal notices that we are passing through, and I provided the justification that I have no choice because of the Marquis’s summons. That is more than enough courtesy.”

“Is it… truly sufficient?”

“If they take issue with it, they are free to come and complain to my face. If they have the spine, that is.”

Ripples of laughter spread through the ranks at Lucian’s remark. What lunatic would stand before the Conqueror of the North and his five thousand warriors to lodge a protest? Unless they wanted their lands leveled by a charging army, they would keep their mouths shut and bow.

Within the cheerful mood, only Ernst the messenger ground his teeth in the shadows.

‘Damn it. I knew he was impulsive, but this exceeds my darkest fears. He has zero hesitation when it comes to acting. Has he gone mad with power because he holds so much of it at such a young age?’

Ernst tried to frame Lucian’s maneuvers as pure arrogance—the reckless blundering of a child drunk on his own legend who couldn’t see the consequences.

However, a cold part of Ernst’s mind disagreed. The path Lucian was carving right now was actually the most logical route through the chaos.

‘…Marching a massive army across their lands is a slap in the face, but conversely, it is a brutal wake-up call that yanks those lords out of their fantasies. The realization that five thousand troops could burn their homes at any moment will sharpen their focus.’

And most importantly, they would feel a deep terror toward Lucian, a man capable of such a brazen act without blinking. Some might hate him, but others would simply give up, crushed by a sense of inevitability. Since every noble was a potential rival in this era, it was a victory if the latter group grew even slightly.

‘Furthermore, he keeps pinning the blame for his movements on Marquis Bernhardt. Usually, such a flimsy excuse wouldn’t hold up, but people love to lie to themselves to avoid their own shame.’

If he merely paraded his strength, they would feel an instinctive need to resist even if they wanted to yield. Even if they knew they couldn’t win, the stain on their honor would remain. However, Lucian was giving them a way out—however transparent—by saying he was only there because of the Marquis. He had given them a scapegoat for their own helplessness.

It was a calculated move that likely tripled the number of lords who would eventually bend the knee to Lucian.

‘Curse it all, what am I to do?’

Ernst held his head, pained by the reality that his master’s rival was gaining ground and he was powerless to interfere. He knew there was no counter-move, which made it all the more infuriating.

Because of his distress, Ernst didn’t notice. He failed to see Sword Saint Felicia watching him from the rear with frozen eyes. He didn’t realize that her fury wasn’t personal, but was a slow-burning fire directed at everything associated with the House of Roglan.

—

“Messenger Ernst. How much longer until we reach the borders of the House of Lerum?”

“…We are nearly there. Our arrival is imminent.”

At Lucian’s prompt, Ernst answered with a strained smile. Naturally, it was impossible for a host of this size to pitch tents in the wild every single night. Given the trek, they occasionally required the facilities of a proper city.

Marquis Bernhardt had seemingly anticipated this, as he had secured the cooperation of several families along the path.

—When the lords of the North arrive with their retinue, please provide them with sustenance and shelter. I shall cover all expenses at a later date.

—As you command.

The leaders of each house had quickly agreed to the Marquis’s request. It was built on the foundation of trust established between the families over decades before the world fell apart.

But who could have guessed that those ‘retinues’ would manifest as a legion of five thousand? It would be one thing if they were merely stunned by the massive cost. In a worst-case scenario, they would believe the Marquis had lied to them and develop a deep resentment.

‘Please, let them just be startled. Please…!’

Ernst prayed fervently that a disaster could be avoided. If his oversight caused a break with a house they had leaned on for generations, his head on a platter wouldn’t be enough to fix it.

Finally, as Lucian crossed into the West and moved into the lands of the House of Lerum…

“Ho, quite a sight. Have they already prepared for us?”

“…!?”

A sound of genuine respect came from Lucian, while a choked gasp of disbelief escaped Ernst.

Against all logic, the House of Lerum was perfectly prepared to host the massive army. Outside the stone walls, perfect rows of tents were already standing, and cauldrons were bubbling with food for the soldiers. Even the Viscount himself had traveled beyond the safety of his gates to meet Lucian in person.

While Ernst stood paralyzed by the impossible sight, the lord of the House of Lerum walked forward and raised his voice.

“Oleg Lerum offers greetings to the Conqueror of the North! You must be exhausted from your travels, so please, use my lands to rest and find your strength again!”