Chapter 189

Chapter 189
## Chapter 189

“The House of Lerum has dispatched a messenger of capitulation?”

“Indeed. Sir Folkar has been sent as their official delegate.”

“Good heavens.”

Lucian emitted a dry, cynical chuckle, completely taken aback.

Not even twenty-four hours had passed, and they were already folding? If their resolve was this flimsy, why had they bothered with such an arrogant display of defiance earlier?

To make the situation more absurd, the man chosen for the task was Folkar—the very individual who had ignited this entire conflict.

On the surface, it might look like a logical choice, but in truth, the lord was offering up his subordinate as a sacrificial lamb. It was a pathetic betrayal of the bond between master and servant, the single most vital pillar of their social order.

“Has the Viscount lost his mind? To think he’d personally drag the prestige he claimed to cherish so much through the gutter.”

“He likely realized the truth far too late. The terror of his entire lineage being wiped out must have finally jolted him into reality.”

“He certainly took his time waking up to it.”

Lucian muttered as he emerged from his command tent.

In the full gaze of the gathered troops, Folkar was a statue of humiliation, kneeling with his forehead pressed into the mud. Even for a man surrendering, the posture was excessively subservient—far below what any knight should endure.

“The pathetic Folkar offers greetings to His Majesty the King!”

“The King, you say?”

Lucian’s lips curled into a smirk at Folkar’s shout.

Until this moment, these men had pointedly referred to him only as ‘His Highness,’ carefully avoiding the royal title. Yet, with the shadow of total war looming over them, they had appended ‘King’ to his name without being asked.

The blatant shift in demeanor prompted a biting remark from Lucian.

“That has a pleasant ring to it. I’ll be sure to inform Marquis Bernhardt. I’ll let him know the House of Lerum has officially recognized me as their King. I’m certain he’ll be thrilled and view this Viscounty as the crown jewel of the West.”

“Precisely! We were blind to the respect His Majesty deserved until now, so is it not a moment of celebration that we have found our clarity? The Marquis will surely share in our pride!”

Lucian expected the man to wince, but Folkar immediately leaned into the sarcasm, grinding his head further into the dirt. Lucian clicked his tongue at the shameless fawning, a sight that would have been unthinkable from the Folkar of yesterday.

“Quite a performance. It’s almost impressive how a man can transform so radically in a single day. Nearly commendable.”

“I am gratef—!”

“Enough, hold your tongue. Your flattery is beginning to sound like an insult.”

Folkar stiffened as Lucian’s tone turned frigid.

As suspected, it wasn’t genuine submission; the man was attempting to exert a small, petty defiance in his own way. It was a weak, miserable resistance that ultimately changed nothing.

“Produce the surrender decree the Viscount gave you. I’m eager to see what delusions he’s committed to paper this time.”

Folkar bit his lip at the open contempt shown toward his master but retrieved the scroll from his tunic. Lucian took the document from an aide, scanned the text, and let out a freezing laugh.

“He intends to throw the gates wide to greet me, provided I leave his lands untouched?”

“That is the proposal. His Excellency the Viscount…”

“It’s a transparent snare. He intends to have me murdered the moment I cross the threshold.”

“What? I beg your pardon?”

“Any organization withers the moment its head is severed. The Viscount is being clever. To think he possessed such strategic cunning just as this era of chaos begins.”

Folkar turned deathly pale at the sudden accusation.

He had come in person to offer his own life to appease Lucian’s anger. He had endured a level of degradation that would stain his family name for a century, yet here he was being accused of a regicide plot.

“This is a grievous misunderstanding! The intent is purely…!”

“I have no interest in your hollow justifications. If you wish to prove this isn’t a trap, tell the Viscount to come here and prostrate himself.”

“Y-Your Majesty!”

“Why the shock? Is it not a fair request? If the patriarch of the house, the very heart of the family, appears in person, no one will question your sincerity.”

Folkar scrambled to argue, but he froze when he looked into Lucian’s eyes. He realized instantly that regardless of his pleas, Lucian had no intention of softening his demands.

“Go and inform the Viscount. Tell him to stop sending puppets and show his own face. Tell him that if he insists on clinging to his pride until the bitter end, I will strip away everything he owns except for that pride.”

“…As you command, sire.”

Despite the galling terms, Folkar could only bow in defeat. As a man who had failed even to be a successful sacrifice, he had no other choice.

—

Viscount Oleg Lerum mourned the terms of Lucian’s demand, but he ultimately had no alternative but to pass through his own castle gates.

Reaching the encampment with only a skeleton guard, the Viscount spoke in a voice drained of all life.

“Your Majesty, I have arrived in person as you decreed.”

“Indeed you have. The lord of a house has come to crawl and plead for mercy.”

“…”

“Have you no backbone? No, perhaps I said that wrong. Why did a man with so little courage act with such arrogance in my presence?”

Viscount Oleg shivered with raw shame at the verbal lashing. He knew he had been called here specifically to be broken, but the reality of the experience was more painful than he had anticipated.

He never imagined he would be subjected to such treatment as a peer of the realm.

For a heartbeat, he wondered if a warrior’s death in battle would be preferable to this agony, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. As the guardian of his lineage, he couldn’t let his family be erased simply because he couldn’t swallow a few insults.

“…I have no defense. I only beg for Your Majesty’s clemency.”

“Clemency. I suppose I could provide it. Assuming you are willing to pay the toll for your arrogance.”

“If you name the price for my failings, I will provide it with the utmost devotion.”

“Provide lavishly for my troops until the bridge is restored, and offer a compensation that reflects the gravity of the wounds dealt to my knight, Sir Hugo. And… I want one arm from every knight who dared to slander me.”

The Viscount’s eyes bulged with horror.

He could stomach the first two demands, even if they were ruinous. Although Lucian had left the specifics vague to maximize the cost, it was a burden he could carry if he liquidated his family’s wealth.

But the third demand was an impossibility.

“I will grant every other request, but I implore you, do not harm my knights.”

“They blasphemed against me. Did they not label me a useless sovereign and a bloodsucker? For such treason, taking their lives would be standard practice.”

“Your Majesty…!”

Viscount Oleg struck his head against the earth, weeping as he begged Lucian.

Offering Folkar as a victim had been at the edge of what was tolerable. Even if it was a ruse, Folkar was largely responsible for the crisis, and more importantly, Folkar had pleaded for the chance to be the scapegoat.

He likely thought that dying as a sacrifice was his only path to reclaiming some shred of honor. Because of that unique guilt and the man’s own desire, the lord’s betrayal of his vassal might have been overlooked.

But maiming the rest of the knights was an entirely different scenario.

Unlike Folkar, who had led an actual physical strike, these men had merely whispered insults where they thought they were safe. To demand their limbs for that?

‘No matter the master’s decree, what warrior would willingly surrender the arm that defines his life!’

For a knight, losing an arm was more than a physical handicap. It was the theft of their martial identity—their very reason for being—and it ensured they would never draw a sword again.

And yet, he was expected to use his authority to force them to give up their limbs just because of some loose talk?

Even ignoring the total loss of his men’s loyalty, it was a deed that would be loathed by every citizen of the Empire for centuries. It was such a monstrous act that his other retainers would likely abandon him in disgust.

“Your Majesty, I beg of you, alter only the third condition. I will do anything else you ask…!”

“Anything? Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Viscount Oleg blurted out the answer without a second thought. He couldn’t conceive of any requirement being more horrific than the one Lucian had just named.

Hearing the Viscount’s desperate confirmation, Lucian’s expression shifted to one of cold satisfaction.

“I have a single question. Is the river crossable?”

“Pardon? The bridge is still in ruins…”

“I’m not referring to moving a battalion. I’m asking if it’s possible to get one or two individuals to the other side.”

“That is feasible.”

It wasn’t a simple task. Even a powerful swimmer could be dragged under if the rapids surged. However, by using a safety line and a team on the bank to pull them back in an emergency, they could manage to get a few people across.

“Excellent. Then dispatch a courier.”

“A courier? To where?”

Lucian offered a dark, ominous grin at the Viscount’s confusion.

“To the other lords who, like yourself, thought it wise to obstruct my path.”

“…!”

—

“Is the bridge still shattered?”

“Yes, sir. It appears it was sabotaged again just as the repairs were finishing up.”

“Hahaha! Viscount Oleg is doing magnificent work!”

Viscount Karayan Valz, patriarch of the House of Valz, roared with laughter.

He had been gripped by anxiety when he first learned that a massive force of five thousand was marching from the North. If five thousand warriors were unleashed in the West, the House of Valz had no defenses to stop them.

But look at them now.

They were failing to even push past the House of Lerum at the very fringe of the West. At this pace, they shouldn’t be feared as an army of five thousand, but mocked as five thousand fools.

“I wonder if they’ll run out of steam and tuck tail back to the North before they even see our borders. I made such extensive preparations at the Marquis’s command, but it seems Viscount Oleg is going to claim all the glory.”

Despite his words, there was no trace of disappointment on Karayan’s face. The idea of a foreign army of five thousand entering his lands was never a welcome one.

‘I hope they learn their lesson soon and scurry back to their frozen wasteland.’

“Excellency! A missive has arrived from the House of Lerum!”

Viscount Karayan, who had been calmly enjoying his tea, blinked in confusion at the announcement. He had just heard the bridge was still out, so how could a letter have reached him?

“How in the world did the Viscounty deliver a message?”

“It appears a messenger swam across the torrent himself!”

“No, why would they take such a risk?”

Viscount Karayan asked, looking baffled.

It wasn’t totally unheard of for a Lerum messenger to swim across if the bridge was out due to a storm. A strong swimmer would make the crossing, and the letter would be tied to an arrow and fired across to keep it from getting soaked.

Something similar had happened during his father’s reign for a dire emergency. However, such a method was almost never used unless it was life or death, given the high chance of the messenger drowning.

‘What could be so critical that the House of Lerum would force a man to such extremes?’

Feeling a cold chill of dread, Viscount Karayan took the letter. The wax seal was undisturbed, and despite the messenger being drenched, the ink inside was perfectly dry and legible.

Leaning back into his chair, Viscount Karayan opened the scroll, only to go rigid the instant his eyes hit the first line.

— My stronghold has been seized by the Duke.