Chapter 29

Chapter 29
## Chapter 29

Soldiers of fortune typically squander their earnings the second they receive a significant payout.

Because their line of work ensures they could perish at any heartbeat, they believe they should indulge in pleasure while the opportunity exists. Consequently, their way of life is usually disorganized and hedonistic.

Having once walked the path of a sellsword himself, Lucian was intimately familiar with their habits. Even so, he found himself momentarily speechless at the spectacle the mercenaries were currently providing.

“Disgraceful.”

Glass containers clattered beneath his boots with every stride. Puddles of bile were strewn across the floor. Mercenaries, completely wasted, were swinging tankards at one another’s heads.

It was a sight one might anticipate in the early dawn following a chaotic celebration, but it was certainly not a scene to witness in the late afternoon.

“Hic! Who’s that? This entire establishment is ours for the night!”

“A stranger? Hell, just when the party’s getting good, some kid shows up to kill the vibe.”

“The brat even brought bodyguards? Is he some rich noble?”

“Puhahaha!”

The sellswords exploded into mockery as they eyed Lucian. Hearing the vulgar taunts common to men of their breed, the gazes of Hugo and the Black Lions turned lethal.

“Third Young Master.”

“It’s alright. Stand down.”

Lucian checked Raymond, who was prepared to lunge forward, and retrieved a stray wine bottle from the floor. He then flung it with all his strength toward the ceiling at the center of the tavern.

Crash! Shatter!

“What the—!?”

“Son of a—!”

Fragments of glass rained down upon the mercenaries’ heads alongside the deafening explosion of sound. Only then did the men, startled into a semblance of sobriety, spit curses and stumble to their feet. Before the fuming mob could attack, Lucian spoke once more.

“My name is Lucian Valdek. I am the third son of His Grace Sigmund Valdek, the ruling Grand Duke, and the younger sibling of Lord Tristan Valdek, the man who hired you.”

“…!”

“I intended to have a discussion, but you all seemed rather indisposed, so I applied a bit of shock therapy. I am pleased to see it was effective. Or perhaps you still require honey water to clear your minds?”

Upon hearing Lucian’s pedigree, the mercenaries recoiled as one. If their adversary was the offspring of a Grand Duke, they were as good as executed the moment they touched him. While the sellswords wavered, one man moved to the front.

“Well, we won’t be needing any honey water. We’re fully conscious now. But why on earth is a high-born master of the House of Valdek pulling this kind of stunt?”

“…You disrespectful dog!”

At the open lack of reverence, Raymond’s hand shifted to the hilt at his hip. He appeared ready to unsheathe his steel and cut the man down instantly. Lucian rested a hand on Raymond’s shoulder to restrain him and studied the mercenary who had challenged him.

With a thick beard and a visage marked by scars, he appeared every bit as formidable as Hugo.

This individual is the anchor.

To an observer, it might sound like the reckless barking of a sellsword who didn’t understand his station. But in Lucian’s view, every syllable was deliberate.

He intervened to prevent me from seizing the initiative and purposefully used crude language to demonstrate they are not in a position of inferiority. His timing is perfect, occurring just before the negotiation truly starts.

In terms of gravity, it was an insult that could lead to a decapitation for the crime of mocking the nobility. Yet, at the same time, he must have been certain that if Lucian desired a parley, he would tolerate it just this once. For whatever reason, if blood flowed before the discussion began, the entire arrangement would be destroyed.

He wasn’t merely seasoned; he possessed a particular political intuition and a keen intellect.

But he is overconfident.

To not even question his own strategy when there is always a risk of disaster—his faith in his own cleverness bordered on narcissism.

“What is your name?”

“My comrades refer to me as ‘Sven of the Red Blade.'”

“Very well, Sven. Answer me this. Why are you and your companions loitering here? I was informed the mercenary contract was already settled. If you’ve accepted the gold, you should be at your posts.”

When Lucian inquired, dismissing the title as quickly as he heard it, Sven let out a smirk and cocked his head.

“That can’t be right. Regrettably, the agreement between Lord Tristan and us hasn’t been inked yet. We desire to be employed at a fairer rate, but he suddenly tosses us a smaller sum and demands we get to work. What else were we supposed to do?”

“I see. So, did you accept that money?”

“Naturally, we took it. It’s far below a retainer fee, but there’s no reason to turn it down when he’s so adamant about gifting it, is there? Isn’t that right, lads!?”

“Damn right! Long live Lord Tristan and his lavish charity!”

“And long live the liquor and grub we secured with those coins!”

“Puhahahahaha!”

Uproarious laughter broke out among the sellswords. It appeared they intended to argue the funds Tristan provided were ‘alms’ rather than a ‘down payment.’ Lucian observed the relaxed Sven and the boisterous mercenaries and pressed a hand to his brow.

This isn’t going to function.

Tristan had ruined the task with his abysmal bargaining abilities, and Sven, intoxicated by his own leverage, had no intent of backing down. The fact that they desperately required the mercenaries’ assistance was already public knowledge, and the confidence the others placed in Sven was absolute. Under these conditions, regardless of what he uttered, a legitimate negotiation was impossible.

“Don’t think too poorly of us. If you provide a proper sum, we’ll toil like beasts from that moment forward. Despite our appearance, we’re quite meticulous when it comes to finishing a job.”

Perhaps assuming Lucian had conceded, Sven offered a bit of ‘pity.’ But even then, he couldn’t suppress the note of triumph in his tone. Witnessing Sven lost in his grand illusion, Lucian gave a grim smile.

“Is that so? If I provide a proper sum, you’ll truly take care of anything?”

“Naturally. Though it hinges on the total.”

“This is merely a guess, but I believe this should suffice.”

Clink, jingle.

Lucian extracted a pouch of gold from his mantle and tossed it onto a table. The loosely knotted cord came apart, and the coins within tumbled out in a shimmering pile. The mercenaries, who were admiring the theatrical move, soon bulged their eyes as they recognized the engravings on the metal.

“P-Platinum coins! It’s Wilhelm the Great’s Commemorative Coin!”

“What!? Are you out of your mind!?”

“Third Young Master!”

Shouts of disbelief erupted from the sellswords, and the Black Lions were equally stunned.

The so-called Platinum Coin, the Wilhelm the Great Commemorative Coin. It was a currency struck only once every few decades to celebrate the first emperor of the Empire. A single piece was worth hundreds of standard gold coins and could be traded for any currency across the continent. And he had just tossed an entire bag full of them.

Gulp.

The mercenaries swallowed heavily as they stared at the brilliantly glowing platinum. With that fortune, one could lead a life more grand than most aristocrats for the remainder of their days. Even if partitioned among everyone in the room, it was enough for them to quit the mercenary life on the spot.

Even Sven hadn’t anticipated such a figure; he cleared his throat several times, struggling to keep his cool.

“Ahem! Cough! Well, you certainly understand how to talk business. Very well! With this much, it’s more than sufficient—”

“In the name of Lucian Valdek, I shall grant all of these platinum coins to whoever slaughters Sven of the Red Blade.”

“…!?”

Sven, who had been reaching for the bag while hiding a massive grin, turned to stone at Lucian’s subsequent decree.

—

A heavy stillness settled over the tavern.

The command itself wasn’t especially terrifying. There were plenty of bosses who instructed mercenaries to kill one another or duel amongst themselves after a task was finished. Most of the time, it was just empty taunting that any sellsword would disregard.

However, the situation transformed when such an incredible fortune was offered as the prize.

“Shit, what did he just say? He’s giving that entire hoard to just one man?”

“That’s impossible. That’s a sum that would make even a noble house falter.”

“But he took an oath in front of all of us, using his family name.”

“Since he invoked his lineage, it’s past the point where he can just quietly ignore it.”

As the whispering among the mercenaries intensified, Sven could not mask his alarm. To think the alliance he had forged through countless struggles could be rattled like this. If he permitted it to continue, men tempted by those golden words would start appearing in every corner. He needed to speak to regain his authority.

“Listen here, Young Master! What on earth are you—!”

Shring.

Before Sven could utter another word, Lucian unsheathed the blade from his side. At first, they flinched, assuming he was going to strike, but Lucian’s edge was directed at his own palm.

Slice.

“Young Master!?”

Ignoring Hugo’s shout, Lucian closed his fist, allowing blood to drip from his cut palm. Then, he hoisted his fist for all the sellswords to witness and roared at the top of his lungs.

“O Eight Gods of Heaven! I vow in the name of Lucian Valdek that I shall bestow everything in this pouch to the one who slays the man before me! Should I violate this oath, let me no longer be a scion of the blue blood! I pray you witness this!”

“Ah…”

Raymond instinctively masked his face with both hands.

The Oath of the Pantheon. It was simply a promise with no physical bonds. However, in terms of custom and historical weight, its significance was boundless. No Emperor of the Empire had ever taken that vow and failed to honor his word. If a noble, let alone a commoner, broke an Oath of the Pantheon, they would not only be a lifelong pariah but would also be exiled from their clan.

Now there truly is no path back.

Now, if someone slaughtered Sven, those platinum coins absolutely had to be surrendered. The only way to avoid the debt was to revoke the oath in front of everyone before anyone acted. If there was no one to complete the task, there was no issue with withdrawing the vow.

“Crazy, wasn’t that the Oath of the Pantheon? I’ve only heard of it in fables.”

“It’s just a promise. It’s not like you get struck by lightning if you go back on it.”

“You moron! If a noble breaks an Oath of the Pantheon, they get expelled from their house!”

“What? Then he’s really going to hand over all those platinum coins?”

As soon as Lucian’s vow concluded, the chaos among the sellswords deepened. But while the tension mounted, no one moved forward yet. To accept such a contract and murder a comrade meant becoming an outcast. They were still hesitant about betting on the word of a noble youth they had encountered for the first time today.

“Cowardly fools.”

Lucian bellowed with disdain as he scanned the mercenaries.

“I have sworn to the gods upon my dignity. If you cannot even trust such a vow, you have no right to possess these platinum coins.”

Lucian pushed half of the platinum coins aside and stuffed the rest back into the bag. The mercenaries’ eyes darted frantically as the prize was suddenly halved. Regardless, Lucian cancelled his prior vow after reclaiming half the metal and roared again.

“O Eight Gods of Heaven!”

The same vow echoed once more, but the total was now divided. The sellswords shifted, eyeing one another. When no one stepped out the second time, Lucian halved the sum again. Even at a quarter of the initial bounty, it was still a massive wealth.

As the third vow rang out, several mercenaries frantically rose and shouted.

“W-Wait a second, Young Master!”

“Silence! I came here to find someone who will honor my vow, not to have a relaxed conversation with you!”

“That’s why we’re asking how we can be sure! If you give us at least some kind of insurance…!”

“Whether you trust me or not is your concern. But if you cannot even rely on the Oath of the Pantheon, what more can I offer?”

With a scoff, Lucian cancelled the vow again and swept up almost all the remaining platinum coins. The mercenaries were horrified, having expected him to leave at least half again. The remaining amount was no longer enough for a life of opulence like a lord or a grand merchant; at most, it was enough for three commoners to exist their entire lives without labor.

Of course, even that was a sum an average mercenary would never even witness in someone else’s possession, let alone grasp themselves.

“O Eight Gods of Heaven!”

“…Goddammit!”

Clatter, bang.

The moment the fourth vow rang out, several mercenaries jumped up and seized their blades. Determined glares sparked from all sides, signaling they couldn’t let this final opportunity vanish. It was then, as the mood transformed in a heartbeat and Sven retreated, lost for words.

“End this at once! What is this shameful behavior!”

Thud.

Someone barked at the sellswords and rose. It was a young mercenary who had been seated at the same table as Sven.

“Are you really going to succumb to such a divisive ploy! A vow? Do you truly trust the babbling of some noble brat!?”

“Oh, Aiden!”

Sven’s eyes filled with relief as he looked at Aiden, his second-in-command, who was defending him. After scowling at the surrounding men, Aiden drew near Sven, gripped his shoulder, and spoke.

“Have you forgotten how hard Captain Sven has labored for you all this time! To think you’d betray him for a trivial sum like that, even if you are sellswords! Have you no honor!?”

“Ahem!”

“Well, I don’t know much about honor myself.”

Stab.

Sven, who was about to act arrogant at Aiden’s words, suddenly felt a burning heat in his side and his eyes bulged. A blade had been buried deep into him before he even realized it had been pulled.

“Y-You…!”

“Forgive me, Captain. But you have to see reason.”

Twist.

“Gah!”

“You utilized me as a tool twice. This is my first time doing it to you, but unlike you, I reached the goal. So let’s call it settled.”

As Aiden rotated the buried blade, a hollow rasp escaped Sven’s throat. His internals must have been mangled, for he couldn’t even put up a proper fight as the steel was extracted. Aiden plunged it into him a few more times to ensure the life was gone, then threw the limp Sven to the side.

Thud.

“Young Master, please honor your vow.”

Aiden, having dispatched his leader, met Lucian’s eyes with a gaze full of a frozen intensity. Lucian smirked as he swept the remaining platinum coins on the table and dropped them directly into Aiden’s palm.

“Naturally. I always fulfill my word.”