Chapter 40
Everything unfolded exactly as it had in the novel.
Only, the timing had moved forward by a few years—
and Count Venere’s desperation had become far more intense than in the story.
In the end, Count Venere made an irreversible choice.
Without even issuing a proper declaration,
the soldiers he had gathered began to move.
There’s nothing more foolish than a war without justification—
especially when the power among nobles is evenly balanced, like in the current Kingdom of Isother.
In times like these, starting a war without cause was suicide.
It would only earn a collective beating and a swift downfall.
That’s why they’d let their guard down.
They thought Venere wouldn’t be stupid enough to do something like that.
Now that the Inquisitors had arrived, surely his secret schemes would be exposed.
Even though there’d been no news from him for half a month,
they assumed nothing was wrong.
But in hindsight, that itself was strange.
It takes half a month to extract a confession from someone with truth serum?
Impossible—unless something else was being plotted.
All of this was part of King Erengold II’s grand design.
He’d merely said he wouldn’t report lies—
never that he wouldn’t delay reporting the truth.
He was deliberately provoking Venere, waiting for him to make a stupid move.
If that happened, not only House Impera, but House Venere as well would be destroyed.
Then, the king’s original plan would proceed as intended—
a bloody war among the nobles.
This wasn’t a small matter.
A butterfly’s tiny flap can cause a storm.
Just like the so-called “butterfly effect,”
this would spread and engulf the entire continent in blood.
The war wouldn’t end in Isother.
It would continue to spread, eventually leading to the collapse of the Allied Kingdoms.
Amidst the chaos, the remnants of the Imperial faction would reactivate ancient relics of countless knightly orders.
Erengold II didn’t realize
how far the spark of this “small” war would spread.
“Can you hear me?”
[Yes, my lord. Everyone is in position, just as you instructed.]
“Good. How about their numbers?”
[If we count only their private soldiers, they’re about equal to the Marquis of Adornei’s front line. Around a hundred strong. Though, none of them seem particularly formidable.]
“Hm. But with conscripts added in, that number becomes enormous.”
[Yes, sir. In contrast, the Impera territory’s forces are…]
“…Yeah.”
He knew even without Islyn having to say it.
Running a private army required an obscene amount of money.
For the impoverished County of Impera, it was an impossible dream.
They had only just started considering recruiting proper guards.
And to fight Count Venere’s private army with that?
It would only lead to pointless deaths.
Lock the gates and hold out? Not a good plan either.
Once the first wall fell, any siege would only delay the inevitable.
Even if they held the line, there was no guarantee they could prevent interference from other nobles.
That’s what we must avoid above all.
That’s why he’d devised this plan.
If it succeeded, they wouldn’t just stop Venere’s army—
they’d prevent the noble war that would follow.
The key elements were simple:
an overwhelming show of force, and a bit of showmanship.
“As I said before, the Clan doesn’t need to fight recklessly.
Your only job is to prepare for a surprise attack.”
[Yes, my lord.]
“Let’s all make it out alive, then.”
With a thrill he hadn’t felt in a long time,
he ended the communication.
Between Count Venere’s lands and Count Impera’s,
there were only two routes:
one that crossed the Cranigg Mountains,
and another that went around them.
The detour was safer—but much slower.
It took at least four days,
and with supply stops, possibly longer.
Count Venere was impatient.
If he could crush his enemies swiftly
and display overwhelming might,
the other nobles might join his side.
That’s why he hadn’t even properly trained his conscripts.
He’d barely scraped together enough heads to call it an army.
But to him, that didn’t matter.
In small wars, rank decides everything.
With Marcian—Rank 5 in swordsmanship—personally joining the battle,
there wouldn’t even be a proper fight.
It would be a massacre.
If he could use that to make his plan succeed,
he could overturn the current political balance.
It was a desperate and flimsy plan—
but it was the only option he had.
“We’ll end this quickly—that’s the only way!”
And during that chaos,
he would kill the Inquisitor.
The dead tell no tales.
The charges of black magic against Romulus would fade away.
And all the blame could be pinned on the annihilated House Impera.
That was Count Venere’s dream of a scheme—
forced, irrational, but born from desperation.
“Don’t slow down!
We must cross the mountains before nightfall!”
Marcian shouted from atop his horse.
“Damn it. He gets to ride while we—”
“What can you do? Orders are orders.”
They grumbled with bitter faces,
but followed his commands without protest.
For a man who’d lived over ten years as a mercenary,
this was a first.
He’d spent his life chasing coin, not honor.
But now—
“Heh heh…”
—he had power.
Hundreds of soldiers kneeling before a single man—
what a glorious sight.
Marcian rode lazily up the mountain path.
Still, leading an army of conscripts with barely any real soldiers… Is this okay?
Following Venere’s orders,
he led the conscripts and half of the White Company toward the Cranigg Mountains.
In number they reached the hundreds,
but most of the conscripts were unranked, untrained peasants—
as good as nothing.
Even for him,
it was his first time commanding such a large-scale war.
Ah well… it’ll be fine.
He felt both excitement and a strange unease.
He had only just broken through his second wall,
and hadn’t fought a true battle since.
No, no—stop overthinking it.
He shook his head.
The opponent was the poorest county in Isother.
Calling its lord a “Count” was laughable at this point.
As a mercenary, Marcian knew the Impera family’s condition well.
“Listen up!”
He shouted to the trudging soldiers.
They expected another pointless order—
but instead heard this:
“Today, we march to strike Count Venere’s mortal enemy—
the County of Impera!”
“…”
“Today marks the day our lord’s long-held wish is fulfilled!
And to commemorate it, the Count has granted permission!”
“Permission? What kind?”
“All spoils gained from Impera—
everything, down to the last grain of rice—
will be yours!”
“Ooooh…!”
“So go wild!
Until the Count himself is satisfied!”
“Waaaaah!!”
Their cheers echoed through the mountain range.
Marcian grinned, satisfied.
Looting and murder—
things even mercenaries couldn’t freely indulge in.
And now, it was all allowed.
Who would say no?
But not everyone cheered.
“Is that… really good news?
Honestly, I don’t even get why we’re fighting some noble’s feud.”
“What else can we do? Orders are orders.”
“Yeah, but I heard the young lord of Impera saved people from a black mage…”
“Bah! That’s just gossip. Why would he do that?
Isn’t he the drunk who beats people up all the time?”
“There are rumors like that.”
“See? Makes no sense that a thug suddenly turns hero.”
“I… guess not.”
“So stop thinking. We’re peasants; we follow orders.
Let the nobles fight their wars.”
“Yeah… you’re right.”
Despite the few dissenters,
the soldiers’ morale rose.
Humans are selfish creatures.
They had no reason to care about the fate of some drunken noble next door.
And so, Count Venere’s army climbed further up the mountain.
The Cranigg Mountains were mostly gentle terrain—
wide enough for a dozen men to walk side by side.
There were a few narrow passes, sure—
but against the poorest county in Isother,
what could possibly go wrong?
A barren, lifeless range where not even grass grew.
The dim light made the atmosphere even more eerie.
“We’re approaching Neck Valley.
Perhaps the men should rest—”
The adjutant cautiously suggested.
He should’ve been serving Count Venere directly,
but with Marcian parachuted in, he had no choice but to obey.
An adjutant’s job wasn’t to fight—
but to advise, to prevent the commander from making fatal mistakes.
Even Venere would have at least considered his adjutant’s words.
Marcian, however, only sneered.
“Ha! What are you so scared of?
Whatever shows up, we’ll crush it!
Save your breath.”
“…Understood.”
The adjutant could only lower his head.
Marcian had been personally entrusted with command by Count Venere himself.
Any hint of defiance could be called treason.
Fine. It’s practically a stroll anyway.
Though uneasy, he brushed it off.
After all, the opponent was the Impera County.
What danger could possibly lie ahead?
“…Halt!”
A shout came from the vanguard scouts.
“Hm?”
They really were blocking the path?
That beggar of a county?
Marcian smirked.
“Keh-heh-heh! How amusing.
If they block the road—then we’ll break through it!”
But even as he barked his order,
the soldiers didn’t move.
Anger boiling, he marched to the front lines.
“What the hell is holding you—”
And then he saw.
The already narrow pass had been piled with rocks,
leaving barely enough space for a single cart to pass.
And sitting right in the middle of that narrow path—
was a man with golden hair.
“What… is this?”
He wasn’t clad in armor or anything grand.
Just a white coat, light and easy to move in.
“I figured you’d think like that.”
“So it seems,” came a second voice.
The narrowed pass was the work of Islyn’s magic
and Harun’s mana-core golem.
Islyn had shattered the rocks with magic,
and the golem had piled them up.
They’d spent nearly all their remaining energy to finish it,
but the job was done.
Now all that was left—
was to guard this narrow pass.
That was the mission given to Priyana and Islyn.
As if their lord had foreseen Venere’s every move.
Since arriving in the County of Impera,
Priyana had been constantly amazed.
At first, she hadn’t thought much of the so-called “delinquent” noble.
She’d only come here to break through her third wall.
But now, without realizing it—
a part of her wanted to stay longer.
Priyana drew her sword from its sheath and shouted:
“Come.”
