Chapter 85 : Chapter 85

Chapter 85. Making a Deal with a Snake

The lord’s hall of Runestone City carried the cold chill of newly seized territory.

Sabda sat in the high-backed chair that symbolized power, one hand stroking the icy obsidian armrest.

Standing before him was a messenger clad in an over-robe bearing the crest of a certain count’s house from the Western Frontier.

He was bowing slightly, his posture respectful.

“...You are saying,” Sabda said, a hint of amusement in his voice,

“that the Baron Pendragon of Obsidian Territory may have found some extraordinary... treasure deep in the wasteland?”

The messenger immediately nodded, his tone steeped in mystery.

“Yes, Your Excellency.

My master is extremely concerned about this matter.

You know, the speed at which Baron Eli has risen is simply too abnormal.

We tracked down Caron, the steward of the Nors Merchant Guild who supplied him with large quantities of goods...”

He paused and studied Sabda’s expression.

Seeing that the other man merely raised an eyebrow, he continued.

“After some... friendly questioning,

Caron revealed that not long ago, Baron Pendragon purchased two batches of slaves from their guild in one go.

The first batch was five hundred people. The second batch was another five hundred. The total came close to a thousand.

And before that, he had also purchased a vast quantity of grain, enough to sustain a large population for several months.”

Sabda’s tapping fingers came to a stop on the armrest.

A thousand slaves? A vast stockpile of grain?

Even he, after plundering Runestone City’s treasury and seizing its savings,

would have suffered badly if he had tried to produce that much money at once. It would have emptied more than half the coin purse he had only just warmed in his hands.

Black Territory and Lucerne City had both only recently endured a beast tide and war. Where had such deep financial resources come from?

Unless...

“Minerals?” Sabda muttered under his breath, his brows knitting tightly.

“Iron? Silver? Gold?”

The tales of wealth buried beneath the Western Frontier had never ceased.

Had that white-haired whelp really stumbled into such luck?

The thought stung his heart like the bite of a venomous snake, sour and bitter all at once.

None of it showed on his face. He asked evenly,

“Then tell me.

Why would you and your master bring such important intelligence all the way to me?”

He placed deliberate emphasis on the word “master,” his tone probing.

A fawning smile immediately spread across the messenger’s face.

“Naturally because you are a noble and illustrious... Medici!” He tried to offer a resounding compliment.

The word “Medici” struck one of Sabda’s rawest nerves like a needle.

He suddenly lifted his head, his gaze turning icy as it fixed on the messenger.

What he hated most was when others attributed his achievements to the great house behind him.

As though Sabda Medici himself were nothing more than a useless man borrowing strength from his surname.

Yet in the complacency that had overtaken him after capturing Runestone City, he had entirely forgotten one thing.

Without Calvin, the Gold-Tier Knight sent by the ducal estate of the Southern Frontier, and without that contingent of elite soldiers,

he might still be licking his wounds in the ruins of Shadow Vale.

“As I am now,” Sabda said, his voice rising as he coldly cut the messenger off,

“I am the Baron of Runestone City! Sabda!”

He deliberately stressed “Baron of Runestone City,” trying to cover over the mark he had borne since birth with this new identity.

Standing slightly behind Sabda, Ragnar frowned almost imperceptibly.

He understood this young lord’s obsession all too well. But this urgent need to prove himself, this constant emphasis on his own standing,

only made Sabda appear childish and insecure in the eyes of the truly intelligent.

Ragnar’s lips moved faintly, but in the end, in order to preserve his lord’s authority at this moment,

he chose silence.

Only his gaze toward the messenger carried a trace of sympathy.

The smile on the messenger’s face instantly stiffened, and fine beads of sweat appeared at his temples.

Damn it. He had tried to flatter the man and kicked the horse in the hoof instead.

Rubbing his hands awkwardly, he hurried to recover.

“Yes, yes, yes!

Baron Sabda, wise and mighty, whose prestige shakes the Western Frontier.

He quickly changed tactics and turned the conversation.

“My lord, my master truly did send me here in all sincerity to seek cooperation with you.

The growth of Obsidian Territory and Lucerne City has already given rise to our shared... concern.

My master has promised that he can provide you with assistance!”

“Assistance?” Sabda leaned back in his chair, a faintly mocking curve at the corner of his mouth.

“It would not be free, I assume. Tell me, what do you want?”

The messenger felt a surge of joy in his heart. He knew there was an opening and quickly laid out the bait.

“Once the matter is settled, the Black Territory Valley built by Eli will naturally belong to you, Lord Sabda.

As for Lucerne City... that will be taken over by my master.

Any resources discovered within both territories will be divided equally between our two houses.”

After speaking, he cautiously observed Sabda’s reaction,

waiting either for ecstatic delight or for bargaining to begin.

But Sabda’s face remained utterly calm.

He did not seize upon this tempting proposal concerning the division of spoils.

Instead, he threw out a more practical question.

“Help me? How?

Could it be that your esteemed count can mobilize the western border army

and send a full force past the line to help me attack Obsidian Territory directly?”

His tone carried skepticism and a trace of disdain.

The messenger choked on the question. His face flushed slightly, but he forcibly suppressed the resentment in his heart.

“My lord jests. Without a joint order from Sir Lucius and Marquis Marcus,

who would dare mobilize the border army? That would be treason!

However...” He straightened a little, regaining some confidence.

“Our count has an extremely close personal relationship with Marquis Marcus.

Within the bounds permitted by the rules, he can mobilize two hundred well-equipped household soldiers

and secretly support you under the pretext of suppressing bandits.

That is entirely possible. This is absolutely not a force to be underestimated!”

“Two hundred men...” Sabda repeated the number softly.

Then he turned to Ragnar beside him, seeming to seek his opinion.

Ragnar gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head, his eyes conveying a clear message: reject it. The risk is too great.

These two hundred men were being offered as support, but who could say whether they had truly come to help?

And for such a small force, they were demanding an entire city and half the resources?

Their appetite was too large, and the price far too high.

Yet Sabda’s gaze lingered on Ragnar’s face for only an instant before returning to the messenger.

A reluctant expression appeared on his face, as though he had weighed the matter carefully, and he spoke at a leisurely pace.

“Very well.”

Just as delight began to rise in the messenger’s eyes,

Sabda’s tone suddenly turned, hard and unquestionable.

“But if all you are offering is two hundred men, and you expect to take an entire Lucerne City

and still demand half the resources, your appetite is a little too large!”

“Listen well. Go back and tell your master this.

I, Sabda, acknowledge his goodwill.

Those two hundred men—I will be waiting for them.

But once the matter is finished, only Lucerne City will belong to your count.

Obsidian Territory and everything in it, including anything that may exist within it, belongs solely to Runestone City!

As for dividing the resources equally? Forget it!”

He cut off any room for haggling with absolute finality.

Then he impatiently waved a hand.

“See him out.”

A guard immediately stepped forward and gestured for the messenger to leave, though the man was still standing there somewhat dazed.

The messenger opened his mouth, as if wanting to fight for better terms.

But under Sabda’s icy stare and the guard’s unyielding gesture, he could only swallow his words.

With an expression far from pleasant, he bowed and followed the guard out of the lord’s hall in haste.

The heavy doors boomed shut behind him, cutting off the light from outside.

Only the crackling of the fire in the hearth remained, its flames dancing in the hall.

“Sabda!” Ragnar could no longer hold back. He stepped forward.

“Why... why did you not reject him outright just now?

That was clearly what I meant!

To cooperate with greedy old nobles who have spent a lifetime perfecting cunning and calculation is no different from inviting a wolf into the house.

They are sending two hundred men. Who knows what they are really planning?

And Lucerne City... that will be an important stronghold in the future unification of the southwest.”

Sabda did not answer at once.

He slowly rose to his feet and walked to the hearth.

Feeling the faint warmth of the flickering flames, he stood there with his back to Ragnar.

The firelight cast shifting shadows across his handsome, feminine face.

“Reject it?” Sabda’s voice was calm and flat.

“Why would I reject it? Isn’t this rather good?

We gain an additional two hundred fresh troops, even if only in name.”

He turned around.

“Ragnar, you saw the scattered intelligence the scouts brought back with their lives a few days ago.

The walls of Obsidian Territory are being raised. Its soldiers are drilling. The newly reclaimed land stretches on in one broad expanse after another...

That is not the kind of scene that can be sustained by Lucerne City’s pitiful tax revenue alone.”

He paused, and his gaze grew dark and deep.

“That Eli Pendragon... he must have found something.

Something very big. It could be a silver mine, a gold mine, or something even more valuable.”

A cold curve lifted the corner of his mouth.

“So we need assistance.

We need someone to help us share the risk and test the true weight of Obsidian Territory.

A count of the Western Frontier? Hah. He thinks he is clever?”

Sabda strode up to Ragnar and extended a hand.

With his fingertip, he lightly brushed Ragnar’s taut cheek, tightened by anxiety and agitation.

The gesture made Ragnar’s entire body stiffen.

“They want to use me, Sabda, as a spear.”

Sabda’s voice dropped very low, carrying the chill of a serpent and absolute confidence.

He withdrew his hand, a mocking smile spreading across his face.

“But a mere count...

is not worthy of it!”