Lord of Caldera-Chapter 321 - The Crimson Wolf Mercenary Company

"Do you even hear yourself?!" Conrad roared.

"Why are you so upset? It's already land you've lost, isn't it?"

"What did you say?!"

"I've heard that the new count has seized most of your territory. Isn't this the only fortress you have left?"

Conrad flinched. How does he know that?

"It's simple, really. All I'm saying is that if you manage to reclaim it later, you'll give it to me. Hardly an unreasonable demand, don't you think?"

Halken's innocent expression only deepened Conrad's frustration. He bit his lip, his mind racing.

Cunning bastard. He's not a wolf; he's a fox.

Even though the cost of hiring the Crimson Wolf Mercenary Company was exorbitant, it was nothing compared to the value of land. But land, once lost, lost much of its value unless reclaimed. Halken had struck precisely at that vulnerability.

Conrad, after much growling and deliberation, finally looked up.

"Fine! So be it! If you want, I'll even draw up a document with my seal!"

"Haha! As expected, Your Excellency has remarkable resolve!" Halken exclaimed, laughing heartily.

"But," Conrad continued, his voice sharp, "this isn't a one-off contract. You'll remain under our employ until the war is over, and I won't pay a single coin beyond what's already agreed."

"That's fine with me," Halken replied nonchalantly. Additional payments meant little to him compared to the promise of land.

As Halken smirked in satisfaction, Conrad ground his teeth.

"Show me that your skills are worth the price, Crimson Wolf Halken."

"Don't worry. I always deliver what I'm paid for," Halken replied confidently, turning his attention to the information Ervin had provided on their adversary.

As Halken read the documents, he blinked in surprise.

"Sylas Drakenfels, you say? Strange, that's the same name as that monster. No, it couldn't be, could it?"

The absurd thought made him chuckle softly. What would that monster want in the southern territories?

With his reputation as a dragonslayer, it was no secret that Sylas faced heavy scrutiny from the imperial family. There was no way the emperor would grant him the title of Count of Drakenfels unless he had gone mad.

Maybe spending too much time lounging in the southern regions has made me think strange things. I'll look into it once this job is over, just to be safe.

Halken made a mental note. Knowing where that monster might be was a precautionary measure—he never wanted to cross paths with Sylas Drakenfels again.

Under Sylas's leadership, the allied forces surged forward. While some troops served as little more than cannon fodder, they were deployed strategically to increase their chances of success.

Casualties were relatively low in each battle, and every engagement ended in victory. At that rate, being a "meat shield" didn't seem so bad.

What solidified the morale of the allied nobles, however, were Sylas's occasional remarks.

"Hmm. This village might suit Baron Bielefeld. What do you think?"

"Me, Your Excellency?!"

"Who else? Your sacrifices in this battle were particularly significant, so you deserve compensation. Of course, this will be sorted after the war."

"…!"

Such exchanges repeated a few times, igniting the excitement of the nobles. The rewards seemed more tangible with each passing battle.

Notably, Sylas never mentioned claiming any land for himself. This only reinforced the belief that the vast territories they were conquering would be distributed among them as rewards.

"Your Excellency! My troops will guard you in the next battle!"

"No, Your Excellency! Please give me a chance to prove myself this time!"

The fear of Sylas remained, but none of the nobles regretted joining the war. Despite knowing the limits of their forces, morale soared, and they fought valiantly in every engagement.

With such steadfast support, Sylas and his retainers had little to worry about regarding their flanks. In just two months, Conrad had lost almost all his territories.

"All that's left are a few villages with no strategic value. Once we take that fortress, it'll be over."

Sylas stood before the last stronghold, surveying the grand fortress of Glixborg, Conrad's residence. Far sturdier than any other castle, it was undoubtedly a formidable seat of power.

"Indeed, Your Excellency! The traitor's end is near!"

"With you leading us, this battle is already won!"

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Sylas chuckled at the nobles' flattery. Though their words were sycophantic, they weren't entirely wrong.

Even the strongest fortress was only as good as its ability to hold. Once the gates fell, its strength meant little.

"Exactly! Victory is within our grasp. Prepare yourselves! In this battle, we will take the traitor's head and restore the imperial authority!"

-WAAAHHHH!

The soldiers roared, their morale soaring. The end of the war promised long-awaited rewards, and Sylas's hints about compensations only fueled their excitement. With the war nearing its conclusion, this was their last chance to achieve glory.

Sylas was about to lead the charge when a shout interrupted him.

"Your Excellency! Someone is coming out from the gates!"

"Hmm? A surrender envoy?"

"No, Your Excellency. Judging by the armor, it doesn't appear to be a surrender."

Sylas turned his gaze to the gates, watching as a knight clad in crimson armor emerged. The knight raised his sword and shouted.

"Listen well! My name is Halken Rugos, commander of the Crimson Wolf Mercenary Company!"

"The Crimson Wolf Mercenary Company?!"

"That famous mercenary order?"

The nobles stared in shock. The Crimson Wolf Mercenary Company's reputation was legendary—so much so that hiring them was said to guarantee victory in any battle.

As the alliance murmured among themselves, Halken called out again, clearly enjoying their reaction.

"I, Halken, challenge you to a duel! I hear the count is a mighty warrior. If you're no coward, come face my blade—"

Halken's words faltered as his body froze mid-sentence. His eyes locked with Sylas's from across the field.

Though the distance made it impossible for normal humans to discern features, both men were of ancient bloodlines. They recognized each other immediately.

"My blade… Uh, I mean… my blade…"

Halken's voice dwindled as he lowered his sword, mumbling incoherently. From afar, Sylas blinked, reading Halken's lips.

"Conrad, you bastard… You should've warned me…"