The city walls were on the verge of collapse under the relentless assault of the Tara army. While the noble forces were still struggling to hold the line, a small unit quietly slipped away from the front without drawing any attention.

Acting on their master’s orders, they made their way to an inconspicuous side gate on the opposite end of the city.

There were guards stationed there, but not many. This area was not the focus of the Tara offensive, and most of the defenders had already been redeployed to the main city tower.

“Hey. Which unit are you from, and what are you doing here?”

Faced with the challenge, the noble soldiers hesitated, tension flickering across their faces. Then one of them suddenly stepped forward and drove his spear straight into the guard’s body.

“Uh…”

The guard clutched his wound and collapsed, while the attacker calmly turned to the others. “Don’t forget Baron Bolton’s orders. Do you still think we can turn back now?”

“Move!”

“Yes!”

With practiced efficiency, the noble squad took their positions. Before long, the city gate was opened just wide enough for passage. Amid the thin mist, soldiers emerged from the reeds outside the walls, led by a male Feline officer in military attire, a strangely shaped longsword hanging at his waist.

“Sir, the gate is open.”

“Rally the troops. Break through here, and let the banner of Tara rise over County Hillock.”

“Yes!”

The soldiers streamed in behind him. The officer paused and glanced back toward the distance, where his master watched silently from the shadows.

War and explosions soon engulfed the city. Panic spread among the Victorian nobles, who did not even understand where the enemy had entered from. Inside the main command tent, news arrived that the Tara army had breached the city. The nobles ordered an immediate withdrawal.

County Hillock was no longer safe. Their only option was to retreat to their own lands and prepare a defensive stance for the coming battles. As for the unfortunate nobles whose territories had already fallen to Tara, all that remained was to wish them luck.

Several nobles sank to their knees in despair. They had supported the Victorian coalition because it promised equal distribution of resources among all participants. Now that the coalition had collapsed, how were they supposed to reclaim their lost lands?

A noble without territory or military power had no standing and was scarcely worthy of living in Victoria at all.

No one should expect these once-indignant nobles to help one another. As the evacuation of County Hillock began, the allied forces scattered like startled birds. Nobles fled with their troops in a blind panic, and the guards at the city gates vanished in moments.

Baron Bolton strode into the allied command tent, a relaxed smile on his face. This tent had once been filled with lively debates, empty flattery, and subtle schemes for personal gain. As the nominal host, he had been largely ignored, as though it were an honor for him to even set foot in County Hillock and make use of its defenses.

After all, he was merely a baron. The lowest rank, the most marginal position among the Victorian nobility. An ordinary, forgettable man, treated little better than a servant.

Now, he was the victor.

County Hillock was his, and no one could take it from him. As for the Tara nobles, cooperation would suffice.

“Aren’t these Marquis Ponce and Marquis Locke?” Baron Bolton said with a laugh when he noticed figures still inside the tent. “What are you two still doing here?”

He strolled forward, hands in his pockets, studying them with casual amusement.

The two marquises looked up at him with the same expressions they had worn when they first met. There was no surprise in their eyes. Among nobles, kicking someone while they were down was expected. Sympathy was the real rarity.

“Baron Bolton,” one of them said coolly, “if you’ve come to mock us, there’s no need. County Hillock is your city now, and Tara has taken it. Do you really think you’ll remain unscathed?”

“Is that so?” Bolton replied. “You don’t need to worry about safety here. As for the two of you, there’s no need to evacuate either.”

“Heh. As you can see, we’re leaving already.”

Marquis Ponce and Marquis Locke rose, brushed off their clothes, and carefully straightened their attire. For a moment, they looked less like defeated men and more like victorious generals as they strode out of the tent.

A heartbeat later, they stumbled back inside, their composure in tatters.

Blocking their path stood a Feline commander gripping a longsword, with hundreds of Tara soldiers arrayed behind him.

“This…”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…”

The two marquises turned around. The man who had spoken was seated in the main chair, calmly admiring the clear wine in his cup.

“Such fine wine. Wouldn’t it be a waste to simply throw it away?” Baron Bolton inhaled its aroma lightly. “Bringing wine like this to a battlefield, I really can’t tell whether you came here for revenge or for leisure.”

“Baron Bolton, what is the meaning of this?!” Marquis Ponce’s voice turned shrill.

“You still don’t understand?” Bolton took a slow sip. “Use that dull brain of yours and think carefully. Why are they pointing their swords at you? Why are they here at all?”

Marquis Locke’s eyes widened. “This is treason! Baron Bolton, you’ve betrayed the Victorian camp!”

“To hell with the Victorian camp! What did it ever give me, that I should wag my tail for it?” Baron Bolton flung the wine jug straight at Marquis Ponce’s head. Blood spilled instantly, mixing with the wine as it ran down his face.

“Even in another man’s house, you still wear that arrogant noble air. Two stray dogs who’ve lost their lands think they can bark at me on my territory?”

Baron Bolton sneered. “Damn the Victorian nobility. What have you ever given us? Land alone? Did you give us soldiers? Funds? You marquises hoarded troops and power, yet you ran your domains into the ground. After being defeated and driven out, you still had the nerve to requisition my Little County Hillock. Who do you think you are?”

Marquis Ponce stared in disbelief. He had never imagined that the usually submissive Baron Bolton would dare speak such treasonous words. His body trembled with rage, a thick finger pointing at Bolton, but he could not force out a single word.

Marquis Locke drew his longsword. “Baron Bolton, I challenge you to a duel!”

“What an idiot. Still thinking about duels at a time like this.”

Bolton spat on the ground and lazily drew his own sword. “Do you really think you can raise a blade against me?”

“Kuh…”

A chill crept up Marquis Locke’s neck. Only then did he realize that Tara soldiers had already pressed their weapons against his throat without him noticing.

One step closer, and he would already be dead.

“Let us go. What are your conditions?” Marquis Locke asked, pulling his gaze back with visible restraint.

His voice regained its aristocratic composure.

“What do you have left to bargain with?” Baron Bolton asked coldly. “Without your fiefs, your noble troops are nothing but scattered remnants. Everything else was looted when your lands fell. Aside from whatever money remains in the Victoria Bank, what value do you still possess?”

“…As long as I still bear the title of marquis, that status has value, does it not?”

Marquis Locke spoke steadily. “As a Marquis of Victoria, I have failed. I swear not to take part in the conflict between Victoria and Tara in the future. How does that sound?”

“Furthermore, I will speak on behalf of the Tara people when the time is right and support your legitimacy. Is that acceptable?”

A trace of mockery flickered across Baron Bolton’s face. As expected of Victorian nobles. When cornered, they discarded pride without hesitation and bent their knees to survive. In doing so, they abandoned their noble identity and chose to become loyal hounds of Tara.

Just like him, once.

Back then, he had approached the Tara nobles of his own will. Now, Marquis Locke had no choice at all.

The Tara soldiers withdrew their weapons. Marquis Locke let out a quiet breath of relief. He glanced at Baron Bolton, whose expression remained indifferent, as though he regretted not killing them on the spot. Marquis Ponce looked as if he had swallowed something foul, but he stayed silent. Survival mattered more.

“Clap, clap, clap…”

Applause rang out. The Tara soldiers parted automatically, creating a path for a man in a top hat and an extravagant suit. He walked in leisurely, a gold-rimmed monocle on one eye and a cane in hand. He looked less like a commander of war and more like a refined gentleman arriving for tea.

“Earl of Warwick.”

The officer saluted and stepped aside, taking position behind him as a guard. The Tara soldier planted his weapon to the ground, standing with absolute loyalty.

“It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Baron Bolton,” Earl Warwick said, bowing gracefully. “Just as stated in the letter, the Tara people will not forget your contributions.”

The sincerity in his eyes and voice was unmistakable, like a cool northern breeze in the height of summer.

“Earl Warwick,” Baron Bolton replied calmly, “this is merely what a man of ambition ought to do. County Hillock has belonged to the Tara people since ancient times. As the temporary administrator of this land, I am simply returning it to its rightful owners.”

Marquis Ponce and Marquis Locke exchanged a glance, helplessness and anger flashing briefly in their eyes. From beginning to end, they had been deceived by the city itself and by Baron Bolton, the lord of this land. Promises of helping them take revenge on the Tara? A complete farce. He had already been in league with the Tara from the very start.

“Aren’t these Marquis Ponce and Marquis Locke? It’s been quite some time,” Earl Warwick said pleasantly. “If I recall correctly, the last time we met was at the Londinium gathering two years ago.”

Marquis Ponce parted his lips, while Marquis Locke nodded slightly. He did remember Earl Warwick. Back then, as a marquis with his own circle, he had deliberately distanced himself from Tara nobility and naturally ignored Warwick’s toast.

“We’re old acquaintances, aren’t we? There’s no need to be so stiff.”

Earl Warwick laughed lightly, his demeanor as warm as a spring breeze. Instead of putting them at ease, it made both marquises even more uneasy. The knife was now firmly in the other man’s hand. If he decided to kill them with a single word, it would seem entirely natural.

“We do not deny that Victoria is made up of both Victoria and Tara,” Earl Warwick continued calmly. “Nor do we deny the deep prejudices and misunderstandings between nobles and commoners. What I wish to do is allow Victoria’s glory to shine upon everyone once more. For that, I need the help of ambitious nobles within Victoria. Marquis Ponce, Marquis Locke, are you willing to lend us your strength?”

His words were flawless, filled with righteousness and conviction. In that moment, Earl Warwick appeared as a paragon of integrity, a true representative of the Tara people.

As the commander, representative, and leader of the Tara army, what could they possibly say in response? Marquis Ponce and Marquis Locke could only nod, forcing strained smiles.

After the two men departed, Earl Warwick turned to the remaining soldiers. “Go and take control of County Hillock. With Baron Bolton’s cooperation, it will be easy. Prioritize the Tara settlements and the Victoria district. Ensure the Tara people are properly supplied. As for the Victoria district… deal with any resistance as you see fit.”

The final words carried a clear undercurrent of killing intent. The Tara soldiers acknowledged the order and left without hesitation.

Once only Earl Warwick and the officer remained, Baron Bolton hurried forward with an ingratiating smile. “Your Excellency, regarding this time’s merits…”

“Rest assured, you will receive your share,” Earl Warwick said with a casual wave of his hand. “For now, we will hold County Hillock in trust. Once we advance on Victoria’s estates, County Hillock will naturally be returned to you. Of course, we will require your assistance with logistics, particularly supplies.”

“Your Excellency truly speaks plainly and decisively,” Baron Bolton said, barely able to hide his delight. “Leave everything to me. I will ensure the noble troops cooperate fully with the Tara. Until next time.”

With that, Baron Bolton departed briskly, leaving only Earl Warwick and the officer behind.

Earl Warwick returned to the table, poured himself a glass of fine wine, took a small sip, and let out a thoughtful sigh.

“Sir, what are our next steps?” the officer asked.

“Keep a close watch on them. Make sure those three Victorian nobles don’t cause any trouble,” Earl Warwick replied calmly. “As for Eblana, recall her for now. The longer she stirs chaos in the city, the greater the risk of exposure. She is not yet ready to appear before the Tara people in that manner.”

Power and military strength could be gathered with a simple command. But in Earl Warwick’s eyes, what they possessed now was still far from enough.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep