Chapter 214: Voluntarily Selling Territory

“These hand crossbows could only be used in skirmishes. When charging head-on, they were not as effective as the stone-flingers, and against knights in leather armor, they were like insect bites. Even the lowest-grade chainmail could completely ignore them. The only advantage was that they fired quickly, with a sufficiently stable range.”

Knight Wolf held the unconscious Baron Morn in his hand and spoke to the trembling apprentice clutching parchment and a quill.

The apprentice nodded repeatedly, writing everything down.

Most creations developed by the Mechanical Discipline, no matter what purpose they first appeared for, always ended up circling back to weapons.

Like this hand crossbow.

Although Knight Wolf, who helped test it, thought it had little use, the main selling point of the hand crossbow was its speed of fire.

After all, changing the force material or the design of the bolts—like the apprentice’s set of five bolts—came from the Magic Discipline, which had supplied them.

Knight Wolf tossed the unconscious Baron Morn onto the ground and turned to Baron Bevan, who had just disembarked from the cargo ship. “He’s yours. I’ll go clean up his fortress.”

Bevan’s eye twitched. He had experienced Knight Wolf’s “clean-up” before—it meant half of the people in his fortress had been slaughtered.

That was even when he had surrendered voluntarily. As for this Baron Morn, whatever his intentions, he had at least ordered his warriors to point their spears at Knight Wolf.

The apprentice, shivering in fear, said, “If possible, we’d also like to assist you. We can quickly assemble a catapult. This time, Dean Oscar also had us bring a candy.”

Candy—that was the name the Dean had given it.

But in reality, it was a stone sphere inlaid with a magic gem, meant to be launched from a catapult.

Bevan had never witnessed its power firsthand, but Puniel had told him that even ordinary stone balls, in sufficient quantity, could reduce a medium fortress—able to house nearly a hundred people—into ruins.

The apprentice continued, “After our calculations, we believe this candy should be able to blast open a city gate. If it were to take down a medium fortress, three candies would suffice.”

Bevan thought Puniel would probably love these candies.

Still, he gave Baron Morn a hard kick. “Stop playing dead. We came seeking cooperation. If you don’t want your whole family joining your ancestors, get up now.”

Baron Morn’s body shook. He cautiously opened his eyes, struggled to his feet, and said with some resentment, “If it’s cooperation, you should have sent me a letter first.”

Whether it was war, trade, or a visit, a letter had to be sent in advance, stamped with the noble’s crest. In this era of slow communication, barging into another noble’s territory without notice and being attacked was perfectly normal.

Although messages could be sent through the Rat Path, aside from urgent matters, no noble would use it—it was considered an insult.

Bevan was momentarily stunned by Morn’s words, then looked at Wolf.

At once, Wolf waved his hand, and the cavalry charged toward Morn’s town.

Bevan sighed. “You’d better pray your fortress isn’t too sturdy.”

Morn looked confused. “Shouldn’t fortresses be as sturdy as possible?”

Bevan said, “Do you think your fortress could withstand them?”

Morn fell silent, recalling the Sacred Relic in the knight’s hand.

That was definitely a knight—and one who wielded a Sacred Relic. Inside his fortress, there were no knights at all.

Or rather, the two knights he did have were already killed in the earlier charge.

Bevan continued, “When I surrendered early, only half of my people were slaughtered indiscriminately. But Baron Puniel holed up in his fortress, and in the end, only one of his sons survived.”

Morn’s body trembled. “Is it still too late to surrender now?”

Bevan smiled. “They can’t hear you anymore.”

He waved a hand, and a servant placed an ornate chair on a cleared patch of ground.

Bevan sat down, looked at Morn, and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry. At worst, they’ll leave you one child.”

Morn’s face darkened further.

Bevan continued, “Sit down, let’s talk. We came with goodwill. You know Viscount Youn has blocked our overland trade route. That left us only the waterway, and this place happens to be perfect for a port. So, we’d like to buy this land.”

Morn glanced at Bevan’s ornate chair, then at the coarse stool placed behind him. He could even see rough wooden splinters sticking out of it.

But looking at Bevan’s smiling face—and thinking of the knights charging into his fortress—Morn sat down. Sitting on the low stool, he could only look up at Bevan.

He felt as though ants were biting at his backside. Shifting uncomfortably, he said, “You’re a noble too, so you must understand how important land is to us. I can allow your people to pass through and trade in my territory, but I cannot sell the land.”

Bevan smiled, gesturing for the apprentice left behind by Wolf to come closer.

“Bring three candies to Knight Wolf. I think he’ll need them. After all, he just spent two hours on a boat. He’s tired. The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can rest.”

The apprentice froze. To fire candies, a catapult was needed. On their own, candies didn’t explode easily.

But he was a monastery apprentice—an elite among family-born students—so he quickly understood Bevan’s meaning.

Glancing at Baron Morn, the apprentice nodded. “Alright. I’ll deliver three candies to Knight Wolf. Three candies can turn a fortress into ruins in an instant.”

Only then did Bevan look back at Morn’s pale face. “Now, let’s continue. We want to buy this land to build a port. What do you think of one thousand gold coins?”

Baron Morn’s expression kept shifting, his body trembling with either anger or fear. His lips moved, but finally, he said, “I think that’s a fair price.”

Once he spoke, his whole body slumped, as though releasing a heavy burden.

Bevan nodded, then suddenly added, “Ah yes, we’re using newly minted coins now. Look—like this.”

He took out a gold coin. The fine engravings gleamed seductively under the Morning Star’s light.

Seeing Morn’s suspicious gaze, Bevan continued, “The minting process is highly intricate, infused with magic, and after minting, blessed by the Church. These are Blessed Coins. One is worth five times its weight in ordinary gold.”

“Of course, the price we just agreed on is before formal trade, so it will be calculated in old coins. But for future convenience and to suit your noble status, I’ll pay you with the new coins. Which means—two hundred coins.”

“You should know that while the lord is absent, York Territory is under the Senate system. This conversion rate was set by Senator Jeffrey. I am a senator as well, but not responsible for this matter.”

“Oh, my name is Bevan Morton, Baron. You should know me—and that your Turner Family and my Morton Family are related by blood. It’s precisely because of this kinship that I’m offering you these precious York coins. They’re not yet widely circulated in York Territory.”

Bevan smiled warmly, his words dripping with sincerity.

But Baron Morn’s face flushed with anger. Still, thinking of the candies, he swallowed it back. “Yes, thank you for your help. These are beautiful coins. I like them very much. And since our families are related, we must interact more often from now on.”

Whether or not blood ties existed, if the cunning Baron Bevan said so, then for now, it must be true.

Bevan nodded, satisfied.

And why not? The Senate had initially set the price at two thousand York coins. Yet he had completed the task with only two hundred, pocketing eighteen hundred coins in profit.

Of course, the Senate wasn’t offering that price to be generous. Scholar Caleb had urged them to spread York coins as quickly as possible.

But Bevan thought giving them only to nobles might lead to hoarding. Better that he help circulate them.

For instance, when official trade began, the exchange rate would be one to five. But if he used one to four, it would spread faster.

That sacrifice was for the greater good of York coins’ circulation.

After all, at one-to-five, eighteen hundred York coins could be exchanged for nine thousand in ordinary gold. At one-to-four, it would only be seventy-two hundred.

The difference was his own assets shrinking.

Baron Morn, who had already accepted the deal, impatiently asked, “Since the trade is complete, where is that knight now?”

Bevan’s smile stayed sincere. “The Senate manages governance, but military affairs are under Knight Wolf’s sole command. I have no authority to order him. But don’t worry. Once he finishes, he’ll return.”

Morn’s face froze. He finally remembered the name Knight Wolf.

He hadn’t joined the coalition formed by Viscount Youn and Viscount Logan, but he had heard of a knight who, with just two hundred men, slaughtered several villages in Youn’s territory, stormed a town, and killed over a thousand people. The men he led did not fear death or pain.

They were born only to kill. As long as they could move, they would swing their weapons and keep killing.

And now, such a butcher, with even more elite warriors, was charging into his land—into his fortress.

Suddenly, Baron Morn felt that rather than worrying for his family, he should focus on deepening his relationship with Bevan.

After all, hadn’t Bevan said they were family by blood? That made him kin too.

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