Chapter 310: The Comrades Group

Hode had become a mercenary in a viscounty territory.

He was also the first to be announced as a mercenary under the identity of a Northern Warrior.

This surprised the mercenaries somewhat.

But these second- and third-tier mercenaries mostly kept a respectful distance from Hode.

After all, in the North, the strong possessed everything. If these low-tier mercenaries got too close to him, what if he killed them?

However, not long after, news spread that this Northern Warrior, together with an old man, had killed a bandit group of six or seven men led by another Northern Warrior.

It was said that a merchant had hired him as an escort for his caravan at the cost of two hundred gold coins, but on the way, the caravan was ambushed by that bandit group. In the end, Hode, with that scrawny old man, killed them all.

The merchant was deeply grateful to Hode, and after the commission ended, he gave an extra hundred gold coins as a reward.

Two men, a ten-day trip, three hundred gold coins.

When the mercenaries heard of this, they were somewhat envious. And when Hode returned to the Mercenary Tavern, he generously declared that he would cover all expenses for the day. The mercenaries cheered loudly.

Meat, white bread, ale, women—the entire tavern radiated an air of revelry, so much so that townsfolk passing by intentionally or unintentionally “stumbled” into the tavern, and then “accidentally” had a mug of ale shoved into their hands by someone, be it mercenary or barkeep.

After one gulp of ale, they blended into the mercenaries’ company, cheering Hode’s generosity, eating and drinking with them.

They howled together, and Hode, too, embraced them, boasting and bragging along.

The revelry lasted three days.

The tavern, which usually only registered thirty mercenaries, swelled to over seventy at its peak. They feasted until full, slept, woke, and continued drinking and eating, occasionally making time to fool around.

By the fourth day, when the drunkards awoke, they heard someone mention in passing that Hode had taken on another mission and left.

In just three days, Hode had spent more than two hundred gold coins. So naturally, he had to continue taking jobs.

The mercenaries were stunned for a moment but quickly shrugged it off.

After all, it was Hode’s money to spend—not theirs to force from him.

And Hode was a Northern Warrior. None dared to demand from him anyway.

Time flew. Within three to five days, Hode’s revelry seemed to fade from memory.

Only when mercenaries, after completing tasks and earning one or two gold coins, cautiously ordered a mug of ale and a plate of roast meat, did they sigh and reminisce about the joy of those days when Hode had been around.

Soon enough, Hode returned.

This time, he had taken a job from the local lord, bringing along the scrawny old man to wipe out a bandit group stationed nearby—two warriors and more than ten men.

“Of course, Cooper and I killed them all. These bastards were tormenting the people, making it impossible for them to live normal lives!” Hode shouted, holding up a mug of ale.

His body reeked of drink, his face flushed from overindulgence. Only when he occasionally lifted his head to look at the ceiling did his eyes flash with a trace of clarity.

“Two warriors and more than ten men—you killed them all?” Someone exaggerated his expression, looking incredulous.

Hode glanced at this man, who had recently whispered with him in private, and bellowed the words they had already agreed upon: “They were just bullies who preyed on the weak. Before our Comrades Group, such scum can hardly be called warriors!”

Another voice shouted, “Comrades Group? Is that your mercenary company?”

Hode yanked at Cooper, who was drunkenly pawing at a woman. Rage surged in his heart, and he squeezed hard to wake him. Before Cooper could flare up, Hode roared, “Yes, this is my mercenary company! But not just a mercenary company—we are the Comrades Group!”

Cooper caught on quickly, and immediately leaned against Hode, shouting, “Yes, we are the Comrades Group!”

Another man cried out, “Such a valiant Comrades Group! Captain Hode! Does your Comrades Group accept new members?”

Hode roared, “Of course! We welcome all brave comrades to join!”

And so, the short, flawed conversation ended.

But who cared? At this moment, hardly anyone in the tavern was sober enough to stand straight. They only followed the heated atmosphere, howling loudly for the Comrades Group.

This revelry lasted five days. Half-dreaming, half-drunk, and each day someone would intentionally or unintentionally mention the Comrades Group.

On the sixth day, before the others awoke, Hode dragged away the genuinely unconscious Cooper.

When the mercenaries awoke, they realized that in these few days more than four hundred gold coins had been spent. Hode’s commission from the lord had only been five hundred gold coins in total—so Hode had once again gone out to take on new jobs.

This time, they discussed it among themselves, marveling, “Truly a Northern Warrior. Truly a Comrades Group. So valiant! And it seems the Comrades Group is still recruiting warriors?”

A few days later, Hode and Cooper returned to the Mercenary Tavern, dragging two enormous carcasses—

A Snowfield Berserk Bear and a Frost Troll.

Before the mercenaries, they handed the beasts to the barkeep in exchange for eight hundred gold coins.

Three hundred for the Snowfield Berserk Bear, and five hundred for the Frost Troll.

The Frost Troll was weaker than the bear, but far more agile and cunning, much harder to hunt.

It was said that a magic academy in Greenwood required Frost Trolls for experimentation, hence its higher price.

But the mercenaries cared nothing for magic academies. Northern Warriors looked down on such things.

They only watched Hode. And Hode did not disappoint—he seized a handful of gold coins and flung them into the air. Once again, the tavern erupted in revelry.

But before the madness began, a flushed man staggered to Hode, shouting that he wanted to join the Comrades Group.

Hode burst into laughter—genuine laughter. He knew that after nearly a month of preparation, the result he had sought had finally come.

…

“Comrades Group…” Jeffrey rubbed the stubble on his chin, murmuring.

In the Senate hall, only Jeffrey and Puniel were present. Jeffrey stared at the unfolded map before him, marked with mercenary taverns, Hode’s location distinctly highlighted.

Puniel sat in his chair, saying, “This wasn’t part of our plan. It seems this former Church Knight has his own ideas.”

Without turning, Jeffrey said, “No. This isn’t something he could have thought of.”

Puniel asked, “If not him, then who? And does it even matter? The deal is already completed, and even more smoothly than expected. Whether he’s involved later or not doesn’t matter. Half a year from now, when the number of registered mercenaries reaches critical mass, and gold flows into the North, giving him a little push will be enough.”

Puniel sighed. “The North truly lives up to its name. In less than two months, there are already over eight hundred registered mercenaries—most of them second- and third-tier fighters. Back in York Territory, it took nearly half a year to reach those numbers, and that was only with the four hundred men who followed me into battle as the first wave.”

Jeffrey replied, “That shows how immense the scattered strength of the North is. It comes from the restlessness in their blood. Who knows how many warriors among them have turned to banditry?”

Puniel said, “If only we could recruit some.”

Jeffrey snorted. “They are no knights. Not even like the old knights who knew loyalty. They only bow to the strong.”

Knighthoods recognized by the Church were permitted to bear the cross on their banners, and so people of Greenwood called them Cross Knights.

Now, only the Virtue Knights Order, the Oath Knights, the Doyle Knight Order, and the Glory Knight Academy by Lake Salvador could be called Cross Knights.

Because of the distinction between them and the so-called Wild Knight Orders, many knights adorned their armor with crosses to distinguish themselves.

“And you dare let those barbarians, who only think of killing and rutting, into your fortress? Do you want your mistresses birthing children with Northern blood?” Jeffrey’s words dripped with disdain for Northerners.

He hadn’t expected controlling the North from beyond the Northwind Mountains to be so smooth—smooth enough that nobles had yet to react to the mercenary taverns.

Puniel remarked, “Barbaric as they are, their combat power is impressive.”

Jeffrey said coldly, “Men without conviction and loyalty shatter easily.”

Then he paused, frowning, turning to Puniel. “But there are some in the North with brains.”

Puniel tilted his head in confusion.

Jeffrey explained, “Someone in the North is using that former Church Knight to instill belief into their people.”

Puniel’s eyes widened. “Like how the Church supports knight orders?”

Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, but more straightforward. The Comrades Group.”

Puniel said, “You mean the Comrades Group was invented by that clever one?”

Jeffrey nodded. “Our people only spread the news of a warrior-level mercenary. We didn’t fabricate his deeds. Yet now he has guarded caravans, slain warriors, destroyed two bandit strongholds, and hunted a Snowfield Berserk Bear and a Frost Troll. Some of this is plausible, but eradicating two warrior-led bandit strongholds? Those two alone could never have done it.”

Puniel caught on. “So someone powerful in the North is secretly aiding him?”

Jeffrey paced, brows furrowed. Soon, he summoned a servant and ordered him to contact Bevan’s men.

Bevan had returned to his coastal territory, lacking Jeffrey and Puniel’s convenience of contact.

Once the servant left, Jeffrey said, “The most suspicious part is his very first merchant job. If I’m not mistaken, that merchant was planted by the one pulling strings.”

Puniel frowned. “He’s not directly cooperating with the former Church Knight?”

Jeffrey shook his head. “No. If they were truly working together, they wouldn’t have had him become a mercenary, nor staged his deeds in taverns—all under our watchful eyes.”

Puniel asked, “So… is this a provocation?”

Jeffrey pondered silently, then said slowly, “No. This isn’t provocation—it’s goodwill. He’s telling me he has no hostility, that he’s guessed our intentions, and that he’s willing to cooperate.”

Puniel asked, “What does he want?”

Jeffrey sat down, his tone relaxed. “Think about what we want.”

“Domesticate the North?”

“Yes. Domesticate the North. Or more precisely, reshape its values and give it a new culture.”

“The Comrades Group!” Jeffrey said firmly. Then he spread out the intelligence reports from taverns, especially those mentioning the Comrades Group.

Puniel asked, “Why not call it a knight order?”

Jeffrey, eyes fixed on the reports, answered casually, “Idiot. The North has no knights.”

Puniel flushed at the insult but held his tongue. After all, this matter ultimately concerned Jeffrey more than him.

Soon, Jeffrey lifted his head, eyes alight with excitement. “That man merely gave the group its name. Its true meaning—he has left for us to shape.”

“Meaning?” Puniel asked offhandedly.

Jeffrey raised his voice. “Just like Richard’s Oath Knights uphold their Three Oaths, he is inviting us to fill the Comrades Group with ideals.”

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