Chapter 51: Chapter 42: Great Victory on the Frontline! New Goatman Tracks at the Border
Whitlow, whipped again for no apparent reason, finally broke.
’Just ask me! Haven’t I told you everything?! And you’re still whipping me! *Sob*...’
Whitlow had thought he could endure it, but he found that each lash hurt more than the last. The pain was especially excruciating when the whip landed on his already broken skin, making him wish he could just die on the spot.
When asked why he had traveled all the way from the western part of the empire to the east, Whitlow’s voice trembled even more.
He confessed that he was escaping family debts, hoping he could stage a comeback by becoming a Pioneer Noble in the east.
"Debts? Aren’t you nobles from the west supposed to be rich? I’ve heard that even the King’s wife is envious of the jewelry owned by a Countess from the coastal regions."
Whitlow remained silent. It was obviously a jab at his family’s poverty.
"The King launched a massive audit. In the entire western region, most of the families who underpaid their taxes have been ruined and forced into exile."
Henry waved his hand dismissively. He couldn’t care less about any of this. The turmoil in the west was none of his concern. Even if dozens of Hereditary Counts and a few Directly Affiliated Marquises on the western coast all dropped dead overnight, Henry wouldn’t bat an eye.
It was far less important than deciding what he was going to have for dinner.
After interrogating the man for a good while longer, Henry realized this was just a simple story of an unlucky fool running headfirst into a brick wall. He was greatly disappointed.
’I thought this was some petty trick from that Glen fellow. How boring.’
Grimacing in pain, Whitlow made one last attempt. "Baron, I am the son of a Baron. You can’t torture me."
"A Baron? I don’t see any Barons here."
Henry smiled and glanced around the room. Without another word, he turned and left with his men.
"Bain, find a few Grassland Warriors and send this punk to our office in Odoche. It’d be bad luck if he died on my property."
’In my dungeon,’ Henry thought, ’an exiled noble isn’t worthy of dying. The bare minimum would have to be a landed Knight.’
Henry’s picnic plans were canceled because of this little interruption. The workload for his eighty Grassland Warriors suddenly increased, and they were organized into three-man patrol teams.
Henry wasn’t afraid of a fight, but no one likes dealing with mosquitoes.
Just as Henry was enjoying his days of feasting, drinking, and merrymaking, an invitation from Count John arrived at Westwood Laine Castle.
The occasion was the wedding of the Count’s eldest son, and he hoped Henry would attend the celebratory banquet.
When it came to an opportunity to feast, Bain was even more enthusiastic than Henry. All Henry had to do was prepare a gift; Bain’s only job was to eat.
Bain was even more delighted when he heard that Boman might be there as well.
Henry took Bain and Ailia to Odoche two days early to enjoy Count John’s hospitality—and his food and wine—for free.
More importantly, he wanted to gather some intelligence. For Count John’s eldest son to be getting married at a time like this, there had to be political motivations.
Henry later learned that the Seventh and Eleventh Legions had reported a string of victories. They had fought another major battle and won decisively.
The woman his eldest son was marrying was none other than the niece of Alberti, the Legion Commander of the Eleventh Legion.
’I need to get an intelligence network up and running,’ Henry mused. ’It’s nice being the local tyrant, but it’s agonizing being this out of the loop.’
Ever since the pioneering war began, Odoche’s once-stagnant commerce had been booming.
With the commencement of the wedding banquet for Count John’s eldest son, Odoche was bustling with activity once more. Such were the benefits of having a great noble in a large city.
Dressed in a formal imperial robe, Henry entered the lavishly decorated banquet hall. Candles flickered, and the air was filled with the fragrant aroma of fine wine and exquisite food.
’Truly extravagant,’ Henry thought. ’Then again, the wedding gifts Count John will receive are probably nothing to scoff at.’
Henry exchanged pleasantries with some vaguely familiar guests, his bearing elegant and his conversation full of grace.
Unlike a few months ago, this time Henry didn’t need to initiate conversations; people naturally gravitated toward him.
Fierce, wealthy, and powerful—these three words were deeply engraved in their minds. At least within the social circle centered on Odoche, the name "Henry Bro" was legendary.
Soon, the banquet officially began, and Count John delivered a welcoming speech.
Count John’s eldest son and a young lady emerged hand-in-hand, exchanging wedding vows before dozens of assembled nobles.
’A handsome couple,’ Henry thought. ’In any case, the kid is much better looking than his father, John.’
Afterward, musicians hired by the Count began to play beautiful melodies, and dancers descended onto the floor, inviting guests to join them in dance.
Henry joined in, dancing with a lady nearby. His steps were light and coordinated, a clear display of his excellent Control Power. This type of dance was, after all, a required part of noble etiquette.
After the dance ended, the guests returned to their seats to enjoy the sumptuous feast. Henry made pleasant conversation with those seated near him, but their topics of discussion failed to capture his interest.
They held their glasses, gently swirling the wine, toasting one another as they chatted and laughed.
To an outsider, it all looked elegant and sophisticated. Henry just found it dull. ’Can we please talk about something interesting?’
"Yes, yes, I think so too. Of course," Henry interjected, "rather than debating whether cattle and horses can produce offspring with greater Endurance, don’t you think this latest victory in the new battle is a more interesting topic for us nobles?"
Unable to stand it any longer, Henry had to change the subject. The news he’d been getting was too fragmented; he needed this crowd to help him sort through and distill the information.
The conversation immediately shifted to the victory in the battle on the front lines, and the nobles’ faces lit up with pride and excitement.
They began to heatedly discuss the details of the war, praising this person or that for their valor.
’What a load of bull,’ Henry thought, listening to one of them. ’He’s describing it in such detail, anyone who didn’t know better would think he’d fought in the battle himself.’
The first major battle had been named the "Battle of Zhiluo." Henry, its most dazzling star, had his name spread throughout the empire by Minstrels and merchant caravans.
This latest battle was named the "Battle of Tuye." While no one as brilliant as Henry emerged from it, a number of talented young men and female Swordsmen still managed to distinguish themselves.
The nobles began to conspire in loud voices, discussing how to expand their territories and seize resources. Oh, and they also collectively mocked the exiled and ruined nobility.
The clinking of glasses and the clamor of arguments intertwined. Yet, amidst this boisterous atmosphere, a few nobles wore expressions of concern.
Pioneering meant new territories and new nobles. But eventually, the powers within a region would have to clash to determine who the true local powerhouse was.
"Latest news! Half-Beastmen have been spotted near Autongard and Wei Castle! It seems they’re heading south!"
Suddenly, this news spread through the hall, its origin unknown. But when Henry saw the amiable Count John’s expression turn grim, he knew it was very likely true.
Henry watched the nobles before him descend into a chaotic uproar and downed the wine in his glass with satisfaction.
’These Half-Beastmen have perfect timing! I was just getting bored. With more troops under my command this time, it’s a perfect opportunity to train them and level up!’
