Chapter 72: Chapter 63: Relaxing in the Bathhouse and the King’s Letter
Henry nodded slightly. The estimate was close to his own. Over twenty thousand Dinars was a huge fortune, even for an established Baron.
"You’ve worked hard. You can take some time off now to rest and relax."
"Thank you for your concern, my lord."
After Claude left, Henry lay down to rest.
Henry’s eyelids grew heavy, but his thoughts surged like a tide. Humans are strange creatures. It’s often when they’re too tired to keep their eyes open that their imaginations run wild.
He thought of his territory, his loyal soldiers, and the vast tracts of unclaimed, fertile land. ’Bountiful wheat fields, prosperous cities...’
"My lord, an urgent report from the Northern Lands." An urgent voice came from outside the tent.
Henry shot up in bed, threw on his clothes, and called in Claude, who was standing outside. The man had a strange look on his face.
"What is it that you had to wake me for in the middle of the night?"
"It’s... It’s the Northern Lands, my lord. Sibyl has been attacked by Ogres."
Henry’s expression darkened. ’These Alien Races must be out of their minds. The Half-Beastmen, who were nearly a match for the Empire’s strength, were just crushed. And now these Ogres, whom the Empire has always kept under its thumb, actually have the gall to stir up trouble?’
"Where did this news come from? Who’s the source? Is it accurate? Have the Legions reacted?"
Henry remained perfectly calm. ’First, Sibyl is a long way from my fiefdom; it has nothing to do with me. Second, Ogres are far inferior to Half-Beastmen. They lack iron weapons and supply bases, so they can hardly pose a serious threat.’
"It came from the Eleventh Legion’s camp. It’s likely true, because their logistics unit has already started to pack up."
Henry nodded. ’If they’re packing through the night, then it must be true.’
"It’s nothing. Not a big deal. Go back and get some rest. Only one Legion is making a move, and it’s the one permanently stationed in the Northern Lands. This proves the Ogres are no real threat. I’m not participating in a battle with so little to be gained."
Ogres were incredibly tall, averaging about three meters. Some even had two or three heads. Unfortunately, they weren’t worth much.
The nobles of the Northern Lands hunted them for sport, using them to train their soldiers. They had no value as trophies. And after three consecutive major battles this time, the price of Half-Beastman heads was also bound to be impacted.
The next day, the four Legions assembled and set out. However, the Eleventh Legion’s route differed from the other three, as they were heading for Sibyl.
The other Legions were heading to Baltahan to rest and reorganize. Henry hadn’t heard the exact number of casualties the Legions had suffered, but he was sure it was significant.
「Half a month later.」
The three Legions and the nobles’ Private Armies, having traveled day and night, arrived in Baltahan.
The Imperial standard fluttered in the wind, snapping sharply in the cold breeze.
The Free People and merchants of Baltahan poured into the streets to witness the magnificent sight.
They marveled at the army’s scale and imposing presence, their hearts filled with curiosity about the Half-Beastman prisoners.
They didn’t have the guts to fight Half-Beastmen themselves, but they were more than capable of admiring the results of the battle and boasting as if they had.
In a way, they were even less useful than the serfs who trained once a month. At least the serfs knew how to thrust a wooden spear into a Half-Beastman’s neck.
With the army’s arrival, Baltahan experienced a false economic boom. The soldiers’ demand drove business at local taverns and brothels, and the officers couldn’t stop their men from blowing off some steam.
After fighting for months and getting paid, weren’t they allowed to enjoy themselves? Of course they were! And our very own Lord Henry was doing just that, enjoying himself with his friends at a bathhouse.
Baltahan’s grassland-themed bathhouse could almost rival the royal baths in Autongard. Its copious decorations made the chamber look like a vast, boundless green ocean.
Female attendants provided for the nobles fanned them with floral-scented fans, while other servants tended to the nearby plants. It felt like lying on a summer prairie as a gentle breeze rustled through the whispering grass...
Henry and his two companions shed their restrictive clothing and stepped into the warm water, feeling its embrace and the prairie-like atmosphere.
Henry floated silently on the surface, gazing up at the painted, false blue sky and savoring the peace and relaxation.
Fass and Mace, who had become fast friends, were frolicking in the water with the female attendants, sending up sheets of spray.
Once he started to feel hungry, Henry got out and had an attendant dry him off. He ordered a few jugs of wine and some dessert, and the three of them, now dressed in clean white robes, ate and chatted.
"Mace, in a few days you can head back to start developing your own territory. But I’d advise you not to do it too close to my fiefdom."
Mace nodded hurriedly. "Of course, of course! I won’t get in the way of your expansion."
’That’s terrifying,’ Mace thought. ’If I really blocked Henry’s path of expansion, Henry and John would have a complete falling out, and I have no doubt Henry would crush me on the side just because he could.’
Fass, who was eating a piece of cake, found Mace’s nervousness amusing. He turned to Henry and said, "I don’t plan on making any moves before next summer. I’m going to have my earthen fort renovated, and then I’ll start expanding as well."
"Do you want to come with me to the Royal Capital?"
Fass thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I’d better not. My performance wasn’t particularly outstanding; the Dean won’t be summoning me. You, Shevar Sayfi, and Gonzalo Jonson were the real standouts. The Minstrels have even composed songs specifically for the three of you."
Besides Henry, two other individuals had distinguished themselves in the Tianyin Campaign.
Shevar Sayfi, a Knight and minor noble from the Tiyaer region. And Gonzalo Jonson, a Baron and noble from the Sibyl region.
They possessed the tall statures of the Stegian people of the Northern Lands, which made it easy for them to stand out in the meat grinder of large-scale formation battles.
Although their accomplishments couldn’t compare to Henry’s, they were still enough for people to sing of their deeds and Bravery.
"Alright. In that case, I’ll give the Dean your regards."
"Thanks."
After two more days of carousing together, Henry saw Fass and Mace off.
Their retinues departed, their figures shrinking in the distance until they finally disappeared over the horizon.
Meanwhile, Henry’s army, led by Philip and Vasco, began their journey back to Westwood Laine, laden with captured Half-Beastman armor and weapons.
The serfs’ faces shone with the joy of having survived the ordeal. They had also received a reward: the chance to take a loan to become tenant farmers, with five years to repay the debt.
Had they turned their lives around? Not quite, but they were halfway there.
Henry kept only his steward, Attendants, a cook, and the thirty-three surviving Grassland Warriors by his side.
After this trip to the Royal Capital, Henry would provide them with new armor and weapons, turning them into Grassland Riders or Grassland Raiders.
They had been tempered by the crucible of battle. They were no longer just loyal shepherd slaves who could ride horses, but qualified Light Cavalry.
Just as Henry was enjoying a moment of leisure as usual, sipping a warm, smooth red tea, the Legion camp suddenly erupted in cheers.
A letter from the Royal Capital had arrived, plunging the entire camp into a state of joy.
