Guillaumevalt immediately told his subordinates that they should rescue the bridgehead outpost, but his vassals and attendant knights insisted that it might be a trap and that they should observe the situation before crossing the river.
It was a reasonable argument at first glance. In order to land a large force, they first needed to assess the situation, and the Kora River was not an easy river to cross at a moment's notice.
The problem arose the next morning when the sharp-eyed sentries reported back.
"Bridgehead outpost, annihilated!"
That meant the ambition that Count Lantarik had long yearned for had been shattered. The annexation of Salasma had failed, and instead, Count Lantarik was now isolated in enemy territory, in grave danger.
Moreover, horrifying rumors were spreading among the soldiers. Stories circulated that Count Lantarik's forces had been ambushed by monsters near Salasma and that the count had gone missing, causing unrest in the camp.
"They call themselves knights, but they're worse than slaves. They opposed crossing at night because they were scared, and because of that, we lost the bridgehead right before our eyes—yet no one takes responsibility! In the end, it's the commander and the noble who have to take the blame, which means me! Am I supposed to just accept being labeled as the fool who stupidly let his father die before his very eyes? I insisted on crossing immediately to rescue them, yet those bastards trampled on my opinion, and now the disgrace is mine?! Is it because they think I'm ugly? Is that why my own vassals look down on me?!"
Guillaumevalt slashed at the grass irritably as he strode forward.
"Fine. This spot looks crossable!"
"What?"
"You and I! We'll cross the river first. I need to see the situation with my own eyes. Don't worry. I was trained by holy knights, after all."
Giving up on persuading his defiant vassals, Guillaumevalt decided to gather adventurers loyal to coin and cross the river with them instead, planning to personally scout the Salasma outpost.
"Wait, Young Master, hehe. Didn't you hear what the keen-eyed shaman or holy knights said last night?"
"We're against crossing as well. We're only here for scouting."
Last night, shaman and holy knights with exceptional perception had heard the dreadful roar of a monstrous being.
The Nightcrawler's howl, after it had absorbed the orc necromancer, Scott McGreen, had echoed across half a day's distance.
"You too? Do you want to be reported to the Cell Sword Guild for insubordination?"
"Hahaha."
"That would be troublesome."
"Then go prepare to cross. There should be boats nearby. Secure them."
Superstitious and rumor-sensitive, the adventurers didn't even think about persuading the stubborn Guillaumevalt and instead obediently prepared for the crossing.
"There are boats here. Pay the fishermen and requisition them."
Just as Guillaumevalt said this—
"Huh?"
The group pushing through the bushes suddenly stumbled upon a band of adventurers who were camping. But—
"Oh? Sir Brand?!"
"Sir Guillaumevalt?!"
Among them stood Brand, clad in bloodstained armor.
"No way, Sir Brand?! What happened? You disappeared without a trace—what in the world…?"
"Who's this?"
The masked man standing beside Brand asked him.
"He's the legitimate son of Count Lantarik. I once taught him how to read."
"I am Guillaumevalt, son of Count Lantarik, Baron of Adirof, and eldest son of Garnahair."
"Ah…"
Instead of the masked man, a holy knight standing nearby stepped forward.
"I am Zebeck, a holy knight of the King's Church."
"But…"
"An orc!"
The members of the Cell Sword Guild noticed the presence of an orc among the group and reacted with shock and hostility.
"Oh, this one is our prisoner."
The masked man spoke, prompting Guillaumevalt's curiosity.
"Wait. Did you cross the Kora River?"
"Hm?"
"Could it be that you came from the Salasma side? What happened to Count Lantarik's army? We'd like to know the details. If the information is accurate, I'll compensate you."
"Hmm, well."
The situation had become complicated.
***
'I was too engrossed in camping and training.'
Azadin regretted that they had let their guard down, allowing unexpected visitors to approach them while they camped. Should they have set up a perimeter?
But the opponent was Count Lantarik's son. If suspicious figures were found setting up a perimeter within his father's territory, he had every reason to investigate and suppress them.
Claiming they were merely camping near the river instead of coming from Salasma would also be troublesome, as it would raise suspicions about why they were camping by the riverside in the first place.
At that moment, Brand spoke up.
"The count's army was attacked by monsters and scattered. The count himself is missing."
To Brand, Count Lantarik was an enemy whom he could never forgive. Naturally, he would have no fondness for Guillaumevalt either. And yet, Brand still maintained the polite demeanor of a former vassal speaking to his lord.
"What?"
"We saw it from a distance. A large number of undead ambushed the army. We were too frightened to do anything but run, but come morning, when we saw no movement from the far bank, it wasn't hard to guess that something terrible had happened to the Lantarik forces."
"I see. Understood. Then, would you hand over that orc to us for interrogation, sir? If monsters attacked Count Lantarik's army, that creature might know something."
Guillaumevalt requested the transfer of the orc necromancer, Scott McGreen. Azadin shook his head.
"Ah, well, this one isn't in his right mind."
"Not in his right mind?"
"Yes. He keeps rambling about Jupiter's Era and such."
Azadin spoke and flicked a reed leaf he had plucked. The leaf flew with sharp force and struck Scott's face.
"The end times are upon us! When Jupiter's gravity reaches Hubris, the old kings of the Nether shall return!"
"He seems to have lost his sanity due to black magic."
"…Then why keep him as a prisoner? Just kill him here and now. Orcs consume too many rations."
As Guillaumevalt said this and drew his sword, Scott flinched, sensing the killing intent.
'This idiot is too caught up in his act. You're going to get yourself killed.'
Azadin stepped forward to shield Scott and replied.
"I know a shaman skilled in mind-reading. We intend to extract his knowledge through them."
"Who and where is this shaman?"
"Well, you see… Shamans, as you know, are a bit… tricky."
As Azadin fumbled for an excuse, Guillaumevalt narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"Then why are you wearing a mask…?"
"Well, I have scars on my face."
"Hmm? Just in case, would you mind taking it off?"
Guillaumevalt's gaze grew more skeptical, and Azadin found himself in a difficult position.
"I ask for your understanding. My father has suddenly gone silent, and monsters have appeared nearby… Please cooperate with us."
Guillaumevalt's tone remained polite, but his actions were anything but. The members of the Cell Sword Guild standing beside him exchanged glances—and then, all at once, drew their weapons.
"Hm?"
Were they about to attack? Azadin tensed in preparation, but something felt off. The killing intent was directed elsewhere.
Indeed, one of the Cell Sword Guild members suddenly swung his weapon—striking Guillaumevalt on the back of the head.
But Brand, who had been watching, thrust his spear forward, deflecting the Cell Sword Guild member's weapon. Being well-versed in the affairs of Lantarik County, Brand had already anticipated this situation.
"Be careful!"
"Ugh?!"
Guillaumevalt was bewildered as he saw his own subordinates attacking him.
"Traitors! You traitors!"
"..."
The Cell Sword Guild members remained silent, drawing their weapons and surrounding Guillaumevalt.
"You all may leave."
"Our only target is Guillaumevalt."
The Cell Sword Guild members sneered, speaking as if they were doing Azadin's group a favor.
"Y-You bastards! Why? I paid your wages properly!"
Guillaumevalt, flustered, glared at the guild members.
"Because the true heir of Count Lantarik is Young Master Adler."
Brand, who had been observing, stated calmly.
"Adler?!"
"Yes. Young Master Adler shares the count's darkness, whereas you, Sir Guillaumevalt, know nothing—you only see the count's surface."
"What are you talking about?! Adler is just my youngest brother! Sure, he often visited Father's study, but…!"
The Cell Sword Guild members chuckled at his words.
"As expected of a former scribe, you know things well."
"So what? You're not going to run?"
"You really think you stand a chance when you're outnumbered?"
The Cell Sword Guild had over twenty members, all well-armed. In contrast, Azadin's group appeared weak at a glance.
Zebeck, clad in heavy armor, certainly looked formidable, but Azadin wore only light armor, while Midiam and Ishmael were still young children. Shati and Scott were in robes instead of armor, and Brand was dressed in a ridiculous patchwork of ragged armor. The seasoned mercenaries were confident in their victory.
"Run. This has nothing to do with you, does it? Even if you save Young Master Guillaumevalt, no one will be grateful. Lantarik already belongs to Lord Adler."
"But if we run away now, won't you frame us for Young Master Guillaumevalt's murder?"
Azadin's words made the Cell Sword Guild members snicker.
"You're not an idiot. But wouldn't running be better than dying here?"
"Ah, seriously. Why did I have to get involved in some noble family's internal struggle? Brand, you know this place best, don't you? You decide. Should we save Guillaumevalt? Or just leave him and walk away?"
Since Azadin knew nothing about the Lantarik County's situation, he left the decision to Brand, who was more familiar with it.
"Let's save Young Master Guillaumevalt."
"Well then."
As Azadin nodded, the Cell Sword Guild members burst into laughter.
"Kik. These fools have lost their minds."
"They must think they stand a chance just because they have a holy knight."
"In a reed field like this, even a horse can't exert its strength. This kind of swampy terrain favors seasoned fighters."
"Yeah. I agree with that."
Azadin dashed into the reed field. Not just Azadin—Midiam and Ishmael also slipped into the reeds, disappearing without a trace.
"What the—?"
—Swish!
Instead of an answer, an arrow flew through the air.
Shockingly, the arrow came from a different direction than where Azadin had run. He had bent the trajectory of the shot, making it seem as though the arrow had come from elsewhere.
—Thud!
An unexpected hit—one of the Cell Sword Guild members collapsed as the arrow struck him.
"Ugh?!"
"What the hell! He definitely ran that way!"
"It's an ambush!"
The Cell Sword Guild members were thrown into confusion. It was inconceivable to them that Azadin, who had just disappeared into the reeds, could have been the one to fire the shot.
Then, more arrows rained down. Too many to have been fired by just the three who had hidden moments ago—arrows poured in from all directions.
"Argh!"
"It's a trap!"
The Cell Sword Guild members panicked as the arrows came too fast and too frequently, making them misjudge the number of archers.
They couldn't believe that the only archers were the three who had just hidden in the reeds. Instead, they mistakenly assumed that multiple archers had been lying in ambush in the area all along.