Allen sat in his tent, his mind processing the information about hidden wealth Tim had revealed. The hidden stash of gold coins and supplies could change everything. With nearly ten thousand imperial gold coins and enough food to sustain three thousand people for six months, he could solidify his forces and prepare for the inevitable conflicts ahead.
He traced his finger over the map, noting the location of the cave Viscount Tebri had discovered. One day's journey—it was close, but still vulnerable to discovery if the enemy got wind of it. (Image)
Allen called for Hilter and, once he arrived, ordered him to fetch Fredrick.
When Fredrick entered the tent, Allen wasted no time.
"Fredrick, take Patt, Tim, and a group of soldiers. Head to the cave and retrieve the supplies and gold. Move swiftly, but remain cautious. We cannot afford to lose this."
Fredrick gave a crisp nod. "Understood, Milord. We will return before dawn the day after tomorrow."
Allen turned to Tim. "I'll arrange for someone to begin your etiquette training when you return."
Tim, grateful for Allen's trust, bowed deeply. "Thank you, Milord. I will not disappoint you."
With the preparations made, Allen dismissed them, his mind already shifting to the next pressing matter.
As Allen stepped out of the tent, Seraphine approached. Dressed in a regal blue gown, her golden hair flowing like silk, she was a vision of nobility. But her expression was serious. (Image)
"Milord, Knight Josk has arrived with a group of people. He requests an audience with you."
Allen nodded, following Seraphine toward the camp's entrance. The sight that greeted him was grim—Josk stood at the front, his usually confident demeanor replaced with exhaustion. Behind him, nearly four hundred people, ranging from teenagers to the elderly, stood clutching makeshift weapons, their faces marked by fatigue and hunger.
Josk stepped forward and saluted. "Milord, I have failed you..."
Allen chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "You worry too much, Josk. The tides of war are ever-changing. You did what you could. Now, come inside and eat first—we can discuss everything after you've had a proper meal."
The moment Allen mentioned food, a cheer erupted from the group. The tantalizing aroma of stewed horse meat filled the air, and the refugees' stomachs growled loudly in response. Josk's face reddened in embarrassment.
"Milord, I must be honest—we haven't eaten in over a day. Everyone is at their limit."
Allen gestured for Eman to distribute the food, and soon, the weary travelers were settled in the northwestern section of the camp, eating hungrily. Inside Allen's tent, Josk himself devoured bowl after bowl of stew and tore through pieces of bread with a desperation that spoke volumes of his ordeal.
Only after finishing his meal did Josk finally begin recounting his experience.
"When I left, I expected the insurgents to be eager to join forces against Count Cobry. Instead, I was met with nothing but cowardice and greed," Josk spat bitterly.
Allen listened in silence as Josk described his journey. The insurgent groups in the western mountains had refused his call to arms, believing it was better to wait out the conflict rather than risk themselves in battle. Some even suspected Josk of conspiring with Allen's forces, accusing him of trying to manipulate them into fighting a losing war.
And some others even hoped that the convoy and the count's forces would mutually obliterate one another so that they will be able to take advantage of the whole situation. Given that Josk had told them about the size of the convoy, they inferred that it would definitely own a huge amount of resources that would instantly make them filthy rich.
But what angered Josk the most was the betrayal of the Hiddenbull Stronghold. They had refused to continue supporting the families of his men, claiming they lacked the resources to do so—despite having taken the majority of supplies from a recent raid on the count's warehouse.
"They used us, Milord. My men bled for them, and they discarded us the moment we became a burden."
Josk clenched his fists, his face dark with fury. "I left that very night, taking my men and their families with me. We had nowhere to go, so I sought out another stronghold, only to find it in ruins. The count's forces had already been there. The survivors—old men, women, children, and wounded fighters—had no hope left. I couldn't leave them behind, so I brought them here."
Allen let out a deep breath, studying the group Josk had brought. These people weren't soldiers—they were desperate, displaced souls. They would need shelter, food, and protection. But more importantly, they would need purpose.
Josk stood at the edge of the encampment, his clothes soaked with sweat and his eyes hollow from exhaustion. He had traveled non-stop, hoping to reach the battlefield in time to fulfill his reckless determination—to throw himself into the chaos and at least take down some of the enemy before his inevitable demise. But now, standing here, he was too late. The battle had ended two days ago.
The frustration surged within him. He had sacrificed so much—had given up all his rations to the women and children back at the abandoned stronghold, had rallied 300 of his best men, had pushed them all to their limits to arrive here… only to find that he had achieved nothing. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
Behind Allen, Seraphine stepped forward, her voice calm yet firm.
"You should consider yourself lucky," she said, crossing her arms. "If you had come earlier, you and your men might have been caught in the bloodbath. The only reason we won was a series of unlikely coincidences."
Josk sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Tell me what happened."
Seraphine recounted the events—how the battle had unfolded, how their convoy barely scraped through, and how despite everything, they had managed to secure a victory.
Allen, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Josk, you should bring your men and their families here," he said. "This camp is defensible, it has farmland, and it's not a place that can be easily besieged. If you stay here, you won't have to worry about the mountain insurgents again. I can even spare some of my carriages to help you move, and I'll leave you with enough supplies and equipment."
Josk looked at Allen, his expression unreadable. Then, he shook his head.
"No, Milord," he said. "I have made up my mind. I wish to follow you north. But once we reach your homeland and establish ourselves, I will return here… to kill the count and all his illegitimate sons. Only then will I come back to serve you completely."
Allen raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Josk exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his voice was laced with exhaustion. "Milord, I am tired. I have spent so much time fighting this battle, trying to resist the count, but I have only been thinking of my own vendetta. I forced my men into this, ignored their needs, and failed to provide them with a stable life. I've been their leader all this time, yet I have given them nothing but war and suffering. I finally understand now—I cannot lead them to a better future."
He straightened his back, looking directly at Allen. "That's why I want to entrust them to you. I believe you can give them the life they deserve, one of peace and stability."
Seraphine's expression softened slightly, but Allen studied Josk for a long moment before speaking.
"You hate the count that much?"
Josk let out a bitter chuckle. "More than you can imagine." He took a deep breath. "Do you want to hear the reason?"
Allen nodded. "Tell me."
Josk's eyes darkened as he recalled the past. "My father was a Gold-ranked knight who died in battle when I was still in my mother's womb. She did her best to raise me, but grief consumed her, and she passed away when I was just a boy. The people in my village helped me survive, but I was alone."
His voice grew quieter. "Then, when I was twelve, fate intervened. I saved Baron Omador from a wild boar, and he took me in." (Image)
"He was a good man—perhaps too good for this world. Unlike most nobles, he was kind, never mistreated his people, and lived a simple life with his daughter."
At the mention of the baron's daughter, Josk's voice faltered for a second before he pressed on. "He raised me like his own son and trained me to be a knight, just like my father. I worked tirelessly, and by the time I was twenty-four, I had reached One Star Gold Knight rank. But more than anything, my happiness came from her—his daughter. We fell in love, and the baron was delighted. He allowed us to get engaged, and we were to be wed when she turned twenty." (Image)
Allen could already tell where this story was going, and he did not like it.
"The day of our wedding," Josk continued, his tone turning hollow, "Count Cobry sent a messenger, demanding she marry one of his illegitimate sons. The baron refused, of course. He chased the messenger away."
Josk let out a bitter laugh. "And so the count declared war."
Seraphine's eyes narrowed. "That was just an excuse," she muttered.
"Of course it was," Josk said. "The castle was never meant for war. We held out for only two hours before they breached the walls. I was wounded, my men dragged me away before I could die with them, and as we escaped, I woke up just in time to see the castle burning… and her, in her white wedding gown, throwing herself from the highest tower."
His hands trembled as he clenched them into fists. "I screamed, but there was nothing I could do. I passed out, and when I woke again, it was all gone. The count had taken everything from me."
Allen remained silent, his gaze unreadable. Josk inhaled sharply. "After I recovered, I infiltrated the count's estate and shot three arrows. Two of his bastards died, but the third only wounded him. Since then, I've been running, fighting, causing him trouble whenever I could. But it's never been enough."
Finally, Josk sank to his knees before Allen. "Milord," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "If you help me take revenge, I swear to serve you for life. I will fight for you, kill for you—whatever you ask of me, I will do it."
Allen was quick to pull him up. "Enough of that," he said firmly. "I have no intention of making you kneel before me. I respect you, Josk. Your skills, your loyalty, your resolve—I would be honored to have you serve under me."
Josk looked at him with hopeful eyes. "Then… you'll help me kill the count?"
Allen sighed. "I won't promise that lightly. My priority is to get my people to the Northlands safely. I can't risk their lives for revenge."
Josk's shoulders sagged slightly, but Allen wasn't finished.
"That being said," Allen continued, "the Styles Family also has grievances with the count. If an opportunity arises where I can strike him down without endangering my people, then I will."
Josk stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "That is enough for me, Milord."
Seraphine sighed. "You should rest, Josk. You haven't eaten or slept in days. You're no good to anyone if you collapse now."
Allen gestured to one of the men nearby. "Eman, take Josk to a tent. Make sure he gets food and rest."
Eman nodded and guided the weary knight away.
As Josk disappeared into the tent, Allen turned to Seraphine. "What do you think?"
She shrugged. "He's broken, but not beyond repair. If you truly help him get his revenge, you'll have his loyalty forever."
Allen exhaled. "Then let's see what fate has in store."