Accompanying Pat into the main tent was a middle-aged man in his forties. He wore an ill-fitting grey-black leather greatcoat and a pair of brown riding breeches; the greatcoat had clearly been issued by the caravan as protection against the cold. Though the man did his best to project the bearing of a noble, his darting, restless eyes and anxious expression betrayed his inner tension.
From the first glance,
"The heir of Viscount Terboli, Terboli Tim, pays his respects to Your Lordship and congratulates you on a magnificent victory." The middle-aged man executed a deep bow toward the seated Lorist.
Lorist laughed. No child of nobility would ever introduce himself that way. They would state their family and given name, not fixate on a title to emphasize their status as heir. Such words might fool ignorant serfs, but no noble child raised on proper noble etiquette would speak like this. This middle-aged man's identity was highly questionable.
"I am Lorist of the
"I — I truly am Viscount Terboli's eldest son. If Your Lordship does not believe me, you may ask those you rescued; many of them know me. We grew up together since childhood, otherwise they would not have listened to me and come along..." The man's face flushed crimson, as if Lorist's suspicion had struck his most sensitive nerve.
"Is that so?" Lorist replied noncommittally.
The middle-aged man deflated like a punctured ball. "Yes, Your Lordship. I truly am Viscount Terboli's eldest son. It's just that now my siblings, my family, are all gone. I am the only surviving blood relative of Viscount Terboli. Therefore, I am also his sole legitimate heir."
Lorist understood. This middle-aged man was Viscount Terboli's illegitimate son. The viscount's entire legitimate family had likely been exterminated by Count Corbilly, so this bastard was now claiming to be the viscount's heir.
"What matters did Viscount Terboli previously entrust to you?" Lorist asked.
"The viscount had me manage three estates within the territory and the trade of our exported produce. Because I dealt extensively with the territory's farmers, I didn't have much contact with the nobility." The middle-aged man grew docile, answering every question put to him.
"Let me put it this way, Mr. Tim — I have no interest in whether or not you are Viscount Terboli's heir. I've heard you requested that my family knights equip your men with weapons and armor for free, so may I ask what gives you the right to make such an insolent demand?" Lorist stood up, fixing the middle-aged man with an unrelenting gaze.
"M-my lord, isn't it true that nobles have a duty to look out for one another? And I — I also wanted to arm my men so they could help Your Lordship deal with Count Corbilly's army..." In Tim's eyes, Lorist's overbearing presence crushed the air from his lungs. The excuses he had rehearsed in his mind, the arguments he had carefully prepared — they all turned to ash, utterly useless. In his panic, he could only seize upon the most orthodox justification he could think of.
"Haha, Mr. Tim. First of all, you are not a noble. Simply declaring yourself Viscount Terboli's heir does not make you one. You must be acknowledged by at least three territorial lords in the vicinity before you have any standing to claim to be Viscount Terboli's legitimate heir. Only then can you go to the royal capital to obtain your lineage certificate, and receive the inheritance qualification and title certificate from Viscount Terboli's liege lord. That is the proper method of succession. Second, there is another way — to command a powerful family militia, create a fait accompli of territorial succession, and force the liege lord to acknowledge your inheritance of the title and lands. I imagine, Mr. Tim, this is the scheme you had in mind, isn't it?"
"Perhaps Viscount Terboli never registered his eldest son's name on the family roster, which makes the proper path of succession exceedingly difficult for you. However, Mr. Tim, you seem to have forgotten your current status. To be precise, you are a prisoner of war — Count Corbilly's prisoner of war. And since our Norton Family defeated Count Corbilly's army and claimed everything belonging to it, you too should be counted among our spoils. In theory, we hold the power of life and death over you, and even selling you to slave traders would be perfectly reasonable. Unless, of course, you are willing to do as other nobles do — set a proper ransom for yourself."
"As for this so-called duty of mutual aid among nobles — Mr. Tim, do you truly understand what that compact entails? It only applies when nobles in the same region face a common foreign enemy, or when humanity is invaded by magical beasts and outsiders. As for us, we currently belong to two different nations. Even if you were a noble, I would have absolutely no obligation toward you whatsoever. I could, in fact, take your head for the crime of being a foreign noble and be rewarded when I returned home. As for helping us fight — heh, Mr. Tim, that excuse is truly terrible."
Before a real noble, this self-proclaimed heir was as if stripped of his gaudy disguise, his true face revealed in an instant.
Lorist slowly circled the middle-aged man, looking him up and down with idle amusement. "Mr. Tim, the truth is, I don't particularly care whether you're impersonating a noble or whether you're truly Viscount Terboli's heir. Ambition in a man is a good thing — it drives him to improve himself and strive harder. If you can pay a fitting price for our generosity, then I am willing to overlook the insolent request you made today. But if you think you can get something for nothing from us, then I'll have to give some serious thought to what to do with a swindler like you. Hanging? Beheading? You may choose your own punishment."
The middle-aged man called Tim went limp on the spot. He had seen his father, Viscount Terboli, casually summon guards to end the lives of a few servants who defied his orders, all while chatting and laughing. He had also watched his brothers — brothers with legitimate claims to the inheritance — whip several terrified commoners to death for spooking their horses. Since childhood, his mother, once a serving maid of Viscount Terboli, had taught him how a bastard son must live in humility and deference, how to win his father's trust, how to become a steward of the viscount's domain, and how to leverage his status as the viscount's bastard to extract extra benefits from the ignorant commoners.
It was only after his father, along with all of his brothers, had been cut down to the last man by Count Corbilly's army that he realized he had become Viscount Terboli's sole surviving blood relative. Though he had never awakened
He had been certain he was dead for good this time. To his astonishment, the sweep force — formidable as it was — had been annihilated by the escort armament of a passing caravan, and he had been rescued. After filling his belly and warming himself at the camp, he began poking around for information about the caravan. The moment he learned it was a northbound armed caravan belonging to a family called Norton from the Northland, a spark of opportunity lit up in his mind. Perhaps he could extract some advantage from this passing caravan. In his thinking, the mere mention of himself as the viscount's heir should be enough to have the caravan's master receive him as an honored guest, granting him whatever he desired. At that point, he already had plans one, two, three, and four lined up in his head — he could even use this caravan to crush Count Corbilly, seize a powerful armed force for himself, return to the viscount's domain, and become the envied noble lord of the territory.
When he heard Lorist smile and invite him to choose his method of death, every ounce of his old reverence for nobles and the deep-seated shame of being a bastard came flooding back. This was a true noble — at ease in conversation yet cold and merciless, never needing to resort to threats and bribes to make subordinates obey. In his eyes, Lorist was just like the viscount he had feared most, a man who could decide life and death as easily as drawing breath.
Tim collapsed prostrate on the ground, tears and snot streaming down his face. "My lord, spare me! I was foolish, I had delusions beyond my station, I should never have dared covet the title! Please, spare this lowly life of mine! In your eyes, I am nothing but an ant, not worth a moment of your attention..."
Lorist took a step back. "Please get up, Mr. Tim. If you wish to become a noble, then at the very least maintain some dignity. No noble would debase himself in such a manner. A true noble, even in the face of death, should remain composed, unruffled, and dignified. Perhaps you misunderstood what I said. I told you I don't care whether you are the viscount's heir or whether you are a noble at all. What I want to know is: in what capacity did you dare make such an insolent demand of me?"
Looking at Mr. Tim's dazed, bewildered eyes as he knelt on the ground, Lorist let out a bitter smile and explained at length: "Mr. Tim, if you believed that the mere status of being the viscount's heir would entitle you to take whatever you wanted from me for free, then I would treat you as a swindler and have you beheaded or hanged — because you would have offended the dignity of the Norton Family. You should understand that the thing a territorial noble despises above all else is insolence and deception."
Mr. Tim shuddered. He thought of the viscount again — of the day the viscount had ordered his guards to hang a fisherman. All because that poor wretch had tried to conceal his catch; all because of a single extra fish. The fisherman had told a lie, and it had cost him his life. He recalled the viscount's words: "I don't care about a few extra fish. I only care that he deceived me."
Mr. Tim nodded, indicating that he agreed with what Lorist had said.
"Mr. Tim, if you are not trying to obtain something from me through deception, then as a fellow noble, when you make a request and ask for my aid, I — also a noble — should extend a helping hand. However, Mr. Tim, aid between nobles is never given freely. Have you thought about what you are prepared to pay in return?" Lorist asked.
"We can arm an army for you, help you reclaim your territory, and arrange for you to receive formal training in noble etiquette so that your every bearing and mannerism befits a true noble, rather than making a fool of yourself before other nobles in the future. But none of this comes free. You will have to pay a corresponding price, Mr. Tim." So spoke Lorist.
What Lorist had said, especially the part about arranging for him to receive training in noble etiquette, left him pleasantly surprised beyond words.
"That's right, Mr. Tim. Your reasonableness makes our exchange much smoother and more pleasant. But could you tell us — where exactly are your money and grain stored now?"
Mr. Tim honestly revealed the origin of the money and grain. When the viscount's territory had been invaded by Count Corbilly's family army, Viscount Terboli, in preparation for a comeback, had taken Tim along overnight to bury a stash of gold coins in a secret location. He then instructed Tim not to return to the castle but to go directly to several estates in the territory that hadn't been touched by the fighting, where he was to load all the grain from the warehouses onto carts and transport it to a cave beneath a mountain ridge at the edge of the territory — an abandoned bear den that the viscount had once discovered during a hunt, known only to Tim, who had been with him at the time.
Mr. Tim had faithfully carried out the viscount's instructions. But when he went back to report to the viscount, he discovered that the castle had already been breached — the viscount and his children, who were also Tim's siblings, had all perished. Mr. Tim estimated that the hidden wealth amounted to several tens of thousands in imperial gold coins, and the grain in the bear den was enough to feed three thousand people for half a year.
After consulting the map, Lorist found that Viscount Terboli's territory wasn't far from here — only about a day's journey. He then ordered Reidi to fetch El, and had Mr. Tim lead El and Pat along with a group of men and carts to haul the gold coins and grain back to the military camp.
Before departing, Pat glanced at Lorist, and El made a throat-slitting gesture from the side. Lorist shook his head with a smile, wished the three a successful trip, and promised that once Mr. Tim returned, he would arrange for someone to train him in noble etiquette.
Shortly after returning to the main tent, Reidi came in to report: "My lord, Sir