The news of the Count of Fenris's arrival made Count Grafton narrow his eyes.
"Hm."
It was obvious why the northern army, currently fighting the rifts, had come. They were here to seize medicinal materials and medicine.
He chuckled dryly as he rose from his seat.
"The most talked-about man in the kingdom has graced us with his presence. I suppose I should meet him. Let him in."
"He has requested to meet outside," the knight replied.
"What?"
"They've already prepared a meeting space outside the castle."
"Hah, what an impatient man."
As Count Grafton made his way toward the door, he hesitated momentarily.
The Count of Fenris was now infamous across the Kingdom of Rutania. His reputation as a Master warrior and his fearless, even reckless, personality preceded him.
If this madman decided to kill him in anger, there was little he could do to stop it.
He turned to the knight who brought the message and asked, "How many soldiers did he bring? Is the entire northern army here?"
"No, my lord. The northern army is stationed outside the outer walls. He has only brought a few knights and a handful of soldiers with him."
"Is that so?"
Count Grafton stroked his chin thoughtfully before turning to his advisors.
"What if the Count of Fenris loses his temper and starts wreaking havoc here? Isn't he supposed to be insane?"
The advisors exchanged nervous glances, none daring to respond.
"Tsk, useless. Surely, with such a small force, we could capture him if necessary."
The advisors turned pale with fear.
"My lord! That would be a grave mistake!"
"They say a Master can fight thousands of soldiers on their own!"
"Clashing with the northern army will bring us nothing but ruin! We'll all be slaughtered!"
Their panicked responses made Count Grafton shake his head.
"Cowards. I'm not planning to fight him. I was merely asking. Even a madman like him wouldn't cause trouble here without reason, would he? After all, we've done nothing illegal."
The advisors nodded in agreement. Count Grafton wasn't wrong; he had prepared thoroughly for such a situation.
"Let's go. We can't keep such a distinguished guest waiting. And remember, watch your tongues," Count Grafton said as he strode out of the room, his advisors following closely behind.
Outside the castle, a simple setup awaited them: a tactical planning table and chairs—nothing more.
Ghislain sat there with his arms crossed, surrounded by only a handful of soldiers, as the reports had indicated.
Count Grafton clicked his tongue at the modest setup before taking his seat opposite Ghislain.
"Tsk, bring refreshments. We can't welcome a guest of honor so poorly," he ordered.
As the maids moved to carry out his instructions, Count Grafton finally turned to Ghislain and spoke.
"Welcome, my lord. I've heard much of your exploits recently. What brings you all the way here?"
Ghislain, his expression cold and unmoving, responded curtly.
"I assume you've already received the royal decree. The plague is spreading rapidly."
"A most unfortunate situation, indeed. That's why I've been working tirelessly to produce and distribute as much medicine as I can," Count Grafton replied with a shameless smile.
"For someone making such efforts, the distribution is remarkably lacking. The people living on the outskirts of your territory are suffering terribly, as are those in neighboring lands," Ghislain said, his tone icy.
"What can one man do when resources are so scarce? If only the other lords had prepared properly, we wouldn't be in this situation," Count Grafton lamented, clicking his tongue theatrically.
Ghislain stared at him for a moment before speaking again.
"I don't wish to confiscate anyone's property or infringe on their rights. If you hand over the stockpiled medicine and materials now, I will ensure you are compensated with food and gold equal to the amount you paid. This is guaranteed by the royal court."
"Hah, but there's simply nothing more to give. Bring the records," Count Grafton ordered.
One of his advisors presented falsified inventory records, meticulously altered to show minimal stock.
Ghislain took the documents and scanned them briefly, noting the glaring discrepancies with the intelligence he had received.
He looked up, his gaze sharp and piercing.
"This is my final request. Cooperate. Lives are being lost, and I will ensure you are adequately compensated."
"I don't understand what you mean. As you can see from the records, there's nothing left to give," Count Grafton replied, feigning innocence.
Realizing further dialogue was futile, Ghislain raised his hand and gave an order to Gillian.
"Search everything. Find the medicine and the materials."
"Understood."
Ghislain's soldiers dispersed, scouring the area.
Count Grafton's face darkened with anger.
"My lord! What is the meaning of this? To conduct such actions on another's land—what do you take me for? What do you think you're doing here?"
Ghislain didn't respond, remaining seated with his arms crossed, his eyes closed as if uninterested.
Count Grafton sneered at the silent figure.
"I won't forget this. They said you were unreasonable, but to think you'd go so far as to accuse me without cause. You've tarnished my honor, and I'll make sure you pay for it. The other nobles won't stand idly by either."
The veiled threat was clear: Count Grafton intended to rally the nobility against Ghislain's heavy-handed methods.
Several hours later, Gillian returned, his expression grim.
"There's nothing beyond what was documented in the records. No additional materials or medicine."
Count Grafton smirked, his advisors sighing in relief.
Ghislain's soldiers, visibly confused, exchanged uncertain glances. Ghislain had never miscalculated before.
Count Grafton chuckled and said, "Take what remains. The royal court's orders are clear, and I'll comply. But really, was all this necessary? I'm already producing medicine to help those around me. As for what I do with the rest, well, there's no prohibition on selling medicine, is there?"
At those words, Ghislain tilted his head back to gaze at the sky.
"Ha…"
This was the most troublesome type of person—someone who danced on the line between legality and crime, exploiting every loophole for personal gain.
Ghislain could tolerate a certain level of selfishness; after all, everyone sought their own benefit. But those who crossed the line had to be dealt with decisively.
He turned his piercing gaze back to Count Grafton and spoke firmly.
"Count Grafton, it seems I'll need to persuade you."
"Persuade me? Hah! Go ahead, my lord. If you need my help, convince me. I'll be happy to assist, should circumstances allow."
Count Grafton's smile widened, savoring the moment. To him, it was exhilarating that the infamous Count of Fenris would humble himself to seek his cooperation.
Ghislain extended his hand toward his mount, and a spear flew from the saddle into his grasp.
"Oh?"
Count Grafton watched with mild curiosity, marveling at the skill.
But Ghislain rose from his seat, his eyes cold and unyielding.
"Let the persuasion begin."
"What do you mean—"
Crash!
The table between them shattered violently, splinters flying as it was reduced to debris in an instant.
With nothing left separating them, Ghislain closed the distance, driving the spear into Count Grafton's shoulder.
"Arrrgh!"
The count screamed in agony, but Ghislain didn't flinch.
Pulling the spear free, he drove it into Grafton's thigh, pinning him to his chair.
"Argh! Stop! Please!"
Count Grafton wailed, his face contorted in pain, as blood seeped from his wounds, binding him helplessly to his seat.
Even the retainers around Count Grafton were horrified by the sudden violence.
"M-my lord!"
"Commander! What are you doing?"
"Please, put the spear down at once!"
Storming into another lord's territory and resorting to brute force was unthinkable—it was an act bordering on a declaration of war.
Ghislain's actions were beyond reckless, leaving everyone speechless.
The delay in reacting gave Grafton's knights time to draw their swords, and soldiers from the castle began converging on the scene.
However, none dared to attack Ghislain.
"Commander! Stop this at once!"
"This is unacceptable!"
"Withdraw your weapon immediately!"
The soldiers hesitated, forming a circle around Ghislain without making any offensive moves.
Count Grafton, writhing in pain, shouted furiously, "What are you waiting for? Attack them! Strike them down now!"
But the knights and soldiers, well aware of Ghislain's fearsome reputation, stood frozen, unable to act.
Ghislain cast a cold glance at Count Grafton and spoke.
"Gillian."
"Yes, my lord."
"Anyone who interferes—execute them on the spot."
"As you command."
Shing!
Gillian unsheathed his sword, prompting the Fenris knights to draw their weapons in unison.
The northern soldiers accompanying them raised their spears. Though Count Grafton's forces outnumbered Ghislain's significantly, none of them looked intimidated.
In fact, the northern soldiers appeared calm, their confidence radiating from their demeanor. The stark difference in battle readiness was evident.
As the northern army displayed their intent to fight, Grafton's forces retreated slightly, fear etched on their faces.
Ghislain let out a menacing laugh as he turned his gaze back to Count Grafton.
"Men like you… I know your kind all too well. You're the type who never listens to reason."
"Ugh… Do you think you'll get away with this? The other nobles won't stand for it!" Count Grafton spat, his words dripping with desperation.
Ghislain remained unfazed.
"And what of it? If the rifts and the plague aren't contained, we're all dead anyway. What difference does it make?"
Ghislain grabbed Count Grafton by the collar and yanked him forward, their faces inches apart.
Staring into Ghislain's burning eyes, Count Grafton froze, his words caught in his throat. The raw hatred and killing intent emanating from Ghislain were suffocating.
Why was this man fighting so relentlessly?
The question lingered in Grafton's mind for a fleeting moment before Ghislain snarled.
"It doesn't matter to me if you hoard everything for yourself. But to do so while others suffer in times like this? You've gone too far. You made it my business when you crossed the line."
Ghislain drew a hand axe from his belt and swung it down onto Grafton's other shoulder.
Crack!
"Arrrgh!"
Grafton screamed in agony as the axe bit into his flesh.
"Now tell me," Ghislain growled, his voice cold and steady, "where are you hiding the rest? Speak, unless you'd rather lose your head here and now."
"There's nothing! That's all of it, you lunatic!" Grafton howled, his voice hoarse from the pain.
Though terrified, the cunning lord refused to give in. If he revealed the truth now, he would undoubtedly face severe punishment later.
To survive, he had to keep the hidden stockpile a secret. Count Grafton understood this all too well.
Desperate, he tried a different tactic.
"Is this how you treat a noble of the kingdom? Are you not afraid of the consequences? The entire nobility will turn against you! Stop this madness at once!"
Ghislain chuckled at the threat, his expression unchanging.
"You've got guts, I'll give you that," he said.
In truth, Ghislain could have discovered the hidden stock through careful investigation. But he had no intention of wasting time.
Pulling the axe free from Grafton's shoulder, Ghislain straightened and turned his attention to the gathered retainers.
"So, you couldn't have done this alone."
Holding the blood-stained axe out in front of him, he addressed the crowd.
"Who are the steward and treasurer of this estate? Step forward."
The retainers' faces turned pale as they stared at the dripping axe in Ghislain's hand.