Chapter 242

Chapter 242: Dedicate Yourself to Me. (2)

“This bastard!”

Woroqa grabbed his axe and swung it toward Ghislain without hesitation.

He was also a warrior of the North. No matter how much he valued political judgment over brute force compared to other savages, he couldn’t endure such humiliation.

Clang!

Ghislain swiftly drew his sword, blocking Woroqa’s axe, and laughed.

“Shall we start right here?”

“You bastard... Are you saying you won’t negotiate?”

“I don’t care about such nonsense. If you want to kill me, try. If you can kill me, do it.”

“You...!”

The atmosphere grew tense in an instant. As the two locked weapons and glared at each other, no one around remained idle.

Shing! Clang!

Everyone present drew their weapons and aimed them at one another. Even the army stationed in the rear tensed, readying for battle.

Claude leaned over to Wendy and whispered.

“Carry me quickly. Let’s run away right now.”

Wendy looked at Claude with a gaze full of contempt.

In the precarious standoff, Zwalter raised his voice, feigning outrage.

“Stop it! Stop it! Is this not a place for negotiations?”

At Zwalter’s words, Ghislain smirked at Woroqa and sheathed his sword. Woroqa, too, reluctantly suppressed his fury and lowered his axe.

However, neither of them stopped glaring daggers at the other.

Woroqa found it difficult to contain his anger. Just when the negotiations seemed to be heading in a favorable direction, this brat had barged in and started making threats.

“Five thousand horses, you say? Are you trying to take nearly all the horses of the warriors gathered here?”

“That’s right. You still need to eat, so I’ll settle for just that much for now. Look how considerate I am.”

“This insolent...”

Woroqa gritted his teeth.

Without horses, the mobility of their warriors would inevitably weaken. Given the tribes’ reliance on raiding to secure food, losing their horses would make gathering provisions nearly impossible.

With a growl, Woroqa spoke again.

“Do you think we’ll accept such an outrageous demand? A warrior without a horse cannot survive here.”

“Then die here and let me take everything. That would be more convenient for me.”

“You bastard...”

Woroqa gripped his axe tightly once more. It seemed the only way to make the negotiations progress was to kill the man before him.

Among savages, negotiations often proceeded in this manner. Killing a few to demonstrate strength typically yielded more favorable terms.

Ultimately, Woroqa couldn’t escape the savage mindset.

Just as he was about to swing his axe again, a thought flashed through Woroqa’s mind.

‘Wait... Did he block my axe so easily?’

It had clearly been his attack that initiated the exchange. Considering the time it takes to draw a sword, his opponent shouldn’t have been able to block so effortlessly.

Suppressing the chill creeping up his spine, Woroqa asked, his voice trembling.

“Are you... the Crimson Demon?”

“That’s what you seem to call me. Though I’m not a demon. I’m a nonviolent pacifist.”

Though no one ever believed him, Ghislain genuinely preferred resolving matters peacefully. Circumstances just always seemed to steer him toward violence.

Woroqa glared, his hand twitching, yearning to swing his axe at the insolent brat before him.

‘This young punk... Could such a whelp really be the Crimson Demon?’

But this was the man who had killed Custou. The one who had decimated five thousand warriors. The desire to test himself against such a foe battled with the fear of inevitable defeat, growing larger in equal measure within him.

Grit.

Woroqa’s mind churned in turmoil. His warrior’s pride clashed repeatedly with his ambitions.

Watching the tense exchange, Claude sighed deeply and bowed his head.

‘Ah, of course. There’s no way this would end peacefully with that temper of his.’

Had he asked for just two thousand horses, it might have been manageable. But demanding five thousand? Who would agree to that?

Even Claude, who had some understanding of the savages, could predict what would happen next. Having already brandished their weapons, they would soon storm out and prepare for battle.

‘I just need Wendy to carry me already.’

As Claude readied himself to flee, he anxiously glanced around for an opening.

But then...

“You...”

Woroqa remained still, grinding his teeth and glaring at Ghislain. His behavior was uncharacteristic for a savage.

Accepting the prisoners wasn’t a bad option either. Most of them would be the elderly and weak, but among them would be children. Those children could grow into fine warriors for the tribe.

The problem was that until those children grew up, the current warriors would have to support not only themselves but the prisoners as well. Receiving food might solve the issue temporarily, but starvation would soon follow, making things even harder.

As Woroqa pondered, Ghislain smiled slyly and spoke.

“If you tribute 200 horses every year, I will grant you food as a reward. And... I’ll leave the authority to distribute that food in your hands. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

At those words, Woroqa’s eyes gleamed.

For now, he would have to distribute the food fairly to pacify the tribes who lost their horses. But afterward?

If he could hold a monopoly on the food supply, his tribe could become the most powerful. With that power, unification would become much easier.

‘The others will keep attacking, but... wasn’t I planning to subjugate them by force anyway?’

The warriors, proud as they were, wouldn’t bow to Woroqa even if he controlled the food. Instead, they would burn with determination, trying to take it by force.

But warriors with full stomachs would always prevail. Wasn’t the Sunstone Tribe already one of the strongest among the tribes?

Woroqa’s eyes sparkled with greed. Losing the horses seemed a small price to pay if it meant he could suppress the other tribes faster.

Ghislain, observing his reaction, chuckled softly.

‘I knew you’d accept it.’

Unlike other savages, Woroqa was a thinker. In his previous life, he had eventually unified the tribes. The mindless savages couldn’t compete with someone who knew how to strategize.

However, even after unification, Woroqa constantly struggled with the food supply issue.

After Ferdium fell, he had even sought food aid from the Duke of Delfine, agreeing not to interfere while the Forest of Beasts was being developed.

But it wasn’t enough. The opportunity he seized in his desperation was the King of Mercenaries and Ritania’s year-long war.

As the kingdom plunged into chaos, he exploited the situation to push his forces forward. Of course, he never forgot to curry favor with Ghislain, offering numerous gifts.

― “I’ll only take a few pieces of land. I swear not to harm the King’s army.”

― “Do as you please. But if you hinder my plans, I’ll crush you first.”

― “Don’t worry. I’ll be of help.”

Woroqa wreaked havoc, seizing the lands Ghislain had already ravaged. Ghislain, who intended to weaken Ritania’s forces, let Woroqa do as he pleased for the time being.

His ultimate goal was to sever the Duke of Delfine’s head.

Of course, Ghislain had planned to wipe out the savages entirely afterward. Though he hadn’t lived long enough to accomplish that.

It was with that context that he made his proposal to Woroqa. Among the savages, Woroqa was the only one indifferent to the loss of horses. His ambition and greed for unifying the North far outweighed such concerns.

After a long contemplation, Woroqa nodded decisively.

“Fine! I’ll hand over the horses. I’ll persuade the other tribes. But the food—give all of it to me. I’ll handle its distribution.”

“Very well. Go and convince the other tribes.”

“They will agree if food is involved.”

Woroqa spoke with confidence and left. Food was what they needed most at the moment.

‘Hmph, once I get the food and unify the tribes, none of you will be spared. If I raise those prisoner children well, we’ll have far more numbers than anyone else.’

Hiding his thoughts, Woroqa smirked. In his mind, a grand northern kingdom was taking shape.

Watching the entire exchange, Claude clicked his tongue and shook his head.

‘Not a demon, huh? He’s a complete demon.’

It was all too clear. The savages who lost their horses would lose both mobility and combat power.

But the bigger issue was the inevitable infighting over the food supply. The tribes would now endlessly fight over the food Ghislain had offered them.

One side would try to dominate the tribes by securing the food, while the others would try to steal it.

If, by some miracle, the food was distributed fairly and the tribes united their strength, Ferdium might be in danger. But Woroqa didn’t seem like the type to do that.

Even if the tribes unified, it would still be a problem. The more people there were, the harder it would be to feed them.

‘A five-year truce? Does he plan to unify the tribes at that time? Even if they unify, they’ll still lack food. They’ll have no choice but to rely on the food we provide, handing over their horses and bowing to us. Tsk, tsk. He’s ambitious but too greedy to think that far ahead.’

In his ambition, Woroqa had sacrificed the future of his tribe.

Now, the savages wouldn’t be able to invade Ritania’s northern regions. During the five-year truce, the lord would tame them thoroughly using food.

‘Still, this feels fishy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the lord’s schemes are too perfectly aligned.’

Everything was unfolding exactly as the lord had planned. From Claude’s perspective, it was baffling and infuriating.

‘I’m dying to know!’

This wasn’t knowledge one could gain from books. It required experience. But the lord had no such experience, which made it all the more maddening for Claude.

Oblivious to Claude’s frustrations, Ghislain wore a satisfied smile.

‘Got the horses in bulk and I also prepared the leash. Now there’s no need to worry about being stabbed in the back.’

Ghislain needed to conserve his forces as much as possible. Woroqa didn’t understand that.

Of course, if Woroqa had resisted, Ghislain would have wiped him out even at a loss. Securing the safety of the rear was a critical goal.

‘Now that they can’t attack for a few years, Ferdium can safely deploy its troops wherever they like.’

News had reached him of a civil war between Amelia and Baron Valois. Amelia was likely more focused on defeating Daven than anything else.

Even if she won quickly, she wouldn’t be able to extend her influence to the Fenris Estate for some time. She’d need to recover and reorganize.

‘Just wait a little longer, Harold Desmond.’

Ghislain smirked cruelly.

Step by step, he was preparing to sever that man’s head.