Chapter 46: This is an outrageous insult
The Ravenwood family had ruled their eponymous domain for centuries. It was the seat of their power, the land of their ancestors, and the last bastion of their pride.
The castle in Ravenwood city was named Baldric Keep, in honor of a man whose legend had reached even the capital of the Valedorn Empire decades ago: the Guardian of the Imperial Frontier, the strongest warrior the Ravenwood family had ever produced, Sky Knight Baldric Ravenwood.
In that era of strife, the Ravenwood family had ascended to the rank of Marquis. But after Baldric’s death, they failed to produce another Great Knight capable of holding the line alone. Inevitably, the house of Ravenwood began its slow decline, eventually dwindling to a mere viscounty, a vassal branch of a greater count’s line, left with nothing but the small fief of Ravenwood itself.
Within Baldric Keep, all the core members of the Ravenwood family were gathered. According to their custom, any member who had achieved the rank of Great Knight (Level 21-40) was permitted to attend the council. Nearly thirty individuals now sat in the great hall. After so many quiet years in the shadows, the family had slowly rebuilt a measure of its strength.
Seated at the head of the table, Viscount Lucan Ravenwood, dressed in simple day clothes, clapped his hands. The boisterous hall fell silent, every eye fixed upon him.
Lucan cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across each face before he spoke. "Recent reports from the frontier confirm the discovery of an iron deposit on the border between our territory and the Pyrian Empire. I’ve had it surveyed. The reserves are estimated at around eight million tons."
The Viscount’s words were like a torch tossed into a powder keg. The quiet hall exploded into a frenzy of noise. Voices overlapped in a chaotic din of discussion and disbelief, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of elation and greed.
"However!" Lucan’s sharp command cut through the noise. His expression twisted into an ugly snarl. "That Pyrian Count, Alistair, the Lord of Frostfell, intends to fight us for this mine. This is the border map his man delivered."
With a sharp flick, Lucan unrolled a map across the conference table. The knights crowded around, their brows furrowed in confusion. As they stared at the map, they were stunned into silence by the Lord of Frostfell’s sheer audacity.
A new line had been crudely drawn, carving out the area containing the iron deposit and annexing it neatly into the territory of Frostfell.
"H-How can this be?"
"This is an outrageous insult!"
"By all rights, that mine belongs to us! How dares he try to seize it?"
The hall once again erupted as the knights roared, making no attempt to hide their fury and indignation.
Lucan Ravenwood watched the swell of righteous anger and nodded in satisfaction. This was precisely the effect he had desired.
"He is declaring war on us," the Viscount’s voice grew colder, like the biting wind of a winter’s night. "He sees us as a minor viscounty, a mere speck of land that he can bully at will!"
"But will we allow him to bully us?"
"Never!" the knights roared in unison, their voices filled with rage.
"The house of Ravenwood has lain dormant for many years. We have finally found a chance to rise again, and we will not let him ruin it." The Viscount nodded slightly and continued, "The Lord of Frostfell is himself an Earth Knight. Under his command is a veteran Earth Knight named Thorne. They are our greatest threat. His troop of armored knights, however, is of little concern."
"Therefore, to guarantee our victory in this war, I have pledged one-third of the mine’s extraction rights to the Count in exchange for the aid of three of his Earth Knights."
"They have already departed from the Count’s domain and will reach the border in a matter of days."
"Furthermore," the Viscount paused. He raised a hand and placed it on the shoulder of a young knight standing beside him, a proud smile gracing his lips.
"Tom, show them."
"Yes, Father."
Tom offered a respectful knight’s salute and strode to the center of the hall. He scanned the faces of those present, and under their inquisitive gazes, a pale cyan Aura erupted from him, so potent that it blazed like ethereal flames from his eyes.
An Aura dense enough to vent from the eye sockets was the unmistakable mark of an Earth Knight.
After a moment of stunned silence, the hall erupted in thunderous cheers.
"Gods above, young Tom has advanced to Earth Knight? How old is he, twenty-one?"
"Congratulations, my Lord Viscount!"
"With Tom and the iron mine, the rise of House Ravenwood will be unstoppable!"
The atmosphere in the hall grew feverish. They had felt a flicker of apprehension hearing that Frostfell had two Earth Knights. But now, not only had the Viscount secured three more from their liege lord, but with Tom, they had four. Four Earth Knights in total.
With overwhelming superiority in both high-tier and low-tier forces, what was there to fear? They might even capture the Lord of Frostfell and ransom him back to the Pyrian Empire.
As for provoking a war between nations? Impossible. At most, they might face retaliation from the Goldenlion Duke, but the King would never start a full-scale war over a mere count. And a duke’s revenge was hardly a concern. The borderlands were a long way from the king’s eye, and his power was limited here. Besides, did they think the house of Ravenwood had no powerful patrons of its own?
Ahem—
Viscount Ravenwood’s cough once again silenced the market-like clamor.
"Return to your duties and prepare. Muster the militia and your personal guards. When the three earth knights arrive, we march. If the Lord of Frostfell refuses to see reason, we will cut a swath through his lands and burn his territory to ash!"
In truth, striking immediately would have been ideal. But mustering the militia took time, and he couldn’t very well send the three borrowed Earth Knights straight into battle the moment they arrived. They would have to be properly hosted and entertained first.
Receiving their orders, the knights dispersed to begin their preparations, leaving the Viscount and his son alone in the vast hall.
"Tom, you have come of age. One day, you will inherit my position. From the perspective of a lord, what are your thoughts on this matter?"
With no one else present, Lucan Ravenwood’s facade of confident victory crumbled, replaced by a deep frown as he turned to test his son.
"My thoughts? I believe victory in this war is certain. Does Father have some lingering concern?"
"Years ago, during the war against the orcs in the Northlands, I had the misfortune of seeing the Pyrian Empire’s Goldenlion Duke and his youngest son, Alistair, in the camp of the allied forces." Lucan gestured to his knee. "The boy was only this tall, but his eyes were those of a seasoned adult. This man is no fool. He understands the nature of the Valedorn Empire and surely knows we will call for reinforcements from our liege."
Lucan’s voice was grave. "This battle will not be so easy. I fear there is some scheme at play."
"Dad," Tom said, his voice as sharp and unyielding as steel, "whatever plots he may have, he could never have accounted for my advancement to Earth Knight." He was of a similar age to the Count of Frostfell, perhaps a few years older, yet Alistair was already a Count and had been an Earth Knight for some time. For Tom, who considered himself a genius, this was a constant, uncomfortable reality, like a thorn lodged in his heart.
Viscount Ravenwood neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply reached out to straighten his son’s slightly crooked collar. "Indeed. Go and make your preparations. Do not let your guard down."
"Our forces are superior to theirs in every way, Father, from the highest tier to the lowest. Please, set your mind at ease."
With a hand to his chest in a final salute, Tom turned and left the hall.
The Viscount remained, a seed of anxiety still sprouting in his heart. He had even considered the possibility of the old knight Thorne breaking through to Sky Knight, but he shook his head. Thorne was far too old. His chance at becoming a Sky Knight had long since passed.
A frigid gust of wind swept through the hall, rustling the map on the table with an irritating hiss.
Viscount Ravenwood smoothed the paper with his hand. His other hand went to the pommel of his longsword, his grip tightening as he suppressed that flicker of unease. His gaze hardened with resolve.
In the face of absolute power, all schemes and plots were rendered feeble and meaningless.