Translator: AnubisTL
Duchy of Raymond, Thorn Territory, under the radiant moonlight.
Viscount Ironthorn stood on the castle terrace, his graying short hair gleaming faintly in the moonlight.
His figure was as straight and sharp as a sword, and the years had etched dignified lines onto his chiseled face, yet his imposing aura remained undiminished. His cold, gray eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing the night beyond the window like two unsheathed daggers.
It was the same gaze he had honed during border wars in his youth, now an instinctive reaction to any perceived threat.
Viscount Ironthorn was nearing fifty years old.
However, as a high-level warrior whose noble title wasn't solely inherited but earned through merit, and who maintained his physique meticulously, he appeared no older than forty.
"A pack of beasts, yet more cunning than I anticipated," the viscount sneered.
His eldest son, Edmund, stood beside him.
The young spellcaster remained in the shadows behind his father, his silver-gray mage robe swaying gently in the castle's draft.
Edmund had inherited his father's tall, lean frame, but his skin lacked the warrior's bronze tan, instead possessing the pale complexion characteristic of scholars. His eyes occasionally flickered with an inner light—a trait developed through years of studying magic.
Beneath his pale gold, short-cropped hair, a pair of light blue eyes gleamed with a dangerous thirst for knowledge and the arrogance of youth.
"Father, why waste your time with these monsters?" Edmund's voice dripped with disdain and contempt. "Just send the army to crush them. Could they possibly withstand your private forces?"
Viscount Ironthorn narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the training grounds visible through the window.
There, numerous knights drilled relentlessly, the thorn patterns etched into their armor glinting coldly under the moonlight.
Further away, several alchemy golems stood motionless, their towering frames blocking the moon's rays and casting dense, elongated shadows across the ground.
"Edmund, remember this—" the viscount began slowly, "war is not our objective. Don't seek fleeting gratification."
"But when dealing with beasts, we must first make them understand who their master is."
He turned and pulled a roll of parchment from his desk, its surface covered in meticulous records of his collected Scaly Earth Rift Road trade data.
"These monsters are led by a so-called 'lord' who can unite barbaric tribes like lizardfolk and ogres. He even understands trade, can enforce order among them, and possesses counter-intelligence capabilities."
The viscount tapped the parchment with his fingertip. "This proves it's no ordinary creature."
Edmund countered, "Even the cleverest beast remains just that—a beast."
The young spellcaster raised his hand, a flickering flame dancing in his palm. "Admission to the Celestial Academy requires not only wealth but also a spellcasting assessment. I need practical experience, and this wilderness expedition will strengthen my magic."
Viscount Ironthorn gazed at his son, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
True nobles weren't fools hiding in castles, indulging in nightly revelry. They were warriors who dared to challenge themselves, confront danger, and fight with courage.
He was immensely proud of his eldest son.
"Excellent. You shall lead the negotiations. Take the private army with you."
"If they're wise, bleed them dry of their wealth."
"If they resist..." The viscount's voice turned icy. "Then teach them the meaning of civilization's iron fist."
Edmund executed a flawless aristocratic bow.
"I will make them kneel and offer their treasures, Father," he declared.
His eldest son's voice barely concealed his excitement as he withdrew to prepare for the wilderness expedition.
"Bane, accompany Edmund and serve as his guard."
The viscount murmured.
A gentle breeze stirred, and from the shadows beside him emerged a middle-aged man, dressed in simple robes and with skin weathered by wind and rain. He was a martial monk of the traditional school of Sanshou.
Generally, martial monks cared little for personal vanity or wealth. They believed that life itself was a trial, a test of one's character. No matter the obstacles, they eagerly threw themselves into overcoming them, not for show, but to prove their own mettle.
Bane was also undergoing this trial called life.
Born frail and sickly, he had been abandoned by his impoverished family during a severe illness, as they could no longer afford his care. He was later adopted by Viscount Ironthorn's father, who sent him to a monastery to study.
Bane did not disappoint.
Though physically weak from birth, his will was exceptionally strong. The childhood illnesses had forged his spirit like steel. He gradually grew into a formidable martial monk, pledging his loyalty to the Ironthorn Family and eventually serving alongside the current Viscount Ironthorn.
Though master and servant, their shared upbringing had forged a bond akin to brotherhood.
However, for Viscount Ironthorn, such "brothers" were many.
"Hmm."
Bane nodded heavily in agreement, then vanished in a flash.
Meanwhile, in the Sierre Wilderness, north of Gravel Beach:
Five towering figures gradually emerged from the rain-soaked darkness. Their skin resembled dried mud, cracked with deep fissures, and their grotesquely long arms hung down to their knees.
Behind them trailed a group of smaller, shadowy figures, numbering around twenty.
The outpost that had been destroyed in the earlier behemoth attack had been rebuilt, now garrisoned by a larger and more formidable guard.
They had detected the trolls' approach in advance, as the trolls drew closer to the territory of the Ironforged Clan.
Before long, the defenders mobilized and launched a preemptive strike, surrounding the trolls with overwhelming force.
"A group of trolls from the Permafrost Tundra?" Garos asked, glancing at the iron dragon.
"Yes," the dragon replied. "They call themselves the Steelback Clan. For generations, they lived in the Permafrost Tundra, but as the war between the White Frost Alliance and the Warhowl Clan intensified, their territory was caught in the crossfire and ultimately destroyed by the White Frost Alliance."
"The clan's sorcerers, sensing impending doom, led the migration to the Sierre Wilderness. Originally numbering around a hundred, the trolls dwindled during the journey, until only twenty-odd remained."
Solgorn explained in detail.
Normally, such matters wouldn't warrant disturbing Garos.
However, given the recent turmoil surrounding the Scaly Earth Rift Road, Garos had been preparing for contingencies, considering the Permafrost Tundra in the north as one of his potential escape routes. He had instructed the iron dragon to provide him with information about the region.
"What's the status of the Steelback Clan trolls?" Garos asked.
"They've been captured and are being held at Gravel Beach Camp."
Before the conversation about the trolls could continue, Garos and the iron dragon simultaneously paused, their gazes sharpening. They reached into their scaled armor and retrieved their message stones.
An urgent message had arrived.
Viscount Ironthorn had sent his eldest son, demanding that the lord of the Ironforged Clan appear for more formal negotiations.
In a desolate area near the Scaly Earth Rift Road, a partially collapsed ancient stone pavilion had been hastily cleared to serve as the negotiation site.
Led by Karu, the Ironforged Clan's monstrous forces had already gathered there.
Fully armored ogres, knights from various races mounted on ferocious beasts, and sorcerers stood in silent formation, their eyes burning with suppressed danger.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the horizon.
The thorn knights emerged first, clad in dark crimson armor. Their breastplates bore the thorn emblem of the Ironthorn Family, and each helmet was shaped like the snarling head of a wolf. Alchemically forged longswords hung at their waists.
Though physically smaller than the ogres, the knights radiated a qi that rivaled that of the ogre warriors.
Next came five alchemy golems.
One was the fearless one, while the other four varied in design and size. Yet all were towering, imposing constructs of steel, their every step shaking the ground.
Bringing up the rear was Edmund himself.
He rode on the shoulders of a frost giant, his silver-gray mage robe billowing in the wind.
The frost giant's skin was pale as death, its body emaciated, and its eyes glowed with an unnatural blue light, clearly not in its natural state—a creature steeped in deathly stillness.
"It seems our 'beastly friends' take this meeting seriously," Edmund remarked, his gaze sweeping contemptuously over the ogre formation. "Pity their numbers can't bridge the gap in civilization."
Tax Collector Brent flashed a fawning smile, nodding repeatedly. "You're right, Young Master. Absolutely right."
Soon after, the young spellcaster, riding the frost giant and escorted by knights and golems, entered the stone pavilion.
Gluttonous Demon Karu, disguised as the lord, sat opposite him at the stone table.
It was clad in Samantha's custom-made black iron armor, with only two pulsating red lights flickering through the eye slits. A primal, savage, and formidable aura radiated from its entire being.
"Does your father lack the courage to show his face himself?" Karu growled.
Edmund elegantly flicked a nonexistent speck of dust from the corner of his robe. "Negotiating with beasts like you doesn't require my father's personal intervention."
This man's every word dripped with arrogance and superiority, far surpassing that of Tax Collector Brent. He carried himself as if he were heaven's chosen one, the world's darling.
And in truth, he was.
At twenty-four years old, Edmund had spent the first twenty-three years of his life indulging in games and pleasures. Then, a year ago, he suddenly developed an interest in magic and began studying it.
Starting magic at twenty-three was late, and the art was notoriously difficult to master. Many predicted he would soon give up.
But Edmund displayed astonishing magic talent.
In just one year, he progressed from zero knowledge to achieving what ordinary people would take decades, even centuries, to accomplish. He was hailed as the Ironthorn Family's once-in-five-hundred-years magic prodigy.
Those obscure incantations and incomprehensible magical principles seemed remarkably simple to Edmund.
Throughout the year, Edmund had been showered with endless praise and accolades. He believed that any endeavor he pursued would inevitably succeed, convinced that he was destined for greatness.
Upon reaching the Celestial Academy, with its vast resources and opportunities, he was certain he would become a legendary-grade spellcaster.
His future stretched before him, boundless and radiant.
Once, he had taken pride in his family.
Soon, his family would take pride in him.
Edmund gestured for the golem behind him to step forward. "Let's get straight to business," he declared. "Three thousand gold coins per month, plus full back taxes for the year."
"Not a single coin less."
He raised his head, his voice firm and unwavering, brooking no argument.
"What kind of fool are you? Are you dreaming?" Karu rose to his feet, his voice dripping with disdain.
"It seems our negotiations have ended before they even began," Edmund said, shaking his head. "Father was right: beasts will always be beasts. We need to remind you who the master is."
He locked eyes with Karu, his gaze pressing.
He intended to provoke a conflict here and now, to initiate war directly.
First, we'll subdue these monsters with our fists. The rest will be much easier after that.
The knights drew their longswords, and the roar of the golem engines intensified, drowning out the wind and rain.
The downpour intensified, and the Gluttony Demon was about to erupt in fury when it seemed to receive some message, forcing it to suppress its roar.
It struck an angry pose, but its eyes betrayed fear and helplessness. Finally, it lowered its head in humiliation.
"Humans, you have won."
"We will pay the taxes. In seven days, the full amount will be delivered to your encampment."
If you're still alive by then, Karu added silently.
Without engaging in battle, both sides retreated into the rain.
Meanwhile, in Needleleaf Valley:
"Why force my hand?"
"I only wanted a peaceful life."
Garos spread his wings, his majestic form rising inch by inch, bathed in wind and rain.
He realized these humans had no intention of negotiating in good faith. Their demands were impossible for him to meet.
If that was the case, then there was no point in talking.
(End of the Chapter)
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