The Duke of Fernandes wasn’t one to reveal any weaknesses easily. In truth, raiding the granary didn’t require a massive force.

A mere one or two thousand men would suffice, all handpicked from noble private armies and led by knights trusted by the Duke himself.

Such a lightly armed force, however, would inevitably be discovered by the Lockeans if they advanced for too long.

But by the time they were spotted, the mission would already be accomplished.

The Duke deliberately chose a night of dim moonlight, with the path guided by a noble native to the Saint Millet Province.

Circumventing the Lockean encampment went surprisingly smoothly.

The Lockeans had little defense at their rear. This force of 2,000 lightly armed soldiers charged ahead without encountering any resistance.

With a local guide leading the way, it took only a day to reach their destination. The granary in question was, coincidentally, a storage site managed by southern nobles.

The transactions behind the scenes went without saying. And no accusations could be made—the southern nobles had suffered considerable losses themselves.

At least, on paper, the losses seemed significant.

But...

When the troops of the Holy Cross Kingdom stormed the granary, they found a pitiful scene: feeble and aging soldiers sprawled on the ground.

Their weapons and armor were in decent condition, making them look less like a group of useless soldiers.

Even the soldiers of the Holy Cross Kingdom, braced for a grueling fight, stood dumbfounded.

The granary’s seemingly decent defenses were as fragile as paper, breaking apart at the first blow.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!”

The leading officer didn’t stand around gawking. He rallied the troops to charge inside.

As it happened, the granary housed a stockpile of oil as well. After driving off the guards, the soldiers immediately set the place ablaze.

Everything unfolded as if scripted.

The leading noble, however, knew that the most challenging part of this operation wasn’t attacking the granary—it was the return journey.

The Lockeans, slow as they were to react, had surely caught on by now.

Given their demonstrated combat prowess, the route back would be fraught with peril.

The granary was well-stocked with grain and oil, and the towering flames lit up half the sky.

Unbeknownst to the soldiers below, up on a nearby hill, Derrick watched the spectacle unfold through a single-lens telescope.

This telescope was a whimsical creation of Derrick’s. While glass wasn’t available, crystal could still be procured.

The most significant cost was the craftsmanship—countless crystals had been ground down before achieving this usable piece.

Through testing, Derrick estimated the magnification to be about six times, making it fairly practical.

As a result, nothing happening in the granary escaped his notice.

Handing the telescope to an eager Virut, Derrick sneered. “These fellows are certainly meticulous. Their performance is quite convincing.”

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Convincing indeed. After the fact, no one would be able to detect any flaws.

The deaths were real, and the burned grain was genuine.

The southern nobles’ losses were significant enough to bankrupt an earl overnight.

Giving up so much just to bait a wolf—this time, they’d even thrown their beloved sons into the fray.

Virut eagerly used the telescope, marveling at the contraption that seemed like a divine artifact to him.

To Virut, the nobleman who possessed such a divine artifact was nothing short of a walking saint.

And then he saw the shameless tactics of the southern nobles.

To be honest, it was the young noble’s first time witnessing such strategies.

It opened a new door for him—so this was also an option?

Watching the Holy Cross Kingdom troops begin their retreat, Derrick took back the telescope.

“Alright, enough daydreaming. Go deal with these rats. If you perform well, maybe I’ll spare you one of these someday.”

“Really?”

Virut jumped with joy. This gadget tempted him more than an entire knight’s estate.

“Really! Now go. Let’s see how much you’ve improved—whether you’re ready to graduate.”

Virut rushed off with his troops. He wouldn’t have many men at his disposal—after all, if you’re putting on a play, you’ve got to make it look convincing.

The southern nobles and the Duke of Fernandes had built their stage, hoping to put on a grand performance to fool him.

In that case, they couldn’t blame him for crashing the show and staging one of his own.

Truthfully, Derrick didn’t consider the 2,000 men a threat. They weren’t worthy prey—at best, an appetizer.

The real show was yet to come.

When the battered remnants of the force limped back to camp, the Duke of Fernandes laughed heartily.

What were 2,000 elite soldiers? He could afford to lose ten times that number.

The important thing was that the enemy’s grain stores had been affected.

It might not show immediately, but with time, let’s see how they coped.

Morale would inevitably falter—knowing they were running out of food, could they really hold out until starvation set in?

The Duke, elated, mustered his troops for the first proactive challenge.

And then... they were beaten again.

But this time, he wasn’t upset in the slightest. On the contrary, he was ecstatic.

“Brute strength is meaningless! The nobility of high bloodlines shines precisely in moments like this!”

The Duke of Fernandes brimmed with confidence, already envisioning his sacred feather banner flying over the Saint Millet Province.

The Fernandes name would forever echo across this land.

News of the latest victory invigorated the nobles. They hadn’t expected the Duke to pull off such a grand feat in silence.

“Truly the noble blood of the Bruno family. His first command has yielded such astounding results. The history of warfare won’t overlook this great battle.”

“The Duke of Fernandes will undoubtedly restore the glory of the Holy Cross. The northern provinces of the Lockeans are as good as ours!”

“Long live the Duke!”

The promise of shared spoils spurred their sycophantic praise.

Even the Duke himself felt a little carried away—no one is entirely immune to flattery.

Still, he maintained a shred of composure, reminding his men:

“We can already see the dawn of victory. Now, stay vigilant. When my arrow flies, it will be the Lockeans’ doom.”

Now was the time to reap the harvest.

Over the next three days, the Lockeans acted like madmen, provoking battles at every turn and even launching several night raids on the camps.

Despite their superior numbers, the Holy Cross Kingdom’s troops huddled in defensive positions.

This time, everyone knew their enemy was running out of food. These were their last desperate throes. Far from demoralized, morale soared higher.

On the fourth night, the familiar beat of war drums echoed through the air.

But then, scouts spotted traces of Lockeans fleeing.

Could it be... had the Lockeans been slipping away all this time?

When the Duke of Fernandes noticed the sparse smoke rising from the Lockeans’ campfires the next day, a sudden realization struck him.

“Have the Lockeans fled?”

He’d heard of Count Connor’s infamous retreat marked by abandoned stoves. How eerily similar this was.

And the Lockeans had sent far fewer provocateurs today.

“Send someone to investigate. Find out if the Lockeans are still there.”