Chapter 7

The dust swirled in the middle of the training grounds as the two combatants faced off. The day was still young, and the sun had risen to a considerable height. Gerald was holding his training sword while Robard leveled his own towards him. They circled each other for a few moments before Gerald gave up on his head knight trying anything and attacked first.

He opened with a step forward and a quick slash which his opponent blocked steadily. Robard was a rank 3 Sky Warrior. Just a rank below Gerald's Uncle Rudolf. He seemed to be holding himself back, which Gerald both appreciated and despised. He appreciated the fact that he wasn't being embarrassed too much. But he hated the fact that his head knight never attacked. He'd been defending since they'd begun.

"You could try using that thing you're holding. It swings nice," Gerald chuckled.

It took Robard a moment of looking at his hand then the training sword to grasp the jest. He eyed Gerald and smiled. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay. Just don't make it too easy for me," Gerald said as he braced himself.

Robard nodded then lunged at Gerald with godly speed. Gerald could swear that he saw a snake-like blur instead of a man. He prepared his training sword to block at the expected angle, and all he heard was the clash of metal, then he found himself pushed several steps back.

I guess I know now why he didn't attack before. He's not good at holding back.

As Gerald steadied himself and prepared to continue their spar, a voice interrupted them.

"My lord." It was Arthur's voice that interrupted his thoughts. The old minister walked into the training grounds, stalked by the short Renard who walked with swagger. From Arthur's ugly face, Gerald guessed that the short man had achieved some sort of victory in one of their verbal battles.

"Oh, Arthur!" Gerald smiled. "We've been waiting for you."

"My apologies, your lordship. I've been busy with the task you assigned me," Arthur said. "I can say that we've succeeded, though."

"That quickly?" Gerald said as he gestured with his sword for Robard to continue their spar. "Are there so few of them?" The day before, Gerald had asked Arthur to inform him of the population of the territory. Arthur had brought him the patchments that showed Ard currently having 13 thousand residents. While the surrounding farmlands, villages, and hamlets had about 15 thousand subjects. However, the old minister hadn't brought Gerald any numbers related to the population of the refugees. Gerald had decided that such knowledge was very important for his future plans. So he'd asked Arthur to handle it. He hadn't expected it to be done in a single day, though.

"It was very simple, actually. Most of the refugees are homeless, and they crowd the outskirts of the castle. It was very easy to perform a headcount with the help of the garrison. It took a hundred men of old Han's garrison to get through all the refugees. And considering that they had no homes, it was easy just counting them without having to go from door to door." Arthur stood proud holding a couple of parchments as he explained. He'd simplified the matter, but it was obvious that he found it pleasant proving his competence so quickly.

"Good," Gerald said, parrying a thrust from Robard and returning it with a slash of his own. "How many are there?"

"Too many, my lord," Arthur said, while Renard stood oddly silent beside him. It felt like he was holding back a sneer for some reason. "There are fifteen thousand refugees near Ard. We don't know how many lie outside our area of influence. Most of the latter join the bandits or continue farther north."

Gerald stiffened from his sparring posture. He realized that Renard was probably holding back a sneer for real. He'd admonished him for his refugee comment on their way to Ard. But now he had a refugee problem of his own. It was quite surprising, after all. The refugee population was higher than the population of the whole castle of Ard. And they were probably increasing as they spoke.

There are way too many of them. My plans don't need that many, Gerald thought. And the only advantage of Ard is its grain. If we run out of that too, then we'll be in trouble.

He spent a few moments contemplating as Robard relaxed his fighting posture too. "Well, since we're short on fighting men. Why don't we recruit some more?" Gerald finally said. "Expanding the army is a wise choice now with all these bandits roaming about and setting camps. Let's recrui—"

"Your lordship, please reconsider," Renard abandoned his silence in favor of interrupting Gerald. "The Duke had agreed with your father that the army will not expand any further."

Gerald was visibly surprised, then he eyed Robard and Arthur who avoided his gaze and looked at the ground. It was true. He'd underestimated the quagmire his father was in. His lands were infested with bandits, and his enemy wouldn't allow him to expand his army. That was aside from the fact that there was a lack of quality among Robard's men. Less than 60 Warriors in the whole army. Considering that a bandit crew like the one in the south was a former mercenary company, their quality of combatants would be much higher than Gerald's army.

What helplessness! The feeling made his anger well up. He couldn't see a solution on the horizon. Trying to wipe out the bandits with his current army was just suicide. It wouldn't be a surprise if they united against him when he starts targeting them one by one. And by then, it would be his army under the threat of being wiped out.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He swallowed his anger and gritted his teeth. He had to keep reminding himself that Lena was still the Duke's guest in Malfi City. "Alright. I suppose we can delay this matter," Gerald gave up. "But," he turned to the short minister. "Renard, I understand that you're the Duke's mouthpiece. However, if you ever interrupt my speech again, you'll have no one but yourself to blame," He stared the short man down and his gaze carried unspoken promises of pain.

Renard met his gaze for just a moment then lowered his head submissively and smiled. "Please forgive me, your lordship. I've stepped out of line. I just care too much for the relation between the Tellus and Malfi families to stay harmonious."

"Then watch your step," Gerald said with an icy voice. He then turned his attention to his sparring partner. "Robard, I've seen the equipment of the men. I can only say that it's below expectation. Their leather armor is hardly of any quality, and their swords are made of the worst iron I've seen."

Robard shook his head with a wry smile. "My lord," he said. "I'm afraid we've been living through this problem for years. Our only source of iron is a mine to the southeast. Our supply is considered constant from there, since bandits aren't fond of iron ore. But the quality of the ore is terrible to say the least. And to add to that, our smith is only a Journeyman. We have no master smith in the castle to compensate for the quality of the iron."

Gerald inhaled. Master smiths weren't common, but most decent nobles had one serving them. They could forge steel, though not in large quantities. But their greatest merit was their capability of making the best of the iron you gave them. They could churn out decent metal equipment in numbers, which was good for any army. A Journeyman was just below a Master and above an apprentice. "Is he close to becoming a Master at least?"

Robard shook his head again. "I'm afraid not, my lord. He's already 40 and is still a Journeyman. It would be farfetched to expect more of him." The head knight cleared his throat and continued, "as for the armors. The hides we get are the worst out there. We get them from the flatlands' wild animals and some of our cattle. The best hides are in the forests. And those are mostly surrounded by bandits."

"Bandits bandits bandits," Gerald growled. "Nothing is left in peace in their wake."

Gerald's aides kept their silence until his angry fit passed. Then Robard spoke again. "There is a hidden talent, however," he said. "I believe I should inform you of him."

Gerald regained his composure and awaited the first good news of the day.

"He is called Kale," Robard continued. "He is a young bowyer. He has crafted excellent long bows for the army. Not only that, but he's also succeeded in crafting his first crossbow a few months ago."

Gerald raised his brows. "A crossbow?" he said in disbelief. Bows were one thing. But putting together the mechanism of a crossbow and crafting its small, intricate parts wasn't something any woodworker could achieve. "How young is he?"

"He is twenty-five years of age, my lord," Robard said as he watched the astonished face of Gerald.

"That's . . ." Gerald paused. "We must visit him tomorrow. At least we have something to work with now."

"Actually," Robard continued. "He's been requesting for an increase of the funds provided for his works. He says that he has some ideas he'd like to try."

"Did you grant it?" Gerald turned to Arthur.

The old minister looked embarrassed then smile weakly. "My lord. You know the condition of the treasury," he said. "I couldn't grant such a request with our meager reserves. Specially, not without the lord's consent."

Gerald waved his hand. "I'm not blaming you," he said. "Tomorrow we'll visit this Kale. I'll see then if we should provide these funds he requests in spite of our condition."

"Yes, my lord," Robard and Arthur said in unison.

"Alright," Gerald said as he gestured for Arthur and Renard. "You two can leave us now."

The two of them nodded and retreated from the grounds.

Robard prepared his sword and took his posture, but Gerald waved him off.

"I actually wanted to talk to you alone, not spar again," Gerald sighed.

"What is it, my lord?" Robard tilted his head, puzzled. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Gerald shook his head. "I want you to arrange for two important things. And I'd prefer for no one to know about them." Gerald didn't want the news to leak to Renard and then to the Duke. He didn't want all of his actions observed.

"Command me, my lord." Robard straightened up.

"I want you to move all the Earth Warriors who are 30 years old or younger from the regular army into a separate corps," Gerald explained.

Robard looked puzzled again but nodded. "By your command. But who will lead that corps, my lord?"

"It will be me, for now," Gerald said. "I don't see anyone qualified to do it yet, and you're too busy commanding the regular army. Anyway, that was only the first thing I wanted you to do."

Robard looked expectant again and listened.

"I want you," Gerald continued, "to contact the Red Rain band."

"The mercenaries?" Robard asked, surprised.

"Yes," Gerald nodded. "The sooner the better. It's about time we started doing something about those bandits. You said the Red Rain band was an enemy of Robben Luwin, the leader of the Silver crew to the south. We should benefit off their enmity."

"Yes, my lord. I will depart and begin following your commands right away," Robard saluted and left after confirming his orders.

The rest of the day Gerald spent reading through the family's records, and checking the branching households. His cousins, the ones that tried to take his place, hadn't attended the celebration of his inheritance of the title. They hadn't shown their faces yet. And Gerald didn't like that he didn't tie up that loose end. He couldn't take too drastic an action or he'd risk turmoil for the already unstable house. But he couldn't just leave them to their quiet schemes either.

And so, he spent most of the day until nightfall and even after that in his study. Mostly, reading parchments about the territory or reading more records of the house's history. He'd hoped specifically to find something about the items in the Inheritance Hall. But he found no such knowledge in the records.

Gerald bade farewell to the aging day and went to sleep after a fruitless night in his study. It would be a new day tomorrow, and new things awaiting him to consider.

However, his sleep wasn't so peaceful. He was woken up in the middle of the night by a servant's voice. "My lord? My lord?" the servant called from outside of his sleeping chamber.

Gerald stumbled out of bed, unfocused. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"It's his excellency Arthur, my lord. He's here for you. He says it's urgent."

"Alright," Gerald balanced himself. "Let him in, quickly."

It was only a few moments before Arthur came in with Robard unexpectedly in tow. "My lord. Important news. One of the men that accompanied your father to his last battle is back."

Gerald froze and his eyes widened. "I thought they all died," he said, nearly yelling it.

"We thought so, my lord," Robard said. "We found most of the bodies, but some were still missing. We just assumed that their bodies were lost in the mountains. We didn't hold much hope of anyone surviving, though."

"Who is it that survived? The knight that accompanied my father?"

Robard shook his head. "It's a young man. He's the son of a former prominent merchant who lives here in Ard. And he's a Warrior. His name is Gasper."