The reinforcements and the defenders of Dekenhof Castle launched a pincer attack, quickly overwhelming the disorganized ranks of the Strigoi rebels. Most of the Strigoi ghoul kings were killed in desperation, though a few were captured alive. Norton hoped to extract the truth from these living ghoul kings, to understand why they attacked such a well-fortified place as Dekenhof Castle.
However, the interrogation never truly began. As Norton stood outside the dungeon where they were held, he overheard enough to piece together what was happening.
"My God! You self-righteous, cunning scoundrels! You've pushed us to this point. We've been forced to hide in the crypts, never seeing daylight, surviving only by drinking the cold blood of the dead. And yet, you refuse to leave us alone! Fine! Come, kill us! You damned vampires! But remember this! Our fate today will be yours tomorrow! Someday, you pathetic creatures will fall to the same depths as us! Hahaha..."
This was followed by a bout of maniacal laughter, sending shivers down one's spine. Norton found it hard to grasp their mindset, but after a moment's thought, it seemed somewhat understandable.
Once proud and noble dark aristocrats, they had become cave-dwelling savages, stripped of land, titles, and dignity, reduced to feeding on corpses. Such ongoing humiliation, unchanging over thousands of years, could drive anyone to madness. Perhaps the recent actions by Sylvania had only been a catalyst.
"What a pitiful lot... were these people truly our kin thousands of years ago?" Norton mused as he left the dungeon. He then instructed the undead guards to give the now-insane Strigoi ghoul kings a merciful end.
Attention now turned to another group of prisoners, those who had invoked the bloodlust magic on the ghouls during the previous night’s battle. Unsurprisingly, these were shamans from the borderlands, part of the Southern Border Princes, consisting of green-skinned orcs. One was a short and cringing goblin, and the other a hulking brute of an orc with a jutting jaw and massive tusks.
During interrogation, the goblin pleaded in barely comprehensible Common Tongue for Norton not to eat him, disgusting Norton to the point of nausea. In this world, only the likes of ogres, who are indiscriminate in their diet, would consume such vile creatures.
Since the goblin was completely terrified, Norton decided to question the orc shaman instead. This hulking beast proved braver than his goblin cousin, which wasn’t necessarily beneficial; he responded to Norton only with curses in various dialects and a barrage of growls and roars. His foul breath added to the assault, leaving Norton at a loss.
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"Ridiculous. These creatures are utterly absurd from head to toe," Norton remarked as he left the dungeon, immediately undergoing decontamination—being exposed to the spores released by these greenskins could have unpredictable consequences. If no useful information was extracted in a few days, he intended to deal with them like other green-skinned shamans, reducing them to ashes with not a trace left behind.
Many years ago, Sylvania took great pains to eradicate green skins from its borders, and no one desired their return.
With no intelligence forthcoming from the prisoners, Norton turned to another source: his spies. He recalled an encounter years back with a clueless smuggler who had practically walked into his hands. Norton did indeed track down this fellow after that meeting.
Though surprised at Norton's youth, the smuggler did not underestimate him. Vampires were known for their allure and danger. Additionally, Norton’s reputation preceded him—his subordinates’ encounter at the tavern showed he was capable of smiling while killing, not someone to be trifled with.
Before the smuggler could apologize and show his respect, Norton motioned him to stop. As the future Count of Kastan, Norton had other plans.
In truth, calling it a whim would be inaccurate. Norton had long pondered Sylvania’s path forward. Located in a zone of constant conflict, Sylvania was flanked by formidable foes: the dwarven kingdom in the northern mountains and the Sigmar Empire to the west and northwest, both formidable opponents. Historical vampire crusades had been consistently repelled by these forces. To the east lay vast wilderness and swamps, not inhospitable but requiring substantial resources to develop—and home to troublesome green skin tribes.
Then there was the south... the Border Princes, a chaotic land of newly settled humans, devoid of a unified political entity, rife with conflicts between humans and greenskins.
In terms of wealth, development, and population, it paled compared to the Sigmar Empire. In mineral output, it lagged the endless mountains' dwarven kingdom. Yet, despite its chaos, it was more defensible than the barren Sylvania—and easier to conquer!
The local human governments rarely extended beyond a village or fortified settlement. The so-called "princes" and "dukes" rarely had good relations with their Sigmar Empire neighbors, leaving them unlikely to receive external support. Moreover, one should only engage in ventures they could afford, and Sylvania’s current state did not favor an outright confrontation with the Sigmar Empire or the dwarven kingdom.
Lastly, Norton had a slightly personal motive. The Kastan Family territories lay in Sylvania's southwest. Conquering the Border Princes could bring significant benefits to the Kastan family. If successful, it could lead to his coronation as Duke of Sylvania by the citizen assembly, granting dominion over the entire territory.
Ultimately, ideals and ambitions must rest on a foundation of strength.
Setting his initial sights on the Border Princes was why Norton wanted to meet the smuggler from this region. Otherwise, someone of Norton's status would never meet him without good reason.
Directly, Norton told the smuggler he wished for him to act as a spy for Sylvania, establishing a network in the Border Princes to gather intelligence. In return, Norton offered to support his business ventures and provide material rewards—after all, Sylvania, though impoverished, was still a nation, capable of satiating the appetite of a small merchant.