Under the Oak Tree Novel - Chapter 223

Chapter 223: Side Story Chapter 29

Ruth looked up from the royal summons, scratching his messy hair. “Should I not accompany you this time?”

“I want you to remain in Anatol to oversee the construction,” Riftan replied, adamantly shaking his head. He tossed a piece of meat to Agalde, settled on a nearby perch.

“I am a mage, not your proxy,” Ruth grumbled as he flung the message into the brazier. “Is it not about time you found a wife? You could have your pick from any of the lesser nobility. You’d have someone to manage the castle while you’re away, not to mention the small dowry she would bring. A good bargain, if I do say so myself.”

Riftan shot the mage a glare. “Sounds like something an aristocrat would say.”

“You are part of the aristocracy now,” Ruth said, shrugging. “A knighted vassal of the king and the Lord of Anatol. Aren’t marriages of convenience the bread and butter of the noble class?”

The mage’s nonchalance made Riftan’s throat prickle. Would Maximilian Croyso also have to marry for convenience soon? His chest constricted at the thought of a haughty, pale-faced nobleman next to her. Pushing the image from his head, he turned to face the desk.

“Cease your nonsense and concentrate on the preparations! I’ll be away for months, so you’ll have to finish the accounts before I leave.”

“As I said, I am a mage, not your—”

“I am well aware you’re a mage,” Riftan growled. “I am the one who pays for the costly research you do every year.”

…..
Ruth promptly piped down and straightened in his seat. Stifling a sigh, Riftan picked up one of the piles of parchment.

From managing the estate to answering the king’s summons, the current burdens he shouldered far outweighed any he had experienced as a mercenary. Now was not the time to be absorbed in fancy. Picking up a quill, Riftan scrawled a reply promising to join the Remdragon Knights within a week before rolling the message into the tube and tying it to Agalde’s leg.

A few days later, Riftan led a team to the eastern border where the Remdragon Knights were tracking a group of bandits alongside the duke’s men. There, he immediately joined the pursuit. After a drawn-out chase, they managed to stop the raiders from fleeing with the spoils of their plunder.

The pillaging still continued, forcing the Remdragon Knights to camp on the border for what ended up as a months-long stay. Eventually, the knights began to voice their discontent.

“We would not be suffering like this if the duke were wiser,” Hebaron said as he sat warming himself in front of the crackling brazier. He angrily clicked his tongue. “As if demanding ridiculous reparations weren’t enough, he’s blocked Dristan’s trade routes. No wonder those people are unhappy. And the food shortages, on top of everything…”

Chewing on a piece of jerky, Riftan silently agreed. The residents of Dristan’s western regions had taken to pillaging after their food reserves proved inadequate to get them through the winter. Their mission was to keep watch along the border until all of these folk — most of whom were peasants — died either from starvation or the cold, ensuring no further raids on the duchy.

“All of this would be solved if the duke allowed Dristan’s merchants to buy food!” Hebaron said, poking at the brazier. “Then we wouldn’t have to suffer through winter in this place, and the duke wouldn’t have to worry about raiders on his land. But, of course, the man’s foolish pride—”

“That’s enough,” Riftan snapped, rising to his feet. “We’re here to offer our assistance to the duke, not criticize him.”

Though he was discontent with the situation too, speaking ill of the Duke of Croyso around his men would only instigate trouble.

Picking up his helmet, Riftan walked over to the border wall made of stacked logs. Sentries with spears stood guard along the length of the high structure while knights polished their weapons near the barracks.

Walking past, Riftan climbed up a ladder to the watchtower and surveyed the land. He had an unobstructed view of the ravaged village, the razed farmlands, and clerics performing funeral rites.

The mountain of corpses on the field also included the raiders they had slaughtered. A simple purification rite would be held for the bodies of the criminals before they were burned to prevent them from turning into liches or ghouls.

Riftan twisted his lips and loosened the flask at his waist. Whether it was hunting monsters or killing humans, a knight was duty-bound to follow their liege’s orders. The countless battles since taking on the mantle of knighthood had numbed him enough to be able to wolf down a meal next to a pile of bodies. That being said, it still left a bad taste in his mouth whenever he found himself faced with the horrors of war.

Riftan gulped down the remaining water and tossed the flask over the wall. Paxias was looming over the charred earth. It was evident he would not be able to spend the season of repose in his castle again this year. He heaved a resigned sigh and breathed in the dry wind laced with the stench of burning flesh.

When all of the dead had been dealt with, they launched into winter preparations. The sentries diligently stocked up on food, firewood, and drinking water, while the knights patrolled the borders and fought off the occasional monster or raiders.

A few weeks later, they received unexpected news from the other side. Dristan’s royal family, who had so far turned a blind eye to all the pillaging occurring in its western regions, had finally decided to intervene.

Riftan furrowed his brows when he saw Dristan’s flags fluttering in the wind. An army of about eight hundred had set up camp outside the border wall. Though the message insisted they were here to mediate, in reality, it was a show of force. After studying Dristan’s army, Riftan hurried down from the watchtower to intercept Triton as he left the barracks.

“What did Dristan offer?”

The messengers from Dristan and the Duke of Croyso’s vassal knights followed Triton out. After glancing at their grave faces, Riftan turned back to his commander.

“Did they threaten war if we don’t open our food reserves?”

“That’s a tad extreme,” Triton said, shaking his head as he started toward the Remdragon Knights’ barracks. “Dristan’s royal family wants to resolve this matter as peacefully as possible. They have offered to deploy their own army to prevent further pillaging if the duke agrees to resume trade.”

Riftan twisted his lips into a cynical smile. Saying they wanted to resolve matters as peacefully as possible also meant they would use force if necessary.

“Do you think the duke will agree?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Triton stepped into his private tent, motioning with his head for Riftan to follow. Riftan obediently entered after him. The air inside was warm from the brazier a squire had lit earlier.

The commander pulled a chair close to the flames and said calmly, “I want you to leave for Croyso Castle at dawn. Take Dristan’s messengers with you.”

“Me?”

“You won’t be alone. We’ve decided the escort will be four royal, three Remdragon Knights. Get the messengers to Croyso Castle with the others.”

Riftan furrowed his brow. It had been almost six months since his last visit to the duchy. He frowned as both anticipation and dread fought within him.

Noticing Riftan’s discomfort, Triton raised a brow. “What’s the matter? Do you have something to say about my orders?”

Riftan slowly shook his head. “No. Is there anything else?”

“That is all. You may choose your men.”

Rifan gave the commander a nod and stepped out of the tent.

The next day, he readied to depart with Ursuline Ricaydo and Gabel Lachzion. At the blast of the horn, they joined the four royal knights at the border wall. Shortly after, three knights from Dristan wearing red surcoats rode up to the barrier.

After making quick introductions, Riftan wasted no time in setting off. It was normally a two-day journey from the border to Croyso Castle, but the shorter days meant they arrived at the duchy as the third day dawned.

While their identifications were being confirmed at the gate, Gabel murmured with a look of delight, “Finally, a warm bath and a real bed.”

Ursuline glared at him. “We are not here to rest. Keep your guard up.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport,” Gabel retorted, directing an annoyed glance at his comrade. “There’s nothing wrong with taking pleasure in the small things. Considering I lack your ability to stay meticulously groomed at all times, Sir Ursuline, I need to scrub myself whenever I get the chance.”

Riftan swept his gaze over Ursuline with renewed interest. It was true that he had never caught the knight looking disheveled. Ursuline Ricaydo seemed to have an uncanny ability to remain spotless even in the middle of a battlefield. Did dirt not stick to the scions of prominent noble houses? He was mulling over such preposterous notions when they were granted permission to enter.

Riftan passed a hand over his grubby face as he rode through the gates. It had been a while since his last bath. No doubt he was a ghastly sight to behold. Suddenly, he grew extremely conscious of his tattered robes and overgrown hair.

He irritably swept away the locks hanging over his forehead, scoffing at his own vanity. So what if he was filthy? She had recoiled from him even at his most well-groomed.

She might faint when she sees me.

With a bitter smile, Riftan spurred his horse on through the vast estate. When they reached the castle, the guards rushed out the gate to welcome them. Riftan entrusted his horse to one of the men and strode to the great hall, the messengers in tow.

As soon as they entered the palatial room, the middle-aged head steward of the castle bowed in a respectful greeting.

“I was informed that you came from the border. Is there an urgent matter?”

“We bring with us messengers from Dristan. We request an audience with the duke at once.”

The steward looked surprised for a brief moment before calmly nodding. “Please, follow me to the reception room.”

Riftan’s gaze unconsciously roamed the corridors as he trailed the steward, hoping for a glimpse of Maximilian Croyso. Though he spotted a group of maidservants at the top of the stairs, he did not see the noblewoman anywhere.

It was still early, he reasoned, so she would likely be asleep. Feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment, Riftan strode up the velvet-draped marble staircase. The steward showed them to an opulent room laid with a crimson carpet before leaving them at the door.

“Please wait a moment. I will inform His Grace of your arrival.”

The knights all sat for a brief reprieve as they waited. Twenty minutes later, a lavishly dressed Duke of Croyso entered the room followed by an entourage of knights and servants.

“I am told there are messengers from Dristan. What is their purpose here?”

The duke took his seat in the center of the room and haughtily tilted his chin. The messengers’ faces grew grave at the duke’s flagrant discourtesy.

The most senior Dristanian knight said with an equally icy demeanor, “We are here on the behest of our king. We will serve as arbitrators for the conflict at the border.”

The knight pulled a letter bearing the royal seal of Dristan. A servant swiftly accepted the letter and proffered it to the duke. As the Duke of Croyso slowly read, creases formed on his forehead. Clearly, he was not pleased with the terms. A long and uncomfortable silence ensued.

“Before we discuss details,” the duke finally said, “you should get some rest.”

He swept his gaze over the unkempt knights, then waved at the steward as he rose from his seat.

“Show our guests to their rooms.”

Exhausted from the journey, none of the knights voiced any complaints as they filed out of the reception room.

Riftan was assigned to the same chambers as his last visit. When he stepped out the next day, he came across the Croyso sentries performing their morning drills and a group of women strolling the nearby garden. He stood soaking in the pleasant scene when he suddenly cursed under his breath.

You’re not here to amuse yourself, goddammit.