Chapter 81: Greedy Nobles and Their End [Claude POV]
The morning air carried the acrid scent of envy, a smell I'd grown familiar with across multiple lifetimes.
From the watchtower overlooking Mike's territory, I observed another convoy of "well-intentioned" nobles approaching our gates. Their banners fluttered in the wind like colorful lies, proclaiming assistance while their eyes gleamed with hunger for beast materials that had made Mike's coffers overflow.
Predictable.
The convoy's approach kicked up dust that caught in my throat, a reminder of how many others had traveled this same path, never to return. Their dispatched knights had vanished into the hunting grounds like morning mist, leaving behind only bloodstains and the echo of screams that haunted the wind.
Beasts drawn by concentrated mana didn't discriminate between noble blood and common. They simply fed.
As they drew closer, I could make out the leader, a young man with soft hands and softer resolve, flanked by veterans whose weathered faces spoke of battles they'd survived through luck rather than skill. Command sat awkwardly on his shoulders, like an ill-fitting coat inherited from a better man.
I descended from the tower, my boots striking stone with measured steps. Each footfall echoed with the certainty of what was to come, another name for the growing list of fools who'd underestimated the price of their ambition.
"Can I know the reason you've come here?" I asked, my voice carrying the politeness that noble etiquette demanded while my tone conveyed the futility of their deception.
The young noble's face flushed red, irritation flashing in his eyes like sparks from a dying fire. "We came here to assist in the subjugation of the monsters. You should be grateful for our good intentions."
Good intentions. I'd heard it across every timeline, always preceding catastrophe.
"Is that so?" I replied, allowing a smile to ghost across my lips. "Then I'd be delighted if you could donate the monsters' carcasses you defeat to us. Since you're coming with such noble intentions to help our fledgling territory."
Their bitter smiles told me everything I needed to know. These weren't men driven by duty or honor. They were merchants wearing the masks of knights, here to plunder what they saw as easy prey.
The young noble went still, his pride warring with the reality of his position. Around him, his men shifted uncomfortably, hands drifting toward sword hilts they likely didn't know how to use effectively.
I could see their deaths already, flashes of memory from futures that might yet come to pass, if I allowed it.
"We all know what you truly intend," I said, cutting through the pretense like a blade through silk. "So I won't waste time with pleasantries. You have two choices: attempt to deal with the beasts yourselves and keep whatever loot you can claim, or accept our assistance for ninety percent of the total earnings. Choose wisely."
"What!" The young noble's voice cracked with indignation. "Ninety percent is outrageous!"
I tilted my head, studying him with the detachment I'd learned from watching too many die for their pride. "You think our expertise comes cheaply? There's also the territorial tax on any materials you harvest, plus the toll for using roads we carved from wilderness with our blood and sweat. If you want our help, you'll receive four percent of the total value."
"We'll do it ourselves!" he snapped, his youth showing in the way his voice rose. "Who needs your help?"
I simply shrugged, retrieving the contract I'd had prepared for exactly this moment. The parchment felt heavy in my hands, not from its physical weight but from the knowledge of how many had signed similar documents, sealing their own fates with ink and arrogance.
"Read it carefully," I advised, extending the contract toward him. "The terms are simple: you acknowledge full responsibility for your actions and their consequences. In the event of death or injury, neither Lord Mike nor anyone within this territory bears responsibility. Any choices you make are yours alone, free from coercion."
The young noble's hands trembled slightly as he took the document, though whether from rage or a belated sense of self-preservation, I couldn't tell. His eyes scanned the carefully worded clauses, each line a trap for the unwary, each paragraph a glimpse into the abyss that awaited the unprepared.
I watched his face pale as the meaning registered. He knew I was looking at him like he was already dead.
But pride, that most fatal of noble virtues, wouldn't let him back down. With visible effort, he straightened his shoulders and fixed me with what he probably thought was a defiant glare. "Fine. We'll sign your contract."
His signature was shaky but legible. The last act of a man who didn't yet know he was already a ghost.
I handed him the territorial map with the same solemnity I might offer last rites, watching as he studied the carefully marked danger zones and monster classifications.
"Follow the notes precisely," I warned, though I knew he wouldn't. Pride had already blinded him to wisdom. "Many have survived by heeding those warnings. Many more have died by ignoring them."
He nodded curtly, rolled the map with careless hands, and turned to his convoy.
I watched them ride toward the forest. Watched until the trees swallowed them whole. Watched until even the dust from their horses settled back to earth.
"How long?" a voice asked from behind me.
I turned. Captain Anders stood at attention, his expression carefully neutral.
"Three days," I said. "Maybe four if they're cautious. Two if they're stupid."
"And the bodies?"
"We'll recover what we can. For the families." I paused. "Make sure the burial detail is ready."
Anders saluted and departed, leaving me alone on the wall.
The forest waited.
The horse came back on the second day, stumbling out of the tree line at dawn with an empty saddle and four parallel gouges raked across its flanks. The territorial guards caught it before it reached town.
The burial detail went out that afternoon and returned before dark.
I signed the documentation that evening. Name, date, cause of death as accurately as could be determined. Family notifications through official channels. The contract accounted for this too.
[Mike POV]
I stared at the latest letter from the capital, my knuckles white as I gripped the expensive parchment.
The gilt-edged paper crinkled under my fingers, its formal script mocking the reality of what had transpired in my territory.
"What in the seven hells," I muttered, reading the complaint for the third time. "They signed the damn document acknowledging the risks, and now they want reimbursement because their precious heirs never came home?"
The irony was sharp. These same nobles had ignored my territory when it was nothing but wilderness and debt. Now that we'd carved prosperity from danger, they wanted their share without paying the price.
Their "assistance" had been nothing more than thinly veiled theft. Everyone knew it.
But politics was a game played with lives as currency, and the king demanded answers.
How could Mike's soldiers venture into the hunting grounds daily without loss, while noble expeditions vanished without trace? No one had a good answer, and the silence around it had lasted too long.
"Lord Mike?" My secretary stood in the doorway, her expression apologetic. "The royal investigators have arrived. They're requesting an immediate audience."
Of course they were.
I set down the letter and straightened my clothes, new ones tailored to fit my new station as a lesser noble. Still felt like playing dress-up. I was a merchant who'd gotten lucky, not some blue-blooded aristocrat who understood the intricate dance of court politics.
"Send them to the main hall. And fetch Claude. They'll want to question him too."
The secretary nodded and retreated, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the pile of complaints that seemed to grow larger every day.
Outside my window, I could see the hunting grounds' dark treeline. From here, it looked peaceful. Beautiful, even. The kind of pristine wilderness that artists captured on canvas and poets praised in verse.
From here, you couldn't see the bones.
The royal investigators were exactly what I expected: stern-faced men in formal robes, clutching ledgers and wearing expressions that said they'd already decided I was guilty of something.
"Lord Michael," the lead investigator began, his tone making my title sound like an accusation. "We've received numerous complaints regarding the... unusual mortality rate among noble expeditions to your territory's hunting grounds."
"Unusual?" I kept my voice level. "Respectfully, Investigator, there's nothing unusual about untrained men dying when they venture into monster-infested wilderness."
"Yet your own soldiers suffer minimal casualties."
"Because they're trained. Because they follow orders. Because they understand that the hunting grounds demand respect."
The investigator's lips thinned. "Some of the families suggest... foul play. That perhaps your forces actively sabotage noble expeditions to maintain a monopoly on valuable materials."
Counted to five. Breathed.
"Every expedition signs a contract acknowledging the dangers. We provide maps marked with known hazards. We offer assistance for a fee that covers our expertise and risk. If they choose to refuse our help and venture out unprepared, that's their decision."
"A decision you profit from, either way."
"I profit from my territory producing valuable goods. What I don't profit from is burying the sons of noble houses and dealing with their families' grief and rage." I leaned forward. "Do you honestly think I want this? That I enjoy watching people die because they're too proud to admit they need help?"
The investigator opened his mouth to respond, but the door opened before he could speak.
Claude entered, his expression calm despite knowing exactly why he'd been summoned.
"You asked for me, Lord Mike?"
"The investigators have questions about the hunting grounds. About our success rate versus... others."
Claude's eyes flicked to the investigators, reading them in an instant. "I see. And they believe we're somehow responsible for noble incompetence?"
"Head Knight Claude," the lead investigator said with forced politeness, "perhaps you could explain your training methods. How you achieve such remarkable results with common soldiers."
"Discipline," Claude said simply. "Preparation. And the hard-won knowledge that comes from treating danger with the respect it demands. Our soldiers follow orders because they understand the cost of arrogance. They study their enemies because they value their lives more than their pride."
"And the nobles who died lacked these qualities?"
"The nobles who died," Claude replied, his tone carrying a sharp edge, "ignored clear warnings, refused offered assistance, and ventured into hostile territory without proper preparation. Their deaths are tragic but entirely preventable."
"Preventable if they'd paid your exorbitant fees."
"Preventable if they'd possessed the humility to recognize their own limitations." Claude met the investigator's glare without flinching. "I don't enjoy watching people die. But I'm not responsible for the consequences of their choices."
The tension in the room could have been cut with a blade.
"Gentlemen," I interjected before the situation could escalate further, "the contracts are clear. The warnings were explicit. If you wish to audit our procedures, you're welcome to do so. But you'll find everything in order."
The lead investigator's jaw worked silently for a moment before he nodded curtly. "Very well. We'll conduct a full investigation. In the meantime, all noble expeditions to the hunting grounds are suspended pending our findings."
"Understood."
They departed with the efficiency of men who knew they'd find nothing but wanted to maintain appearances.
Once they were gone, I slumped in my chair, suddenly exhausted.
"They won't find anything," Claude said quietly. "Because there's nothing to find. But the damage is done. Word will spread that Mike's territory is cursed, its riches guarded by horrors that devour the unprepared."
"That's not necessarily a bad thing," I muttered. "Maybe it'll keep the idiots away."
"Maybe." Claude moved to the window, staring at the distant treeline. "Or maybe it'll just attract a different kind of fool. The kind who thinks they're special enough to succeed where others failed."
Great. That was exactly what I needed to hear.
"Are there any more... guests?" Claude asked the watch captain as evening settled over the territory.
"No sir," he replied, barely suppressing a grin. "Word's gotten around. They seem to fear the hunting grounds now."
"Pity," Claude said, dry. "It was almost enjoyable having easy work for a change."
"Understood, sir!"
The soldier's expression transformed from barely concealed joy to poorly hidden dread. During the noble incursions, some had rejoiced at the break from routine.
But now they remembered what routine meant under the Head Knight's instruction. Training sessions that pushed human limits, exercises that forged weakness into strength through controlled suffering.
The hunting grounds might kill quickly, but his methods built the skills to survive what came after.
As the sun set behind the forest's dark canopy, painting the sky in shades of blood and gold, Claude exhaled and let the satisfaction settle.
In the distance, a howl echoed through the trees. Wind through branches, or the echo of lessons learned too late.
The hunting grounds kept their secrets.
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