Victor stood motionless, gripping the bloody hammer tightly, watching as his soldiers finished off the remaining enemies, unable to bring himself to stop them.
Two conflicting selves battled inside him: logically, he knew he should capture prisoners, but emotionally, he wanted to allow his soldiers to vent their aggression and gain confidence through victory.
Suddenly, applause sounded from behind him. Someone was clapping, and a familiar feminine voice rang out.
— It seems my grandson is truly remarkable, while everyone kept telling me you were talentless, — Clissosa chimed in with a smirk, approaching him.
Turning around, Victor saw the elegant woman in a light-blue dress sauntering toward him, a mischievous grin on her face, with Sylvia shyly hiding behind her.
— That's why security was so sparse, isn't it? — he asked, blurting out the first thought that came to mind.
— That was the duke's request, and I wanted to get out of that boring company, he-he, — she giggled.
There was no danger at all... I probably would've been saved anyway, but I'm glad I didn't back down. thought the vicomte.
Victor felt satisfaction; he had overcome his fear and not retreated before a stronger foe.
— So what does my grandson plan to do next? I'm hungry, you know, I've been waiting for lunch all day, — the countess pouted petulantly.
— I'll give the ord… Hold on, you're the one who insisted on all those stops? — Victor suddenly blurted out.
— He-he, and you blamed poor Sylvia and threatened her! You're so cruel, — Clissosa mocked, pouting like a child.
"Dammit, how was I supposed to know? I thought she was acting out of arrogance, but she was listening to Clissosa!"
Victor didn't like this revelation. He had unfairly accused Sylvia based on past experiences. But it turns out she wasn't responsible... Nor was he, technically. However, blaming the countess was impossible; antagonizing her would ruin their relationship.
As a man, the lord felt obliged to apologize for his threats. Bowing deeply, he addressed Sylvia formally.
— Milady, I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate conduct toward you, — he tried to sound genuine and loud enough for everyone to hear.
However, at that moment, he caught sight of Linea lying motionless on the ground, covered in blood, and his heart skipped a beat. While he was busy groveling, the girl who had leapt to protect him lay bleeding.
Setting aside his hammer, he rushed to her side, falling to his knees beside her and checking her pulse. Relief washed over him as he felt a steady heartbeat.
Right then, he felt more frightened than ever before. He realized how dear this girl had become to him. The thought of losing her so easily forced him to reevaluate everything that had happened until now.
"In this world, living as I did in the old one won't work. I could lose everything just traveling from Point A to Point B. I need to find a way to make even a legendary mage hesitate before crossing paths with me."
Lost in thought, Victor lifted Linea into his arms and carried her toward Sylvia's carriage, which was larger and better equipped for transportation, containing a proper bed. Without consulting anyone, he brought her inside and laid her down gently.
The interior of the carriage was beautifully appointed, designed for extended travels, complete with sleeping arrangements, a small table, and a couch. Its dimensions were significantly larger than standard ones, closer to a motorhome from his world than a carriage.
Ignoring the luxurious surroundings, he hurried back to tend to injured soldiers.
On his orders, Krolla had gathered all wounded in one place. Taking out his medical sewing kit, Victor began cutting away their clothing to assess injuries.
Sylvia and Clissosa watched intently as the vicomte stitched a soldier's shoulder wound under torchlight. Blood-splattered and hands shaking, he cursed himself for not bringing doctors along but successfully sutured the wounds of two young soldiers.
— I don't know how you came up with this idea, but it's brilliant, — Clissosa complimented him, surveying the scene approvingly.
— Let's eat first, then you can admire my genius, — he grumbled, exhausted and nauseated by the carnage around him.
After cleaning up with servants' help, he joined the feast later that evening. Gathered around a long table, Clissosa sat at the head, with Sylvia to her left.
Both women had changed into dark-green dresses that emphasized their elegant figures.
Victor took his seat to the countess's right, feeling her appraising gaze.
— Feeling proud of yourself? — she asked pointedly.
— I did what I had to do. There's nothing to be proud of, — he replied flatly.
Deep down, however, he was extremely proud. He was a modern-world man, accustomed to relative safety, and had faced life-and-death situations with courage.
— See, girl, he's a true knight, — Clissosa crowed triumphantly, casting a look at Sylvia.
Victor glanced at her and noticed something strange. Instead of her usual haughtiness, Sylvia looked curious but quickly averted her gaze.
She dared not meet his eyes. Risking his life for her had altered her perception of him. Books she'd read portrayed heroes as brave and selfless, traits she now associated with Victor.
However, a deeper reason stopped her from meeting his gaze: she herself had orchestrated an assassination attempt against him.
When her maid Mila suggested eliminating "the problem," Sylvia believed it was the perfect solution to escape the unwanted marriage.
Today, however, she witnessed a man willing to sacrifice himself for her sake. She couldn't forgive herself for her earlier deeds.
Yes, Sylvia was selfish and prideful, but never deceitful. Unable to justify her actions, she suffered guilt and shame.
Victor remained ignorant of her inner struggle. Frankly, had he known, he wouldn't care about her remorse. His concerns lay with another girl, who mattered more to him than anyone else in this world.
Occasionally, he glanced toward Sylvia's carriage.
— Do you miss your knight so much? — Clissosa asked archly, noticing his gaze, — or are you worrying about her as a woman?
At that moment, Sylvia lifted her eyes, awaiting his answer. Strangely, the question affected her, and she held her breath, eager for his reply.
— Linea risked her life protecting me. I care about any soldier willing to put their life on the line for me, — he answered calmly, before digging into his meal.
Clissosa pretended to accept his explanation, but Sylvia felt jealousy surge within her. It wasn't love-driven jealousy, more a proprietary instinct that she found highly disagreeable.
Nonetheless, the evening passed relatively peacefully. Victor spent the rest of the night studiously ignoring his wife.
Later, everyone dispersed to their respective tents. Victor checked on Linea one last time, finding Mila attending to her, then retired to sleep.
***
Next morning, the convoy set off, doubling precaution measures. Per Vicomte Baltas's orders, they took detours, and advance patrols scouted terrain fifteen kilometers ahead.
Although a diamond-rank knight accompanied them, Victor feared that someone like Leomville might deploy even stronger adversaries.
To his surprise, the journey proceeded surprisingly smoothly. Occasionally, they encountered refugees, but it seemed routine until Victor spotted a large group of one hundred people. Initially, this seemed manageable, but when patrol riders returned reporting a gathering of over a thousand refugees headed for Baltas territory, he panicked.
Mass migrations to his domain weren't uncommon; indeed, he actively encouraged them. However, a thousand-person influx was untenable given current conditions.
Stopping the convoy, he got out of his carriage, instinctively turning to help Linea but remembering she was still recuperating. Glancing at Sylvia's following carriage, he climbed onto his horse.
Joining ten soldiers, they rode ahead to investigate. Arriving an hour later, he was taken aback by the sight.
Across an open field along the roadside, roughly a thousand ragged individuals huddled together. Strangely, there were no soldiers accompanying them.
Normally, aristocrats were cautious about letting peasants gather, as joblessness often led to crime and banditry.
Jobless masses tended to join criminal gangs, creating problems in cities and towns. Left with no choice, many fled to join brigands.
They did so out of desperation, and if Victor had ample food, he would welcome them all. But his holdings could purchase only limited amounts since becoming a lord.
— Nalita, can you hear me? — He was grateful for the telepathic link, as his domain was at least four hundred kilometers away, and there was no way to prepare in time.
— Yes, milord, I hear you clearly, — she answered promptly.
— Find Algánis and inform him that you can communicate with me. Don't ask questions; send soldiers to the borders with Barons Clinte and Selitas, — he ordered, adding, — Also, round up all carpenters and begin constructing large shelters and barriers along the border to accommodate as many people as possible.
— Milord, he's right here with me, — Nalita whispered softly.
— ... — Victor was puzzled by this information, wondering why his knight was with his medic and was mildly surprised.
— Milord, he's helping me in Eron, — she clarified, but it didn't make much sense.
— Nevermind, just relay my message. Big trouble is coming, — he stressed.
— As you command, milord, — she responded, severing the connection.
What's going on? One thing is a small group of people, maybe several groups. But thousands marching freely through other lords' territories... Is this a plot? Did you conspire together? This isn't the work of one person; somehow, you managed to coordinate this.
Victor formulated the simplest hypothesis, believing it reasonable. If correct, he had either gained a very influential enemy or, miraculously, several lords had collaborated seamlessly. He dismissed the latter possibility completely.
Gathering refugees was easy: spread the word of a better place, then expel them from your towns and villages. Naturally, they'd flock to where they were promised comfort.
Only lords could organize such a scheme, meaning someone planted the idea.
Soon, complications would arise. Likely, by the time they reached his domain, they'd exhaust all supplies and strength. If he denied them refuge, the probability of mass deaths would reach nearly one hundred percent.
The count, as overlord, would blame the vassel responsible for such neglect. To avoid this, Victor needed to win over most lords in the county to support him before the count, offering them something valuable in return.
Victor saw the strategy as beneficial to lords everywhere—except himself, whose domain would soon drown in refugees.