The camp was situated in a field with small hills, where tents sporting various flags and roaming soldiers stretched as far as the eye could see.
Victor was assigned the southern portion of the camp, surrounded by three barons whose names he hadn't bothered learning. These barons persistently invited him to banquets, adhering to traditional courtesies among nobility.
Noise pervaded the camp at all times, making rest difficult amid shouting soldiers and neighing horses, although sometimes it seemed strangely quiet.
For three consecutive days, Victor observed the dreadful state of the graph's troops, reaching the limits of his patience.
Complete disorder ruled here, with discipline maintained only by the personal guard of Sheremann, patrolling and separating quarrelling soldiers or rebuking nobles guilty of similar misconduct.
Victor himself witnessed a duel between two knights whose masters had fallen out, and fearing such confrontations, he refrained from contacting anyone. He did not want to begin the campaign with murder or loss of a knight.
Despite never encountering anyone stronger than himself during his stay, the young lord feared encounters with other nobles for one reason: trade.
He planned to conduct business with these individuals in the future, thus avoiding antagonizing them, considering the campaign temporary and life soon returning to normal.
Victor also noted that Alexander Sheremann's vassals were outright weak, with Dünkirk, rumoured to be at the peak of Gold Level, being the strongest among them.
Others were at best Gold Level beginners, posing no real threat to the lord.
Considering the frailty of these aristocrats, he did not wish to further weaken the graphdom by killing one of them in a foolish duel. Therefore, he ordered his soldiers not only to remain within the camp but also erected a palisade around it, preventing unauthorized entry or exit.
***
One evening, Victor slept peacefully in his tent when sudden shouting and commotion from outside awakened him. Strange, given the high walls separating the camp from the rest of the encampment.
Opening his eyes, he lay there, listening intently. Evidently, someone was reprimanding soldiers, followed by Alganis's voice. Assured the situation was under control, he turned to the tent wall and tried to resume sleeping.
— Attention! — rang out the knight's loud command.
Victor bolted upright. Recognizing that the captain was preparing for battle, he understood the situation had spiraled out of control.
Summoning his armor, the lord dashed out of the tent to find his soldiers hastily assembling. Most wore only pants or were bare-chested, clutching shields and swords.
Visible ahead, Alganis stood guarding the gate, facing three figures: two knights brandishing drawn blades, and a sixteen-year-old man of medium height, broad shoulders, and neatly-backcombed hair reminiscent of Victor's own style.
Flanking him were two towering knights, each a head taller.
Striding forward, Victor assessed the scene as soldiers circled around him, forming a protective barrier behind Alganis. Reaching his captain, he saw a soldier lying on the ground, his arm severed cleanly.
The wounded man remained silent, jaw clenched, tightly binding his injured limb with rope.
— Who did this? — Victor asked, standing beside Alganis.
— Him, — Alganis pointed at the opposing knight.
— Merciful Lord, I am Baron Lemier, coming to greet you, but this rude dog dared block my path, — the young man asserted, flanked by his knights.
— Kill the knight, — Victor ordered.
— What are y… — the baron cried out, suddenly changing expression upon hearing the vicount's command. Before he could finish speaking, a blade flashed, and the knight responsible for severing the soldier's arm was decapitated. His head flew skyward, landing with a thud, while his body collapsed.
— Arrest the others, — Victor commanded immediately afterwards, as the knight's severed head rolled across the ground, intermittently spraying blood from the severed artery.
Behind the baron, soldiers in full armor began gathering, suggesting Lemier was prepared for this scenario.
Victor, however, had no intention of letting him escape. Precisely at that moment, Linea leapt from behind, striking the baron in the abdomen, felling him instantly. Simultaneously, Alganis jumped onto the second knight, chopping off his sword-wielding arm.
Linea seized the writhing baron by the collar, hurling him to the feet of her lord, who instinctively raised his foot, unsure where to place it, settling it firmly atop Lemier's face.
The disarmed knight writhed in pain, rolling on the ground and screaming like a pig evading slaughter.
Events unfolded seamlessly within seconds, as if choreographed for Victor's benefit.
Outside the barricades, soldiers began clustering, intent on launching an attack.
— Form the shield wall! — Alganis commanded. Following his lead, soldiers charged forward, slamming their shields into the earth with force, embedding them several centimeters deep. Subsequent rows of soldiers formed additional layers above.
— What's happening here? — another voice thundered from the darkness, followed by six knights bearing the coat-of-arms of Sheremann.
Andros, Victor's brother, emerged from the shadows, accompanied by his entourage.
— Vikont, what are you doing?! — he shouted before reaching them.
— I arrested the man who attacked my soldiers and am deciding what to do next, — Victor replied calmly.
— Release him immediately! You have no right to detain an aristocrat! — Andros ordered, now standing before the shield-walled soldiers.
Victor smirked slightly, relishing the irony.
— Vikont Andros LeRat, since when do you presume to give me commands? — he queried, emphasizing his brother's title and surname, which he bore until inheriting his father's title.
Technically, Andros was still a vikont and lacked authority over fellow vassals, lest it be interpreted as treason, punishable by death.
Merely raising suspicion of treason could severely undermine his claim to succession. In this world, noble uprisings were common, especially among heirs impatiently awaiting their fathers' decline.
— You have no right to detain nobles, — Andros reiterated, switching tactics.
Correctly, Victor retained the right to arrest, though customarily he should transfer custody to the graph.
Lemier, meanwhile, remained pinned beneath the weight of Victor's steel boot, squirming futilely, emitting agonized moans whenever the pressure increased.
— Andros, I advise you not to involve yourself in this matter, especially as heir, taking sides prematurely... — Victor warned his younger sibling. — Could I interpret this as favoritism?
Shocked by these implications, Andros faltered.
Victor comprehended much from the memories of his predecessor, particularly why he avoided directly appealing to the graph for assistance. Direct intervention from a suzerain tilting towards specific vassals would disrupt the delicate balance of the graphdom.
A suzerain was akin to a beacon in darkness, guiding and uniting his subjects. Any deviation in allegiance could trigger fractures among nobles seeking alternate patrons.
— What's going on here? — another voice emerged from the gloom, followed by six more knights bearing Sheremann's crests.
Without turning, Andros called out loudly, pointing to his brother.
— Vikont Baltas has imprisoned Baron Lemier, killed his knight, and maimed another. Take him into custody immediately!
However, another clear, authoritative voice cut through the din.
— Vikont LeRat, kindly remember your place. You have no authority to command the graph's guard, — Elian Forest, the captain of Sheremann's guard, materialized.
Victor felt relieved, assured that the situation would be resolved appropriately. Signaling Alganis, he withdrew his soldiers.
— Fall back! — Alganis ordered, and soldiers smoothly disengaged, withdrawing behind their lord.
Only then did everyone notice the humiliating predicament of the baron.
— Vikont Baltas, follow me, — Elian commanded curtly, turning toward the camp's central area.
Victor instructed Linea and Alganis to escort the wounded soldier to the monastery for possible healing, promising dire consequences for anyone breaching the camp perimeter. He followed Elian closely.
Passing Andros, he noticed the concentration crystals bracelet on his wrist, originally gifted by Victor himself.
I see you don't appreciate gestures of friendship. Fine... Blame yourself when the marquis ceases to pose a threat... Perhaps I'll seek my birthright.
Victor mulled over the sequence of events, reflecting on his brother's impulsive defense of Lemier. Despite initial assumptions, he discarded the notion that Andros instigated the confrontation. No nobleman would follow such reckless advice, especially in this world where idiocy was rare. Moreover, provocation was unnecessary, given the baron's indifference toward commoners.
Inside the graph's pavilion, Elian's voice echoed.
— I have brought your heir, — he announced.
Startled, Victor paused, uncertain why Elian emphasized "heir."
— Andros? Why is he here? — the graph's voice questioned.
— Sorry, I meant your other son, — Elian corrected himself, as if he had made a mistake.
— Victor, enter, — the graph's stern voice commanded. Clearly, he disapproved of his captain's levity.
Victor entered, discovering the graph seated at a distant table, pen in hand. The image of his father was indelibly etched in his mind, forever associated with writing.
— What happened? — Alexander inquired.
— He murdered Lemier's knight, crippled another, and arrested the baron himself, — Elian listed Victor's alleged offenses, prompting the pen to snap in anger.
Victor studied his father's furious expression, aware he had crossed a dangerous threshold. Nevertheless, he felt indifferent, knowing he would repeat his actions regardless of consequence.
— The baron attacked my soldier, severing his arm while performing his duty. If my soldier becomes disabled, I will demand compensation comparable to a knight's worth, — Victor declared defiantly, locking eyes with his father.
Alexander slammed his fist on the table, cracking it violently.
— Have you gone mad?! How dare you propose such terms?! You killed his knight and maimed another, and now you seek compensation, provoking civil war within the graphdom?! — the graph roared.
Knights' compensation represented cumulative costs incurred in their training. Regardless of equality in rank, societal hierarchy determined their value drastically.
If both suffered injuries, only official knights would merit compensation. Among Victor's soldiers, only Alganis qualified, whereas others counted as mere infantry. Furthermore, Alganis owned no landholdings, leaving room for dispute.
Training knights was costly; without the system, Victor would have spent hundreds of gold pieces on elixirs for a single knight, let alone an entire squad.
No noble would compensate voluntarily without the graph's authorization, and Victor had technically compensated the baron's aggression by killing his knight and incapacitating another.
Insisting otherwise risked igniting discord among nobles. Already weakened, the graphdom could ill-afford internal strife.
— You will pay three thousand gold annually to the baron in damages, offer apologies, and submit a five-thousand-gold fine to the graphdom's coffers, — Alexander pronounced final judgment.
Victor regarded his father with composed indifference. While disagreeing, he anticipated this ruling, reasoning he had tested his luck.
— Naturally, Graph, your decision prevails, — he acquiesced tersely.
— Return to your camp and remain confined there until departure, — the graph added.
Victor bowed, affirming comprehension, and exited the pavilion.
Emerging outside, he marched swiftly toward his enclosure.
— Listen, I'm growing quite fond of this youngster, — Elian muttered, watching Victor's retreat.
The graph, too, approved of Victor's stance on soldiers' welfare. Unfortunately, bound by suzerainty's constraints, he could not act otherwise. Deeply appreciative of his son's integrity, he recognized the necessity of safeguarding morale among troops.