Mercenaries, when a large sum of money comes their way, usually spend it lavishly without a second thought.
It's because theirs is a profession where they never know when they might die—so they figure they might as well enjoy themselves while they can.
Naturally, their daily lives tend to become unplanned and dissolute.
Lucian, having once been a mercenary himself, knew their way of life well enough.
But even Lucian was left speechless by the state these mercenaries were in now.
"Disgusting."
Empty liquor bottles crunched underfoot with every step.
Vomit was scattered everywhere.
There were even mercenaries, dead drunk, hurling their mugs about.
Maybe it would've made sense at dawn, after a night of madness had ended—but this was far too much for early evening.
"Guh! Who the hell are you? We rented this place out!"
"Outsiders, huh? Tch, we were finally having a good time, and you ruin the mood."
"The brat's even got an escort with him? What, got money to burn?"
"Pwahahaha!"
The mercenaries burst into laughter as they looked at Lucian.
At their filthy jokes—so typical of men accustomed to rough work—Hugo and the Black Lions narrowed their eyes, their gazes turning sharp.
"Third Young Master."
"That's enough. Stay put."
Lucian stopped Raymond as he was about to step forward, then picked up an empty liquor bottle rolling around nearby.
He hurled it with all his strength toward the ceiling at the center of the inn.
Crash—clatter, clatter!
"What the hell!?"
"You crazy bastard!"
With a deafening noise, shards of glass rained down over the mercenaries' heads.
Only then did the drunken mercenaries sober up, leaping to their feet with curses.
Before the enraged mercenaries could rush him, Lucian spoke again.
"My name is Lucian Valdeck. I am the third son of His Highness Sigmund Valdeck, the current Grand Duke of Valdeck—and the younger brother of Duke Tristan Valdeck, your employer."
"I wanted to have a little talk, but you didn't seem capable of coming to your senses, so I tried a bit of shock therapy. Looks like it worked. Or do you need some honeyed water as well?"
The moment they realized who Lucian was, the mercenaries all stiffened.
If the other party was the son of a grand duke, laying even a finger on him would be a death sentence.
As they hesitated, unable to step forward, someone pushed his way out from the crowd.
"Well, I don't think we'll need honeyed water. We're wide awake now.
But just what exactly is a young master of the Valdeck family playing at here?"
"Tch—such insolence!"
At the blatant disrespect crossing the line, Raymond's hand moved toward the sword at his waist.
He looked ready to draw it and cut the man down at the slightest provocation.
Lucian grabbed Raymond by the shoulder to stop him, then fixed his gaze on the mercenary who had stepped forward.
He had a scraggly beard and was covered in slashing scars, giving him an air as ferocious as Hugo's.
So this one's the linchpin, huh…
To anyone else, it would have sounded like the thoughtless ranting of a mercenary who didn't know his place.
But to Lucian, every word had clearly been calculated before it was spoken.
He stepped in because it looked like the initiative was slipping away, then deliberately spat out insults to show that they weren't in a disadvantaged position. The timing's perfect, too—this is before the real talks have even begun.
Judging by severity alone, it was a remark that could get his head chopped off for insulting a noble.
At the same time, he must have been confident that if Lucian truly wanted a conversation, he would let it slide at least once.
After all, spilling blood before negotiations even started would overturn the entire table, no matter the reason.
Not just experienced—he had a decent political sense and a sharp mind as well.
But he's arrogant.
There's always the possibility of things going wrong, yet he never once questioned his own plan.
His confidence in his abilities bordered on outright hubris.
"What's your name?"
"My mates call me 'Red Blade Sven.'"
"Very well, Sven. I'll ask you just one thing. Why are you and your friends loitering here? From what I hear, your mercenary contract has already ended. If you've been paid, you should be doing the job."
Lucian let the nickname go in one ear and out the other as he asked.
Sven responded with a crooked grin and a slight tilt of his head.
"That can't be right. Unfortunately, our contract with Lord Tristan hasn't been finalized yet. We'd like to be hired for a higher price, but he suddenly tells us to work for less than that—what choice do we have?"
"I see. Then you did receive the money?"
"Of course we did. It's nowhere near the full contract fee, but if he insists on giving it to us, there's no reason to refuse, is there? Right, lads!?"
"Damn right! Long live Duke Tristan and his generous spending!"
"And long live the booze and grub we bought with his money!"
"Pwahahahaha!"
Roars of laughter erupted among the mercenaries.
It seemed they intended to insist that the money Tristan had given them was not a "deposit," but mere "alms."
Watching the unflappable Sven and the mercenaries siding with him, Lucian pressed a hand to his forehead.
This won't work.
Tristan had botched things with his abysmal negotiating skills, and Sven, overconfident in his own abilities, had no intention of yielding.
On top of that, the fact that the mercenaries' help was absolutely necessary had already been laid bare, and Sven enjoyed sky-high trust among his peers.
In a situation like this, no matter what was said, there was no chance of a proper negotiation.
"Don't take it so badly. If you just pay us a sufficient amount, we'll work like dogs from then on. For all this, we're damn good at getting the job done."
Perhaps thinking Lucian had all but given up, Sven offered words that were consolation in name only.
Even so, he couldn't hide the sense of triumph laced through his voice.
Seeing Sven lost in such a serious delusion, Lucian gave a bitter smile.
"Oh? If I pay a sufficient amount, you'll really handle anything?"
"Of course. That depends on the sum, naturally."
"If that's the case, then I'd guess this should be sufficient."
Clink—chatter.
Lucian pulled a pouch of coins from his coat and tossed it onto the table.
The roughly tied string came loose, and the coins inside spilled out in a glittering cascade.
The mercenaries, who had been admiring his boldness, suddenly went wide-eyed when they saw the markings on the coins.
"P-Platinum coins! Wilhelm the Great's Commemorative Mint!"
"What!? You've got to be kidding!"
"Third Young Master!"
Gasps of shock burst out among the mercenaries, and the Black Lions recoiled in equal alarm.
The Wilhelm the Great Birth Commemorative Coins—commonly referred to as platinum coins.
They were minted to honor Wilhelm the Great, the founding emperor of the Empire, and were issued only once every dozen or so years.
A single coin was worth several hundred ordinary gold coins and could be exchanged instantly anywhere on the continent.
And now, an entire pouch of those platinum coins had just been dumped out in front of them.
Gulp.
The mercenaries swallowed hard at the sight of the resplendent platinum coins.
With a sum like that, one could live more luxuriously than most minor nobles for the rest of their life.
If everyone present split it, it might not reach that level—but it would still be enough to retire from mercenary work on the spot.
Even Sven, who clearly hadn't anticipated such an amount, kept clearing his throat as he struggled to compose his expression.
"C-Cough! Ahem! You're a man who understands reason, I see. Very well! With this much, it's more than enough to—"
"On the name of Lucian Valdeck, I will give all of these platinum coins to whoever kills Red Blade Sven."
"…!?"
Sven, who had been suppressing a broad grin as he reached for the pouch, froze like stone at Lucian's words.
***
A heavy silence settled over the inn.
The order itself was nothing new.
There were plenty of employers who, after a job was done, told mercenaries to kill each other or test their strength.
Most of the time, it was worthless provocation, the sort of thing mercenaries ignored outright.
But when a reward of this utterly absurd magnitude was on the line, it was a different story altogether.
"Fuck, what did he just say? He's going to give that entire sum to a single person?"
"Talk about nonsense. That's an amount that would make even a respectable noble house stagger."
"Still, he swore it in front of all of us, in his own name."
"And once he's invoked his family as well, this is well past something that can be quietly smoothed over."
As the mercenaries' murmuring grew louder, Sven couldn't hide his dismay.
To think the unity he'd forged through countless hardships would be shaken like this.
If he let this continue, plenty of them would be swayed by that honeyed promise.
He had to say something—anything—to seize back their attention.
"Hey now, young master! What do you think you're—!"
Shing.
Before Sven could finish, Lucian drew the sword at his waist.
For a moment, they flinched, thinking he was about to attack—but the blade turned toward his own hand.
Slice.
"Young Master!?"
Ignoring Hugo's cry, Lucian clenched his fist, blood flowing from his cut palm.
He then raised his fist high for all the mercenaries to see and shouted in a thunderous voice.
"O Eight Gods of the Heavens! I, Lucian Valdeck, swear upon my name that I shall grant everything contained in this pouch to the one who kills the man before me! Should I break this vow, may I be cast out from the Blue Blood forever! Bear witness and judge me!"
"Ah…"
Raymond covered his face with both hands without realizing it.
An oath before the Hall of Ten Thousand Gods. It imposed no binding force—merely a vow.
Yet in terms of tradition and historical weight, its gravity was beyond measure.
There had never been an imperial emperor who made that oath and then failed to honor it.
If a noble—let alone a commoner—were to break a vow sworn before the Hall of Ten Thousand Gods, they wouldn't just become a lifelong laughingstock; they would be cast out by their own family.
Now there's truly no turning back…
At this point, if someone killed Sven, Lucian would genuinely have to hand over all of that platinum.
The only way to avoid paying would be to revoke the oath out loud before everyone, before anyone else stepped forward.
If there was no one left bound to receive the promise, then retracting the oath would cause no issue.
"Crazy… wasn't that the Oath of the Hall of Ten Thousand Gods? I've only heard of it in fairy tales."
"It's just an oath. It's not like you get divine punishment for breaking it."
"Idiot! If a noble breaks a vow sworn there, they get kicked out of their family!"
"What? Then he really means to give away all that platinum?"
No sooner had Lucian finished swearing than the mercenaries' unrest intensified.
Yet for all their agitation, not a single one stepped forward.
Accepting such a job—stabbing a comrade in the back—meant becoming a public enemy.
Trusting the vow of a noble brat they'd only just met today felt risky.
"Pathetic."
Lucian spat the word at them with open contempt.
"I swore on my honor, before the gods. If you can't even trust a vow like that, then you don't deserve to receive these platinum coins."
Lucian set down only half of the platinum coins, returning the rest to the pouch.
At the sight of the suddenly halved pile, the mercenaries' eyes wavered violently.
Ignoring them, Lucian reclaimed half the coins, revoked the oath, and then shouted once more.
"O Eight Gods of the Heavens!"
The same oath rang out again—but this time, with the amount halved.
The mercenaries fidgeted, each of them watching the others, unable to settle.
When no one stepped forward the second time either, Lucian reduced the amount by half once more.
Even at a quarter of the original sum, it was still far from a small amount.
As the third oath echoed through the inn, several mercenaries jumped up in panic and shouted.
"J-Just a moment, Young Master! Please wait!"
"Shut up! I came here to find someone who'll uphold an oath, not to waste time chatting with the likes of you!"
"B-But how are we supposed to trust this!? At least give us some kind of guarantee—!"
"Whether you believe it or not is your problem. But if you can't even trust an oath sworn before the Hall of Ten Thousand Gods, do you expect me to give you more?"
With a snort of contempt, Lucian revoked the oath yet again and swept up almost all of the remaining platinum coins.
The mercenaries, who had assumed he would leave at least half behind again, blanched in shock.
What remained now wasn't enough for a life of luxury like a noble or great merchant—at best, it was enough for three commoners to live their entire lives without worrying about money.
Even so, it was still a sum that an ordinary mercenary would never get their hands on, or even see in someone else's possession.
"O Eight Gods of the Heavens!"
"…Damn it!"
Clatter—clank!
The moment the fourth oath rang out, several mercenaries sprang to their feet and grabbed their weapons.
Determination flashed in their eyes from every direction—they couldn't afford to let this chance slip away.
As the atmosphere shifted in an instant, Sven found himself at a loss for words and stumbling backward.
"Stop this right now! What kind of farce do you think this is!?"
Bang!
Someone shouted angrily at the mercenaries as they rose from their seat.
It was a young mercenary who had been sitting at the same table as Sven just moments ago.
"What are you trying to do, falling for this obvious ploy to turn us against each other!? You're really going to believe the ravings of some noble brat about oaths and gods!?"
"O–Oh, Aiden!"
Seeing Aiden—the vice-captain—step up in his defense, Sven's eyes glistened with tears.
After glaring around at the others once, Aiden walked over to Sven, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spoke.
"Have you all forgotten how much Captain Sven has worked for you until now!? We may be mercenaries, but to betray him over that paltry sum of money? Have you no shame!?"
"Kh–hmm!"
"Well, I don't really know what shame is."
Thunk.
Just as Sven was about to puff himself up at Aiden's words, his eyes flew wide as a burning pain flared in his side.
At some point, a dagger had been drawn and was now buried deep in his ribs.
"Y–You…!"
"Sorry, Captain. But try to understand."
Crunch.
"Ghk!"
"You used me twice as a disposable piece and tossed me aside. This is my first time—but unlike you, I succeeded. Let's call it even."
Aiden twisted the dagger once inside him, and a hollow wheeze leaked from Sven's mouth.
Whether his organs had been torn apart or not, Sven couldn't even muster proper resistance as the blade was pulled free.
After stabbing him a few more times to make sure the job was done, Aiden tossed Sven's collapsing body aside.
Thud.
"Young Master, please honor your oath."
Aiden, who had just dealt with his superior, looked straight at Lucian with eyes filled with a feral gleam.
Lucian smiled, gathered up the platinum coins remaining on the table, and placed them directly into Aiden's hand as he replied,
"Of course. A promise is a promise."
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE: https://shinchan1.podia.com/