"How did it go?"
"My sincerest apologies, Council Elder."
Keller bowed deeply, his voice tinged with regret. "Despite offering generous terms, Lord Blake still declined our proposal. He said he needed more time to consider."
"More time to consider?"
The tall, gaunt elder seated on the chair let out a dissatisfied snort. He was the very same man who had gone to Blake's residence earlier, demanding the return of the young master. As a core member of the Traditionalist faction, he had known from their first encounter that the young nobleman was no pushover. Yet he had still hoped for a willingness to cooperate. Now, after the failed negotiation, the elder saw Blake's true colors clearly: he was nothing more than a kidnapper, and they would only get their hostage back if they met his exorbitant demands. If they refused… the boy would be killed.
The elder had known negotiations would be tough, but he had never imagined Blake would be this stubborn.
"I truly cannot fathom what he wants," the elder sighed, glancing at the nobles gathered around him before waving a dismissive hand. "You may leave now, Keller."
"…As you command, Council Elder."
Keller's jaw tightened as he heard the words. These old fogeys still refused to trust him. Ever since the incident began, he had made his allegiance to the Traditionalists crystal clear, yet they had never truly accepted him into their inner circle. Was it really because he was not a direct descendant? Those old bastards—could they not see beyond bloodline to recognize true merit?
Seething with silent rage, Keller maintained a calm, impassive expression. He bowed slightly, then turned and strode out of the council chamber.
"Is this wise, Council Elder?" Once Keller's figure had vanished, one of the nobles spoke up, his tone laced with concern. "Whether we like it or not, Keller is among the most talented of the younger generation. Perhaps we ought to loosen our grip on power a little—it might benefit us all in the long run."
"He is nothing but a half-breed from a cadet branch," the elder scoffed, dismissing the suggestion out of hand. "The noble traditions of the Zach Clan must not be defiled! As long as our rightful heir still lives, we must never take actions that undermine our heritage! Do not forget your station, gentlemen—you are all bearers of the Zach Clan's sacred blood!"
"But that is not what we are discussing right now," another noble frowned, growing impatient. Frankly speaking, the elder's obsession with bloodline had long since crossed the line into fanaticism. While they understood it served a purpose for the clan, his stubbornness was becoming increasingly frustrating. "The problem at hand is that man refusing our deal. What do we do now? We cannot afford to be passive in this matter—if the Reformists seize this opportunity, all our plans will be for naught."
"I already have a new plan," the elder waved a hand, a confident smirk spreading across his face. "If we cannot force that man to return the young master willingly, then we will make him hand the boy over."
"Make him hand him over?"
The nobles exchanged surprised glances. "Surely you do not mean confronting him head-on, Elder?"
"Of course not," the elder shot the man who had made the foolish suggestion a cold glare, clearly displeased with his lack of judgment. "Do you truly believe we stand a chance against a High-Ranked Swordsman, even as a prominent noble clan? Or perhaps you think we can threaten him into submission? The Reformists already tried that, and we all saw how that ended. Must we suffer the same humiliating defeat before you come to your senses?"
"That is not what I meant, Elder," the noble bowed his head, mopping the cold sweat from his brow, clearly regretting his ill-considered words.
"Nevertheless, since you have already made up your mind, you must have a detailed plan in place, yes?" In the cutthroat world of noble politics, opportunities to gain an edge over rivals were never wasted. No sooner had one noble been rebuked than another jumped at the chance to curry favor.
"Indeed I do," the elder smiled, steepling his gnarled fingers and tapping them lightly against the tabletop. "I assume all of you are familiar with the intelligence we have gathered on this High-Ranked Swordsman?"
The nobles glanced at each other, nodding in confirmation. For a powerful noble clan like theirs, gathering information was child's play—especially since Blake had made no effort to hide his background. They had compiled a comprehensive dossier on him, of course, the veracity of some details was questionable, but the broad strokes were accurate enough.
"As you all know, this young man's current domain is the Duskwood—a desolate, poverty-stricken land with barely any inhabitants, let alone prosperity. According to our reports, his territory is so undermanned that he does not even have enough regular soldiers to maintain order. The only semblance of a garrison comes from a small contingent of guards sent by the Byrd Clan to assist him. And now, he has taken two-thirds of those guards with him on this trip. Which means the Duskwood is practically undefended right now."
The nobles nodded in unison—this much was common knowledge. They had thoroughly investigated the Duskwood and understood Blake's precarious situation. From all appearances, he was determined to revitalize the barren land and restore it to its former glory. Yet for some inexplicable reason, the Byrd Clan had offered him little more than token support. To the other nobles, this was utterly baffling. If one of their own had achieved the rank of High-Ranked Swordsman at the tender age of twenty, they would have showered him with resources and support. The Byrd Clan's indifference was nothing short of deliberate alienation—it was as if they were trying to drive him away.
Of course, the nobles had their own theories to explain this odd state of affairs. A man who had reached the rank of High-Ranked Swordsman at twenty was undoubtedly overflowing with pride and arrogance. It was entirely possible he had insisted on rebuilding the Duskwood through his own efforts, refusing to accept any further aid from the Byrd Clan—and the Byrds had had no choice but to agree. Such a scenario was not beyond the realm of possibility.
Whatever the secret agreement between them might be, one fact was clear to everyone: the Duskwood was virtually defenseless.
But what did that have to do with them, or with the young master? Could the elder possibly be suggesting they curry favor with the young lord by offering to help develop the Duskwood? That did not seem like his style at all…
"Despite his prowess as a High-Ranked Swordsman, he is still, first and foremost, the lord of a domain," the elder raised his head, his eyes burning with resolve and confidence. "If something were to happen to his territory… I suspect this young man would no longer be in the mood to play these petty games of cat-and-mouse with us."
"Elder—what are you suggesting?!"
Several nobles paled, their faces going white with shock. "You mean… attacking the Duskwood? That is a terrible idea! The young man is no fool—if he discovers it was the Zach Clan behind the attack, we will be ruined!"
"Yes, Council Elder, please reconsider! There must be another way…"
"There is no other way!" the elder slammed his fist on the table, cutting off their frantic protests, his face twisting into a rare snarl of ferocity. "The Reformists are moving fast—we cannot afford to fall behind! Besides, even if he finds out, what of it? That man dared to use the young master as a bargaining chip against us, which means he is well aware of the internal strife within the Zach Clan. In that case, we can easily pin the blame on the Reformists! Think about it—if he believes they were the ones who attacked his territory, he might even choose to ally himself with us to protect his own interests! After all, the Reformists already tried to assassinate him once before. It would only be natural for them to take revenge by attacking his vulnerable domain since they cannot defeat him in combat! We cannot afford to wait any longer—have you forgotten how damaging those rumors are to our cause?!"
At the mention of the rumors, the nobles fell silent, a heavy, awkward tension settling over the chamber. The source of their troubles was none other than the group of women Blake had brought to the inn. Not long after that incident, salacious gossip about the young master of the Zach Clan had spread like wildfire through every street and alley of Roya City. According to the rumors, the boy was a lecherous degenerate who spent his days carousing with women even in his current predicament. The tales grew more lurid by the day: he was said to grop women's breasts and buttocks at will, forcing his guards to perform sexual acts for his amusement—the list of alleged depravities was endless.
Logically speaking, a ten-year-old boy's curiosity about the opposite sex was perfectly normal, even innocent. People were generally forgiving of children's indiscretions. But the young master of the Zach Clan was no ordinary child. On this continent, nobles had always claimed their blood was far purer and nobler than that of commoners. The heirs to their ancient lineages were supposed to be paragons of virtue—polite, idealistic, moral, cultured, and disciplined—light-years removed from the crass, vulgar, base, selfish, and barbaric masses. This propaganda had been drilled into the minds of commoners for generations, shaping their perception of nobility. But these rumors shattered that illusion completely. If this had been an ordinary peasant boy, people might have laughed it off. But nobles were supposed to be better than them, were they not? How could their scion be even more lewd and debauched than the lowest commoner?
If these rumors took root in the public consciousness, the young master would never be able to command the respect of the people, even if he did inherit the clan leadership. The commoners' reverence and fear of the nobility stemmed largely from their belief in the sanctity of noble bloodline. Once that belief was shaken, the clan's ruler would never earn the loyalty of his subjects. Worse still, if the situation escalated, the commoners might not only lose all respect for the Zach Clan but also mock their lecherous young lord openly! The clan's honor and reputation would be destroyed forever! The elder knew full well that gossip spread like wildfire in noble circles as well. While many nobles were notorious womanizers, none had ever been reduced to a laughingstock in the eyes of the common folk. If they did not resolve this crisis soon, the Zach Clan would become the laughingstock of the entire aristocracy!
This was an outcome they could not afford to accept.
It was for this reason that the elder had finally made his decision. They had to resolve this matter immediately—no more delays. The fact that dancers had been entering and exiting the inn was undeniable, and the young master was known to be staying there. They had already cleared the area of onlookers, which meant ordinary people had no way of knowing what was really happening inside. It was only natural for them to fill in the blanks with their own salacious imaginations. Some might even suspect they had sealed off the area precisely to hide the young master's shameful debauchery from the public eye.
Under these circumstances, there was no time to waste.
"I have made my decision," the elder stood up, his ancient eyes blazing with a fierce, determined light. "I want each of you to dispatch fifty of your most trusted, most skilled men. Disguise them as bandits and brigands, and send them to sack Duskwood Keep!"
The nobles gasped, sucking in sharp breaths of shock. Secret raids on rival territories were not unheard of, but a direct attack on another noble's castle—such a brazen act had not been committed in decades! What if word got out? What if the plan went awry? They exchanged terrified glances, their hearts pounding with anxiety. One noble could not contain his fear any longer, speaking up in a trembling voice.
"B-but what if they encounter resistance…?"
The elder let out a cold, ruthless snort, his jaw tightening with resolve. This was their last chance—they had no other options left. Since they could not defeat the young lord in direct confrontation, they had no choice but to resort to such underhanded tactics… he could only pray it would work.
"Any who resist… kill them all without mercy!"