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Translator: penny
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: The Devil's Invoice
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Scratch. Scratch.
The hand of Kaiser, the overall commander of the Imperial Northern Army, trembled like that of a patient with the shakes.
The conference room of the Theodore Ducal Family.
A contract lay before his eyes.
He had traversed battlefields for decades and signed countless contracts.
Yet even to him, this was the first sight of an imperial bloodsucking demon's bill from the army.
"This is highway robbery!"
Kaiser let out a stifled groan.
"Ten times the market price? This is no different from robbing the Empire outright!
Even in wartime, there are such things as business ethics!"
Eric, seated across from him, lazily lifted his teacup.
Slurp.
The somewhat frivolous sound shattered the silence in the dignified conference room.
"If you don't like it, don't buy."
"What...?"
"I'm not forcing you. You don't have to buy. Black market brokers were asking fifteen times as much—should I sell to them instead?
I was planning to give you a patriotic discount at this price."
Blackmail.
This was blatant blackmail.
But Kaiser knew.
The young man with the languid gaze before him was exactly the type to follow through.
"Urgh...!"
Kaiser gnashed his teeth and completed the final signature.
Slide!
"A wise choice. We'll dispatch the shipment via my pre-prepared private merchant wagons on express delivery.
No extra charge—it's on the house."
Eric pocketed the contract, his lips curling in satisfaction.
"Oh... and Commander. There's one important clause left."
But it wasn't over yet.
Eric's slender finger tapped the very bottom of the contract.
[Special Clause: Regarding the Deployment of Nermang Theodore of the Imperial Army]
"Just so you don't forget how loyal the Theodore family is to the Empire."
Eric's eyes grew misty.
Like a patriot fretting over his homeland.
"My second brother Nermang, that is. He's incredibly brave and full of spirit.
He's on the Northern Frontline right now, but stuck in the rear—that's such a waste of talent, don't you think?"
"So...?"
"Please assign him permanently to the vanguard at the foremost line."
Kaiser and Family Head Alfonso's eyes widened simultaneously.
The vanguard.
The deadliest position—first to face the enemy, first to die.
"For the family honor, he'll become the Empire's spear tip and fight valiantly.
Of course, that's what he wants too. He said it himself on his way north: he wants to live like a blazing flame."
It was a lie.
Nermang wanted to live long and thin.
But Duke Alfonso clenched his fist in.
'Oh... Eric! To turn your brother's failings into such an honorable opportunity!'
The duke completely misunderstood his son's intentions and nodded.
"Commander, make it so. Nermang is Theodore blood.
He'll choose dying in battle over dying a coward."
Kaiser shook his head with a look of utter dismay.
"Ruthless. Utterly ruthless. Fine."
Eric inwardly cheered.
'Brother... spin those wheels like a pro.'
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
As soon as the contract was sealed, Eric led them to the massive warehouse stocked with iron ore.
"Now, time to show you the goods."
With dozens of soldiers lined up, the enormous warehouse doors swung open.
Rumble—!
Torchlight poured into the darkened interior.
"Whoa...!"
Exclamations burst from everyone's mouths.
Flash!
A blinding silver gleam that seared the eyes.
Well-oiled swords shining smoothly and sturdily forged plate armor stacked into mountains reaching the high ceiling.
"Hah, huff! How... when did you amass this much...?"
Commander Kaiser staggered back.
It was an quantity impossible to gather even after years of war preparations.
How on earth had they done it, and since when?
Eric muttered indifferently, hands behind his back.
"Ran the factories hard. Gave them overtime pay, and they churned it out on their own, saying it was great."
It was true.
The power of three-shift rotations and meat side dishes was tremendous.
The workers gladly poured their souls into the steel for Eric.
"Take it quick. Faster delivery is better, right? It's for my brother to use."
'Nermang can't die yet.
You need to see with your own eyes what wonders that cheap iron ore you sold turned into.'
Eric's eyes gleamed coldly.
Soon, hundreds of transport wagons snaked out from the estate in a long convoy.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Northern Frontline, 7th Defense Line.
"Raaagh!!"
"Smash the Imperial bastards' skulls!"
Bukan Kingdom's giant-like great warriors surged forward like waves.
Their massive axes embodied terror itself.
In contrast, the Imperial trenches were pure despair.
"Hold! Hold the line!"
"My sword... my sword broke!"
"Throw rocks! You fucking dogs!"
The soldiers clutched rusted, chipped blades.
They bounced harmlessly off the enemies' leather armor.
In the midst of this hell, one man wailed.
"Sob... Mommy... I wanna go home..."
Eric's half-brother, Duke Alfonso's second son.
Nermang Theodore.
Gone was the haughty noble pride; caked in blood and filth, he huddled trembling in a trench corner.
His pants already soaked.
'Why... why do I have to be in this hellhole...'
Thud!
A Bukan warrior leaped into the trench.
"Grrr... a cowardly rat hiding here."
"Aaaah! Spare me!!"
As the massive axe cleaved the air toward him.
Nermang screamed and squeezed his eyes shut.
'It's over. This is how I die...'
Thud thud thud!
Hoofbeats shaking the earth from beyond the hill, accompanied by a trumpet blast echoing across the battlefield.
Toot!
"Supply! The Theodore supply unit has arrived!"
Before the wagons even halted.
Supply troops kicked wooden crates off the moving vehicles.
Crash!
Crates splintered, contents raining down into the trenches over the soldiers' heads.
"Grab your weapons! Latest steel swords from Young Lord Eric!"
A sword dropped right before Nermang's eyes.
He grabbed the hilt instinctively, a thrill racing up his arm.
Sching.
Heavy yet perfectly balanced in the wrist.
A blade flawless, not a speck of dirt.
Worlds apart from his old rusted junk.
Clear as a mirror, reflecting Nermang's terrified face vividly.
"Wh-what is this? Why's it so light?"
As Nermang stared dumbly at the sword, the Bukan warrior's axe came crashing down on his head.
"Die!"
Nermang swung instinctively.
A clumsy swing, no technique or skill.
Slice.
Yet an eerily clear sound rang out.
Splatter.
The warrior's massive axe—and his thick leather armor—split in half like wet paper.
"...Huh?"
Nermang doubted his own eyes.
The warrior, equally incredulous, glanced at his severed axe and the red line across his chest.
Then collapsed with a thud.
"It... it cuts?"
Nermang muttered in a trembling voice.
"Didn't even put force into it... just brushed it and it sliced?"
Similar scenes unfolded around him.
"Raaagh! Die! ...Huh?"
"Captain! What is this? It cuts rocks too!"
"Whoaaa! Insane! Just touching it severs!"
The one-sided defensive line began its counterattack.
"Push back! Their axes shatter before our swords!"
The soldiers' eyes flickered with new light.
Despair to ecstasy, fear to fighting spirit.
Nermang rose as if entranced.
He swung, and a charging warrior's head flew off effortlessly.
"Kahahaha! See that? Did you see? I'm a sword master!"
Nermang began deluding himself as a sword genius.
"Come at me all! I am the Sword of Theodore!"
Nermang wildly swung his blade, charging into the fray.
At sunset, the battle ended in the Imperial Army's overwhelming victory.
Victory cheers echoed over the corpse-strewn field.
"Waaaaah!!"
The surviving soldiers embraced and wept.
It was a miracle.
From the brink of annihilation, thanks to the supplied weapons.
Spotting the inscription on the supply crates, the soldiers began shouting.
[Theodore Steel—Eric Theodore]
"It's Young Lord Eric!"
"Lazy lord? All lies!"
"Long live Young Lord Eric! Long live Theodore!"
The soldiers bowed toward the crates bearing Eric's name.
And Nermang, drenched in blood, panting heavily.
Gazed down at his unbroken sword, still gleaming sharply.
"....."
Nermang's face flushed red.
The sword forged from iron from the mine he'd sold off cheap.
"Damn... damn it...!"
His pride shattered him near madness, but his legs gave out, and he slumped down.
"That half-baked slacker... damn iiiit!!"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Eric sipped tea while gazing out the window.
The peaceful terrace of the ducal estate.
"Young Master! Urgent news!"
Alfred rushed in, face flushed.
"A great victory at the Northern Frontline! Almost no casualties, thanks to the weapons you sent!"
"We won? Good."
Eric set down his cup indifferently.
"The soldiers are praising you as their savior. Even the Family Head was so moved he shed tears..."
"Oh dear. That's a bit much."
Eric shook his head emphatically in distaste.
"I just did it to make money... hero worship is a hassle."
"Then, with funds secured, shall I look into that hot spring trip you mentioned?"
"No rest yet."
Eric shot it down and stood.
"Alfred, you row when the tide's in if you want real relaxation later.
The first validation was a success, right? Proved the performance."
"Pardon...?"
"Now it's time to pitch to the real big fish."
Eric straightened his clothes and grinned.
"Wh-where do you mean?"
"Where else? The palace. Report this success to His Majesty... and snag a bonus while we're at it."