"Talking about our mutual interest... but can we really trust them? Mercenaries and their history that filled with betrayal and bloodshed. What guarantees can offer us?"
Arthur took a deep breath. He had realized that his father had become interested in the deal, perhaps even willing to accept it, but he wanted to improve the terms and present himself as a tough negotiator.
Now, Arthur had to play the role of a shrewd mediator in these negotiations.
In a calm yet firm voice, he said, "Father, I understand your concerns, but circumstances have changed. They have a new leader now—not Marx. These men didn't come just to sell their services; they want to be part of something bigger. We need every helping hand in this campaign. Yes, everything comes at a price, but the kingdom's interests sometimes require us to take risks."
Gabriel added confidently, "We are here because we seek a new beginning. We ask for nothing but the opportunity to prove ourselves. Through this campaign, we can demonstrate our loyalty and earn a chance at a different life, far from the past."
Viscount Rosson remained silent for a few moments, contemplating their words. Then, he turned to his advisors, who exchanged silent glances among themselves.
Finally, after realizing that the situation required a decisive stance, he spoke in a low but firm voice:
"Very well. We will grant you this opportunity, but you must prove your loyalty through action. We will see if your intentions are sincere. But remember… any betrayal, any mistake, means you will have no place in the southwestern region of the kingdom."
Gabriel bowed slightly and replied with confidence, "You will not regret this decision, Lord Viscount Rosson."
Viscount Rosson studied Gabriel for a moment before saying firmly, "Preparations for the northern campaign will begin immediately. I expect you to be ready as soon as possible."
The initial negotiations had gone smoothly—better than Arthur had anticipated. As the advisors and guards departed at Viscount Rosson's signal, silence fell over the hall.
The viscount Rosson Werner from his chair and walked slowly toward Arthur. The silence between them was heavy, and the lights that filled the hall now seemed sharper, adding to the growing tension in the air.
Arthur stood still, watching his father's measured steps, but something felt different this time. His fingers tightened slightly at his side as unfamiliar emotions stirred within him.
His father's gaze, which had always been filled with severity, now concealed his true intentions, sending a subtle unease through Arthur's chest.
He asked cautiously, "Father, what happened? Why did you ask for us to be alone?"
The viscount stopped directly in front of him, his eyes burning with restrained anger. "You... how dare you?" Viscount Rosson Werner said in a low voice, yet the fury in his tone was unmistakable.
Before Arthur could respond, Viscount Rosson's hand suddenly shot up, striking his face with a powerful slap. The sound echoed through the silent hall, reverberating against the grand chamber's walls.
Arthur felt the sting of the slap burn across his cheek, his hand instinctively rising to touch the reddened skin. It was not just a physical punishment—it was a clear and forceful message.
At that moment, Viscount Rosson was not merely angry at Arthur's actions; he was also deeply afraid for his safety. His voice was low, but the fire of both anger and worry blazed in his eyes.
"You… left the city alone, without any guards, to meet a group of thieves. Do you realize how dangerous that was?" Viscount Rosson asked, his voice overflowing with concern, as though the fear for his son was consuming him from within.
Arthur murmured, unable to escape his father's reprimand, "Father, it… it was something that had to be done." His words were weak, knowing that no explanation would be enough in his father's eyes.
But Viscount Rosson was not ready to listen. "It doesn't matter what was at stake!" he said sharply.
"You didn't think about the consequences. Do you think the entire world waits for you to make your decisions without understanding the responsibility you carry as a member of your family?" His words struck like a bolt of lightning, filled with both fury and high expectations.
Then, in an even sharper tone, he continued, "It is true that leading the forces in the northern campaign on behalf of the family is dangerous, but things have not spiraled out of control. The family has made preparations and security measures to ensure your safety—unlike the reckless risk you took today."
His words were more than just reprimand; they were a warning of the consequences that would follow if Arthur continued to make such reckless decisions.
Despite the sting of the slap, Arthur lifted his head confidently and said in a calm voice, "Father, everything I did was for the family—and for myself. In the end, I am merely the third son of Viscount . I did it for a better future." His words were filled with determination, though they did little to soothe Viscount Rosson's anger.
"That's why I had no other choice. I want to seize this opportunity in the campaign. For me, returning safely from the battlefield without any military achievements to change my future is worse than dying in combat."
In this era of rigid social hierarchy, it was nearly impossible for someone to rise to the ranks of nobility unless they were a legitimate heir.
For someone like Arthur, who had no inheritance rights, the best course of action was to endure, wait for the right opportunity, and seize it without hesitation.
Even if he had an extra component in the game—like a cheat ability—it didn't mean that opportunities would always come to him.
After all, the summoning card had its limitations in terms of upper thresholds and random resources.
Simply waiting for it to improve his status without careful planning and capitalizing on opportunities would be irrational. That was why he needed to make an effort and take calculated risks within the limits of his safety.
Viscount Rosson took a moment to reflect on his words, his eyes growing complicated, as if waging an internal battle.
He looked at his youngest son, then turned his back and silently walked toward his desk. He stood there for a few moments, seemingly reorganizing his thoughts. After a heavy silence, he finally spoke in a firm voice:
"The preparations for the northern campaign will begin immediately."
Then, in a calm yet decisive voice, he continued:
"I will grant you your chance, Arthur. But remember this well—in the world of nobility, nothing matters except results.
Greed and power tear apart even the strongest bonds, and when the opportunity arises to topple a weak leader, no one will hesitate to take it."
He paused for a moment before adding in a warning tone:
"If you fail to prove yourself, your fate will be no different from that of Marks."
Arthur stood there, absorbing the weight of his father's words. He understood well that this was a crucial moment in their relationship—he had to prove himself, not just to his father, but to everyone.
This world had no mercy for the weak. The strong imposed their will, while the weak were nothing more than fuel for them.
"If you gain more, it means someone else will have less."
The laws of nobility were nothing more than a harsh reflection of reality: survival belonged to the strongest.
Arthur responded with unwavering confidence:
"I will not disappoint you, my lord."
Viscount Rosson studied his son for a few moments before adding in a strict, unquestionable tone:
"From now on, every decision you make must serve the interests of the family first. And I will not allow you to create such chaos again."
It was a final warning—there was no room for mistakes anymore.
...
In the training ground, the black horse's mane fluttered with the breeze, while its iron-clad hooves struck the soft grass, kicking up dust and droplets of moisture.
The rider mounted his steed, wearing a cylindrical helmet with a narrow slit for vision and a chainmail armor topped with a black cloak. He rode a warhorse, heading toward a training dummy set up as a target.
The knight gripped a heavy lance made of beech wood, tucked under his arm, forming a right angle between his arm and body, providing a stable pivot point for the attack.
This technique was fundamental for all knights of that era, as the lance charge was an indispensable skill. The lance itself was sturdy, thin at the tip, and thick at the base, widely used in jousting tournaments despite its relative fragility and ease of breaking.
In the first charge, the knight rushed toward the dummy, striking it precisely in the chest. The metal tip of the lance pierced through the straw and stuffing, lifting the dummy off the ground from the sheer force of impact.
He then discarded the lance to the side and turned his horse around for another attempt. As he passed by the weapon stand, he skillfully picked up two short spears, preparing for the next attack.
In the second round, as he approached the dummy, the knight gripped the short spear with his backhand, raised it above his head, and then thrust it forcefully toward the dummy's neck, aiming for a potential weak point in an enemy's armor.
The horse continued galloping across the field while the knight pulled out the second short spear, concentrating his strength in his arm before hurling it toward the target. However, this time, the spear missed its mark and landed in the mud beside the dummy.
The knight removed his heavy helmet, revealing the face of a handsome young man, around fourteen or fifteen years old, with brown eyes and black hair. It was Arthur.
Three weeks had passed since his conversation with Viscount Rosson. During this period, alongside assembling his own army for the campaign, he had undergone intensive preparatory training.
He had fully adapted to the combat skills honed by the original owner of this body through years of knightly training.
He was now proficient in wielding heavy and light lances, short spears, and short swords. Theoretically, he had attained the combat effectiveness of a fully trained squire, though reality might demand a true battle to put it to the test.
Placing his helmet on the round table in the training ground, he picked up a clay jug filled with water and took large gulps, soothing the heat caused by his intense training.
Deep inside, he couldn't help but think:"Come to think of it… I can't believe how good I am at acting. I almost convinced myself, or perhaps remnants of Arthur's buried desires played a role in that moment."
Arthur recalled the conversation he had with his father, where Viscount Rosson had not hidden his doubts:"Does he not know Arthur's capabilities? Even if he has some latent skills or talents, he has never fought in a real battle, let alone led an army."
It was clear that his father didn't fully trust him, yet he granted him the opportunity regardless—perhaps not as support, but as a test, or maybe he had other plans in mind.
"If I were the original Arthur, the desire to achieve military feats would be nothing more than a foolish dream."
Arthur inwardly agreed with his father's words. He, too, lacked real military experience; the battle against the Wolf Pack had been nothing more than a one-sided massacre due to a combination of special circumstances—it wasn't even a real battle.
With Viscount Rosson absent from the battlefield, Arthur had become the military representative of House Werner. But he wasn't naïve enough to believe that this held any true weight in the realms of politics or war.
The other nobles heading into the campaign weren't fools. If any opportunity arose to reap benefits from the war, they would seize it for themselves without hesitation.
"When that time comes, if I don't tread carefully, I won't gain anything... I might just end up as cannon fodder."