Chapter 103: Defense

"This rain is quite something," Victor said with satisfaction, leaning back in his chair and taking a gentle sip of coffee from the round table. Just days ago, he had been troubled by the plight of his territory, yet now he sat at ease on the balcony, admiring the rain.

As Victor had predicted, Count Chebman did indeed come to his aid. The first batch of supplies had already arrived safely in Victor’s hands, and with their support, much of his pressure was relieved. So, Victor could enjoy the rainfall while he assessed the gains and losses of this recent refugee crisis.

This event had been orchestrated by the Prince’s faction; their intent was clear—to use the tide of refugees to overwhelm Victor’s domain. Victor was not surprised by their motives; from the moment he began compromising with the York family, he knew the Prince’s faction would seek reprisal. What puzzled him, however, was their delay in acting.

He had to admit, the Prince’s faction had struck directly at his weakest point. They seized upon two vulnerabilities: his territory’s immaturity and the psychology of the freefolk. It was a vicious and cunning move; they surely knew many would die in the turmoil, yet they sought to use those deaths as proof that Victor was an unfit lord. What they failed to anticipate was the presence of the savage wolves in Victor's lands—no freefolk would willingly migrate to a territory haunted by monsters. Once word spread, the unrest would subside.

Now, with support from the Chebman family, Victor began to contemplate how to turn the incident to his advantage.

Victor planned to emulate the York family’s method of recruiting and assimilating freefolk. Once the holy warriors departed, he would have Benson lead a group to seize control of the freefolk camp. He would use the fierce mountain folk to intimidate the unruly, place the distribution of food in Benson’s hands, and have Nelson endorse Benson, so the freefolk would perceive him as closely connected to the territory’s real power.

These three measures, Victor believed, would ensure the freefolk remained firmly under his control. Then, through Benson, he could hire them to work for the territory, and those who performed well could be integrated as subjects. Thus, the manpower issue would be solved.

To ensure Benson’s smooth takeover, Victor specifically ordered Nelson to lead fifty guards to help the holy warriors maintain order, oversee migration, and support Benson. Additionally, Barol and his students had already infiltrated the freefolk ranks—an internship for his little spies.

"Victor, I just received a message from the Dust Falcon. Under my brother’s cover, Benson and the mountain folk have entered the camp," Lilia said as she pushed the door open and sat lightly opposite Victor.

"Oh? Did the message say when the holy warriors plan to leave the camp?" Victor smiled.

Sir Claude’s reckless actions had cost Victor dearly; his hard-earned savings were nearly consumed by the camp. Once that troublesome presence departed, Victor would begin to assert control.

"About six hundred are willing to follow the holy warriors back to Blackfort Town. But with the constant rain, the holy warriors have been busy with disaster relief; once the rain lets up, they'll lead the group out," Lilia said, pouting, displeased at having to prepare another large batch of food for the holy warriors.

Victor shook his head with a wry smile. Lilia had told him that mercenaries used to prefer traveling with clerics, but now it was the opposite—an example of how perspective changes with circumstance.

"Also, another group of freefolk has joined the camp, about three hundred more. Now there are over three thousand," Lilia said, worried.

Victor frowned. "The sooner the holy warriors leave, the better. Without their presence, the refugees won't flock here so eagerly."

Initially, Victor had planned for the holy warriors to manage the camp, letting the church share the burden. But after a conversation with Father Conley, his attitude reversed completely.

To the freefolk, the church is the beacon of righteousness; but to the church, the freefolk are merely their flock. Now, the shepherd’s dog had herded some sheep into Victor’s domain, and the two shepherds watched from the sidelines—hoping the flock attracted would grow ever larger. The more wool they collected, the higher their standing in the church, perhaps even earning a bishopric. Father Conley’s calculations were shrewd, but Victor was furious—not a single pioneering territory besides Blackfort Town had a church!

"Luckily, the Chebman family aided us. Who would have thought the York family wouldn’t support us, and instead our resource-thieving neighbors lent a hand," Lilia sighed. As the territory’s financial overseer, the daily expenses terrified her; feeding thousands was no joke, even at the bare minimum.

"Count Chebman is just angling to steal more of our resources," Victor scoffed. "The York family hasn’t neglected us—freefolk from Blackfort Town haven’t poured in, which means they’ve taken measures. And they still supply us with grain."

The new arrivals were mostly from the Buryat territory, which pleased Father Conley. Though the Buryat priest was a brother in the same church, nothing delights a shepherd more than another’s sheep joining his flock. The thought of Father Conley arranging priests in his domain gave Victor a headache.

After a moment’s silence, Victor continued, "The York family is surely plotting other moves behind the scenes. I suspect they've already infiltrated the camp, waiting for the holy warriors to leave so they can take control."

"Why would they do that? Aren’t we allies of the York family?" Lilia asked in surprise.

"Allies? We’re not even qualified to be their vassals," Victor replied with a bitter smile. "To them, granting us vassalage would be a favor. Their plan is to wait until I’m desperate, so I’ll bow before them."

Victor knew Sylvia had shown him much care during this crisis. She withheld grain because he’d acted the part of a wealthy magnate in Blackfort Town. In her view: ‘You have tens of thousands of gold solars, why demand free grain?’ But how could Victor explain himself? Worse, the freefolk camp had become his Achilles’ heel. If the Prince’s faction seized it, they could send the freefolk surging into his territory, sparking a fierce conflict between his subjects and the newcomers—ruining everything. So, no matter Sylvia’s perspective, the camp must remain under his control.

Lilia hesitated, then said, "Victor, I have an idea."

"Go on," Victor said, seeing her struggle to speak.

"My lord, I believe even after this crisis ends, the Prince’s faction won’t let us go. Therefore..." Lilia bit her lip and continued, "Therefore, I think we should accept the York family’s terms and become their vassals. You said our greatest weakness is the lack of family support. Why not choose to join them?"

Victor applauded with a smile. "Lilia, you’re starting to think from the territory’s perspective. That’s excellent!"

Her anxiety eased at his praise; she’d feared Victor might be angry, as he had always opposed becoming someone else’s vassal.

"We can’t rely on the York family. If they clash with other powers, we’ll be the first to fall—like hyena leaders cutting off each other's claws."

Besides that, Victor’s secret of the Alchemy Tower demanded independence. He pondered further, "The Prince’s faction is a threat, but we have our advantage: we’re more flexible, less threatening than the great families."

"So, I plan to establish a merchant guild, using products from our specialized villages to attract some lords and have them join. This would form a new power; even if the Prince’s faction wants to target us, they’ll have to reconsider."

"Let other families join our guild? Can the guild really expand?" Lilia asked, uncertain.

Victor fell silent. Any Earthling was familiar with joint-stock systems—he’d planned this as a diplomatic strategy when designing his specialized villages. Yet the military groups in this world checked each other, and Victor wasn’t sure the system would work.

Months ago, he would have been confident. But the labor point system had stirred such turmoil, teaching him that every change follows its own laws—it can’t simply be altered at will. He vaguely recalled a Chinese emperor once praised as the most ‘transmigrator-like’ ruler; he implemented many advanced reforms, only to die within a few years. Reality taught Victor that transmigrators did not have an easy time in the new world; he’d already stumbled several times.

"It will be difficult, but we must try! How will we know if it’s a dead end unless we venture forth? Lacking even the courage to try is the greatest failure." Victor walked to the railing, gazing at the rain-shrouded hills, his eyes deep and contemplative.

Lilia stared at Victor, feeling that in this moment he possessed a special charm. She couldn’t help but say, "Yes, Victor, I support you!"

"The guild is far off. For now, our priority is to gain control of the freefolk settlement; only then can we regulate their numbers. If they keep gathering, even the Chebman family will hesitate to support us," Victor said seriously. "We—"

He hadn’t finished when an alchemical raven flew erratically through the rain, cawing loudly and interrupting their conversation.

Victor’s expression changed. This raven was assigned to monitor the Great Swamp; it was sending an alert. Through gestures and calls, alchemical ravens could convey different reconnaissance messages; now this one was repeatedly communicating: unknown monsters, southwest direction, a massive horde.

"Victor, what’s happened?" Lilia asked in alarm, seeing his face change.

"Monsters have invaded our territory! An enormous number!" Victor said gravely.

"How many?"

"The Dust Falcon can’t see the end!"

Lilia’s face turned pale. Victor had no time to comfort her; he whistled, summoning several alchemical ravens from the camp. With a gesture, they flew into the sky, circled, and headed southwest.

"Come, let’s go," Victor said, taking Lilia’s hand and rushing toward the lower camp.

Gru, the captain in charge of the hill camp’s security today, saw Victor and Lilia descending and was about to greet them when Victor shouted, "Gru! Send someone immediately to check if the second outpost has lit the beacon!"

Gru dared not delay. As he prepared to dispatch scouts, a guard ran over, panting. "My lord! There’s smoke at the second outpost! Not sure if it’s a fire in their shelters."

Victor’s heart sank. The Great Swamp entrance was over seventy kilometers from the camp; with the terrain, it took a day and night on horseback to reach. The second outpost was only thirty-five kilometers away—a half-day’s trek from the hill camp. In other words, the monsters were at most ten hours away.

"My lord, is it the ogres?" Gru asked in fear.

Victor shook his head. "Not ogres—unknown monsters, but many. Sound the alarm! Send riders to notify all villages to take refuge in the hill camp; tell Nelson’s team to hurry back."

"Wait!" Victor grabbed Gru as he turned to leave. "Notify the two farmsteads, the Carpenter Village, and the Flax Village to take refuge here. The Brick Kiln Village should join Nelson and inform him of the situation—let him decide!"

The farmsteads, Flax Village, and Carpenter Village were all within ten kilometers of the hill camp, and Brick Kiln Village was even closer to Nelson. Nelson, with fifty guards, was at the farthest freefolk settlement; it would take a full day to return, and if he led his team back, they might encounter the monsters en route.

Victor’s orders were swiftly carried out. Several riders dashed from the camp into the rain; the camp’s alarm bell rang, people rushed from their homes, men gathered in the square to be armed, while women and children took shelter in the barracks. A tense atmosphere spread instantly.

An hour later, the nearest farmstead arrived under village chief George’s lead, followed by Chief Morin and his villagers, then Carpenter Village’s Ferro. Three hours later, Flax Village’s Chief Kent arrived with all his people.

"My lord, the camp now has 743 people, 527 able-bodied fighters, the rest are women and children. Our actual combat strength is only 200, as weapons are scarce—forty crossbows, one hundred hunting bows, twenty thousand arrows, one hundred leather armor sets, plenty of spears. Heavy crossbows..." Barret glanced at Victor; the heavy crossbows were always kept by Victor.

Veteran mercenary Barret served as the camp’s guard instructor; all able-bodied men had received his militia training and could handle bows and spears proficiently.

"We have four heavy crossbows! Better than military-grade," Victor said somberly.

Now was not the time for secrecy; all strength must be used. Four militiamen, including Raynor, stood behind Victor, and the king had begun producing three Oxen Militiamen at Victor’s command.

Victor braced his hands on the table, his tone grave. "The Dust Falcon’s latest reconnaissance shows the monsters are numerous, spreading throughout the territory. The nearest are less than ten kilometers away. I’ve dispatched a Dust Falcon to Nelson, instructing him to send for help from Governor Count York."

"Until reinforcements arrive, we must hold this camp. Barret, I appoint you commander, responsible for the camp’s defense. Anyone disobeying your orders may be executed on the spot!"

"Yes, my lord," Barret saluted. Even in the face of life and death, the veteran remained calm—an essential trait for a battlefield commander.

"Lilia, you’re in charge of logistics, especially comforting the women and children—they’re the warriors’ families; no disorder must break out. From now on, manage the camp’s grain strictly; we must hold for at least twenty days!" Victor told her.

"My lord, I’m an excellent archer. Let me fight," Lilia said in leather armor, unwilling to leave Victor’s side in this crisis.

"The men haven’t all died yet! It’s not a woman’s turn on the battlefield," Victor said, displeased, but seeing her stubbornly raise her chin, he relented. "Lilia, don’t forget your position! Logistics are more important; I trust only you with them!"

"Alright, I’ll do as you say."

In the end, Lilia nodded obediently; she knew Victor was right—in confinement, internal stability was vital. As the lord’s lawful consort, she had a duty to calm the populace.

Victor turned to Barret. "Barret, how will you arrange the defense?"

"My lord, though our camp isn’t a fortress, it’s easy to defend and hard to attack. The hill camp is steep on three sides, narrow at the front. Following your instructions to guard against ogres, we widened the moat to ten meters, deepened it to seven, and behind the iron oak palisade, we built a two-meter-thick brick wall. Soldiers can use bows and crossbows freely from the wall, shielded by the palisade."

"Moreover, though I don’t know what monsters these are, unless they’re as strong as ogres, they can’t break through our camp. As I see it, the more numerous the monsters, the weaker they are—like goblins or kobolds. No matter their numbers, terrain gives us the advantage."

"So, I’ll divide the guards and militia into three groups, rotating defense. As long as our supplies last, holding for twenty days is no problem," Barret said confidently.

Victor relaxed; thankfully, the Chebman supplies were still in the hill camp—enough for twenty days.

"My lord! They’re here!" a guard rushed in, shouting.

Victor climbed the brick wall and looked down, gasping. Below, a vast horde of black monsters surged up the ravine toward the camp.