Exiled from the Start and Dominating the Wasteland with an Intelligence System Chapter 20

Chapter 20. A Gathering of the Worthy

anwhile, in Thorn City, the capital of the Western Realm that had only just begun to catch its breath after the flas of war, another wave of uproar was now sweeping through the streets.

The road where the registration office for pioneer knights was located had long since been packed so tightly with all manner of carriages, guards, and finely dressed young nobles that not even water could have passed through.

The “Pioneers’ Market” in the western district of the city was even more deafening with noise.

Brandon, leading forty soldiers and escorting several wagons, pushed his way forward as if trudging through a swamp.

His weathered old face was twisted into a bitter scowl, and his graying beard quivered with anger.

“What?! These few sacks of wheat seed cost two gold coins?! Weren’t they only one gold coin before?!”

Brandon growled at a grain rchant with a slick, oily face.

“Oh, co now, old sir, just look at the market!” the rchant replied, spreading his hands and gesturing toward the bustling crowds around them.

“So many noble young masters and young ladies all want to buy seed to open up wasteland. Demand far exceeds supply!

At the quantity you’re buying, the price I’m offering is already a conscientious one!”

“Conscientious? I think you an black-hearted!” Brandon snapped through gritted teeth.

The sa scene was playing out at the smithies, the livestock market, and the general stalls alike...

As long as it was sothing urgently needed for frontier developnt, the price was at least thirty percent higher than when he had co to purchase supplies a dozen days earlier.

Greed glead openly in those rchants’ eyes, as though they had spotted the perfect chance to butcher a flock of fat sheep.

“Damn it, a pack of hyenas profiteering off disaster,” Brandon muttered under his breath.

But he rembered Eli’s instructions. The territory urgently needed these supplies, especially since they still had not found those purple spiral-patterned bean seeds.

So he could only suppress his fury and move with the soldiers from stall to stall.

He compared prices, alternated between firmness and compromise, haggled relentlessly, and talked until his mouth was nearly dry.

“Thirteen gold coins! One copper more than that and I’m taking my business to the Kano rchant Guild next door! Selling or not?”

“Plow oxen? Five gold coins a pair? What, are these calves made of gold?

Four gold coins! Take it or leave it! If you won’t sell, I’ll go straight to the countryside and buy from the farrs!”

“Farm tools? At that price? Fine! But you throw in fifty bundles of top-quality hemp rope with them! Otherwise, forget it!”

Brandon moved among the greedy rchants like a shrewd old hunter.

Though the whole process was stifling and the prices were far higher than expected, he still managed, in the end, to secure the spring-plowing supplies on the list.

Wheat seed, bean seed, all kinds of vegetable seeds, iron hoes, iron plowshares, and, most importantly, plow oxen—one after another, everything was finally purchased.

The three hundred new slaves had also been selected at the slave market, most of them young and able-bodied laborers.

Only the purple spiral-patterned bean seeds remained unfound. He had asked every major and minor caravan and not a single one had heard of them, which left him deeply disappointed.

A procurent operation of such scale and with such a clear objective naturally drew the attention of the other pioneer knights and their attendants.

Brandon’s convoy, guarded by well-equipped soldiers, stood out conspicuously amid the chaotic market.

“Look at the soldiers’ equipnt and badges... aren’t they from the Black Family of the Royal Domain?”

“The Blacks? That Eli Black, the marquis’s bastard son?

He’s not dead yet? He still has enough money to buy all this?”

“Even a starving cal is bigger than a horse, I suppose. He’s from a marquis house, after all. Just a little leaking through their fingers would still be enough...”

At the edge of the market stood a crudely built makeshift wine shack.

Inside it, a young man in a flamboyant bright-purple velvet coat, handso to the point of seeming almost uncanny,

was lounging lazily against a greasy wooden table, frowning at the inferior ale in his hand.

Several other richly dressed young knights surrounded him, and the atmosphere was dull and listless.

He was none other than Clark Graham, one half of the “Twin Stars of the Royal Domain.”

“Boring... fucking boring...” Clark muttered, swirling his cup.

“Thorn City looks like it got chewed apart by a dog. There’s not even a proper gambling hall or a single pretty girl to be found.

Frontier developnt? Frontier developnt my ass. I ca here to have fun.”

At that very mont, the corner of his eye caught sight of that eye-catching convoy in the market, along with the familiar black raven crest on the soldiers’ chests!

Clark’s golden eyes, lazy only a mont earlier, suddenly contracted, then burst with astonishing light!

“Wait!” He shot upright.

“That crest... that old man... they’re people from the Black Family! Eli’s people!”

It was as if Clark had instantly been injected with pure adrenaline. All his boredom and lethargy vanished without a trace.

He leapt to his feet, tossed down a few silver coins for the ale, then nimbly shoved through the crowd toward Brandon.

Brandon had just finished negotiating the final batch of purchases at a relatively satisfying price and was directing the soldiers as they loaded the wagons.

“Hey! Old man! Busy, are you?”

Brandon turned around. The mont he saw that handso blond face, along with the golden rose entwined around a thorned sword emblazoned on the young man’s chest, his heart gave a jolt.

The Graham Family of the Royal Domain!

“And this young master would be...?” Brandon asked cautiously, maintaining a respectful tone.

“Clark Graham!”

Clark perford an exaggerated noble salute with flamboyant ease, then imdiately slapped Brandon on the shoulder with shaless familiarity.

“Co on, old man, don’t play dumb! There’s no way I’d mistake the Black Family crest. Where’s that brat Eli?

Where is he? Hiding in so corner plotting sothing wicked again?

Take to him, quickly! This damn place is boring to death.”

Another young man who had no respect for the elderly.

Brandon struggled to keep his expression composed. “So it is Young Master Graham.

My young master... Lord Eli, is currently in his frontier territory—Obsidian Territory.”

“Obsidian Territory? He really went off to develop land?” Clark’s golden eyes shone even brighter.

“And beca a lord too? Hah! Quick, tell —what’s he doing over there? Has he found so kind of treasure?”

Brandon was beginning to feel a headache coming on under Clark’s rapid-fire questioning.

But the other party’s status was exalted, so he could only answer patiently.

Choosing his words carefully and avoiding the most sensitive details, he briefly recounted Eli’s establishnt of a foothold, his subduing of the wolfkin, his defeat of the wolf pack, and his organization of production.

Even so, Clark’s eyes lit up brighter and brighter, and his breathing quickened with excitent!

Building a territory? Taming wolfn? Fighting battles??

Now that was a real adventure!

That was the life Clark Graham had always dread of!

“Brilliant! This is brilliant!” Clark exclaid, pacing back and forth with excitent.

“Old man! These supplies of yours... they’re headed back to that ‘Black Territory,’ aren’t they? Take with you! Right now! Imdiately!”

Brandon looked at this wildly overexcited Young Master Graham.

Then he looked at the few knights who had hurried after him, each wearing the sa helpless expression, and inwardly let out a long sigh.

“...As you wish, Young Master Graham,” Brandon said at last with the resignation of a man accepting his fate.

“Please travel with my convoy.”

...

At the center of Thorn City, inside the ducal fortress.

Seated beside his desk, Marquis Marcus had just received an urgent confidential letter and was carefully reading through it.

A rare expression of gravity and severity had appeared on his face.

That letter had been sent by Eli.

After a long while, Marcus put the letter down and let out a heavy breath. “Sir Lucius.”

“Eli Black of Black Territory has sent a secret report.”

“He captured a survivor while wiping out a band of sand raiders that had been harassing his territory.

From the interrogation, he learned that those entrenched in Lucerne City are not scattered bandits, but the forr city-defense army of Falai, the old city-state alliance!

Their leader is Baron Grumm of Falai, and their forces number... more than a thousand.”

“More than a thousand?”

Marcus nodded and continued, “Five hundred elite troops are occupying Lucerne City and running it as a stronghold.

The remaining soldiers are divided into several groups and scattered across the surrounding region, plundering supplies on one hand while monitoring the movents of our Western forces on the other.”

He paused, his voice tinged with helplessness and anger.

“The information... is basically reliable. It also fits together with the scattered fragnts of intelligence we had gathered before.”

“...Falai...” Lucius’s cold voice finally sounded as he slowly turned around.

There was still no expression at all on that pale, handso face.

“They are still ravaging the lands of the Western Realm.”

Lucius’s voice was so soft it was almost like he was speaking to himself.

Marcus looked at the deep pain in Lucius’s eyes and remained silent for a mont.

“My lord, in his letter, Eli Black requests that the Western army dispatch troops to eradicate them once and for all.”

Lucius closed his eyes, and his chest rose and fell faintly.

A few seconds later, he opened them again. The surging emotions had already been forcibly suppressed, leaving behind only deeper coldness and weariness.

He slowly shook his head, and when he spoke again, his voice had returned to that flat, dead stillness.

“No. My brother’s order is to hold the line. Build up our strength and wait for his return.”

Marcus let out a heavy sigh. This answer had been exactly what he had expected.

He picked up Eli’s confidential letter, walked over to Lucius, and placed it on the desk before him. “This is Eli’s letter. Please read it.”

Lucius did not reach for the letter.

Marcus did not press him further. Instead, he turned and walked to the enormous map of the Western Realm hanging beside the desk.

His fingers tapped irritably across those scattered patches of land the pioneer knights had selected, like crude patches sewn onto torn cloth.

Then he began his daily round of grumbling, trying to drive away so of the heaviness in the room that way.

“Just look at these pioneer knights, Sir Lucius. They’re a complete rabble.”

“That second son from the Hark Family who registered yesterday was as fat as a wine barrel. The mont he saw my armor, his legs nearly gave out under him and he could barely string a sentence together!”

“And that distant nephew from the Kentac Family is even worse—a complete fool.

He closed his eyes and pointed at a plot of land near Death Marsh. Said the ‘scenery was unique.’ I say he’s just tired of living!”

“Cowards who piss themselves in fear, idiots full of delusions... they’re everywhere!”

The more Marcus spoke, the angrier he beca. His thick fingers nearly seed ready to punch through the map.

Then his tone shifted.

“Still... there are one or two who can barely be called passable.”

His finger tapped the location of Obsidian Territory. “That Eli from the Black Family—his reputation used to be utterly rotten, but this ti... he’s a little interesting.”

Then his finger moved to a region near the northern defensive line.

“The Eastern Duke’s bastard daughter, Camilla Russell.

Tch, a little girl, but her eyes are sharp as knives.

She picked a hard piece of wasteland where not even birds shit, right next to those restless barbarians up north... I’ll give her this much, she has so courage.”

Then he pointed to a spot southward, close to the deeper reaches of Nightsong Forest.

“The Southern Duke’s second son, Sabda dici. Quiet as a clam, that one, though he brought quite a lot of n with him.

The territory he chose goes deep into the forest... I don’t know what he’s planning, but he doesn’t feel simple.”

Finally, he tapped a relatively flat stretch of land northwest of Thorn City.

“Karl of the Bourbon Family from the Southern Realm... mm, now that one’s practical. Chose a decent place, too, and the boy’s steady.

Brought quite a few craftsn and farrs. Looks like he actually ca here to farm.

With a few like them... perhaps they really can stir up sothing on these ruins and help take so of the pressure off us.”

Marcus’s “grumbling” sounded more like a man talking to himself.

At last, Lucius moved.

He slowly reached out and picked up the confidential letter from Black Territory that lay on the desk.

“The scorched earth of the Western Realm today... all of it was wrought by my hand.”

Marcus fell silent. He knew that, in order to hold the line, Lucius had personally ordered the lands belonging to the people of the Western Realm in front of the second defensive line to be devastated utterly.

Ever since then, he had lived in guilt and grown more and more taciturn.

“Sir, it was the only choice.”

Marcus looked at Lucius’s figure and could not help thinking of Duke Federico in the distance.

It was those two brothers who upheld the prestige of the Western Realm.

And now, it seed that both lions of the La Roche Family in the Western Realm had had their eyes veiled by a deep crimson bloodlight.

Marcus always had the sense that sowhere behind all of this was an enormous unseen hand, constantly stirring conflict between the Royal Domain and the Northern Realm, and between the Royal Domain and the Western Realm.

As for the Eastern and Southern Realms, they had long since beco sworn enemies over mariti and shipping interests.

The entire kingdom seed to have turned into a powder keg, needing only a single fuse to shatter this eerie balance.

“La Roche. Blood for blood, tooth for tooth.”

Lucius’s calm voice rang out, breaking Marcus’s train of thought.

“Write him back. If he can retake Lucerne City, I will raise him to the rank of baron...”