Ch#204
204
The interior of the castle was swarming with people who had fled from the city.
Varkas slowly scanned the faces of the locals, gaunt and haggard after weeks of being unable to wash, before coming to a halt as he spotted a line of bodies laid out on one side of the hall.
There were soldiers in blood-soaked gambesons and men in civilian clothes who appeared to have lost their lives in the rebellion, all laid out in neat rows.
“Is this the extent of the casualties?”
“N-no, Your Excellency. The bodies of the soldiers who followed the Lord and the mercenaries he hired have been piled in the castle’s backyard.”
An elderly priest in a black habit, kneeling beside the corpses, replied with a voice thick with tension.
Varkas gave a sharp nod to the knights waiting behind him.
“Go and verify.”
He then swept his cold gaze across the hall and added, “The castle will be locked down for the time being. We will conduct a thorough background check on everyone residing within these walls. Only those confirmed to have played no part in the treason will be permitted to leave.”
A chorus of fearful gasps erupted from all directions.
Leaving behind the sound of muffled sobbing and people clinging to one another, he ascended the central staircase of the hall.
It appeared the Lord had met his end in his own bedchamber. As Varkas stepped into the spacious room located in the center of the third floor, the thick, metallic scent of blood stung his nose.
He walked past the carpet stained with dark red patches toward a desk that had been half-smashed. Atop the desk, a mess of blood and ink, lay a scattered pile of parchment.
Picking them up and scanning through them rapidly, Varkas narrowed his eyes as he discovered a letter requesting military support from an unknown party.
On the blood-spattered page, sentences bordering on begging were haphazardly mixed with symbols presumed to be military codes.
‘…A letter to allies? Or perhaps…’
He shifted his gaze to the bottom of the correspondence.
In the recipient field, the words “Grizzly Bear” were written.
If this referred to Bjorn Blodar Heimdall, then the assumption that the leaders of the Northern rebellion had gone into hiding here in Tarlin was completely off the mark.
Varkas raked a hand roughly through his disheveled hair, tossed the parchment aside, and began rummaging through the desk drawers for other clues.
Just then, Daren’s voice called out from the doorway.
“Did you find anything, Your Excellency?”
Varkas, looking down into an empty drawer, shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“I’ve had some success on my end.”
Daren set a fallen chair upright and slumped into it before continuing.
“The soldiers found crates filled with gold coins in the underground cellar. Given the circumstances, it looks like payment for selling military supplies to Valto.”
He let out a long sigh and added, “Besides that, we’ve found five or six Northerners among the mercenaries the Lord employed. They are almost certainly rebels brought in for the smuggling operation.”
“Any survivors?”
At Varkas’s question, Daren shook his head.
“Those who followed the Lord were nearly wiped out. A few of the Lord’s inner circle—the head butler and some guards—survived, but it doesn’t look like it will be easy to extract any meaningful information from them.”
“Interrogate them until they cough up everything they know,” Varkas ordered in a dispassionate voice as he stepped away from the desk.
“If we let this slide, it will only happen again. I will deal harshly with anyone involved in this affair to make an example of them. Investigate every person living in the castle without exception, and comb through every nook and cranny to gather anything that could serve as evidence.”
“As you command.”
Daren replied in a heavy, low voice, then stood back up and left the room.
Varkas searched the bookshelves a bit longer, but reaching the conclusion that no further meaningful clues would be found, he left the trashed bedchamber and walked through the silent corridor.
Then, he suddenly stopped as he caught sight of a familiar scene through a broken window.
In a corner of the garden, bathed in the biting late-autumn sunlight, yellow roses were in full bloom. He stood there for a long time, staring at them with frozen eyes, before finally moving his feet as if to shake off the phantom image of her that flashed before his mind.
Despite several days of brutal interrogation, no information regarding the rebels’ base of operations could be uncovered.
Once it became clear that the leaders of the Northern rebellion were not in Tarlin, Kylias led the knights toward a small estate located to the north.
He seemed to be betting on the possibility that Bjorn was hiding in the vicinity. However, Varkas was certain that Bjorn had already left the area and vanished without a trace.
‘Considering they purchased a significant amount of military supplies from the East, the faction following him is still going strong.’
Now that they had secured the necessary supplies, they would have moved to the Northern regions where their power base lay.
Varkas furrowed his brow as he flipped through the smuggling ledgers they had additionally uncovered.
A question arose: with all major cities lost and even Amasec fallen, how had they secured such vast funds?
The North possessed countless mines and natural forests, but all trade routes had been cut off immediately after the war broke out.
There was a limit to how much war funds could be raised through smuggling. He began to suspect that there might have been secret support from lords in other regions.
Feeling a throbbing headache, he tossed the ledger onto the desk. He leaned back against his chair and pressed firmly on the bridge of his nose.
The moment he considered the possibility of another faction’s intervention, his mind began to race with dizzying complexity.
The most likely external collaborator was Valis, which bordered them to the west.
The descendants of the old Kingdom of Valis, settled in the northwest, had never abandoned their national desire to completely escape the influence of their long-time enemy, Ribadon.
Dristan could not be ruled out either. The Dristan people living in the southeastern region of the Roviden continent still harbored an ancient grudge against the Wedonians to their west. It was highly probable that those people also yearned for independence.
One hundred and fifty years since the death of Emperor Darian. This empire, composed of ten ethnic groups, currently rested upon a precarious balance that could collapse at any moment.
‘…A third party seeking independence from the empire might be pulling strings from beneath the surface.’
Perhaps that was why the conclusion of the peace treaty was dragging on so sluggishly.
He let out a weary sigh and looked out the window at the sky where the light of dawn was beginning to break.
Once again, he had spent the night in a long bout of insomnia. His limbs, heavy with accumulated fatigue, gave a slight tremor.
He clenched his fists tight to suppress it and stood up with resolve. He felt a tingling sensation spreading through his arms, shoulders, and the nape of his neck, yet the pain still failed to reach his brain.
Only the dry, instinctive judgment that he might be in danger if he didn’t rest soon flickered through his mind.
‘I’ll have to get some sleeping pills soon.’
But for now, he felt he could hold out. After coldly assessing his own condition, Varkas picked up his discarded coat and stepped out of the military tent.
Along the castle walls, the bodies of prisoners hung at regular intervals.
In the past few weeks, the number of executed vassals alone had reached thirty. It was the result of revelations that the majority of the lords and administrators in the Northeast had participated in treasonous acts.
Because of that, a vast power vacuum had been created in the Northeast region. Filling those positions quickly was also an immediate task at hand.
Varkas quickly narrowed down a list of candidates in his head. He intended to appoint a new lord and push forward with Laina’s marriage at the same time.
If his sister adamantly refused to marry, another option was to appoint Lucas to this post.
There was no better training ground than Tarlin to learn practical administration, so it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have him build up a track record before officially announcing him as the heir.
Weighing various options in his mind, he took a canteen from the leather pouch at his waist and moistened his parched throat.
Just then, a commotion was heard near the castle gate.
Turning his head, Varkas frowned as he saw Beirop running toward him in a frantic rush, not even properly armed. Seeing the man’s panicked state, a sense of foreboding crawled down his spine.
“Your Excellency, an urgent telegram has arrived from Kalmor!”
The man shouted, panting heavily as he reached Varkas. Varkas straightened his posture from where he had been leaning against the fence.
The man held out a small bundle of parchment, adding in a voice that seemed to be suppressing rage.
“You must return immediately. It is reported that Young Master Lucas has been severely injured after being attacked by the Grand Duchess’s wolf.”
