Upon hearing the Princess’s command, the Sheriff felt not a shred of fear, only a heart overflowing with hatred.
His poor, meticulously groomed son—an heir whose future had seemed boundless—had been killed by that ignorant brat of a Princess. In his eyes, she was nothing more than a discarded piece on the chessboard, stripped of her right to the throne. Aside from her royal blood and an empty title of Commander, what was there to fear?
Yet, this woman had dared to destroy the hope of his family’s rise. The Sheriff could barely suppress his grief and rage.
“My… my Lord.” One of his subordinates looked nervously at the Imperial soldiers who, upon the Princess’s order, had collectively leveled their weapons at them. “Are we… are we really going to clash with Her Highness?”
The brawny man, a former mercenary recruited as a militia instructor, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
“Hmph, what is there to fear?” The Sheriff shot a venomous glance at Theresa and the figures beside her, secretly calculating his revenge. “Did you not hear the instructions from the Governor and the Second Prince himself?”
Though less powerful than the First Prince, the Second Prince held unique advantages in the struggle for the throne. His maternal grandfather was the Minister of War, a veteran of three reigns and a peak Legendary powerhouse. Even the Governor of the Western Territories was an old protégé promoted by the Minister of War. In the western borderlands, the Second Prince’s influence actually eclipsed that of the First Prince.
“But, but…” The mercenary looked uneasily at the murderous aura of the soldiers. Although his side was superior in numbers, equipment, and appearance compared to these few hundred mud-caked, blood-stained, and exhausted figures, his instincts were screaming. He wanted to avoid a frontal confrontation at all costs.
“Enough! I pay a thousand silver coins a year to keep you, not to listen to your nonsense.”
The Sheriff looked at the “defeated army” with disdain. To him, they were just remnants who had fled the battlefield and were now trying to act tough because a Princess was among them. He sized up Theresa’s so-called “army” with utter contempt.
Who knew the reality of the fortress better than he did? Since the Capital slashed military spending, the fortress’s discipline had collapsed at an alarming rate, turning it into little more than a refugee camp. How much combat power could such an army have?
Though he lacked military experience, the Sheriff believed in his management philosophy: nothing mattered more than treatment. Only good pay and prospects could attract talent—like his heavily funded militia, paid for by the Town Council and “voluntary” contributions from merchants.
And Theresa? She had no resources, no inheritance, and no maternal clan to back her. How could she produce an elite force? Reality was not a bard’s legend; miracles didn’t happen.
Thinking of his dead son, the Sheriff’s desire for blood-for-blood outweighed his reason. He shouted, “Seize that traitor Wren immediately! And that one…”
He glared at Green, who stood beside Theresa holding his harp with a faint smile. This “pretty boy”! According to reports, this was the culprit who orchestrated the situation that led to his son’s death.
“And that unidentified bard who is inciting unrest in the army!”
Without waiting for a response, the Sheriff turned to the agitated crowd of citizens behind him. He donned a mask of compassion and bowed deeply to the townspeople.
“Fellow citizens, you have suffered greatly from barbarian invasions all these years.” He then pointed a cold finger at the soldiers. “Today, I regret to inform you that the discipline of our border guards has rotted to its very core!”
He raised his voice to a raspy shout: “Our ‘glorious’ Imperial Army—the soldiers of the Unyielding Bastion—have been secretly colluding with the barbarians!”
Thwack.
He threw down a thick parchment scroll. “Under the guise of maintaining the army, they have extorted this town! But behind your backs, they have delivered your hard-earned taxes to the barbarians as ‘gifts’ and forcibly evacuated your homes to provide them with targets for looting! This is the true state of the Unyielding Bastion!”
The Sheriff’s voice was like a thunderclap, sending a shockwave through the crowd. The already anxious townspeople were instantly hooked by his half-true, inflammatory rhetoric.
“Bastards! You scum! How dare you call yourselves Imperial soldiers!” “The Tax Guild Chairman was right—we can’t rely on these soldiers. We should form our own militia to protect our homes!” “Did you hear? The Seventh Princess was exiled because of a prophecy that she would destroy the Empire!”
Doubt flooded in from all directions, striking the soldiers’ hearts harder than any barbarian blade. These warriors, who hadn’t flinched when outnumbered ten-to-one, hesitated when faced by the unarmed people they were meant to protect.
“It’s not like that!” one soldier shouted in defense. “We… we ran before, but this time, we really crushed the enemy!”
“Oh? You say you crushed them, so you crushed them?” a townsman sneered. “Cowardly parasites yesterday, great heroes today?”
“We have proof! Go to the wasteland, you’ll see the corpses!”
“Corpses? Who knows if those are real barbarians or just innocent people you slaughtered to claim rewards!”
Fear had stripped the townspeople of their judgment.
Green watched the Sheriff’s performance in silence. He wasn’t in a hurry to intervene. While he hadn’t expected this specific drama, he had already arranged for the transport of barbarian prisoners back to the fortress. Facts would soon shatter the Sheriff’s lies.
More importantly, Green was analyzing the bigger picture: the Western Governor and the Second Prince.
Militia, Green thought, catching the crux of the problem. On the surface, it looked like a natural reaction to fear. But combined with the attempt to kill Colonel Wren, it was clear they were aiming for something else.
A power base, Green deduced. The Second Prince has no real power in the Capital compared to the Regent. To win the throne, he needs a territory and a private army. They want to hollow out the fortress and turn the entire Western region into the Prince’s personal fiefdom.
Clang!
“I’m tired of talking to these people.” Beside him, Colonel Wren had reached his limit. He reached for the machete at his waist. “A bunch of rabble… I’ll show them—”
“Colonel, wait.” Green reached out to stop him.
“Mr. Green?” Wren retracted his hand reluctantly. “It’s not that I’m impulsive, but I won’t let them insult my brothers. And…” Wren’s face turned solemn. “And those heroes who sacrificed their lives!”
“I know, Colonel,” Green smiled thinly. “But rather than killing them, as a bard, I prefer to destroy their spirit. And look… perfect timing.”
Green had a plan. You want to seize military power and turn the border into a base? Fine. I’ll do the opposite. I’ll seize the civil administration and turn the West into Theresa’s leverage for the throne. And the first step starts here.
Thump. Thump.
Heavy sounds echoed from behind. A line of temporary cage-carriages, guarded by dozens of soldiers, slowly approached the fortress. Inside, bare-chested barbarian warriors covered in whip marks and grime were packed together like livestock for all to see.
“Mr. Sheriff,” Green called out cheerfully, his voice carrying over the crowd. “You questioned whether we achieved victory? Coincidentally, we do have a bit of evidence. For instance… living prisoners.”
Facing the rows of cages, the Sheriff’s eyes bulged. For a moment, he completely forgot his script.