Chapter 413: Stray Dog from the Steppe

Chapter 413 -281: Stray Dog from the Steppe

The Count sat alone in his tent, gazing at the night sky as a complex look flickered in his eyes.

Though he had escaped disaster for now, other difficulties remained. He sighed softly, knowing full well that the days ahead would be anything but easy.

The Feikawen region may be remote, but it was by no means uninhabited.

On the contrary, the area had its own power dynamics, and his arrival was bound to disrupt the existing balance.

Even if he had no plans to settle here! Everyone was watching from the sidelines; no one wanted to get on the wrong side of the emperor or Henry.

The Count knew that making a comeback would be no easy feat. He would have to start over, rebuilding his power from scratch.

He needed to buy land at the mouth of a bay in the mountains of Battania and purchase serfs. This was the first step in rebuilding his family’s foundation.

‘That place has no great nobles. They’re all dirt-poor, little more than savages in the mountain gullies whose development has always been restricted. They don’t have any decent armaments to speak of.’

Even so, the land in the Battanian bay region had surely been carved up by local landlords and strongmen long ago. Buying a suitable plot would not only cost a fortune, but would also invite suspicion and competition from other nobles.

‘Unless… I carve out a fearsome reputation!’

‘I can’t take on Henry, but you think I can’t handle the likes of you?’

The Count’s brow furrowed. This was going to be a difficult game.

Though he had managed to spirit away a large fortune beforehand—enough to prop up two Baron’s Domains in an instant—money dwindled with every coin spent. The initial investment had to be spent where it would count the most. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

Furthermore, acquiring serfs was another thorny issue. The customs in Battania were different from other regions. The slave trade wasn’t prevalent there, and the local serfs, long accustomed to their masters, would not be quick to accept a new one.

The Count would need to spend a great deal of time and energy placating them and making them willing to serve his family.

Even if he bought the serfs beforehand, the cost of transporting them would be ruinous.

What’s more, the quantity and quality of the serfs directly impacted his family’s future revenue, so he couldn’t afford to be careless.

Beyond these practical matters, the Count also needed to build a wide network of friends. In Battania, without powerful local allies, he wouldn’t be able to make any headway.

However, the local nobles would certainly not welcome his arrival. They would worry that this foreign Wandering Count was there to snatch their interests and perhaps even threaten their status.

‘It couldn’t be helped. The locals had been poor for so long they were paranoid, and this outsider was simply too rich. What if the tribes on their lands were lured away by the dazzling world he represented?’

The Count knew he needed to demonstrate sufficient sincerity and strength to win their trust and friendship.

He would need to attend all sorts of banquets and gatherings, display his grace and wisdom, and show the local nobles his worth…

At the same time, he would have to handle his relationships with them carefully to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and conflicts.

The Count knew this would be a long and drawn-out social campaign; he had to remain ever vigilant and could not afford to let his guard down for a second.

The Count closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

The road ahead was fraught with hardship and danger, but he knew it was his only option. He had to rise again—for the future of his family and for his own honor.

‘This was all Henry’s fault!’

In the night sky, dark clouds remained gathered, and lightning occasionally streaked across the darkness, as if heralding an approaching storm.

Finally, the Count closed his eyes and tried to drift off to sleep.

But his mind could not find peace. The shadow of Henry lingered like a nightmare that he couldn’t shake.

The next day, Altan rode toward Feikawen with a few of his Knights. Just outside the city, they happened upon a sprawling encampment flying the banners of various noble houses. It appeared some kind of aristocratic gathering or event was taking place.

Altan reined in his horse, a flicker of confusion and curiosity in his eyes.

He surveyed the camp. Tents were arranged in neat rows, and in a clearing between them, a large bonfire blazed, apparently for roasting some fine food.

The horses nearby were tied neatly to wooden posts, their occasional low whinnies seeming to add to the lively atmosphere of the grand gathering.

His Knights stopped as well, murmuring amongst themselves. “My lord, from the looks of it, some important people are here.”

“Yes, I recognize those banners. I believe they’re the crests of several local nobles,” another Knight added.

Altan glanced at him and asked curiously, “You know the nobles here?”

“My lord,” the Knight explained, shaking his head, “during the Half-Beastman invasion, many nobles sent sons with no inheritance to fight…”

“I see.”

Altan frowned slightly. ‘Feikawen might be a major city in the region,’ he thought, ‘but for so many nobles to gather here, there must be a specific reason.’

‘Nobles might get bored to tears when there’s no war, but they don’t throw banquets for no reason. Good heavens, that’s far too wasteful.’

He raised a hand, signaling for silence. Then he slowly urged his horse forward, intending to get a closer look at the camp and investigate.

Just then, a man who looked like a minister, dressed in magnificent attire, emerged from the camp. Spotting Altan and his party from a distance, he strode forward quickly. His tone was appraising as he asked, “Sirs, may I ask what business brings you here?”

Altan smiled faintly. His tone was calm, yet it carried an undeniable authority. “I am… Count Altan of the Steppes, a Wandering Count… I was passing by when I noticed the activity here and thought I would take a look. Might I ask what this encampment is for?”