Dividing the Spoils
Translator: Cinder Translations
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"Honorable Abal, Great Chieftain," Duke Bradley spoke with utmost respect. "We've seen it—your army is utterly invincible. Those cowardly Rodney scum flee at the mere sight of your banners."
"Hahaha, my dear friend, speak your mind freely," Abal's eyes gleamed with amusement, but his gaze made Bradley uneasy.
After a brief pause, Bradley finally said, "The entire northeastern region of the kingdom is now under our control. Great Chieftain, don't you think it's time to fulfill the latter part of our agreement?"
"Agreement?" Abal feigned surprise, his expression one of disbelief. "Oh yes, we did have an agreement, didn't we?"
His tone made Bradley's heart sink. Was this musclebound brute going to go back on his word?
"Well then, let's proceed with the second part of the agreement," Abal said at last, much to Bradley's relief.
"Thank you, Great Chieftain. As promised, I'll send gold and supplies to your royal yurts. May the friendship between the Bradley family and the grasslands last for generations."
TLN: A yurt, also known as a ger, is a portable, round tent that originated in Central Asia and is traditionally used as a dwelling.
"Bring the map!" Abal ordered, and a servant quickly unfurled a large map on the table.
As the Great Chieftain studied it, tugging at his beard thoughtfully, a glimmer of cunning crossed his eyes.
"Dusan, as a token of our friendship, I've decided to gift you these towns," Abal said, pointing to several locations on the map.
"What?" Dusan Bradley was taken aback.
"Here, here, and here," Abal explained. "As compensation for fighting alongside us, I generously grant these to you. And as for the upcoming battles, leave them to us. Take your soldiers home. Haven't you always dreamed of wearing a crown? Go chase that dream."
It was as if a thunderbolt had struck from the heavens. Dusan Bradley was speechless, shocked to his core.
The very thing he feared most had come to pass.
Under their initial agreement, the Bradley family had hired the orc army to drive the royal forces out of the Blackstone Pass. In exchange, they would provide the orcs with annual tributes of gold and goods.
Initially, Bradley's ambitions were limited to the Blackstone Pass and the Neron Corridor. However, as the orcs rapidly gained the upper hand on the battlefield and swept across the northeastern kingdom like a storm, the duke had begun to dream of ruling the entire region himself.
But he soon realized the orcs were fighting with extraordinary fervor. If they were merely fulfilling their employer's request, why such desperation?
"Great Chieftain, I don't understand," Bradley continued feigning ignorance. "Your warriors have already fulfilled our agreement. They can take their spoils and return to the grasslands. The rest is up to us."
Abal stared at him, then burst into laughter. The orc leaders around him followed suit, their mirth laced with open mockery.
"Duke Bradley!" Abal's tone grew heavier. "Return to the grasslands once our agreement is fulfilled? Why? Don't forget, you only asked for the Blackstone Pass and Neron Corridor. I am a man of my word. I've handed over the agreed-upon lands, but the rest? That belongs to the brave warriors of the grasslands! Surely, you didn't think the additional lands would be given to you as a free bonus?"
The Great Chieftain's exaggerated expression made his disdain crystal clear.
"No! You can't do this!" Bradley panicked, his tone turning sharp. "The orcs belong on the grasslands. You shouldn't covet the lands south of the Rocky Mountains!"
Abal sneered. "Times have changed! The northern kingdom is like a plump lamb, waiting for us to feast on."
He made no effort to spare Bradley's dignity.
Dusan Bradley felt his head spinning, bitterness filling his heart. Using the orcs to achieve his goals and handing human land over to them were two entirely different matters.
The former could be seen as pragmatic; the latter would forever stain his name in human history.
His face flushed a deep purple with rage and fear.
Initially, the duke had been confident in his agreement with the orcs. He imagined their forces as auxiliary troops or, at best, equals to the Bradley family's armies, working together to challenge the royal forces.
But when the orc horde surged through the Rocky Mountains and the Neron Corridor, Bradley realized he had grossly underestimated his "allies."
Abal had cunningly concealed the strength of his horde during their negotiations. When the orcs bared their true fangs, Bradley's forces became irrelevant, mere bystanders in the hard-fought battles against the royal army.
"In that case, I believe this division is unfair," Bradley said, shifting gears to salvage his losses. "The Bradley family's forces have fought in many battles. At least half of the Blackstone Pass should be added as a reasonable reward."
Abal widened his eyes, as if shocked by the duke's audacity.
The Great Chieftain decided he'd had enough.
"Roar!" Abal let out a furious bellow, kicking the table over in a show of raw power.
"Dusan! Do you think I don't know the worth of your forces? Out of respect for our past friendship, I was willing to grant you something. But since you're so greedy, I've changed my mind. Now, you'll only get the Blackstone Pass. Forget the Neron Corridor, the Blackstone Plains, or any other lands I mentioned earlier!"
"No! The Neron Corridor was part of our agreement!" Bradley protested, his voice filled with despair.
Abal, his expression ferocious, pointed a finger at the duke. "Your greed was the first betrayal. Return to your lands immediately—this is my final mercy!"
Dusan Bradley had no choice but to suppress his rage and retreat, leading his entourage out of the tent in bitter silence.
(End of the Chapter)
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