Protecting the Weak
Translator: Cinder Translations
...
Paul's invitation did not stir much resistance in Earl Duke's heart.
First, the king had granted this young man a marquis title that had been extinct for centuries, clearly designating him as a frontier military leader. The Watcher Legion's return to the north to fight the orcs meant they should fall under his command.
Second, though the Watcher Legion had escaped annihilation, they were effectively wiped out. During their breakout, they lost a large number of soldiers. From the Neron Corridor to the Argin Plateau, and from there to Crystal Glare, the survivors scattered. Some fled on their own, others were dismissed. By the time they set out from Crystal Glare toward the kingdom's northwest, only a hundred or so remained—knights who valued honor above life and their squires. The legion needed the support of a strong power to rebuild.
Lastly, and most crucially, Paul Grayman had defeated the orcs before. That alone was more convincing than any speech.
Earl Duke accepted Paul's invitation and agreed to follow his unified command. However, he emphasized several points: the Watcher Legion was the king's army, operating under the orders of Rodney XVIII to cooperate with the Northwest Army. He himself directly served the king and was Paul's subordinate, not his vassal.
"Of course, Earl Duke. What do you take me for? I, too, am a loyal subject of the kingdom!" Paul replied with a smile.
Earl Duke found nothing suspicious in Paul's expression, which puzzled him. Was the marquis not displeased by his subtle probe, which carried a hint of offense?
Regardless, the remnants of the Watcher Legion became an important ally to the Northwest Army. Their experience with orcs was exactly what Paul needed.
Upon returning to the Northwest Bay from Crystal Glare, Paul leveraged his marquis status to consolidate the military forces within Alden's sphere of influence.
Strictly speaking, this was less about "consolidation" and more about perspective—because to the modern Alden military, all other local forces were little more than primitive civilian militias wielding outdated weapons. Calling them an "organization" was generous. Even the heavily armored feudal knights, skilled in combat as they were, were mere civilians compared to the highly structured Alden army.
Most of the local forces were nothing more than peasant levies—men barely trained, sharpening their weapons only when war was imminent.
Even as a marquis, commanding such a force in battle would only slow down his own elite Alden troops.
Thus, Paul had little interest in the existing armies under the Northwest Bay's various lords.
However, the lords did possess something Paul desperately needed—manpower. Their existing forces were unreliable, but their lands were full of young men. If he could recruit and train them himself, problem solved.
Despite Alden's rapid medical advancements under Paul's reforms, which had significantly reduced infant mortality rates, it still took a generation to raise capable soldiers. Alden, now an industrialized power, required vast manpower for various industries. The population was not large to begin with, and mass conscription would harm economic production. Paul was also reluctant to send his carefully trained specialists to die on the battlefield.
So, he turned to his neighbors for recruits.
With his new marquis title, Paul returned to the Northwest Bay and negotiated a series of agreements, offering significant concessions—technology transfers, commercial partnerships, and even stock shares. In return, he secured multiple rights over the local territories, including conscription authority.
This allowed Paul to expand his army without worries.
At the intelligence meeting, Earl Duke frowned at the mention of the "borderlands." He saw it as a veiled insult, a reminder that their failures had led to the kingdom's territorial losses.
The Watcher Legion refused to acknowledge the peace treaty with the orcs. In their minds, the war was still ongoing. The Yellow Earth Lands and the Neron Corridor were merely occupied territories. One day, they would march from Blackstone Plains, reclaim all of Aldor Kingdom's lost lands, and chase the orcs beyond the Watcher Fortress, restoring the legion's former glory.
"I sincerely apologize, my lord!" The intelligence officer realized his words had offended the old warrior and quickly expressed his regret.
Earl Duke nodded silently, letting the matter drop. The officer returned to his reports.
Paul asked, "Have the refugees been taken care of?"
The officer responded, "As per your orders, we've assigned them to work on farms. Those willing to enlist are undergoing medical evaluations before joining the training camps."
Paul nodded but warned, "Be cautious of spies. I've heard that Grand Chieftain Abal is quite fond of recruiting humans into his ranks."
The officer assured him, "Rest assured, we are screening every individual carefully."
Earl Duke, growing impatient, spoke up. "Lord Grayman, forgive my bluntness, but I believe reclaiming our lost lands is now a matter of urgency. As we speak, our people are suffering under brutal orc oppression. Every day we delay, our shame as royal soldiers deepens."
Paul replied, "It's only a matter of time. I've been waiting for stability in the kingdom's southern front to ensure we have a secure rear."
"You mean Giles?"
"Yes."
"That bastard finally got what he deserved, though he managed to escape. Now, the flames of judgment must be turned on the orcs."
Earl Duke could never go three sentences without mentioning his nemesis.
Paul hesitated before saying, "Actually, I happen to have a rather unique guest at the moment. You might find him interesting."
"Who? Is he related to the orcs?"
"Of course."
…
A bronze candlestick lay toppled on the velvet carpet. Melted wax had hardened into murky lumps on the dark-red fabric.
Duke Bradley leaned against an oak bookshelf and slowly slid to the floor. A gilded copy of The Knight's Code slipped from his trembling fingers, its parchment pages opening to a childish scrawl—his eldest son's notes from when he was ten, written with a quill pen.
"Father, look! 'Protecting the weak' should come before 'honor'!"
The boy's voice echoed across three decades, reverberating in the duke's mind.
A sudden gust of wind blew through the arched window, tousling the silver hair at the back of the old duke's neck.
Standing before him, his second son, Lamost, smirked coldly. His voice slithered into the duke's ears like a serpent.
"Brother is dead. I am now the sole heir of House Bradley."
A knock on the door pulled Duke Bradley from his thoughts.
A servant's voice came from outside. "My lord, Marquis Grayman has arrived."
(End of the Chapter)
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