Chapter 20

The Crassus family was a minor barony. Alongside the other four baronies, they formed a small cluster of influence, a minuscule faction within the broader kingdom.

After considering these thoughts, Michael signaled to the messenger. As the signal flag waved, the 100 soldiers and supply unit began their march. Mage Sergey and healer Hope followed closely behind. The baron and Michael descended from the watchtower and mounted their horses. On the saddle before Michael sat Nyangnyang, his beloved cat. The cat had refused to eat the food prepared by the maids, curling up instead, so Michael had no choice but to bring it along. Fond of the clever and affectionate feline, Michael worried it might starve in his absence. He planned to let the cat roam freely in the camp, which would be safe—after all, if the camp were breached, no one would survive.

The journey was grueling. The soldiers endured relentless harassment from their "devil" trainers, who now numbered ten per group. Whenever the formation faltered, a trainer would appear seemingly out of nowhere to kick it back into order. Soldiers struggled to keep their provisions from reappearing on the ground, barely managing under the punishing drills.

Michael watched with frustration. Though the soldiers had undergone a week of training, they still failed to meet his standards. What had appeared to be a disciplined force at the start of the march devolved over time. Michael realized he had to tighten their discipline before they reached the assembly point.

Reluctantly, he adjusted the marching pace, mindful of the soldiers carrying their three-day emergency rations and full packs. Beating them into submission alone wouldn't suffice. Slowing the pace yielded noticeable improvement in their formation. Though far from perfect, they now resembled a marching army rather than a haphazard mob.

Thanks to their standardized uniforms and packs, they looked more cohesive—though Michael suspected that before his reforms, they must have resembled a train of peddlers.

The guards, composed mostly of vassals' sons, glanced nervously at Michael. Gone were the days when they only needed to worry about their own survival. Having endured ten times the hardship of the soldiers during training, they couldn't help but tread carefully around Michael.

By Michael's standards, the troops were still a ragtag bunch, though better than most other forces. At the very least, they hadn't pillaged villages along their route like locusts, a common practice among poorly disciplined troops.

Michael repeatedly emphasized the importance of maintaining formation. Even so, villagers fled in terror at the sight of the approaching soldiers. The extent of past pillaging was evident—locals treated the soldiers as if they were specters. Villagers knelt and wailed whenever the soldiers stopped to replenish their water supplies. Their emaciated faces and cracked hands tugged at Michael's conscience.

During the march, they encountered several wandering warriors—men seeking to earn recognition in battle and ascend to knighthood. Most were distant relatives of noble families, lacking the aptitude to become knights through training alone. These warriors roamed battlefields, hoping to gain experience and awaken their potential. While few achieved the coveted aura awakening, they still clung to their dreams.

Through conversations with these warriors, Michael realized something strange. What he considered a tortoise-like march was perceived by the warriors as remarkably fast. Arriving too quickly might leave a strong impression, but it also increased the risk of becoming the first target. Michael further slowed their pace.

He ensured the troops marched during daylight and rested late into the morning. In the evenings, they hunted for fresh game, preparing hearty meals with warm soups and portions of meat—even the serf soldiers received some.

The wandering warriors provided Michael with valuable information. The cultists occupying Crowley Barony worshipped an "outer god"—a terrifying spider goddess said to have the upper body of a beautiful woman and the lower body of a spider. Such a deity would indeed inspire fear.

In this world, outer gods were universally reviled. They were said to pierce the material plane, luring humans with cursed whispers, bestowing abilities, and claiming them as followers. The mention of the spider goddess reminded Michael of a certain whispering woman, though he found no records matching her description. He didn't want to dwell on the possibility of her connection to an outer god—it was a daunting thought.

When outer gods were confirmed to appear, the Radiant Church would dispatch priests and holy knights. With declining numbers of followers due to corruption among their leadership, the church was desperate for victories.

After ten days, the troops arrived at Kensington Barony, having covered approximately 90 kilometers at a leisurely pace. They were the fourth of the five baronies to arrive—perfect timing.

As Michael watched the soldiers set up camp, his squire, Antony, the treasurer's youngest son, approached with a message.

"Master Michael, an invitation to a banquet from Baron Kensington has arrived. Baron Aramund has just arrived as the last to join us."

The time had come to play the nobles' game.

Jonathan, the second son of a baker from the Crassus Barony, grumbled as he nibbled on his ration of dark bread. Made from a mix of barley and rye, the bread was dry and flavorless. He found himself longing for the meat broth that accompanied their hardtack during the march.

The bakery in Kensington Barony must have been incompetent—or lacked integrity. The bread even had sand in it, whether from careless milling or deliberate adulteration. Jonathan wondered if the issue lay with the guild overseeing the bakeries or with this particular establishment.

As he grumbled with his friend Hans, a rough-looking soldier approached. It was Harry, a frequent debtor to Jonathan's family bakery.

"Hey, Jonathan, did you hear the news?" Harry asked. "About Crowley Barony? Those cultist bastards have completely taken over."

Jonathan managed to swallow his unpalatable bread before responding. "Last I heard, they'd overrun two villages. Now they've taken the whole barony? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Dangerous, sure. But think about it—the whole barony! There's plenty to loot," Harry said, his eyes gleaming.