The Kingdom

Chapter 8: Words Must Not Be Spoken Carelessly

Forced into the position of vying for military command, Hudson had little choice. War loomed on the horizon, and there was no escaping its shadow.

Fleeing at such a critical moment would likely lead to interception along the way, followed by forced conscription as mere cannon fodder.

Though his time with Baron Redman had been brief, Hudson had gained some insight into the man. Politically, the baron barely scraped by, but his military acumen was utterly abysmal.

Analyzing his past engagements, Hudson had reached a conclusion—Redman was nothing more than a "lucky knight."

His survival thus far owed not only to his respectable personal strength but also to the fact that his opponents had all been of a similar caliber. Battles were arranged like duels—each side agreeing on a time, forming ranks, and then charging forth with their retainers.

Strategy? Tactics? Such notions seemed utterly foreign to the baron’s vocabulary.

There was no need for disdain—this was simply the way of war in these times. Combat was a straightforward, brute-force affair, with little room for deception.

Yet, this reality was far from favorable to Hudson. Were he to follow his father onto the battlefield, he would undoubtedly be thrust into the fray, locked in brutal, close-quarters combat.

As a fledgling knight, Hudson was far from ready for such life-or-death struggles. In his eyes, the so-called "nobility and honor" were empty ideals—his life was the only thing that truly belonged to him.

If war was inevitable, then his subordinates should take the lead. In a battle of r****e against r****e, all that mattered was being slightly stronger than the rebels.

The burden of quelling the rebellion should fall on his allies. If the tide of battle favored them, he would follow suit; if they were routed, as long as he could outrun them, survival was assured.

Making his presence known among the noble ranks and earning a bit of recognition would suffice. Should he happen to earn some military merit in the process, all the better.

Crisis and opportunity were two sides of the same coin, yet the risks of seizing sudden glory and rising above the rest were far too great. Knowing his own limits, Hudson understood that his meager strength was not yet enough to grasp such ambitions.

But as it turned out, Hudson had underestimated Baron Redman. Had the man been so easily manipulated, he would have long since met his demise.

There was no shortage of fools among noble offspring, but unless they were born into truly powerful families with unwavering backing, they rarely survived past their third blunder.

On the battlefield, nobility might appear simple and straightforward, but that was a product of the broader societal norms. In such an environment, how could individuals not be shaped by their surroundings?

In the end, Baron Redman lavished praise upon Hudson’s initiative. Yet, regarding his request to lead troops into battle, the baron neither agreed nor refused.

Returning to his chambers, Hudson felt a deep sense of despair. Words might deceive, but the body rarely lied. The baron’s flattering words meant little—his furrowed brows and hesitant gaze spoke volumes of his distrust.

And rightly so—what parent would entrust a sixteen-year-old boy with an army?

Especially when it involved five hundred able-bodied men. The Koslow family was not wealthy enough to afford such an extravagant tuition fee for a lesson in warfare.

More critically, the enemy they faced was a band of rebels who slaughtered nobles like livestock. The unspoken rules of noble warfare meant nothing to them, and it was foolish to expect any semblance of honor from their ranks.

Late into the night, Baron Redman lay in bed, unable to sleep. Clearly, the earlier conversation had shaken him deeply.

Having spent half his life navigating the noble circles, he knew all too well the darkness hidden behind their polished facades. For the sake of profit, there was nothing a noble wouldn’t do.

But if Hudson’s deductions were correct, what then was he to do?

At its core, the Koslow family was simply too weak. Though its members were numerous and scattered across various lands, such numbers only held sway over mid-tier and minor nobles—against the great houses, they were insignificant.

"Should I really sit this one out?"

That would certainly go against the spirit of knighthood.

In all his past battles, he had never resorted to such measures. Within a hundred miles, who did not know of Baron Redman’s valor?

Yet, he neither wished for his reputation to be tarnished nor did he want to be reduced to mere cannon fodder. Caught in this impossible dilemma, the baron spent the night in sleepless torment.

By the following morning, word of conscription had spread throughout the castle. Both the servants and the guards engaged in fervent discussions over the matter.

One person, however, remained conspicuously absent from such chatter—Lysor. Ever since his request for the elixir of life had been denied, he had been in low spirits, his distress casting a shadow over the baroness as well.

"Lysor, you must see reason," the baroness urged. "Your father is in a difficult position. This affair is too significant—he has no choice but to make a stand, or else—"

Before she could finish, Lysor erupted in fury, cutting her off. "Enough! This is all just to appease those mongrels, isn't it?

"As if the previous punishments weren’t enough! Do they intend to drive me to my grave?

"We are all of the Koslow lineage—why should I bow my head?

"Simply because I was born later?

"Not only is my right of inheritance pushed back, but even the family’s resources must be divided accordingly—how is that fair? This is utterly—"

The baroness had heard such grievances countless times before, but the rules were ironclad. There was nothing she could do to change them.

Even knowing that Baron Redman had always treated his sons equally—if not favoring hers more due to her influence—she still harbored resentment.

No matter how hard she fought, the order of inheritance remained unshakable. The estate of the barony would never belong to her son.

She had come to terms with this—until she saw Lysor’s current state. Seeing her child suffer reignited her bitterness.

Perhaps it was anger clouding her judgment, or perhaps it was frustration at his weakness, but the baroness suddenly struck Lysor across the face, her voice sharp with reprimand:

"Enough, Lysor!

"How many times must I tell you—there are things you must never say! If your father were to hear this, you would be cast out of the house this instant!

"You are not even a knight yet. If you are expelled from the family, you will no longer be a noble.

"Do you wish to live among the lowborn? To scrape by at the bottom of society, never seeing a shred of hope for the future?"

Bitterness aside, the baroness knew how precious noble status was. No matter how much she doted on her son, she understood that some words could never be spoken recklessly.

"Hmph!

"And yet... would that truly be so different from my current state?

"He would rather give the elixir of life to outsiders than to his own son. Am I to believe he will secure another for me in the future?

"Even if he wished to, could he even manage it? That wretched Hudson was already forced to wait an entire year. Do you think we will fare any better?

"According to tradition, after fulfilling their imperial duties, a baronial house may claim an elixir only once every ten years."

As the words left his lips, Lysor saw the baroness’s face darken. Only then did he realize he had once again spoken without thinking.

He was not his mother’s only child—there were two younger brothers beneath him.

With Hudson about to leave and make his own way, the fight for the family’s resources would soon shift to them.

Flesh and blood they might be, but could the baroness truly continue to favor him unconditionally?