The Medieval Modern Man With A Gamer Mindset

The Medieval-Modern Man With A Gamer Mindset 84

84. The Storm Strikes Twice

Knights have strong pride.

And those with strong pride are truly merciless towards those who fall short of their standards. They subtly ignore them or unknowingly give them the cold shoulder.

A knight’s standard was their martial prowess.

This was because they often fought in small-scale battles dozens to hundreds of men, rather than large-scale involving total wars involving tens of thousands. Since battles were frequent but small in scale, it was only natural that individual strength would be noticed.

What’s even more unfortunate is the fact that these knights are the only professional soldiers in this era, in this world.

Even though their thoughts and values were far removed from mine, I couldn’t deny their necessity. Like it or not, knights were the backbone of the military power of the Principality of Powys, and without their trust, it would be useless to borrow anyone’s authority.

That’s why I grabbed the sword hilt that I had never held before.

I put a lot of effort into not just installing it at that level, but also into talking it up. It was an impromptu improvisation that I came up with on the spot, recalling the way Tervere had been bragging, and it worked out much better than I had expected.

But it was too perfect. An arrowhead is most dangerous when it’s embedded in flesh.

The knights’ installation was quite a sight to behold, and the results were shocking, as I had unintentionally been a little too enthusiastic.

When I announced that I would go to war, the response was unanimous.

“Surely you said you needed 1,000 soldiers. You also said you needed the arrows we have in reserve.”

Our mathematically-inclined lords exchanged glances and then spoke in unison.

“No… Even if you said that.”

“Soldiers aren’t something that can be produced out of thin air.”

And a few even applauded and cheered.

The most representative figure was Count Oduaire, who had taken a sharply opposing stance.

“In the first place, with your level of skill, that number of troops would be enough. If you ask for more than that, I can’t help but suspect your intentions. Whatever anyone says…”

He seemed genuinely impressed by my skills, but at the same time, he seemed to be mocking me.

“…You have proven yourself to be the second strongest knight in our duchy.”

***

Count Oduaire humbly accepted his misjudgment and defeat.

His pride as a warrior and his life as a bishop’s subordinate had convinced him of Narva’s abilities. Some of the more naive ones might have thought that we would now join forces and do well.

But even if we could become friends in private, we would have to fight in public.

Count Oduaire was a thoroughbred, a man with the name of a noble.

Should he meekly give up his own interests just because I was a good swordsman? Was it a warrior’s life to give endlessly to those who acknowledged him? Was it to the point of giving up his ambitions and his life because his life was important?

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Of course, the insignificant seeds would willingly give up their dreams and the lives they had lived for their lives.

The foolish serfs could never become noble, because they did not value their dreams as much as their lives. On the other hand, Count Oduaire schemed to protect his dream of enjoying the greatest power in the duchy.

While Narva was attracting attention with his duels with the knights, Count Oduaire repeatedly approached the lords who were excited by the results of the duels.

“You saw the bishop’s skills.”

“Count Oduaire, you see it too! Of course, a skilled man like you wouldn’t miss it. Isn’t he amazing? At that level, he might even be able to defeat the pagans in one fell swoop!”

What a naive reaction.

Some of the lords were so short-sighted and optimistic that they were unaware of the approaching threat. If they had been the enemy, Count Oduaire would have gladly exploited their weakness and devoured them without leaving a single piece of their legacy.

The same went for the lord before his eyes, Garta Ornbym.

The lucky thing about this poor lord was that…

“If it’s only the pagans that are being defeated, then yes.”

It was the fact that Count Oduaire had chosen him as his companion.

“Hmm? What do you mean…”

“Have you forgotten why the bishop provoked the knights in the audience hall and repeatedly showed off his skills in duels?”

“Of course I know. He’s going to go to war against the pagans, so he wants us to give him the proper support.”

There are so many people who only know one thing and don’t know the other two.

Count Oduaire tried to soothe his impatient heart and warned his vassals of the terrible crisis that had befallen them.

“Yes, it’s inevitable that public opinion will support the bishop. In the meantime, he will take soldiers and all kinds of weapons from us under the pretext of stopping the pagan raiders.”

“Hmm? Well, that’s only natural.”

“Now, the bishop has the power of the papacy behind him, and he will lead the soldiers he has taken from us. As the pagan raids continue, the ecclesiastical prince, who has the sole right to interrogate heretics, will be able to wield the sword of purge to protect his father’s throne, and we will not be able to do anything about it.”

“….!!!!”

Even the most dull and indifferent person would understand if they were told this much.

The fact that their own political position was now in great danger. Even Garta, who had just been pledging his full support to the bishop, was so frightened that he stood up abruptly.

“My Lord Count Haudry, surely you cannot mean that?”

“Of course, His Grace the High King would not openly support such treacherous behavior toward his own vassals. However, the Bishop-Elect is, to put it bluntly, our competition. He is a focal point for the opposition, a rival for the High King’s favor.”

Yet, so far, he has failed to be a proper rallying point.

His tender years and his drastic measures against the monastic orders have alienated him from many of the influential men. While he has made no small effort to placate them, these gestures have been little more than stopgaps; too many doubt Bishop-Elect Narva’s ultimate intentions and his competence.

Count Haudry explained this in detail, before revealing his own motivations for coming forward.

“But what if he were to demonstrate his prowess with the sword, something that would particularly appeal to the younger men, and were to achieve some military success?”

“He would create a faction of his own. But… is it not the duty of the Prince of the Church to eradicate the pagans? Why should he concern himself with vassals?”

“He will fight the pagans because it is his duty to eradicate them… how naive you are.”

The vassals of the Principality of Powys are not a group of dull-witted and ignorant nobles.

At the very least, the three hundred earls who are their leaders are each distinguished in their own way.

Earl Pheasan, with his strong pro-patrician leanings, has dedicated himself to the prosperity and advancement of his fiefdom, while the taciturn Gahtain excels at concealing his intentions behind a mask of suspicion, and acts in the shadows.

As for Haudry, his numerous military campaigns have honed his military and political acumen.

“If he were to call for our aid, claiming that there is a crisis, an emergency, and summon our levies, do you think he would use them for their intended purpose?”

“What else would he do?”

“He would leave a few pagans alive, claiming that there is still danger, that more pagans may come, look at Pen Lleidr, we must be ever vigilant… once he has a cause and the power to enforce it, there will be no stopping him.”

Indeed, as the conversation progressed, a look of doubt crept across Gartha’s face.

“Surely he would not go so far?”

“The surest way to stay safe is not to trust him.”

However, as soon as he saw the flicker of wariness in Gartha’s eyes, Haudry took a step back, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Not to give up our swords.”

If their ambitions had been aligned, perhaps Narva and Haudry could have been friends.

Haudry, with his own devious mind, could guess at what Narva was planning.

“He despises the knights so much, yet he seeks to win them over first.”

Narva is a very different man from his emotional brother, Terbair.

He is also a very different brother from the ever-smiling eldest, Aedred. At first glance, he seems like a madman, giving free rein to his emotions, but in reality, he is only half-mad, not truly insane.

If necessary, he can willingly suppress the unpleasant feelings he experiences.

In that case, why does he need the support of the knights? Particularly since he is a man of the cloth, who can never be their lord.

“Surely he must know that if he were to offer to lead them to defeat, he would easily win the support of the lords, and yet he chooses to seek the support of the knights…”

There is only one answer.

What Narva wants is not a military victory based on overwhelming support.

“Does he intend to use this as a way to curtail the power of we vassals?”

His true goal is to use the support of the knights to seize military power, using the pretext of an emergency.

We cannot tolerate the seeds of tyranny that would oppress the rightful authority of the vassals.

Especially not during the reign of Aethelstan, who killed our rightful lord, my brother Aethelbear, to seize the throne.

Count Haudry continued to meet with many other lords after this, instilling his convictions in them, sometimes subtly, sometimes forcefully. And all the lords reacted in a similar way.

“I do not think the Bishop-Elect is that kind of man…”

While they assessed the character of Bishop-Elect Narva, the lords also said,

“I agree that it is safer not to give up our swords.”

They all agreed that he should not be given too much power or support.

***

Thus, on March 19, 1213.

After a lukewarm meeting, the one who swiftly took action was Bishop-elect Narva. Initially, Narva wanted 2,000 soldiers and powerful knights, but the lords had no intention of giving Narva that much power.

“Baron Garta. What is your reason for not being able to support?”

“Yes, your Grace, our serfs are already saving up every penny to make chainmail. It will take more than two months to send out the armor we have collected. If we give away the armor we have stockpiled, our territory will be targeted by bandits, if not pagans.”

Someone begged, saying that they were in financial difficulty.

“And you?”

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“Ah. Sadly, there have been reports of monsters appearing in the forest recently… I am heartbroken to think that our serfs will be anxious if we take away too many soldiers…”

Someone expressed their affection, confiding in the changes that had occurred in their territory.

“Hmm. Sir Tervere is doing well.”

“….”

“Oh, I apologize. I remember that you are Sir Tervere’s retainer. Hmm. If it had been Sir Tervere, he would have smashed them all to pieces with just twenty men… I am sad to say that.”

Someone kept looking for Sir Tervere, who had left for the Penrad Principality.

At this point, Narva, who had been trying to ignore it, had no choice but to show his teeth.

“Do you think the pagans will leave your territory alone?”

“Ahem.”

Most of the lords averted their eyes, but one person was different: Count Oduard, who had orchestrated this whole situation.

“My, my. It seems that you are all making excuses here and there, so you must not have realized the terror of the pagans yet.”

Count Oduard looked around at the lords with a sly smile, and soon, he closed the distance and whispered quietly.

“Yes, Your Grace. I can give you more support than you want.”

Of course, Narva had already figured out his intentions.

Narva grew and whispered in response.

“So. You want me to guarantee the profits from monopolizing the saltpeter mines?”

“As expected, you know.”

Count Oduard deliberately exclaimed and looked straight into Narva’s obsidian eyes, making a subtle suggestion.

“The country you dream of. If you include our family in that future, Povis and I will become permanent allies from now on.”

That was it.

The lords, who had been incited by Count Oduard, did not realize it, but they would soon find out.

The fact that the deception of the nobles does not distinguish between friend or foe.