Chapter 304: You, go and kill the Earl

Chapter 304: You—Go Kill the Count

Because he himself had done things of a similar nature before, Garoth nearly instantly saw through the true motive behind the Vembert family's enthusiasm for charity.

His thoughts spun rapidly.

Coupled with the memory of the Albert private army’s recent display—bravery and fanatical disregard for death far beyond that of an ordinary noble’s private force—the answer was almost self-evident.

“Being blinded by a lie and not noticing it, then even whitewashing that lie to keep the peace... Knight, your level of foolishness makes even the most naive White Dragons look wise.”

“If I truly were a vicious dragon who acted only on instinct, you would already be nothing but a puddle of rot nourishing moss. Not a single whole bone would remain.”

Faced with such naked mockery from the red iron dragon, the Flower Knight Shire’s face did not flare with anger.

He merely drew a pale breath, forcing himself to endure the intense pain radiating through his body—especially the dull agony from broken ribs and damaged internal organs—propping himself up with his arms and struggling to stand.

Even though he could barely keep his balance and his body trembled, he still straightened his spine as best he could and performed a formal knight’s salute to the gigantic dragon before him.

“Respected Lord of Molten Iron, I sincerely thank you for sparing my life.”

Shire said, “It is precisely this mercy—far beyond my expectations—that strengthens my conviction even more: there must be a grave misunderstanding between the Molten Iron Tribe and the Albert family that has yet to be cleared up.”

Garoth scrutinized the Flower Knight carefully.

After a few seconds, he abruptly changed the subject and asked, “Do you think the Albert family would be willing to pay a ransom for you?”

The Flower Knight hardly hesitated and nodded: “They would, certainly!”

At that, a low chuckle rumbled from the dragon’s throat.

He turned his enormous head slightly, eyes alight with the interest of someone examining a rare laboratory specimen, and watched the Flower Knight’s pale face with amusement.

Then Garoth launched his second question.

“Now then, Knight Shire, tell me this.”

“If you were left with all your limbs broken, reduced to someone who could only survive by being cared for—lying on a sickbed, dragging out the rest of your life.”

“If you lost your former strength, your handsome looks, and the glorious reputation of the ‘Flower Knight,’ becoming a worthless, even burdensome, ordinary man.”

Garoth slowed his voice and finally asked, “Would Count Mills, the charitable and kind-hearted man you believe him to be, still make the same decision? Would he still be willing to pay a steep ransom for you?”

The certainty on Shire Hynes’s face froze.

His pale lips moved reflexively as if to protest, but some instinct lodged the words in his throat.

A deep hesitation and uncertainty surfaced clearly on his slightly translucent, blood-drained face.

“You hesitated.”

Garoth caught that moment of wavering.

“If Count Mills were truly as upright and morally noble as you insist, he would never stand by and watch a righteous knight who has fought and bled for his family perish and be tortured in a so-called dragon’s lair.”

The red iron dragon lowered his head; his vast shadow completely enveloped the Flower Knight.

“In that case, Knight Shire, tell me—where does that hesitation in your heart come from?”

“No!” Shire snapped his head up, his voice rising slightly, “I am certain! Count Mills would never abandon his promises or his friends!”

Garoth let out an even louder, deep laugh that made the air itself seem to crack.

But the laughter subsided quickly.

The red iron dragon stared at the knight and said slowly, “Very well. Since that is your position, let us make a wager. The stake—your life, and your future freedom.”

The Flower Knight was silent for a moment, as if making a decision, then finally nodded slowly.

Meanwhile, far to the south.

Within the Raymond Duchy, at the core of the Albert family’s holdings, in the study of a lavish manor.

Count Mills stood before the great floor-to-ceiling windows; his ordinarily well-groomed hair was somewhat disheveled.

The glaring sunlight outside brought him no warmth; instead it filled him with an inexplicable irritation and chill.

His family’s elite private army, dispatched to the Ser Wilderness to punish the Molten Iron Tribe, had been completely out of contact for a long time.

Attempts to contact the overall commander, General Wolfbar, the alchemists, the protective mages, even mid-level cavalry captains—every magical transmission vanished like a stone thrown into the sea; there was no response.

This utter silence pressed on Count Mills’s heart like a growing boulder, heavy and suffocating.

A cruel reality seemed unavoidable.

Count Mills had believed he had been generous in his estimation of the Molten Iron Tribe’s strength; he knew those wilderness monsters and dragons were not weak.

In his expectations, even if his family’s most elite private force could not immediately subdue the Molten Iron Tribe, it was impossible they would be entirely annihilated or completely controlled by the enemy.

No matter how strong the opponent, they should at worst be a group of adolescent dragons and a ragtag mob formed from various monster clans.

But.

The family army’s total loss of contact landed on him like a silent, crushing blow.

This brutal truth had made him sleepless and restless in recent days.

He realized that he had probably made a fatal error—severely underestimating that Molten Iron Tribe, and especially that red iron dragon.

Those dragons and their tribe could not be measured by ordinary logic!

At that moment.

The communication device on his prized sandalwood desk—a crystal sphere—suddenly glowed with a soft light.

The name displayed on it was unmistakable: Flower Knight Shire Hynes.

“Shire?!”

Count Mills’s heart leaped.

“Has he... managed to escape and contact me? Or...”

He inhaled a few deep breaths of the expensive incense-laden air that could not calm him, forcing his racing thoughts down, and pressed his finger lightly on the communication device.

“Hello, Count Mills.”

A low, thunderous, almost inhuman voice issued from the crystal sphere, filling the entire luxurious, silent study.

This voice was not that of a human knight.

Count Mills’s face instantly changed.

He stared at the sphere for several long breaths before forcing his voice to remain composed enough to ask, “Who are you?”

On the other end of the sphere came a low, soft laugh.

“Who am I?”

The thunderous voice replied, “I think a shrewd man like Count Mills should already have an answer in his heart.”

“No need to waste time with probes. Let us get to the point—let’s talk about ransom.”

Count Mills was silent for a long time, his mind racing and weighing pros and cons.

In the end, he chose to face reality and began negotiations with the red iron dragon on the other end of the communication.

“What do you want?” he asked succinctly.

“Very simple.”

The voice on the other end was blunt: “Just like countless defeated parties across this continent must accept—territorial cession and reparations.”

When Garoth put forward his demand—specifically, the formal cession of the Serpentine Earth Rift and surrounding areas—Count Mills instinctively resisted at first, but did not hold out for long before reluctantly loosening his stance.

Reality was plain.

The Federation garrison could not be relied upon. A once-all-out punitive expedition had already failed. Raising another force capable of threatening the Molten Iron Tribe would be nearly impossible. Since the Serpentine Earth Rift had effectively been lost and was hard to recover, if it would no longer bring profit to the family, then it could be used as bargaining chip.

A lost enclave that could not be controlled was worth far less, to a calculating man like Count Mills, than the elite soldiers taken captive.

Ordinary soldiers could be recruited and trained anew.

But the elite leaders—the Runic Knights, the alchemists, the protective mages, each painstakingly cultivated with the family’s time, resources, and care—these were the pillars of the family’s military strength.

If they were all gone, the Albert family’s military foundation would suffer a heavy blow.

Alliances among nobles were as fragile as spider silk.

If the Albert family showed clear signs of decline, rival lords who had long eyed them hungrily would swarm in like sharks smelling blood, mercilessly ganging up to carve away their interests.

Negotiations then focused on specific compensation amounts and transfer details, and both sides began a long, calm bargaining process.

Neither side behaved like mortal enemies; it was more like two businesses settling a commercial deal.

Time’s hourglass flowed silently.

After round after round of bargaining and probing for bottom lines, both sides at last reached agreement.

Under the witness of the God of Justice, the Albert family would sign legally binding documents, formally ceding the Serpentine Earth Rift.

They would also pay an enormous sum of gold coins—enough to make Count Mills’s heart ache—as war reparations and ransom payments.

All this would be done to recover the family’s captured elites.

During the negotiations, Count Mills was unusually cautious.

He repeatedly and emphatically confirmed with Garoth the condition of the key prisoners—especially the Runic Knights, the alchemists, and the protective mages—whether they were intact and how serious their injuries were.

“I don’t trust any empty promises,” Count Mills said. “I will send a family envoy I trust, carrying formal contractual documents, to the Ser Wilderness as soon as possible.”

“To ensure the contract’s sanctity and the fairness of its execution.”

“A high-ranking priest from the Sanctum of Scales will accompany them to witness the final signing under the light of the God of Justice.”

At that moment, Garoth’s low voice rang out again, shifting the topic: “By the way, Count Mills, there is one... less important captive I should mention.”

“A pitiful creature who calls himself Flower Knight Shire Hynes.”

His voice was flat and indifferent, as though describing a trivial object.

“He is not a member of your Albert family, but he claims to have challenged me for the sake of your family’s righteousness.”

“Unfortunately, he failed—and failed miserably.”

“Considering I personally twisted his limbs until they broke, shattered most of his bones, leaving him to spend the rest of his days clinging to life on a sickbed, a complete cripple who can only survive by depending on others...”

“For the paltry sum of one hundred gold coins,” Garoth casually offered a number, “I could be merciful and spare his life, handing him over to your family like damaged luggage.”

A worthless name on a hollow reputation! A failure!

Thinking of the astronomical sum the family was about to pay and the huge loss it represented, a vexed agitation filled Count Mills’s chest.

He furrowed his brows, face darkening.

“This man has nothing to do with our family. Deal with him as you please; alive or dead, the Albert family has no interest.”

Hearing that, the dragon on the other end suddenly became petty, haggling like a money-grubbing merchant: “Ten gold coins—only ten—and I will spare him. Otherwise, to save on rations, I must throw him to the gnolls to be fed.”

“Believe me, that would be an excruciating death.”

Faced with a dragon so obsessed over the price of a worthless creature, Count Mills felt disgusted and finally dropped his last pretense of patience. He bluntly and coldly replied, “A man who has lost all usefulness will not cost the Albert family even a copper coin. His fate is yours.”

Thus, the negotiation that determined many fates finally ended.

Back in the distant Ser Wilderness.

At the red iron dragon’s feet, the Flower Knight Shire Hynes leaned on the cold ground and had listened to the entire conversation that decided his destiny.

So... my life and worth are worth less than a single gold coin to them?

Shock, disbelief, bitterness, and finally a deep sorrow and clarity passed through his eyes.

After the dramatic fluctuations in emotion, his expression gradually calmed and finally exhaled—a long breath as if a massive burden had been lifted.

From this point on.

He had repaid, with this near-sacrificial act and the other side’s merciless abandonment, the Albert family’s so-called kindness.

From now on, there would be no debts between them.

Through channels of the Gem Merchant Consortium, the Molten Iron Tribe also possessed contractual devices for such occasions.

By the contract they had just made, his life and future now belonged to the terrifyingly complex red iron dragon before him.

“Shire Hynes.”

The red iron dragon’s deep voice broke the silence again.

“I will not lecture you about how easily you were deceived and used by lies.”

“The Count you praise as generous and kind has secretly raised many orphans and beggars, brainwashed them into soldiers who know only family honor and will gladly die for it, and then sent them to the cold battlefield to be drained of their last value.”

His eyes locked on the knight as he asked, “Now do you still insist he is a kind, good lord? A truly good man?”

The Flower Knight slowly and heavily shook his head; the last flicker of fantasy in his eyes was completely extinguished.

“As the contract stipulates, your life and freedom now belong to me, but I will not force you to commit evil.”

The red iron dragon’s voice was calm and even: “Now prepare to practice the principles you claim to uphold—punish the wicked and uphold the righteous.”

“Target—Mills Albert.”

“Go kill him.”