“Welcome, Young Master. We’ve been expecting you. Do you remember me? I’m Grakin, captain of the Ansen village guard.”
Greeting them at the village entrance was Grakin, who had once led the dwarven contingent.
After becoming a citizen of Schrantz, he had promptly enlisted in the military.
His prior experience was recognized, allowing him to retain his rank as captain of the frontier village guard—now renamed the Ansen village guard.
“It’s been a while. How have you been?”
“Thanks to you, Young Master, we’re doing well.”
“None of your kin facing difficulties?”
“No, everyone has found their place and settled in.”
“I see.”
Ian’s gaze swept over the village.
After two years, the changes were undeniable.
Ansen was no longer a haphazard cluster of tents and half-built houses.
Smoke curled from the chimneys of sturdy homes, statues adorned the square and streets, and even a few tourists were crafting stuffs.
‘Tourism already?’
Ian smirked.
To nobles, this place might seem unremarkable, but their presence was a promising sign.
“By the way, is there lodging available?”
He intended to stay if suitable accommodations existed.
But Grakin’s next words surprised him.
“Of course. Ansen has an upscale inn. Would you like to rest there?”
“An upscale inn?”
“Yes, built by the Adoran Merchant Group. It caters to wealthy visitors.”
He hadn’t expected such luxury so soon.
“Oh, and a large brewery is under construction. The ale my kin brew has gained quite the reputation—some tourists come solely to taste it.”
‘Oh?’
Ian’s interest was piqued.
How exceptional must the brew be to draw travelers this far?
‘Come to think of it, I haven’t had a drink in ages.’
Preparations and the war had left no room for leisure.
‘Well, money’s no concern.’
He patted the hefty purse Hugo had given him—100 gold for his stay.
A sum unimaginable in previous times.
With the territory’s finances thriving, even the treasurer hadn’t batted an eye at the expense.
“Good. I’ll stay there then. If any issues arise, don’t hesitate to inform me.”
“Thank you, Young Master.”
Grakin bowed, grateful for Ian’s open offer of assistance.
“Father mentioned a problem here. What is it?”
At Ian’s question, Grakin’s expression turned serious.
“Lately, monsters from the west have been encroaching on the village.”
“The west? Lizardmen?”
Grakin stared in shock.
“How did you know they inhabit the west?”
‘Because I know this region’s monster habitats by heart.’
And that area was planned for the next settlement.
Ian shrugged.
“Just a guess. Are they the issue?”
Grakin shook his head.
“Not yet, but their numbers have exploded. We’ve spotted them near the village.”
‘With the Greenskin gone and our expansion shrinking their territory, the Lizardmen’s influence must have grown.’
Originally, both Greenskin and Lizardmen would’ve been threats post-settlement.
But Ian wasn’t worried.
“Understood. Increase patrols to protect villagers and travelers.”
“Yes, Young Master!”
His response was indifferent.
‘The elves will handle it.’
The western elves, united in their forest tribes, would soon clash with the Lizardmen—resolving the issue without his intervention.
“One more thing. I’m visiting the prisoner camp tomorrow. Have the warden prepare a specific captive.”
“Who?”
Ian grinned.
“A knight from House Duser—Colin.”
Grakin departed to relay the order.
***
Colin had spent the war in humiliation, confined without a chance to fight.
As a noble-born knight, he was granted a spacious cell, but comfort remained elusive.
Though adjusted to captivity, he couldn’t sleep.
His days imprisoned alongside Count Duser had been hell.
‘This defeat is all your fault!’
‘Had you done your duty, I wouldn’t be here!’
‘Your contract’s nearly up—consider it terminated!’
The Count had blamed every failure on Colin.
Even after Duser left for Rosen, the wounds festered.
‘Was it truly my fault?’
Regrets tormented him nightly—if only he’d sent scouts, insisted on better preparations…
Their absence had led to the ambush, the crushing defeat.
‘I should’ve trained them harder.’
But funds earmarked for war had stripped training to the bare minimum.
A mistake from the very start.
Though he could easily shift all the blame onto Count Duser, Colin was already drowning in self-loathing.
If only I’d pushed harder, insisted—maybe the Count would’ve listened.
Yes, it’s my fault.
Yielding to budgetary excuses, failing to stand firm—all of it was his failure.
Had he succeeded in even one of those, they wouldn’t have been crushed so utterly.
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps echoed—a guard’s, normally easy to ignore. But this time was different.
There were two sets.
And they stopped outside his cell.
“He’s here.”
“You’re certain it’s him?”
“Yes, sir.”
A young guard and a middle-aged man.
The latter called out,
“Colin Magath. Are you awake?”
Colin Magath.
Hearing his full name, he stirred and sat up.
“I am Colin Magath.”
He couldn’t help but be surprised.
The man addressing him was none other than the warden himself.
And it was odd.
Prisoners here were referred to by number, not name—except for Count Duser.
But the strangeness didn’t end there.
“Good. You’ll be meeting privately with the Young Master tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Young Master has requested to see you.”
That made even less sense.
The Young Master of Schrantz? Me? Why?
They’d never exchanged words on the battlefield, and he’d done nothing noteworthy.
He was just another defeated officer, humiliated by Ian.
“Why?”
“I don’t know the details. That’s all I was told. Just be ready.”
With that, the warden left.
Colin remained seated, staring blankly.
Why?
He had no idea why Ian would seek him out—but tomorrow, he’d find out.
***
The next day, just past 10 AM.
As the warden had said, Colin was brought before Ian.
“Come in.”
He found himself in what resembled a visitation room—a place for guards’ families, not prisoners.
Ian gestured to the seat opposite.
Colin sat.
Nea placed black tea before Colin and a drink before Ian.
Ian took a sip and asked,
“So, how’s life in the camp?”
“Bearable, thanks to your mercy, Young Master.”
That wasn’t a lie.
The treatment was surprisingly decent.
Guards maintained order but never abused prisoners.
Three meals a day, ample portions, and even medical care for the wounded.
It was almost unsettlingly generous.
Of course, Ian’s motives were clear.
These men would soon be Schrantz soldiers—why mistreat them?
Even those who wouldn’t join were treated fairly.
They’d return home singing praises of Schrantz’s mercy.
All without spending a single coin of ours.
None of the prisoners realized the funds came from the defeated lords’ own coffers.
“Why did you summon me, Young Master?”
“Straight to the point, then?”
Colin’s gaze was wary.
No matter how he racked his brain, he couldn’t fathom Ian’s interest in him.
Had he distinguished himself in battle, he might’ve assumed Ian wanted to recruit him.
But he’d done nothing of note.
At best, he was remembered as an incompetent loser—hardly worth remembering, let alone summoning.
Or does he plan to use me for something?
He couldn’t shake the suspicion of some hidden scheme.
Ian smiled.
“Luckily, I also hate wasting time.”
He appreciated Colin’s directness.
“Then I’ll be blunt.”
Ian set his drink down gently.
Colin swallowed hard.
“Count Duser pinned the entire blame for the defeat on you, didn’t he?”
“……”
Colin hid his shock—how does he know?—and instead focused on why Ian would bring this up.
Is he planning some kind of deal?
