Blacksmithing Is Child’s Play for a Dark Mage - Chapter 48

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 48
In this age, there were no such things as census records or resident registries, and even if an investigation were conducted, proving a pauper’s origins was nearly impossible.
Crude, perhaps, but undeniably effective.
“Listen carefully. Among the Territory Subjects under my domain, not a single one hails from the Filkoan Viscount Territory. Every last one was either recruited from Harundel or purchased legitimately from the slave market. But you didn’t expect me to care about such details, did you?”
Tay set down his teacup after a sip and spoke again.
“If you want war, we’ll have war. If the Filkoan Viscount had simply asked for the standard price, I’d have been inclined to negotiate… but this is pure greed, isn’t it? If he wants death, I’ll oblige him. And make sure to tell him this: should we go to war, I will kill the Filkoan Viscount. There is no option for me to ransom him alive. Is that clear?”
Bennet’s expression shifted.
He must have expected the threat to inspire fear, or at the very least some hint of willingness to negotiate.
Yet this Black Magician was meeting him head-on instead.
“You will come to regret this.”
Bennet spoke in a low voice.
“And who exactly do you think will regret it? Even now, if you’re willing to buy at last year’s standard price, I’m open to selling my reserves. Go and tell him that.”
Bennet stared at Tay for a moment.
“I understand. I have confirmed your lordship’s position and will report it to the Viscount.”
“Do that. And mind yourself on the way back.”
Bennet rose from his seat, bowed, and left the reception hall.
The door closed.
Tay gazed at the door through which Bennet had departed, absently turning the teacup between his hands.
“War, then…”
He murmured softly, then let out a quiet laugh.
And laughed again.
“There’s nothing I can’t do.”
* * *
The Inner Castle of House Harundel.
In the study of the highest tower, Grimoire Arcane Spell Elfin Harundel was sipping a rose hip tea of her particular preference.
“The Filkoan Viscount has sent word that he intends to declare a Territorial War on the Maker Baronet Territory.”
The chamberlain Bilerent Fah Guardian reported in a measured tone.
“The justification given is the harboring of runaway serfs.”
“Runaway serfs.”
Grimoire smiled faintly.
Harboring runaway serfs.
It was one of the most commonly invoked pretexts for waging Territorial War in this age.
A convenient excuse, hard to prove and harder still to refute.
Regardless of whether it was true.
“Filkoan… this creature had too much appetite.”
Grimoire set down the report and spoke quietly.
The Filkoan Viscount.
One of Grimoire’s vassals, a viscount ruling a territory of twenty thousand souls.
His abilities were passable enough, but his ambition far exceeded his competence—that was Grimoire’s assessment of him.
When a poor harvest this year left his domain’s finances in dire straits, he had apparently set his sights on the neighboring fledgling baronet territory, which had enjoyed an abundant yield.
It was not entirely unexpected.
One might even commend him for acting this quickly.
“What is the Maker Baron’s response?”
“He flatly refused. Moreover, reports indicate he went so far as to declare that if war comes, he will certainly put the Filkoan Viscount to death.”
“Hm.”
The corners of Grimoire’s mouth turned upward.
Bold.
From their very first meeting, she had sensed it—this Black Magician was no ordinary man.
He had outright rejected the proposal of a Countess who stood above him, and now, faced with the threat of a viscount commanding six Knights, he had declared his intent to kill instead.
Whether it was bluster or confidence remained to be seen, but one thing was certain: he was not the type to cower and grovel in fear.
“And yet…”
Grimoire gazed out the window and took a sip of her tea.
“I don’t think the Maker Baron will lose.”
Bilerent tilted his head slightly.
“You believe so?”
“He is the one who built a territory with over two thousand souls in little more than a year from untamed land, is he not? Would a man of such resourcefulness accept war without any preparation? He must surely possess something the Filkoan Viscount knows nothing of.”
Grimoire set her teacup down on its saucer.
“Authorize the Territorial War.”
“Very good.”
“Where—”
Grimoire’s eyes narrowed. A smile played at the corner of her mouth—the look of someone who’d discovered something fascinating.
“Let’s see what the Maker Baronet is made of.”
* * *
The Territorial War was formally declared.
A Territorial War of this era was a matter of honor—a contest fought with stakes higher than mere survival.
And so, remarkably enough.
Both sides agreed on a location beforehand.
They formed their lines and waited, then began the fight.
Wars between nations cared little for such formality, but Territorial Wars typically observed these courtesies.
Thus it came to pass.
Tay and Lant found themselves locked in combat on a flat stretch of land midway between the Filkoan Viscount Territory and the Maker Baronet Territory.
“See that you bring no dishonor to House Harundel, the ruler of these lands.”
There was even an observer present.
One of House Harundel’s retainers had delivered this message to both sides, and soon the war began.
And Filkoan’s face was twisted with dismay as the battle commenced.
“Money rotting in the coffers, are they? Just how many Black Magicians did he hire?”
Filkoan’s forces.
Three hundred Territory Subjects and seven hundred Mercenaries.
By raw numbers alone, a thousand strong.
Beyond that, he’d enlisted four Knights from his personal retinue, plus two Errant Knights—bringing his Knight strength to six.
Yet there was reason for his expression to darken.
Three thousand!
A massive army of three thousand appeared before him.
Three times his own force!?
And worse—half of those three thousand were clad in heavy armor.
Where in the world had he scraped together troops equipped like that?
Money rotting in the coffers indeed—had he simply purchased every Mercenary available?
And more troubling still.
The other half were Skeleton Soldiers.
Fifteen hundred Skeleton Soldiers? It was common knowledge that first-class Black Magicians using items could conjure as many as twenty Skeleton Soldiers at once.
But such items were costly, and few possessed them.
Most Black Magicians managed five to ten at best.
This made hiring Black Magicians for war inefficient—which was why most battlefields avoided them entirely.
You could justify hiring Black Magicians if they summoned demons, but their fees became prohibitive then, and the arithmetic fell apart again.
And yes, third-class Black Magicians could summon dozens of Skeleton Soldiers, but third-class fees bore no comparison to first-class rates.
Yet fifteen hundred Skeleton Soldiers?
How many Black Magicians had he hired, for the gods’ sake?
And then there was another problem. Skeleton Soldiers were durable, certainly.
But they were lightweight—which meant they typically underperformed compared to living soldiers in actual combat.
If that were the case, why hire Black Magicians at all? Why not just hire more Mercenaries?
And there was something else that troubled him.
Where in the blazes were the Black Magicians themselves?
Had he hidden them among the heavily armored troops?
As these questions swirled in his mind.
A trumpet’s call pierced the air.
The observer had sounded the horn to begin the war.
The battle commenced.
* * *
“Textbook tactics, I see.”
Tay sat atop a palanquin.
Though it was different from his usual arrangement.
This one bore a roof—enough to shield him from enemy arrows.
Most of his Mercenaries were foot soldiers, but a hundred of the Viscount’s personal troops were archers, so the precaution was warranted.
“What will you do?”
“Well. Seems I underestimated him. I didn’t think he’d come without hiring Black Magicians or Magicians at all.”
“You didn’t hire any either, sir.”
When you hire Mercenaries, you could supplement them with hired Magicians.
But Magicians worth employing in war were at least third-class.
Because large-scale destruction magic started at third-class.
Below second-class, the cost-benefit simply didn’t justify it.
But from the Third Class onward, the price tag becomes absolutely astronomical.
In some respects, they command fees that rival even Knights.
The reason is simple.
Third Class mages wield area-destruction magic as their primary tool—the Exploding Flame Sphere—and its destructive power is genuinely formidable.
The explosive force is so potent that a single detonation can send roughly twenty men to their graves if they’re packed tightly together.
A typical Third Class mage can deploy the Exploding Flame Sphere about ten times, which means a single mage can theoretically dispatch some two hundred souls to the afterlife.
That’s why their value skyrockets.
A Knight, fighting alone, will exhaust himself after slaying a hundred soldiers and collapse—but mages hold the advantage when it comes to wholesale slaughter.
“I handled it with coin, though.”
“True enough.”
“In truth, Contractor, you needn’t hire any other Black Magician or mage at all.”
Ash interjected into the conversation.
“With unlimited dominion over the undead, this ability alone could well grant you mastery over this entire world.”
“It’s not quite that grand. These are only low-tier undead, after all.”
Tay deflected with a wry smile.
“Even so. In a conflict of this scale, you’d be utterly overwhelming. Besides, they don’t even know that your entire force consists of Skeleton Soldiers.”
“And that’s what makes it convenient.”
Tay let out a quiet laugh. The enemies drew steadily closer.
Mercenaries advanced at the vanguard, with regular soldiers trailing behind them.
The Knights remained at the rear, advancing on horseback.
Then the mercenaries and three thousand Skeleton Soldiers collided.
* * *
“What’s with these skeletons being so damn strong!?”
Muntre, a mercenary of considerable experience, had participated in this Territorial War because the pay was generous.
When he’d seen the enemy force comprised entirely of Skeleton Soldiers, he’d actually cheered—these were hollow-boned creatures with nothing but a shell, after all.
Sweet as honey, this was going to be.
Easy pickings!
But.
That assumption crumbled quickly.
These Skeleton Soldiers were far too strong.
Their weapon strikes carried more force than his own.
Their mass was crushing, and they stood a full head taller than he did.
He couldn’t fathom why their bones were so thick.
And when he slashed at their ribs, the blade failed to bite properly—a fact that drove him to distraction.
Ordinary Skeleton Soldiers should shatter and scatter from a single blow—that’s how it was supposed to work!
A Black Magician makes smithing look far too easy.
Author |
Automaton G
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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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