Chapter 17: The Gilded Shackle and the Mana-Vein
The carriage ride back to Saint's Peak was a blur of high-speed anxiety. Julian leaned out the window, shouting for the coachman to whip the horses. In the distance, the silhouette of his home sat atop the ley intersection, a symbol of everything he was about to lose or save.
"Go faster! If my father signs that mercenary contract before I get there, we won't have a domain left to defend!"
Beside him, Julian remembered the conversation that had occurred just moments before leaving the Duke's estate. He had stood with Emilia von Schwarzberg in the garden, the moonlight catching the silver embroidery of her gown.
"I won't be like that Habsburg idiot, Emilia," Julian had said, holding her hand with a firm, grounding pressure. "Albrecht is a man who chases legends while his foundations rot. I am a man who builds foundations so I don't need legends. I acknowledge you. I see the contract for what it is—our survival."
Emilia had let out a soft, melodic laugh, the first one that sounded like a girl's and not a duchess's. "You're calling the Original Hero an idiot to my face? Bold, Julian. Very bold."
[Affection Spike: Emilia +3 (Total: 23/100)]
[Status: Mutual Understanding (Low).]
The Suicidal Ambition
The moment Julian stepped through the manor doors, he was nearly tackled by his sister, Liana. Her face was pale, her protective instincts flared to the max.
"Julian! Thank the Saints! Father has gone mad," she whispered. "He's signed away the village and the Peak as collateral to the Silver-Stream merchants. He's already speaking to the recruitment officers."
Mathilde stepped forward from the shadows of the hall, her arms crossed. Her grey-blue eyes searched Julian's face for the outcome of the Duke's meeting.
"The contract?" she asked, her voice like cracking ice.
"Done," Julian said, ignoring his trembling knees. "The Duke will provide gold for 200 professionals and high-grade equipment for our 150 militia. But he wants the marriage. Soon."
Mathilde's composure flickered—a brief, sharp twitch of her jaw. "You make your Aunt very jealous when you speak of marriage so casually, Julian."
Julian took her hand, his gamer mind shifting into 'Damage Control' mode. He looked her in the eye with a gaze he hoped was elegant and mature. "And you will always be the heart of this house, Mathilde. Marriage to a Duke's daughter is a shield for the domain. But you... you are the reason I want to keep the domain."
Mathilde blushed, a rare, faint rose color touching her high cheekbones. She swiped his hand away with a huff. "You brat. Teasing your Aunt with marriage talk while your head is on the Italian chopping block? Go. Control your father. We will discuss your 'secondary' status later."
[Affection Spike: Mathilde +2 (Total: 81/100)]
[Status: Territorial Guardian.]
The War Table
Julian burst into the war room. Baron Maximilian was surrounded by five mercenary captains from the Iron Scale and Iron Banner guilds. Maps of the county were pinned to the table with daggers.
"Father, stop!" Julian commanded. "500 mercenaries? That's 1,500 gold a month in maintenance alone! You'll bankrupt us before we even march!"
"We have to strike, Julian!" Maximilian shouted, pointing at the map. "The Viscount of Eisenhold is already moving his grain to the border. He thinks we're already gone! If we take his central fortress, the Emperor can't relocate us—we'll be too entrenched!"
[System Notification: Strategic Analysis.]
[Target: Viscount Eisenhold (Central Fortress).]
[Force: 400 Professional Men-at-Arms, 200 Militia.]
[Risk: Extreme. A failed siege results in total House dissolution.]
"Listen to me," Julian said, forcing his voice to be cold and rational. "We don't hire 500. We hire 400 professionals. Combined with our 150 militia and the 12 knights, we have 562 men. We don't strike the Viscount's fortress first—that's a meat grinder. We strike the two minor Barons supporting him: Black-Timber and High-Garden. We cut his supply, take their logging and fertile land, and then we negotiate from a position of strength."
Maximilian paused, his chest heaving. He looked at the map, then at his son. The frantic desperation in his eyes cooled into a grim calculation. "400 professionals... standard equipment... yes. You're right. I was... I was letting the heat take me."
The Discovery and the Leak
Later that night, as Julian was reviewing the tax reports of Viscount Eisenhold, two of the adventurers he had hired—a grizzled scout and a mana-sensitive mage—slipped into the room.
"My Lord," the scout whispered, his voice trembling with excitement. "We found it. Near the third village, tucked behind the Raven-Crag mines... a Mana-Crystal Vein. It's high-purity. It's enough to fund this house for a century."
Julian felt his heart stop. A mana-crystal mine. In the Holy Roman Empire, that wasn't just wealth—it was a strategic asset. It was the kind of thing Emperors went to war over.
"Keep this silent," Julian ordered, sliding two extra gold coins across the table. "If word of this leaks before I can secure the claim at the Diet, we won't be relocated—we'll be assassinated."
The adventurers nodded and vanished.
[System Notification: Error.]
[Warning: The Information has already been compromised.]
Julian froze. "What? How?"
[System Commentary: You forgot, Young Master. The Electors (Saxony and Luxembourg) aren't just sick in bed—they're paranoid. They sent 'Survey Spies' to every house on the relocation list to ensure no assets are left behind. Their spy was trailing your adventurers. The report is already flying toward Frankfurt via carrier pigeon.]
Julian slumped into his chair. He had the gold. He had the mine. He had the girl. But he had just handed the Electors a reason to take his land that was far more powerful than "treasonous blood."
They wouldn't just relocate him now. They would strip him of Saint's Peak to "protect the Imperial interest" in the mana-crystals.
"I finally find a gold mine," Julian whispered to the empty room, "and it's just a faster way to get executed."
The Stinger
POV Shift: The Elector's Recovery Ward (Frankfurt)
The Duke of Saxony looked at the small scroll delivered to his bedside. His "fever" seemed to vanish instantly.
"A mana-crystal vein in Saint's Peak? In the hands of a broken house?" He let out a dry, rattling laugh. "Relocation is too good for them. We'll charge them with 'hoarding Imperial resources.' Secure the mine. I don't care if the boy is engaged to a Schwarzberg—no Duke is worth a crystal vein."
POV Shift: The Border of Benevento
The first walls of the outer city fell. The Spanish Holy Fire Mages walked through the breach, their robes wreathed in white flames.
"The North is slow," the Commander said, looking at the charred remains of the local militia. "By the time the Diet finishes their tea, we'll be at the gates of Naples."
To be continued...