Chapter 77: Second-Generation Noble

“A second-generation noble…” Constantine’s gaze slid over the shining crest. He dipped his head slightly, letting the shadow of his hood cover the faint curve at the corner of his mouth.

So-called second-generation nobles referred to minor nobles specially ennobled by the current His Majesty the Emperor. A true noble family needed five generations to cement its standing; this was an axiom among the aristocracy… Therefore, in the eyes of the deeply rooted great families, these upstarts often received little respect. Even possessing remarkable abilities, climbing the ranks proved quite difficult. Thus, many scions of second-generation noble houses chose to secure official positions or join the military, slowly ascending in the hope of earning a new title before the age of fifty to solidify their family’s position. Only, in Hayton, proclaimed the western hub of the Continent, neither path was particularly smooth…

Securing an official post required significant talent in political maneuvering—a skill not learned by merely attending a Noble school for a few days. Joining the military, however, demanded passing at least the army’s stringent screening… An incredibly difficult feat in this era of peace. Phoenix’s military emphasized combat pragmatism. Relying solely on fancy moves, young whelps who had never shed blood absolutely couldn’t clear the maliciously designed hurdles set by the soldiers.

Therefore, those aspiring to this path needed at least some bloodied experience… Thankfully, this Plane provided monsters for them to brutalize.

Truthfully, this fellow’s appearance was quite good. Tall and lean, he didn’t look bulky but radiated considerable strength. His blond hair was loosely tied back in a ponytail, and his slightly boyish features revealed this “Knight” wasn’t old, probably only between fifteen and seventeen. His chiseled face accentuated his resoluteness. His slightly arched eyebrows lent him a heroic, imposing air. Only… those eyes left a poor impression, involuntarily bringing poisonous-looking snakes to mind. Combined with his haughty attitude and the irritating smell of dust in his own nostrils, Constantine couldn’t help but nurse a malicious thought. “Shall I let this pretentious fellow learn a lesson?”

“Boss, the boss indeed… Just went for a stroll and managed to catch two fat… er, noble guests…”

An oily, slick voice suddenly spoke up. Though quiet, it startled the Knight tremendously! The voice, though low, seemed to whisper right in his ear! “Who?! Show yourself!” He whirled around sharply, trying to spot the unnervingly close speaker. But scanning the area revealed nothing besides the narrow alley mouth and the city walls! An invisible speaker clearly unnerved him. He shouted loudly while wildly brandishing his lance with his free hand.

He only managed to stir up dust… It did nothing. The next instant, a dark shadow flashed before his Horse’s eyes. The beast spooked violently, stumbling and almost throwing its lance-waving master from the saddle!

“Jack, stop messing around!” The archer, the one who called herself Lady William, snapped sharply. The fellow she rebuked merely turned around with a careless smile: “Just a little jest, really. No need to brandish arms against me?”

“You… Hmph!” This clearly malicious little joke left the nearly disgraced Knight furious. Yet, he seemed to grasp who held the upper hand. In the end, he just snorted angrily and charged out of the city gate first! Constantine felt a slight surprise.

This wasn’t due to the speaker’s method; Constantine’s violet eyes had already noted the figure lurking within the shadow of the city wall moments prior.

This person was indeed skilled at hiding. Anyone passing by might have missed the figure standing near the corner… His entire person seemed to blend into the structure itself – decaying patches, wood grain, rainwater stains, even the creepers like black razor vines… all perfectly revealed themselves on him as if he’d become transparent altogether… Only the faint gleam leaking from his vigilant, roving eyes offered slight proof that a living creature resided there. Even so, few people could discern his presence. Much less the high-perched second-generation noble on horseback.

What truly surprised Constantine a bit, however, was when he noticed the figure’s revealed features now—messy, blood-dark hair, a weary face, worn leather Armor, and several daggers… The youth couldn’t help but muse this world really wasn’t all that large—this impressively skilled Rogue was the very same fellow he’d encountered, and stolen from, last time in the market.

Hayton is not small, but not large either… The boy sighed internally.

…

“But, what’s this? You’re bringing her on the mission?” Constantine couldn’t help asking, looking at the now-sleeping little girl.

The carriage had jolted along for about two Hourglass turns. Though an ordinary covered wagon, it was clearly modified. A thick layer of felt padded the wooden floor, suitable for long journeys and hauling goods. Riding inside was reasonably comfortable too. Heavy padding lined the canopy walls, providing warmth and some defense against arrows. Small wooden barrels stacked in one corner held food, water, and wine, making it a decent choice for either a short or longer trip.

Now, curled under a blanket, the little girl was plainly deep asleep. The pitiful child had clearly endured too much. Even the jolting of the wooden-axled wagon felt like a cozy cradle.

“…Couldn’t help it. I couldn’t bear seeing her suffer in that bastard’s hands. No choice but to bring her for now…” Embarrassment and apology warred on the bearded Cleric’s face. He gently reached out, brushing away a speck of black bread crust sticking to the girl’s cheek. “I’ll find a proper arrangement for her later. May the Light of Saint Cuthbert protect this child from the wicked.”

“Always like this… Makes me suspect your Cleric identity is forged!” The Rogue mumbled, leaning comfortably against the wagon side as he slowly gnawed on a green fruit from who-knows-where. He gazed quietly at the scenery retreating behind the wagon. “It was your gold that saved her, really… If you didn’t always meddle like this, the money saved would have sufficed to build a small Temple! Do you even intend to faithfully serve your god anymore?”

“Jack, I’ve told you before, piety isn’t measured in coin! It’s not about raising impressive empty temples to glorify my god… Spreading Order throughout the world, ensuring all people benefit under its guidance…”

“Is Your Lordship a qualified Cleric?… Someone of your stature should be highly sought after by various families, right? Why continue as a Mercenary? Even if, stepping back, Nobles discounted your strength due to arrogance, you should at least attract followers. Gather a few dozen men, form a small Mercenary group – no problem, surely?…” Constantine hadn’t forgotten his primary goal. He swiftly steered the conversation in this direction.

“That’s because we don’t need troublesome companions, or cowards who tremble behind others.” The Rogue replied, his tone uncharacteristically serious. Then his habitual smile returned: “Something the big sister often says… Really, I don’t see a problem…”

Hmm? The reply sparked something in Constantine’s mind. But before he spoke, the wagon rattled to a halt in its jolting progress.

It was a small mountain hollow. Two earthen hills, dozens of meters high, formed a sheltered nook deflecting most of the chill wind. The grass was noticeably lusher here. At the foot of the hills, a distinct dark shape was visible. Within its depths, the outlines of a few support timbers could just be made out. It was the peat mine dug by villagers into the hillside. But now, shadows shaped like Humans prowled nearby. Straining to hear, faint guttural mutterings drifted on the wind.

Peat, a mixed fuel burning softly with smoky fumes, wasn’t widely used. But for the surrounding few dozen farming families, it was essential winter warmth. This year, though, villagers discovered a band of Hobgoblins had occupied their deep mine pit, turning it into their filthy den. Several careless villagers had been cut down. Yet the remote village produced nothing special. Its meager fields barely sustained its folk. The Archduke naturally wouldn’t dispatch soldiers over a mere dozen-gold tax to clean out monsters, instead magnanimously halving the tax.

The poor villagers thus pooled ten gold themselves and posted the bounty at the Mercenary Guild. While fuel could be bought, Hobgoblins were infamous breeders. Left unchecked, they’d soon start harassing nearby Humans come winter, when food ran scarce.

“All Hobgoblins. Thirty to forty. Most wear crude pigskin Armor, but reportedly, have iron plates sewn over vital spots. Defense is decent. Lackeys use pitchfork-shaft spears or dagger-modified spears. The core fighters and leaders carry wooden Crossbows. Some wield large shields and wood axes.”

The Rogue’s figure solidified as he emerged from the natural Shadow; his professionalism evident as he laid bare their enemy’s disposition in a few sentences.

“Alright. We’ll follow the usual method. Jack sets traps, baits them. We reduce numbers with arrows. Andrew and I mop up. As for you two,” she glanced at Constantine and the Knight, “stay put. Only join near the end. I’ll arrange a few targets for you…” This level of threat was routine business. The veteran Mercenaries simply exchanged nods and began moving. Lady William’s explanation of the plan seemed aimed solely at Constantine and the Knight.

“A plan is completely unnecessary! Dozens of those monsters pose no threat to us!” Snorted the Knight astride his white Steed, silver lance gleaming. He snapped his helmet shut with a sharp click, his voice muffled now through the visor: “Let’s just charge!”

His declaration rang with bravado. But the young man’s fierce expression combined with the naked excitement in his eyes reminded Constantine of something vicious and cruel – like today was just perfect for killing monsters for fun.

As the Rogue turned away, Constantine caught the edge of a sneer: “Another idiot whose brain’s addled by heroic ballads…”

Constantine rubbed his nose, nodding slightly in agreement – not from disdain for Nobles, but because he saw in those young, even childish eyes, beneath the excitement, a deeper, chilling layer: disregard for life, contempt for the lowly, a disturbing glee at the scent of blood.

“Hobgoblins aren’t Goblins. Their fighting ability…” Lady William began explaining, but events unfolded abruptly…

A shrill cry interrupted her! The second-generation Noble Knight seemed inflamed. He didn’t let William finish! With a vicious jerk on the reins, he spurred his Horse forward, charging directly at the dull-green shapes milling idly around the mine entrance!

“By the Abyss! Has he lost his mind?!”

The sudden charge drew startled curses from the three experienced Mercenaries. Stopping the charging Horse was impossible. Reluctantly, they surged forward after him. If anything happened to this reckless Noble, it meant significant trouble. Legal repercussions might not be immediate, but fleeing to the backwoods would become necessary. Worse, their names would be tarnished in the Mercenary Guild records. Few in Phoenix would hire them for jobs. Their only option would be scraping by in the minor eastern kingdoms.

Hobgoblins truly weren’t a major menace. A standard Mercenary squad, or a hundred organized peasants, could drive them off. Only a handful currently patrolled the wide mine entrance. They certainly couldn’t handle a mounted Human Knight… And this second-generation noble proved no novice. A plume of dust kicked up behind his white Steed! His posture was low, the lance held steady against the Horse’s jolting charge – this spoke of ingrained drilling. His mount was accelerating at top speed, nearly seeming winged.

“That’s a classic cavalry charge stance…” Constantine noted mentally. No wonder the fellow dared charge with such swagger. Cavalry techniques weren’t necessarily intricate, but against a Knight and Steed united at full tilt, even Ogres and Giants hesitated – the Horse’s momentum multiplied the lance’s piercing force manifold, potentially punching through steel plate! Unarmored infantry stood no chance. Though this man wielded a lance instead of their deadliest weapon, the Greatsword, skewering several Hobgoblins on his first pass wouldn’t be the slightest surprise.

But, as ever, things weren’t so straightforward.

“Hiiiiii!”

Just as they covered most of the several-hundred-foot distance, the charging Steed suddenly neighed sharply—and tumbled violently to the ground! Its rider screamed, catapulting forward like a sack of wheat!

Luck favored the Knight—his lance stabbed reflexively at the earth. Wood shattered explosively as it took the impact! He still flew, landing hard with a heavy, wind-stealing ‘thud!’ that echoed through the hollow, raising a massive plume of dust! His extended cry of pain suggested he wasn’t dead… yet.

But all that Armor, his weight, plus the Horse’s full gallop meant ‘unscathed’ was impossible… Constantine narrowed his eyes. The boiling dust clouds couldn’t quite hide the awkward angle of the unlucky man’s leg. He thrashed, trying to rise. Utterly useless.

“Hmm? Since when did Hobgoblins become this clever? Traps?”

Constantine was intrigued, unsurprisingly unconcerned about the Knight’s survival. If the fool perished, it actually lightened everyone’s burden… What drew his interest was the area itself: covered with yellow-brown weeds, seeming flat, but actually riddled with countless holes of varying sizes… Someone had deliberately prepared a nasty surprise!

The pits resembled antlion traps. Crude, but the stratagem was cunning. Any Horse galloping at speed stepping such a hole condemned itself, potentially suffering broken legs and crash. Worse, uneven planks lay concealed within others. From certain angles, even tread upon by Human feet, the angled wood could become a vicious weapon.

“Ook-guli-ook! Waagh! Ook-guli!”

The spectacle naturally alerted every creature within three miles. Strange screeching roars erupted, and shapes surged from the mine depths. These Hobgoblins stood larger than their Goblin cousins Constantine glimpsed in the Soul Channel. Slightly hunched under patchwork hides and leather Armor, yellow slime oozed from viciously sharp Fangs. Heavy feet pounded on dirt and sand. Regrouping briefly, the mob surged towards the small group!

Overwhelming numbers were their mainstay tactic. While Humans needed fifteen long years from birth to maturity, these things matured in a mere five Magic years. Yet, sheer numbers rarely proved decisive. One Mercenary could fell several Hobgoblins. Experienced warriors? Ten, twenty, or more. With archery support? Forget it. Four professionals against thrice their number stood a good chance for a kill-stroke victory with zero casualties.

But as the Hobgoblins neared, an overwhelming stench assaulted the senses—a putrid blend of rotting meat and ingrained filth. Though vile, the stink wasn’t half as intimidating as the crude metal spear points and jagged cleavers held in their clawed fists.