Chapter Nineteen: The Earl of Dainabor’s Decision

Daina City was shrouded in gloom, with white chrysanthemums hanging at the doorways of some households. Count Daina, clad in heavy armor and astride a tall warhorse, led his knights back to the castle.

The noble knights' eyes were filled with exhaustion, their armor etched with fine scratches, some even bandaged—clear evidence of a grueling battle just ended.

The steward had been waiting outside the gates. At the sight of the Count’s return, he hurried forward, took the Count’s sword, and asked with concern, “Sir, are you unharmed?”

“It’s nothing, just a few goblins,” Count Daina replied, though the fatigue on his face could not be concealed.

With the kingdom’s knights delayed, the goblin calamity worsened. Swarms of goblins invaded his lands, pillaging and burning. First the villages at the borders were attacked, then the towns. Eventually, as lord, he could no longer sit idly by and personally led his knights to repel the goblins.

Yet the goblins were far more numerous than he had imagined—an overwhelming tide, and among them, goblin shamans. Count Daina suffered a bitter defeat, losing dozens of novice knights, one first-rank knight, and over three thousand casualties among the common soldiers.

And this was without the enemy pursuing them. Had the goblins chased them, the knights might escape on horseback, but the militia losses would have multiplied.

The thought of those lost knights made Count Daina’s heart bleed, though thankfully, they managed to drive the monsters back.

Returning to the castle, Count Daina did not greet his wife or children but went directly to his study.

He sank into a soft sofa, opened a bottle of red wine, and drank straight from it, abandoning all pretense of noble manners.

“Ah! Refreshing!”

Setting the bottle aside, Count Daina wiped his mouth and asked, “Any news from the capital?”

This battle had made him realize the goblin scourge was beyond his power; only the kingdom’s knights could resolve it.

“His Majesty says we must hold the goblins off. Goblins could never breach a city guarded by a thousand knights,” the steward answered, bowing deeply.

“And the Crown Prince?”

“The Crown Prince says you must hold out a little longer, Sir.”

Silence fell; the steward bowed his head even lower.

Bang!

The wine bottle smashed against the ornate, carved wall, shattering and soaking the floor with red wine and glass.

“Damn it! Pigs! Bastards!” Count Daina’s face twisted in rage, cursing in words he would never utter among nobility, sounding more like a street thug.

They wanted him to lose more knights, to weaken his power. If he followed the king’s orders and clung to Daina City, once the goblin disaster was over, his lands would be desolate—no one to farm, no trade, nothing. He would end up like the princess next door, reduced to a mere village chief!

“Shall we continue to muster troops, Sir? If we gather every adult male in the territory, we could field an army of a hundred thousand—enough to drive out the goblins,” the steward suggested.

The goblin disaster had erupted so suddenly—monster hunters who ventured into the swamps had just reported their findings when goblins began invading Daina’s lands. In barely ten days, the kingdom had no time to react.

Recruiting soldiers takes time. Training the militia takes time. Preparing provisions takes time.

Even Daina, the closest territory, could only respond hastily. Count Daina had no time to assemble militias and knights from other towns, so he went forth with his own knights and Daina City’s militia.

“A hundred thousand troops—what use? At best, we’ll drive them back to the Death Swamp. With their breeding rate, they’ll return in days,” Count Daina said, his face tense with anger.

His domain covered over a hundred thousand square kilometers, nearly half a million subjects, more than a thousand knights. No other count in the Kingdom of Dawn could rival him. Even the Grand Duke Saire was hardly stronger, his advantage built over years of accumulation.

All this, he had won himself—from savage tribes, monsters, and rival powers. Was half a lifetime’s effort to be destroyed by a goblin calamity?

Then a thought struck him; the ferocity faded from his face. He asked, “How goes the preparations for that task the nobleman ordered?”

The steward quickly replied, “Over the past few days, I’ve purchased every Spirit Awakening Pill and related material in the city—two hundred and twelve pills, and over a thousand sets of ingredients.”

“Excellent. Tomorrow, I’ll deliver them myself.” Count Daina opened another bottle of red wine, this time pouring a glass and sipping delicately, his noble air restored.

“The capital can’t be relied upon—hmph! A bunch of pampered lords basking in ancestral glory for too long.”

Highborn humans—once thought mere legend—had truly appeared before him, granting him both the greatest gift and the deepest irony.

“Sir, those people don’t even know what ‘qi’ is. Are they really highborn humans?” The steward still doubted.

Even if they had black hair and black eyes, spent gold with reckless abandon, it wasn’t proof. The legendary highborn humans were said to be masters of the world—even the mightiest dragons mere prey to them.

Such a powerful race, yet unable to use ‘qi,’ hardly different from commoners. Even as an old man, he could easily subdue them.

“I suspect the princess is deceiving us. That gold might be from some ancient ruin. Perhaps we should…”

“Do you know why you could never become nobility?” Count Daina glanced at his steward, now nearly fifty.

In their youth, the steward was not his servant, but a companion—a fellow monster hunter. Unfortunately, disagreements parted them for years, and when they met again, their paths had diverged.

The steward still struggled as a second-rank knight, while Count Daina had reached the third rank, with hope of becoming a transcendent knight.

The steward quickly lowered his head and said humbly, “Because I lack your noble blood, Sir.”

“Heh, what noble blood? Hahaha, aren’t we all two-legged men?” Count Daina seemed to mock both himself and the inland nobles.

His laughter abruptly ceased. He continued, “Because I am greedy—yet I do not covet.”

Anything can be deceived except the truth; he had indeed received gold, and that was enough.

That man’s indifferent gaze still haunted Count Daina—a look given to wild grass, just as he himself looked upon commoners scrambling for bread.

Only now, he was the one kneeling for bread.

…

The next morning, a procession of wagons loaded with goods left Daina City, escorted by over a hundred knights.

In the most lavish carriage sat Count Daina, his wife, his daughter Martha, and his son Enger.

Count Daina’s wife appeared to be in her forties, with gentle wrinkles and a kindly face. She looked more like the Count’s mother than his wife—she had grown old.

His son, too, seemed in his thirties. Standing beside the Count, they looked more like brothers.

His only unmarried daughter, Martha, finally resembled a daughter beside him—she was only fifteen.

The girl wore a simple white gown and a goose feather hat, with no jewelry, yet radiated noble grace.

“Father, why are we visiting Princess Orlina as a family today? Isn’t it usually just my brother who goes?” Martha Daina asked in confusion.

A year and a half ago, when the princess first arrived as lord, her brother visited frequently, until one day he returned with a swollen face and never went again.

Enger’s expression was stiff, and the Countess looked puzzled as well. “Sir, isn’t it a bit improper for us to visit the princess so openly, given the capital’s stance…”

Among the nobility, Princess Orlina had been all but expelled from their ranks. The Daina family’s public visit to her might bring exclusion from other nobles.

Count Daina replied with calm ease, “Don’t mind those pampered lords. From now on, we’ll draw closer to the princess.”

“Then, Father, may I resume courting Princess Orlina?” Enger asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

For some reason, his father had previously forbidden him from approaching her.

Count Daina glanced at his son, without much hope, and said, “If you have the ability.”

At that moment, the carriage stopped. The door swung open, and the steward stood by, bowing. “Sir, there’s a troop of knights ahead—over two hundred. Their banner resembles Count Monroe’s.”

“Monroe?”