Lord of Caldera - Chapter 145

Chapter 145: Chapter 145

Sylas shook his head in disbelief. They’d drunk so much last night, and here they were, unscathed, having drunk more this morning. Truly inhuman. He downed the last of his honey water as the empty cup was promptly taken away.

“Anything else I can get for you, my lord?” the villager asked.

“Where’s Bjorn?”

“The young lord is at the cemetery.”

As expected. Sylas stood to go meet him but didn’t need to go far. He encountered Bjorn on his way back, with a smirk on his face.

“Guess you can’t hold your drink as well as I can.”

“Shut up.” Sylas clicked his tongue at Bjorn’s cheerful, unruffled expression. It seemed he’d been the one to pass out first last night. As he looked Bjorn over, he noticed traces of dirt on his clothing.

“Did you finish burying the dead?”

“It didn’t take long. I’m used to it,” Bjorn replied simply.

“And no funeral rites?”

“I couldn’t. Not with what’s to come.”

Sylas nodded, recognizing Bjorn’s shift in perspective. He was finally starting to see things clearly, looking farther ahead than just his immediate troubles.

As they spoke, Henrik approached.

“Young lord,” he said.

“What is it?”

“A messenger from the Greve Barony has arrived,” Henrik replied, his tone laced with displeasure. It wasn’t an unexpected visit, but it was certainly unwelcome. No sooner had Henrik finished than a young noble, barely in his twenties and dressed in ornate attire, appeared.

“And who might this be?” Sylas asked.

“This is Larius Greve, the baron’s son,” Bjorn responded.

Larius stepped forward, his face twisted into a rehearsed mask of indignation. “Sir Bjorn! What is the meaning of this? Killing our soldiers and assaulting my uncle? This is outrageous!”

“I didn’t do it,” Bjorn replied calmly.

“Don’t lie! I’ve already heard the truth—don’t play innocent!”

Ah, so they planned to pin everything on Bjorn, making him the culprit instead. It wasn’t a bad strategy… if the true culprit weren’t standing right there.

“That was me,” Sylas interjected.

“What?”

“I did it.”

“And who are you?” Larius demanded, his tone one of annoyance, but the mention of the name Sylas Corleone made him clamp his mouth shut. Clearly, Larius had a better sense of reality than the last fool who had crossed Sylas. His eyes darted about as he calculated his next move before a forced smile spread across his face.

“Ah, how noble of the Corleone family’s son!” Larius said with exaggerated charm. “Here you are, trying to take responsibility for something you didn’t do. No need to defend him.”

“It’s not a defense; it’s the truth,” Sylas replied, his stare turning icy.

Larius’s gaze hardened. “Oh, surely not! After all, if you had actually attacked our soldiers, do you think we’d simply let it slide?”

The implication was clear: if Sylas kept insisting he was the one responsible, the Greve family would escalate matters. After all, this was their territory.

“So, do yourself a favor and stay out of it. There’s no need for you to involve yourself here,” Larius concluded, his words brimming with warning. Sylas’s lips curved into a smirk.

“It’s not a favor, Larius; it’s the truth. I ordered my knights to act, and it was my hand that knocked out every last one of Marius’s teeth.”

The open defiance left Larius visibly flustered, his face paling. Sylas’s bold confession left him no choice; letting it slide would be a disgrace to the Greve family’s honor.

“Damn it, what’s gotten into this guy?” Larius fumed internally. Just what connection did Sylas have with Bjorn to interfere so brazenly?

Before Larius could regain his footing, Bjorn spoke up. “Sir Sylas was my guest, so it’s as much my responsibility as it is his.”

“Yes, that’s right!” Larius seized the opening, eager for any escape from direct confrontation with Corleone. “In any case, Baron Greve holds you accountable!”

“And what is it you want?” Bjorn asked calmly.

“We’ll accept twenty gold coins as compensation,” Larius replied with a smirk. He knew well enough that the impoverished village of Falun could never afford such a sum. They’d be forced to beg and plead for mercy, eventually paying a reduced amount, but even that would bleed them dry over time.

“And so, they’ll slowly wither, drained bit by bit.” That was the Greve family’s ultimate plan, sanctioned by Viscount Veldyne. They would sap the village’s resources until they had no will to resist.

But Bjorn shattered Larius’s expectations with a single word.

“No.”

“…What?”

“Excuse me, but… what did you just say?” Larius stammered, wondering if he’d misheard.

“I said no. This entire affair is your uncle’s doing, and I owe you nothing.”

Larius’s eyes bulged in disbelief. Was he mad? This tiny village, openly defying the Greve family—and by extension, the viscount?

“Are you serious?”

“I am.”

“Can you take responsibility for that?” Larius challenged, his voice low and threatening.

Bjorn closed his eyes briefly, allowing the resolve he’d feared for so long to crystallize. He opened them again, meeting the gaze of his people around him. Their expressions told him everything he needed to know.

“Better to die fighting than to slowly fade away.”

“Tell us, young lord. Give us the word to fight.”

“We’d gladly give our lives to make them pay.”

Bjorn could finally see the fire in their eyes, a fire he had been blind to until now. He met Larius’s gaze with unwavering determination.

“Prepare for war,” he declared. “I hereby challenge you to a territorial battle.”

Larius left with a pale face, saying nothing. He had never expected Bjorn to genuinely declare a war.

“Are you sure you should have warned him in advance?” Sylas asked.

“It doesn’t matter. They would have attacked regardless,” Bjorn replied. “But this way, we claim the moral high ground.”

Bjorn turned to Sylas, his expression serious. “Can I count on your help?”

“Didn’t you just ask me to guard the house before?”

“Subjugating barbarians is different from a territorial battle,” Bjorn replied. “Sieges aren’t just about combat strength or morale. If there’s even a small fortress involved, the damage multiplies.”

Sieges were notoriously difficult, which was why strategists often advised against them unless absolutely necessary.

“I’d like to borrow your strength,” Bjorn continued.

“For free?”

“What do you want in return?”

Sylas’s grin spread slowly across his face. “How about you treat me like an elder brother?”