Lord of Caldera - Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Chapter 150

“Twice as much?” Sylas was taken aback. The poll tax comprised most of the villagers’ dues, so doubling it effectively meant all taxes had doubled.

“And that’s not even the worst of it,” the man continued. “There are so many extra fees now. We used to hold festivals, eat our fill… Now we can’t even dream of that.”

As the man sighed, other villagers nodded in silent agreement, unwilling to voice their shared grievances aloud. Sylas’s eyes gleamed.

‘This might go even better than I thought.’

Initially, he had hoped that a few villagers might be sympathetic, but it seemed like discontent was widespread. He had suspected the new baron wasn’t well-liked, but this reaction exceeded his expectations.

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “If I were your lord, that wouldn’t happen.”

“But you’re not,” one villager pointed out, aware of the noble hierarchy. They knew Sylas had no direct claim here.

Sylas shook his head lightly. “Oh, I could be. I do have some rights here, after all.”

“Really? Is that true?”

“Of course,” he said, his tone calm. “If I were lord, I’d cut taxes in half. But the current baron seems to think differently.”

The villagers’ eyes widened. Halving the original tax meant they’d pay only a quarter of what they currently did. Someone swallowed nervously, glancing at the others.

“But… you’re not lord now, are you?” one of them asked cautiously.

“I could be. Surely you’ve heard about the upcoming war?”

“We’ve heard rumors, yes…”

The village had recently heard that an uprising had occurred nearby, worrying the residents about the prospect of war.

“Well, that army is mine,” Sylas said.

“What!?” An older man gasped, quickly covering his mouth. Glancing at the sleeping guards, the villagers let out a collective sigh of relief before Sylas continued.

“I raised an army because I heard the baron was poorly managing my grandfather’s homeland. I figured I’d make a better lord myself.”

“Then… what will happen to us? Are you going to attack here?” a young villager asked anxiously.

“I was ready to fight,” Sylas said, “but things might go differently if you’re willing to help.”

“Help… how?” the young man murmured hesitantly, sensing an unusual opportunity.

“There are many ways. Aren’t all the soldiers here locals?”

Usually, lords hired mercenaries for battles, but this conflict had arisen so suddenly that the baron hadn’t had time to hire anyone. All the soldiers were conscripted from the local populace. If they agreed to cooperate, their options were limitless.

“For example, you could open the gates for us, or even surrender on the spot.”

The villagers’ bodies tensed at his words. It was a risky choice, one that could lead to death if caught by one of the baron’s knights. Sylas understood this and patiently awaited their response.

‘I’d like it even more if they’d turn their spears around and openly rebel,’ he thought.

Seeing that pushing the villagers too far would only scare them off, Sylas decided to end his persuasion at the right moment.

“Well, think it over,” he said.

For the next two days, Sylas continued meeting with villagers and asking about Baron Philip’s policies.

“What’s the tax rate here?” he’d ask.

“About this much,” they’d reply.

“No way! If it were up to me, I’d never impose such a rate!”

His conversations followed a similar pattern: if he found out about any excessive policies, he’d react with shock and mention, “If it were up to me…” Those unaware of the previous discussions only chuckled, but those who had heard his offers twitched nervously each time he spoke.

“Thank you for even saying so,” they’d reply.

“It’s a shame,” he’d say earnestly, “I really mean that.”

Sylas repeated this enough times that, on the third day, he finally attracted the attention of one of Philip’s knights, who caught him mid-conversation.

The older knight stepped forward, blocking Sylas’s path with a stern expression. “Enough of this,” he said firmly.

“Enough of what?” Sylas asked innocently.

“Stop criticizing my lord’s policies.”

“I’m merely sharing my opinions.”

“You’re causing unrest among the people,” the knight stated, his stance unyielding.

Realizing he’d pushed far enough, Sylas licked his lips and retreated. He couldn’t make any more moves that day, but it didn’t matter. He’d already planted enough seeds. Finally, three days later, it was time for Sylas’s last meeting with Philip.

“Have you thought it over?” Sylas asked.

“Just leave,” Philip said curtly.

“You’ll regret it.”

“I said, leave!” Philip’s voice shook with frustration. Ignoring him, Sylas turned and walked out through the gates. Bjorn ran up to greet him.

“My lord.”

“I’m back.”

“Did it go well?”

“Before that, what’s the current state of our troops?” Sylas asked, glancing around. Unlike the relatively calm interior of Elmholt, the atmosphere here was tense.

Bjorn’s face was tight. “Morale is high, but they expect heavy losses.”

“Because of the castle?”

“Yes, I feel the same,” Bjorn admitted.

‘So they’re bracing themselves for a desperate fight,’ Sylas thought. It was good that his men were willing to fight to the death, but he had other plans. His goal was to keep as many of them alive as possible and form an elite force under Bjorn.

“This couldn’t be more perfect,” Sylas said.

“What do you mean?”

“This battle is going to be easier than you think.”

Leaving a stunned Bjorn behind, Sylas turned to address the soldiers. It was time to show his men a miracle.

Two days later, Sylas gathered his forces. Though small in number, they were full of spirit.

“Are we attacking?” one of his men asked.

“No. We’ll march slowly to the castle gate.”

“They’ll shoot arrows at us, won’t they?”

There would be archers, even if it was a conscripted force. In a small-scale battle like this, arrows could be lethal. But Sylas shook his head with a confident smile.

“They won’t shoot.”

“No arrows? Are they out of them?”

“No, the archers have no desire to shoot.”

Leaving a bewildered Bjorn, Sylas led the march. Bjorn reluctantly ordered the advance, and his men followed with resolute determination. Soon, they reached the edge of arrow range.

“Get ready,” they murmured, tightening their grip on their shields.