Lord of Caldera - Chapter 298

Chapter 298: Chapter 298 Sylas Decree

“Take time? Weren’t they being accommodated in guest rooms?” Sylas asked with a sarcastic tilt of his head. Christoph’s lips tightened. There were no “guest rooms” for Sylas’s retainers. He had cast them out of the castle long ago. Though they were likely still in the nearby village, retrieving them would take time.

“My apologies. I’ll issue an order immediately to search the surrounding area. Please bear with me a moment longer.”

Sylas sighed dramatically. “How inefficient. Just give me your signet ring, and I’ll issue the decree myself. It’ll be faster that way.”

“My… my signet ring?” Christoph’s jaw dropped. The signet ring was essentially the lord’s seal of power. It carried the weight of the lord’s authority, making any decree stamped with it as binding as the lord’s spoken command.

‘He’s insane,’ Christoph thought, staring in disbelief. Sylas’s request was unthinkable.

“What’s the matter? Don’t want to hand it over?” Sylas asked, tilting his head mockingly.

“It’s not about wanting or not wanting to—”

“Come now, didn’t you just admit you were ill? As someone recovering, shouldn’t you let a capable person handle your duties?” Sylas interrupted smoothly.

“What illness are you talking about?” Christoph snapped, frustrated.

“Oh?” Sylas raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “So you’re not sick? I thought your illness was why you threw me in prison, framed me, and tried to have me executed alongside an innocent man. You’re saying you did all of that with a clear mind?”

“W-what!?” Christoph stammered, stunned.

Sylas clutched his chest theatrically. “Oh no, it wasn’t a misunderstanding. Saint Lydia, Sir Matthias! It seems this was all deliberate after all. What should we do?”

Matthias stepped forward, his eyes cold as ice. “It is as I thought. Lord Sylas believed it was a misunderstanding, but this man has been a heretic from the start.”

“How shocking,” Sylas said, feigning astonishment. “As much as I hate to admit it, I must agree. So, what happens now?”

“The punishment for heresy is death, of course,” Matthias said with grim finality.

The blood drained from Christoph’s face as he realized Sylas was cornering him into an impossible choice: surrender his authority or face execution.

“I-I apologize, Your Lordship!” Christoph shouted suddenly, his voice trembling. “I… I’ve been suffering from a severe illness. It must have clouded my judgment. I now realize it would be best for you to take charge of the territory!”

“Oh? So you were ill, then? A strange illness, to strike suddenly and then disappear just as abruptly. How fascinating,” Sylas said, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Yes, yes! It’s a rare condition. Please, Your Lordship, take the reins of the estate,” Christoph begged, pulling the signet ring from his finger and extending it to Sylas with shaking hands.

Sylas stared at the ring for a moment before accepting it with an exaggerated sigh. “What a peculiar and dreadful illness. As the rightful Count of Drakenfels, I’ll manage the estate on your behalf.”

“Thank you, Your Lordship!” Christoph exclaimed, bowing deeply as tears—real ones this time—streamed from his eyes.

Matthias stroked his white beard thoughtfully, his gaze cold. “Perhaps. But just in case, I’ll return when you’ve recovered to reevaluate whether or not you’re a heretic.”

It was a veiled threat. Should Christoph attempt to reclaim his authority, Matthias would not hesitate to label him a heretic again.

Christoph clenched his eyes shut, overwhelmed by despair. His eyes stung as fresh blood vessels burst under the strain of his anguish.

Once Christoph retreated to his quarters under the guise of needing rest, Sylas wasted no time drafting a decree.

“To my retainers, I, Sylas Drakenfels, order you: Come back immediately.”

The message was so blunt and concise that even the bureaucrats handling the decree stared at it, bewildered. One of them reread it several times before hesitantly speaking. “Is this… really how you want it worded?”

“Exactly like that,” Sylas replied without looking up.

“Very well. I’ll send it immediately…”

“And prepare a donation for the church officials who’ve graced us with their presence,” Sylas added, passing the clerk a slip of paper with an amount scribbled on it.

The clerk’s jaw dropped. The suggested amount was far beyond a typical donation—nearly equivalent to the entire estate’s annual maintenance budget.

“This amount is almost the entirety of the lord’s funds for maintaining his dignity!” the clerk protested.

“And?”

“It’s just… isn’t it excessive?”

Sylas nonchalantly rubbed his ear. “Not my dignity at stake, so what’s the issue?”

“…” The clerk stared, utterly speechless.

The administrative official was at a loss for words. While Sylas’s reasoning wasn’t wrong, the audacity with which he expressed it left the official stunned. However, Sylas showed no sign of concern.

“Dignity funds are entirely for the lord’s benefit,” Sylas said casually. “Does the estate stop functioning without them?”

“Well, no, but…” the official admitted. The funds for maintaining a lord’s dignity were separate from the estate’s operating budget, which covered the salaries of knights, servants, and bureaucrats. If the dignity funds disappeared, the only one affected would be the lord himself.

“Then follow my orders,” Sylas said firmly.

“But… this would harm the lord’s reputation—”

“Reputation? What reputation does an ailing man need to maintain?” Sylas cut in sharply.

“…Right,” the official muttered, realizing the point was valid. Publicly, Christoph was recovering from an illness while Sylas managed affairs in his stead. Christoph couldn’t object to the arrangement without jeopardizing the cover story that kept him alive.

“Understood. I’ll proceed as instructed,” the official said before bowing and leaving the office. As he exited, he couldn’t help but glance back at Sylas, who was effortlessly handling the estate’s affairs with Christoph’s signet ring.

‘What is happening here?’ the official wondered, but quickly shook his head. It wasn’t his place to question. ‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll just do my job and collect my pay.’

Toby, Ray, and Max arrived at the estate soon after the decree was posted. Having stayed in a nearby village, they were quick to respond.

When the three were led to the lord’s office and saw Sylas sitting comfortably in Christoph’s chair, they exchanged weary chuckles.