Lord of Caldera - Chapter 302

Chapter 302: Chapter 302 The Rightful Heir Of Drakenfels
Normally, one would appeal to the Imperial Court for formal recognition, but this time, such logic didn’t apply.

“Appeal to the court for a title? Are you insane? That would destroy the Drakenfels name!”

“Do you think temporarily using my mother’s family name is the same as officially changing it?”

“Even if we gain the upper hand, the other minor lords and competitors will seize on any excuse to undermine us.”

The bloodshed and chaos of the civil war all boiled down to one goal, seizing control of all of Drakenfels. To change the family name now, regardless of the legitimacy of the claim, would only invite accusations from every lord in the region.

As a result, the South had turned into a patchwork of lords without titles. Numerically, titled minor lords still outnumbered the untitled ones, but the region was in constant turmoil.

Malossi was one such territory, ruled by a baronial house among the many minor lords.

“Things were always the same here. They’d tell us to submit to their lord, and if we refused, they’d invade, fight, retreat when outmatched, then negotiate….”

“Yes, it was always like that. My father was often hired for such battles,” Toby said.

“Indeed. I can still picture him wielding his lance like a storm,” Hans replied.

Malossi had remained neutral throughout the conflict, not out of loyalty or righteousness, but simply to avoid interference. Their stance was clear: when a new Count of Drakenfels emerged, they would bow to them, but not a moment sooner.

From the perspective of other claimants, this neutrality was infuriating, leading to frequent threats disguised as invitations.

“The lord here wasn’t skilled in diplomacy. But he had enough strength to repel every attack,” Hans continued.

“That’s true. My father always went to battle for a fraction of his usual fee,” Toby added.

“Well, he knew this was his hometown, after all,” Hans said.

While the lord of Malossi had a crafty side, he wasn’t tyrannical, and Toby’s father, Kurt, willingly fought at discounted rates to avoid the region falling under an unwanted influence.

“The lord understood that too, and he was always grateful,” Hans said.

“That’s true. But it seems his son wasn’t the same,” Toby muttered.

Hans let out a sigh heavy enough to sink the ground beneath him. The problem wasn’t with the previous lord—it was with his successor.

The incident unfolded suddenly, though to the locals, it was hardly unusual—a typical border skirmish between rival lords in the South.

“Here’s an ultimatum: submit to me and serve the rightful heir of Drakenfels.”

The challenge came from a neighboring lord who had clashed with the baron before. The baron’s response was just as predictable.

“No. If you’re so inclined, come and take it.”

The baron’s confidence was unshaken. While the legendary mercenary knight, the “Black Spear,” had once been the baron’s lifeline, times had changed. After numerous victories and accumulating significant wealth, the barony had grown much stronger. The baron was sure they could withstand any attack, even without the Black Spear’s aid.

“Fine, I will.”

True to his word, the rival lord launched an assault. The locals braced for another drawn out siege, a tedious routine in the region.

But this time, something unexpected happened—the castle gates opened from the inside.

“The gates were opened? Was there a traitor?”

“I don’t know for sure. I heard it from a friend whose second son is a soldier,” Hans explained.

One thing was certain: the baron had been caught off guard, and the attackers seemed to know exactly when the gates would open. The enemy stormed inside, and the castle fell in a matter of hours.

“The baron was thrown into the dungeons, and a new lord took his place…”

“Who?” Toby asked, his brows furrowing. “A distant relative?”

“No. The baron’s eldest son.”

“What?”

Sylas and his companions exchanged stunned looks. Typically, when a castle was seized, the conquerors installed a puppet ruler or an opportunistic collaborator. But in this case, the new lord was the baron’s own son.

Sylas scoffed. “So the son was the traitor.”

“That seems likely,” Ray agreed. “Perhaps he lost in the succession battle and sought help from outsiders.”

Sylas nodded grimly. It wasn’t uncommon for a disinherited heir to seek external support, even at the cost of their family’s autonomy. Still, the consequences of such actions were catastrophic—often binding the entire family to servitude.

‘Was he truly desperate, or is he just that shortsighted?’ Sylas wondered. The more Hans spoke, the more it seemed to be the latter.

“Not long after the new baron took over, soldiers arrived here,” Hans continued.

“When was that?”

Hans counted the years on his fingers. “It was shortly after you left, young master.”

Toby’s expression darkened. If he had stayed even a little longer, he might have been caught in the chaos. His luck had been extraordinary.

“They said they were here to search the manor for evidence of fraud,” Hans explained.

“Fraud?”

“They accused the late knight of overcharging for his mercenary work…”

“Damn it!” Toby cursed, his voice seething with fury. The idea was ludicrous—his father had charged far below market rates compared to what other lords paid.

Hans sighed. “They ransacked the manor, taking anything of value. And when there was nothing left, they burned it down.”

The old man’s gaze fell to the scorched foundation, his voice heavy with guilt. “They left the servants homeless, young master. The manor was supposed to be here for you and your father to return to… I failed to protect it. I’m sorry.”

The grinding of Toby’s teeth was audible. Though a mercenary, his father had been a knight—part of an order bound by honor. For the manor to be looted and burned in his absence was an insult not only to the family but to the knightly code itself.

Sylas exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “This isn’t even a cunning scheme. It’s just a fool’s desperation.”

“What do you mean?” Ray asked.