Lord of Caldera - Chapter 332

Chapter 332: Chapter 332 Glixborg Castle
The other two lords, who had suffered similar attacks, shared Franz’s sour expressions. Gert, however, merely sneered at them.

“What do you expect me to do about it? This happened because of your inaction, didn’t it?”

“What do you mean? How is it our fault that lunatic suddenly attacked?”

“If any of you had taken the initiative to attack him even once, do you think he would have dared to act so freely? He would’ve been too busy worrying about leaving his own castle vulnerable.”

The lords had done nothing up until now. As a result, the Dragonslayer, free from concerns of retaliation, had struck first and struck hard really hard.

Franz fell silent, unable to refute Gert’s sharp criticism. Gert sighed and continued.

“You’ve all studied strategy, haven’t you? If this continues, the damage will only accumulate, and in the end, you’ll suffer greater losses than if you had acted decisively from the start.”

“…I understand,” Franz admitted reluctantly.

“Good. That makes things simpler. As I said before, the three of you should attack the count. I won’t interfere, so carry it out however you like.”

Having spoken his piece, Gert turned away from the lords. Now that the situation had escalated, they couldn’t afford to remain passive any longer.

Although they had lost the opportunity to strike first, at least the stagnant battlefield was finally moving.

‘Still, something feels off. Why destroy only the gates and walls before leaving? He could’ve caused much more damage to the interiors, even if he couldn’t occupy the castles.’

It was well known that Sylas lacked the manpower to hold any captured territory. Retreating after such an attack made sense. But leaving the interiors intact? That defied logic.

‘If he wanted, he could’ve reduced their forces by half or burned all their supplies. It might’ve taken time, but for someone like him, it wouldn’t have been too difficult.’

If Sylas had focused on just one or two castles, he could have inflicted far greater damage. Yet, he had chosen to strike three castles in a superficial manner, targeting only their defensive structures.

‘What’s your game, Dragonslayer?’

Had it been anyone else, Gert might have dismissed it as ignorance. But Sylas was no ordinary opponent. Every move he made seemed deliberate, leaving Gert with a growing sense of unease.

Spurred by Gert’s pressure and a desire to save face, the three lords quickly began mobilizing their forces. They couldn’t ignore the humiliation of being openly mocked in broad daylight.

“I don’t like any of you. And I’m sure none of you like me, either. Until recently, we were enemies, after all,” Franz said bluntly.

“Could you try saying something less obvious for once?” Jerome, Lord of Stolman, retorted sarcastically.

“But now is the time to set aside personal grudges,” Franz continued, ignoring Jerome’s jab. He gestured toward the map, which showed the location of Glixborg Castle, where Sylas was currently stationed.

“There’s no way we can properly coordinate our efforts. Command issues aside, let’s focus on attacking simultaneously just this once. Agreed?”

“For now, that seems to be the best option,” said Roland, Lord of Tibro, with a stiff nod. Jerome also agreed, though his expression remained dubious.

“Shouldn’t we at least repair the gates and walls before moving out? If we have to retreat, how will we defend ourselves?” Jerome asked.

“Don’t worry. With some luck, we won’t need to,” Franz replied casually.

“Luck?”

“With the Dragonslayer’s forces, he can only pursue one of us at most. Surely, you know how to outrun a troll?”

Jerome stared blankly at Franz, who was referencing a well known Southern proverb:

When fleeing a troll, you don’t need to outrun the troll—just the person next to you.

In other words, Franz was suggesting they sacrifice one another to escape.

Jerome and Roland stared at Franz, speechless. Crossing his arms, Franz continued.

“Isn’t avoiding the Dragonslayer’s attention the reason none of us wanted to act first? In that case, leaving it to chance seems fair, doesn’t it? Am I wrong?”

“…Damn it, I can’t argue with that,” Jerome admitted, clicking his tongue. As crude as the plan sounded, it was the only way to ensure no one bore the brunt of the Dragonslayer’s wrath alone.

“I’ll attack the center at Glixborg. What about you two?”

“I’ll take the left flank,” Roland replied.

“Then I’ll handle the right,” Jerome agreed.

The decision was made swiftly, their previous bickering set aside. Franz rose from his seat and concluded the meeting.

“It’s settled. In five days, we’ll gather on the plains outside Glixborg and launch our attack. Let’s leave our fates in the hands of the goddess of fortune.”

As the three lords prepared to mobilize, Sylas remained at Glixborg Castle, unhurried.

Initially, the local nobles were full of praise for his exploits.

“To think you struck three castles in such a short time! Truly remarkable!”

“This is a feat only Your Excellency could accomplish!”

Sylas responded to their flattery with a faint smile. However, as days passed with no further action, the nobles’ anxiety grew.

‘What if the enemy strikes our rear?’

Unable to bear the suspense, some of them approached Sylas, only to be met with indifference.

“Another attack? I have no plans for that,” Sylas said calmly.

“But this seems like the perfect opportunity!” one noble protested.

“And what makes you think that?”

“With their gates down, they’re bound to be in disarray. A second strike could—”

“I understand what you’re saying, but I have my own plans,” Sylas interrupted, offering no further explanation before dismissing them.

As the nobles fretted, Baron Kaspar, one of Sylas’s closer allies, stepped in.

“Your Excellency, the nobles are growing uneasy.”

“I know. They’re worried about their own territories being attacked, aren’t they?” Sylas replied.

“Yes. To allay their fears—”

“Baron, get a grip,” Sylas said firmly.

“Pardon?”

Baron Kaspar looked up in surprise at Sylas’s sudden rebuke. Sylas’s gaze bore down on him with a look of utter disdain.