Chapter 347: I Need to Prepare in Advance (3)
Ghislain spent several days inspecting the state of his territory. The expansion into the Forest of Beasts was progressing smoothly under the Ferdium family’s oversight, and the newly acquired resources were flowing in without issues.
Both territory development and business operations had their foundations firmly in place, requiring only consistent advancement moving forward.
In particular, the production of equipment had significantly increased. This was due to the acquisition of the Desmond Estate, which brought in numerous skilled blacksmiths.
After confirming that the people were well-organized, Ghislain spoke to Claude.
“We should build a new facility soon.”
“…What kind of facility?” Claude asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’ve stockpiled quite a bit of Fairy’s Blessing by now, haven’t we?”
“Yes. We’ve been harvesting it cautiously and sparingly, but it’s accumulated quite a bit.”
Fairy’s Blessing was a highly valuable and rare herb that commanded a high price. The Fenris territory had stockpiled enough to disrupt the market price if released all at once.
“Let’s establish a potion manufacturing facility.”
“Hm, I figured as much,” Claude replied without any hint of surprise, nodding in agreement.
The reason Fairy’s Blessing was so expensive was not only its use in high-grade medicines but also its critical role in potion manufacturing.
Claude had anticipated this direction ever since Ghislain had ordered him to stockpile Fairy’s Blessing instead of selling it.
Potion-making was one of the primary revenue streams for mages. Some towers even specialized exclusively in potion production.
“We should put the mages on two shifts,” Ghislain suggested.
“Right. Construction has to proceed simultaneously, after all.”
The Fenris territory had a considerable number of mages. While Ghislain had gone to great lengths to establish a magic research institute to attract them, many of these mages were currently more involved in construction than research.
Now that the foundation of the territory was stable, continuing to use such skilled individuals solely for construction would be wasteful. It was time for Fenris to start producing magical tools and items in-house.
The first step was to initiate potion production.
Claude quickly devised a plan and said,
“I’ll build the potion manufacturing facilities next to the magic research institute.”
“Good. You know why we’re doing this, don’t you?”
“To prepare for more fights, I assume,” Claude replied.
Ghislain laughed at the remark. It was convenient that Claude now understood his intentions without requiring lengthy explanations.
In the past, Ghislain might have suggested selling the potions for profit.
“Good. Ensure that every soldier has at least two potions as a basic provision during wartime.”
Claude felt a wave of dizziness at the directive. That would mean producing tens of thousands of potions.
Even a large estate would struggle to secure such quantities, as it would require years’ worth of budgets for most territories.
“Uh, isn’t that a bit excessive?”
“We have enough materials, and more will keep coming.”
“It’s not the materials… It’s the manpower…”
“They’ll just have to keep at it. What else can we do?” Ghislain shrugged.
“…”
Though the number of mages in the territory was slowly increasing, producing such a vast quantity of potions would drive them to exhaustion.
It seemed necessary to take more active measures to recruit additional mages.
After issuing these new instructions, Ghislain turned to Claude. “Make sure everything proceeds without issues. I’ll be stepping out for a bit.”
Claude looked at him with an exasperated expression. “You’ve only just returned. Why are you leaving again?”
“There’s too much to do. There’s no time later; I need to act now.”
Weakening the influence of the ducal families required swift and relentless action. Ghislain couldn’t afford to waste any opportunity.
Claude scratched his head. Truthfully, he was relieved whenever his lord was away for an extended period.
“How many people are you taking with you this time?”
“I’ll just take Arel.”
“What? Without proper attendants? What are you planning to do with Arel?”
“I’ll train him further along the way. And I need you to prepare some fake identification. There’s somewhere I need to sneak into.”
Suspicion flashed in Claude’s eyes. Sneaking into someplace typically meant something dangerous or clandestine.
Seeing Claude’s expression, Ghislain shrugged. “I’m heading south.”
“If you’re planning to die, could you at least terminate our slave contracts first?”
The south was controlled by the ducal families. If Ghislain showed up there, they’d immediately attempt to kill him.
“That’s why I need the fake ID and a disguise. I won’t be going deep into their territory just to the outskirts. No need to worry too much.”
“What’s the reason… for going there?”
“Well, weakening the enemy forces is part of it, but I also have some personal matters to handle.”
Ghislain provided Claude with a rough explanation of the fake identification he needed.
Though Claude still wore a suspicious expression, he nodded silently. As always, Ghislain exuded a confidence that made it clear he knew what he was doing.
Under Belinda’s direction, the travel preparations were swiftly completed. By now, no one bothered to stop their lord, no matter how outrageous his plans seemed.
‘It’s convenient that everyone just goes along with it, but… it feels a bit odd.’
Wearing a wig, a false beard, and carrying a fake noble’s identification, Ghislain turned to Arel.
“Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir!” Arel responded enthusiastically.
The two set off, traveling light in a modest carriage with only a few belongings.
* * *
Initially, the journey was smooth along the wide roads, but as they approached the south, the paths became rougher, and fewer people traveled the area.
“Ughhhh!”
Arel endured daily “mana training” under Ghislain, which felt more like torture to him. From his perspective, it truly was torment.
Although it had gotten slightly more bearable over time, the agony never seemed to diminish. The unpredictability made it worse there was no set schedule, no time to mentally prepare.
Ghislain would simply mutter to himself out of nowhere, “Hmm, now seems like a good time.”
And that was the cue. It didn’t matter where they were or what they were doing; the training would begin immediately.
This time was no exception. They were in the middle of the road when Ghislain suddenly grabbed Arel and forced another mana training session on him.
“Cough!”
As usual, Arel coughed up blood and collapsed.
However, unlike in the beginning, he no longer fainted outright. It was still painful, but at least it wasn’t enough to knock him unconscious anymore.
While Arel lay on the ground recovering, a group of rough-looking men appeared down the road.
“Hey, what’s your deal, bullying your friend out here like that?”
“You know this is our territory, right? You can’t just screw over your buddy here. Have some decency.”
“Hah, didn’t think we’d meet someone with such poor manners. Looks like we’ll have to teach him a lesson.”
The men were bandits operating in the area. Seeing Arel coughing up blood, they felt confident about their target.
‘Weaklings!’ they thought.
Bandits weren’t foolish they always assessed their victims carefully. Attacking the wrong person, like a knight, could lead to dire consequences.
But this group seemed like easy prey. The carriage was plain, and one of the two travelers was a sickly youth coughing up blood. From a distance, it looked as if the older man had been patting his companion’s back, but the blood made it clear he was gravely ill.
Convinced their targets were weak, the bandits stepped forward to plunder.
“So, what’s it gonna be? Leave your carriage and walk away, or stay here and die? Just so you know, we love killing people.”
“Hmm.”
Ghislain nodded at the bandits as if evaluating the situation.
Though they were at the southern outskirts, this area served as a buffer zone between the royal faction and the south. Naturally, law and order were poor.
Local lords deliberately neglected the region, knowing it would likely become a major battlefield in the event of war. As a result, the area was rife with bandits and outlaws.
Arel staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth.
“B-bandits?”
Though his voice wavered, Arel’s eyes burned with intensity. Having survived a massacre by savages, he harbored a deep hatred for those who plundered others.
Ghislain nodded. “Yeah, they’re bandits. They’re always lurking in quiet places like this.”
“Why do they do that?” Arel asked.
“It’s just how it is,” Ghislain replied nonchalantly. Then, smiling, he asked, “Want to handle them? Think you can move?”
“Yes, I feel better after resting a bit,” Arel said, his voice firm.
There were about five bandits, likely a scouting party.
As Arel drew his sword and staggered toward them, the bandits burst into laughter.
“Whoa, sickly guy’s coming at us! What a sight!”
“Look at him. Can’t even walk straight, yet he’s trying to act tough.”
“Let’s just kill him and take the carriage before anyone else shows up.”
Laughing amongst themselves, the bandits unsheathed their weapons and approached Arel.
The first bandit, wielding an axe, lunged forward with a wild swing.
“Die, you sickly bastard!”
Slash!
“…?”
Before the bandit could even finish his swing, his throat was slit. His face froze in confusion, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Thud!
As the bandit collapsed, Arel, still swaying unsteadily, continued walking forward.
“What the… What’s up with this guy?”
The remaining bandits hesitated, bewildered. Their target still looked like a frail invalid, yet he had killed one of their own in an instant.
“This bastard!”
One of them stepped forward, convinced it had been a fluke, and swung his sword. Arel, appearing as though his legs might give out, stumbled to the side, narrowly avoiding the attack.
Slash!
Arel swung his sword again, and the bandit fell with a long slash across his chest. Despite his staggering movements, Arel’s sword strikes were precise.
― “You must be able to wield your weapon accurately, no matter the situation or environment.”
It was the very first lesson Ghislain had taught him.
Arel had engraved those words into his heart, striving never to forget them.
“W-what the…?”
The remaining bandits hesitated mid-step, retreating backward. Despite looking like a sickly chicken, every swing of Arel’s sword resulted in another comrade’s death.
The bandits exchanged uneasy glances. They could likely overpower him by attacking together, but whoever went first was sure to die.
“Hey, you go first.”
“No way! You go.”
“I’ll cover from the side.”
While the bandits argued and hesitated, Arel steadily advanced toward them. Even against lowly bandits, he didn’t let his guard down.
He had learned from Ghislain that no matter the opponent or his physical condition, he should always be cautious. Ironically, the one who taught him this was infamous for fighting in a reckless, brute-force style.
Step, step.
As Arel closed the distance, the bandits backed away further, each unwilling to make the first move.
Finally, one bandit turned and shouted, “You! Just stay right there! I’m gonna get reinforcements!”
The other two followed suit.
“Yeah! You better wait right here!”
“We’re not letting this slide, you bastard!”
They assumed that, given Arel’s staggering gait, he wouldn’t be able to chase after them.
And indeed, in his current state, Arel couldn’t move quickly.
However, just as the bandits began to walk away confidently…
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The three bandits’ heads burst simultaneously, killing them instantly.
It wasn’t Arel who had done it; he lacked the ability to pull off such a feat. Instead, Ghislain had set up threads of mana in advance, waiting for the right moment to detonate them.
The bandits’ bodies staggered briefly before collapsing.
Clicking his tongue, Ghislain approached Arel and patted him on the shoulder.
“Well done. Looks like you’ve been training hard in swordsmanship.”
“Thank you,” Arel said, bowing his head quietly.
Ghislain smiled in satisfaction. Though he hadn’t officially taken on a disciple in his past life, he had trained many subordinates. Yet none of them had pleased him as much as Arel.
It wasn’t a matter of talent. In his previous life, Ghislain had trained subordinates far more gifted than Arel.
But none had shown Arel’s level of persistence. His unwavering determination and steady efforts were nothing short of admirable.
People like him were rare, and Ghislain had grown quite fond of him. Though he couldn’t give him constant attention, he made sure to teach him the finest swordsmanship and mana techniques.
With the bandits dealt with, they resumed their leisurely journey toward their destination. Their schedule was simple: train as they traveled, rest in villages when possible, and stock up on supplies for the next leg of their journey.
Occasionally, they encountered bandits or monsters, which Arel used as training opportunities.
Eventually, they arrived.
“We’re here,” Ghislain murmured, gazing at the castle in the distance.
The two stood at the southern outskirts, on the edge of a large territory. Despite being tucked away, the land was expansive and far from insignificant.
This was the domain of Count Mowbray, a lord who had declared neutrality and avoided aligning with any faction. However, among the nobility, it was widely speculated that Count Mowbray would eventually bow to the ducal faction due to his strategic location.
What stood out about Count Mowbray was his near-total absence from public affairs. Though he hadn’t always been reclusive, something had changed, and he now kept to himself.
As a result, there was little interaction between Mowbray’s estate and its neighbors.
The closer they got to the castle, the more uneasy Arel felt.
“This place is… very quiet.”
“Yes,” Ghislain replied.
“The lord is dealing with something troubling, which forces the people here to live cautiously.”
“Troubling?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. That’s why we’re here to resolve it.”
Count Mowbray, despite his neutrality, was a formidable lord unafraid of even the ducal families. He had declared that as long as no one interfered with him, he would neither assist nor hinder either faction.
But in Ghislain’s past life, Count Mowbray eventually aligned with the ducal faction after they resolved a certain troublesome issue for him.
As they neared the castle gates, the soldiers’ gazes grew harsher. It was clear they were highly wary of any visitors.
Ghislain paused the carriage and looked up at the castle in the distance. Though nothing seemed unusual at first glance, by focusing his senses, he detected a faint, peculiar aura surrounding the castle.
It was similar to the remnants of a presence he had encountered in his previous life, though significantly weaker now.
“We’re in the right place,” Ghislain muttered with a smile.
It was time to acquire a new power.