Chapter 116 : Chapter 116

Chapter 116: The Oath of Bastion (5)

"Who, who, who are you...!"

Declan's pupils shook violently.

A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind.

"Are you sent by Lord Labotas...!? Or perhaps Alain? W-W-Wait... It couldn't be Thyssen, could it?"

"You seem to have more enemies than I expected."

Bihen lowered his voice deliberately. His words were curt, as they had to be.

"Just answer my questions."

Declan nodded frantically, his head bobbing up and down.

Without being told, he had already raised both hands slightly.

"Walter, the head of the Dovun Guild."

The moment he heard the name, Declan's eyes widened.

A blaze of anger spread across his face like wildfire.

"Walter...! That cursed commoner has finally shown his true colors. To think he'd dare come here...!"

"I only mentioned his name, and you're already throwing a fit."

"Of course I am! When all else fails, he sends an assassin? I'll make sure to rip out the roots of Dovun as soon as I return...!"

Bihen inwardly sighed with relief.

He hadn't heard the full story yet, but he had always believed that the Theodore siblings wouldn't be in league with such people.

"Declan Theodore. What’s your relationship with Walter?"

"Before that, who are you...?"

Bihen struck the back of Declan's head sharply.

Sometimes, a bit of well-timed force was more effective than words.

"Ugh!"

"I ask the questions."

"Damn it... What relationship? What kind of relationship could I have with a worm trying to eat away at Theodore? From the start, I never liked that guy’s sly face. I kicked him out when he came here spouting all sorts of nonsense, but how did he even know I was here...?"

Declan's voice trailed off, but his eyes suddenly gleamed as a memory flashed in his mind.

It was a few days ago when his younger sister, Linda, had been wandering around the VIP residence, holding a peculiarly shaped lollipop in each hand.

When he asked where she got them, Linda said a merchant from Theodore had given them to her, saying they were snacks for the Easton festival.

When he lectured her about maintaining dignity, she argued that if they didn’t support their hometown merchants, who would? They ended up bickering over it.

Declan squeezed his eyes shut.

‘Ha... That pig is finally going to ruin our family...’

Walter, the head of the Dovun Guild.

It was a name Declan could never forget.

Years ago, when their father, Lord Theodore, began allowing economic activities for guilds within the territory, Walter was the one who expanded his influence the fastest.

Theodore was a land prone to external conflicts.

As such, internal unity was paramount.

Declan had always thought that when he became the next lord, he’d inevitably have to confront Walter.

His gut had long warned him that the encounter would be far from pleasant, and he had been wary of the man for years.

"...Walter is indeed from Theodore. But he’s someone I could never share a boat with. Honestly, I don’t even want to give him the dignity of acknowledging him... but if I had to put it, he’s a rival who stands in the way of my path."

"..."

"I don’t know who sent you to do this, but you’ll regret crossing me."

Bihen let out a small scoff.

"Pretty bold talk for someone whose life is hanging by a thread."

"Ahem...!"

"Alright, I like your guts. Worthy of a great territory’s heir."

"What, what did you say? You dare speak to me like..."

"Thank me later, Declan."

"Thank you for what...?"

Smack!

Bihen lightly struck the back of Declan’s neck with the edge of his hand.

He looked down at the collapsed Declan, who was now half-naked, and a thought crossed his mind.

‘Hmm.’

Bihen glanced around, looking for a wardrobe.

* * *

At that moment, in the Easton Guard barracks.

Bill sat alone, steeped in gloom.

"..."

Bihen had gone off somewhere.

He hadn’t even said where, only leaving a single sentence about meeting on the day of the coronation.

"If I could’ve stopped him by begging, I would’ve pleaded a hundred, a thousand times."

Bill looked up at the sky with a forlorn expression.

Twilight was settling in.

Between the purple-tinged clouds, the moon and stars, which had risen early today, faintly outlined themselves.

Sniff.

Bill rubbed his nose for no reason.

The beautifully dyed sky felt unfair.

Even the night sky was painted so vividly, yet his heart felt heavy and dull.

"Bihen’s disappearance... they probably won’t say anything about it."

That part didn’t worry him.

If they had wanted to keep Bihen from leaving, they wouldn’t have assigned Bill to him in the first place.

‘...’

Bill suddenly asked himself, What am I even doing?

Janson and Joel were busy assisting Jayden and Adeline, respectively.

On top of that, they were preparing for their rank evaluations.

Bill pouted.

All he could muster when he heard about their efforts was:

"Wow, you guys will be okay? That sounds tough."

Bill smacked his own head.

‘Ugh, idiot.’

Henry and Ayan were helping Roland and even taking on administrative duties.

They were already on the road to success.

Henry had said he didn’t even have time to think about it, and at that moment, Bill thought he seemed cool.

"Sigh..."

Bill let out a deep sigh, as if the ground would swallow him.

Easton was the region hit hardest by the civil war’s aftermath.

As Conwell’s economic hub, the scale of damage was unlike anywhere else.

Moreover, with Zephyros, who had acted as a local militia, now gone, all sorts of rats had started crawling in.

Adeline had ordered the limited forces to be split up to maintain order, but it was only a temporary fix.

Those sent didn’t understand Easton’s complex ecosystem and couldn’t address the root issues.

These thoughts kept swirling in Bill’s head.

If only he had helped the Easton Guild make the festival a success.

As his thoughts drifted, Godin came to mind.

"If I weren’t such an idiot..."

Grumble.

His stomach growled.

Bill wanted to cry.

"What am I, really?!"

Bill made up his mind.

He couldn’t keep being this pathetic.

He marched to the office, his steps fierce as if to shake off his hunger.

[Conwell Soldier Basic Tactics: Revised Edition]

Gulp.

A book that made him drowsy before he could get through ten pages.

Imagining himself taking on The Oath of BastionBill boldly opened the book.

Flip, flip.

‘...’

Flip, flip.

His eyelids grew heavy.

Flip, fl—

Bill snapped his eyes open.

There was a brief lapse in his consciousness.

He had definitely dozed off.

Self-loathing surged within him.

"Hungry or sleepy—pick one, damn it!"

Bill threw the book in frustration.

His anger lasted only a moment.

"Sigh... The book didn’t do anything wrong..."

He shuffled over to pick it up.

As he lifted the book, which had fallen open like a tent, his eyes caught an illustration and text in the corner.

*[ ... Name: Bastion

A medicinal plant that induces temporary vitality and heightened senses on the battlefield.Its leaves are sharp and thin, emitting a strong, pungent aroma when cut.

When mixed with pulpy fruits or highly acidic fruits, the effect is amplified. For a calming effect...

Edible. Non-addictive. ... ]

"Bas...tion."

Bill’s expression changed instantly.

The office fell silent for a while.

Creak—

After some time, Bill stood up.

His eyes were no longer as clouded as before.

He took a slow, deep breath and muttered softly.

"The Oath of Bastion..."

Bill flung open the office door.

* * *

Jimmy Fairick.

He hailed from Santana, a remote island in the southern part of the Kingdom, reachable only after a full day’s journey by ship.

Ten years ago, he left his hometown with the bold ambition of captivating mainlanders with Santana’s traditional instrument, the viorella...

Today, as always, Jimmy sat slumped in a corner of the banquet hall, quietly playing his viorella.

‘My miserable life. How did it come to this?’

As he lamented his fate, his expression and hands moved independently.

Beneath his bored face, his fingers danced passionately and flawlessly across the strings.

‘Tch, tch. What did that guy do to be sitting alone while everyone else is laughing and chatting...’

With years of experience, he could now pick up snippets of conversation from the banquet tables even while playing.

Jimmy’s gaze settled on a middle-aged man facing Walter, the guild leader who paid his wages.

The man’s expression was unusually grave.

‘His name was Godin, wasn’t it?’

Jimmy glanced sideways, past Godin, to the head of the table.

Walter sat leisurely, legs crossed, smirking smugly.

His demeanor was the complete opposite of Godin’s.

‘...Hmm.’

Jimmy thought back.

Has he ever seen someone show such blatant anger in front of Walter?

‘Nope.’

As far as Jimmy knew, people only showed two attitudes toward Walter: trying to get close to him or submitting to him.

Even nobles were no exception.

‘...This won’t do.’

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Jimmy shifted to a softer, slower tune, as if taking a break.

He decided to eavesdrop.

He was fed up with this minstrel life.

Dreams and money felt meaningless, and lately, he kept thinking about returning home to play the music he loved.

If he got fired, so be it.

He was done caring about appearances.

Diriring—

Jimmy strummed the strings once with his right hand, then began plucking each one slowly, as if pouring his emotions into the notes.

"...Look, Godin, you keep saying the same thing. You don’t want to hand over the shop, you don’t want to pay the location fee, and you definitely don’t want to give up the recipe. What am I supposed to do? If that’s how it’s going to be, why are you even here? Are you just picking a fight?"

"I told you. I won’t open the shop during the festival. Isn’t that enough?"

Walter slapped his forehead and let out a mocking laugh, as if dumbfounded.

"Godin, you’re misunderstanding something. Why do you keep thinking like that? I came here with good intentions to work together, but if you talk like that, you make me sound like the bad guy. That’s not what I want at all."

Walter glanced at the Easton Guild merchants seated along the long table.

"Surely, none of you misunderstand me like Godin does, right?"

"..."

Jimmy barely held back a sigh.

He’d seen enough.

‘Ugh, here we go again.’

Walter’s dirty money games were a big reason Jimmy had grown sick of this life.

But thanks to them, he’d learned one thing for sure.

The soul of art could never be satisfied with a few gold coins.

"..."

While Jimmy was lost in thought...

Godin gritted his teeth.

His hands slowly clenched.

He shook his head, looking past the merchants seated at the table to the Dovun Guild members standing like armed soldiers.

They filled the spacious banquet hall in numbers too great to estimate.

Godin withdrew his gaze and fixed his eyes on Walter.

"...So, I either hand over the shop or the recipe. That’s what you’re saying?"

A glint flashed in Walter’s eyes.

"Now we’re finally getting somewhere..."

"And if I refuse?"

"..."

"You’ll exclude all the shops around The Oath of Bastion from the main routes?"

"Change, I said change. A change in plans."

Godin slowly raised his head.

Once more, he looked at the merchants seated beside him.

Most of the merchants here were the sons and daughters of those who had helped him find his footing as a chef after his dishonorable discharge from Bastion, when he was lost in despair.

Over time, he had become like an elder brother to them.

And now.

Godin thought it was time to repay the debt he owed them.

Perhaps it was time to set aside the convictions he had held so dearly.

"Alright, Walter."

"Speak."

"I’ll..."

That was when it happened.

Boom—!

The double doors swung open violently.

All eyes turned toward the sound.

Under the banquet hall’s dazzling lights, a man wearing a golden masquerade mask stood at the threshold.

‘What, what’s that...?’

Jimmy’s eyes widened as if they might pop out.

But for some reason, his heart began to race.

A shiver ran up his spine, surging to his fingertips.

Following that flow, his fingers moved instinctively.

Diririring— Ring— Ring—

It was the prelude to a lively, intense melody...

Jimmy’s artistic soul began to burn hotter.

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