Few nobles become rich through war—not because war lacks value, but because those at the top monopolize the spoils.
"Uncle Vincent, hear me out. Count Charles must be overwhelmed right now. Kensington lies to the left of Baron Crowley's domain, while Count Charles's territory is to the right. From what I've seen, no fanatics have been spotted near here, and the villages have suffered no damage except for what the soldiers took for supplies. This suggests the fanatics are heading toward Count Charles's domain. Their goal is to kill, convert followers, and offer them to their false god. They won't stop at Crowley's land; they'll try to cause as much destruction as possible before the punitive expedition begins."
Michael continued, "I spoke with nobles coming from Count Charles's territory. They mentioned capturing and executing some fanatics on their way here, which confirms their direction. If we combine forces with the other barons, including your own, we can form a force of a thousand. Uncle, with your influence, you can unite them. Once we've formed an alliance, we delay our march and negotiate with Count Charles. The longer we stall, the better terms he'll offer because he won't know when the fanatics might overrun his lands. You, Uncle, would serve as the alliance's representative. The profits will be substantial, and, of course, my domain should also benefit. What do you think of my proposal?"
Baron Kensington, though of modest rank and with a reputation for squandering his fortune, was still a legitimate sixth-grade knight. He also possessed a seventh-grade magical beast, a griffon, along with several others of the eighth and ninth grades.
With his skills, character, and individuality, he wielded considerable influence among the nobles. Although he had never taken the lead before, if he decided to form an alliance, at least the nobles gathered at this banquet would not refuse.
There were over seventy territories in the northeastern planet, and few could muster a thousand soldiers. Even with half that number, they could conduct an independent expedition.
If scattered, they would become pawns of larger forces, forced into dangerous tasks. But united, they could stand as a power in their own right.
This alliance might become a thorn in the side of other factions, but that was irrelevant. Nobles existed in a perpetual cycle of devouring one another.
Faced with Michael's proposal, which might seem ruthless, Baron Kensington hesitated.
"Can we really unite them all? And intentionally delaying—doesn't that tarnish our honor as knights?"
Though well-liked, Baron Kensington lacked a knack for politics or business, as evidenced by his failure to grow his estate despite his abilities, earning him a reputation for bankruptcy.
"People gather where there is profit," Michael replied. "And Count Charles was the first to abandon his moral obligations. Had he acted sooner, the fanatics wouldn't have gained this much power, and Baron Crowley's estate would have been spared. His negligence put his domain at risk."
Michael smiled, confident in his judgment after extensive inquiries and efforts to build rapport with the nobles. Since they were participating in the expedition, they might as well maximize their gains.
Baron Kensington made his decision, gathering everyone to explain the plan. His proposal to unite the thirty noble factions and act independently won enthusiastic support.
Whether the alliance would succeed or hold strong remained uncertain. Conflicts of interest could cause it to crumble like a sandcastle.
Still, Michael believed it was better than nothing. At least they had the numbers.
The alliance's core included five baronies, each contributing 100 soldiers, and Baron Kensington, who brought 100 soldiers and three magical beasts. Additional support came from sub-barons with around 50 soldiers and numerous knightly families with fewer than 20 soldiers.
The alliance of thirty noble factions amassed 57 knights, 1,000 soldiers, and three magical beasts—a force rivaling a mid-tier viscounty.
After the banquet, as they returned, Baron Gregory Crassus praised Michael.
"You've done well, Michael. How did you come up with such an idea?"
Michael merely smiled, brushing it off as a shift in perspective. In an era where military accomplishments depended on sheer force, his plan was nothing special.
Upon returning to the camp, Michael carefully removed the kitten, Miaomiao, from his shoulder and fed it some meat. Watching it munch on the raw meat alongside milk filled him with a sense of satisfaction.
Nearby, Alex, his squire, tilted his head in confusion.
"Is it really okay for a kitten to eat raw meat with milk?" he wondered aloud, but Michael dismissed his concerns. "As long as it eats well, that's all that matters."
Despite serving such a remarkable and skilled knight, Alex often found himself bewildered by his master's occasional lack of common sense.
As Alex wrestled with his thoughts, Michael found himself thinking about his grandfather.
"I wish I could have brought Grandfather along..." he thought.
Michael's grandfather, with his incredible strength and skill that could slice through an enemy's throat in a single strike, was formidable enough to defeat most knights with ease. But when the old man had waved off Michael's request for help, claiming he had something to take care of alone and disappearing into the shadows, Michael had no choice but to let him go.
At dawn the next day, the drums signaling the march resounded through the camp. Soldiers who had gathered in the encampment rose groggily and joined their respective formations. Bright banners fluttered in the breeze, but the sight of soldiers moving about in disarray caught Michael's attention.
"Our soldiers really are the cream of the crop here," he thought.
Apart from a few families, there was virtually no sense of discipline among the other forces. After observing the chaos, Michael concluded that his soldiers ranked within the top three of the alliance in terms of skill and organization—even when he considered his estimate conservative.
The soldiers of other noble houses wielded crude spears, with many wearing shabby tunics over worn-out clothes. Those fortunate enough to don leather armor or proper equipment appeared to be from wealthier families or the offspring of vassals. Yet even they showed no understanding of proper formation, suggesting they'd never undergone formal drill training.