Doug energetically swung his shovel, loading a scoop of coal into the nearby coal cart.
This burly man in his thirties, now looked drastically different from his previous appearance as a mercenary captain.
When Doug was the captain of a mercenary band, he had shoulder-length hair and a rough charm despite his unkempt beard. His brown eyes always sparkled with a sharpness, reminiscent of a predatory bird. His years of adventuring and battling had filled him with confidence, even arrogance, firmly believing in his constant good fortune.
But the current Doug had lost his wild long hair, replaced by a nondescript buzz cut. His beard was neatly shaved, and his eyes no longer held that eagle-like sharpness but rather a dull, numb look of an old farmer who had toiled the land all his life. It was a look devoid of hope, resigned to a life that seemed unchanging.
Surrounded by heaps of coal resembling small mountains, Doug’s daily task was to load these mined coals onto cargo wagons. No grand martial skills or fancy moves were needed – his daily routine was the repetitive swinging of his shovel.
These coal mountains seemed never-ending. As soon as one pile was loaded, more coal would be brought up from the mines, forming new heaps.
These dark coal mountains, seemingly taller and more imposing than the distant Rocky Mountains, appeared insurmountable to Doug, like a huge cage trapping him until the end of his life.
His glorious past now only revisited in dreams. There, he was still the mercenary leader, heartily drinking and feasting, until jolted awake by gunshots and cannon fire.
Paul looked at his Chief of Staff, puzzled.
Schroeder presented a surprising suggestion to Paul.
Schroeder nodded, “Specifically, from the Horn Bay.”
He slightly raised his right hand, “Locals. They are from Horn Bay, familiar with everything there – the climate, the geography. They know what’s edible and what’s not in the wild. Most importantly…”
The aged knight smiled, “We have fewer obligations towards mercenaries, saving a lot on allowances and compensations.”
“That’s indeed a good idea.”
Enlightened, Paul responded, “So, you mean we spend some money to hire a mercenary band from Horn Bay, assign them the task, and let them handle logistics and supplies on their own.”
Schroeder nodded again, “Essentially, yes, Lord Grayman.”
“Great!” Paul was pleased, “I’ll send someone to Horn Bay to find suitable mercenaries.”
“Hold on, Lord Grayman,” Schroeder interrupted.
“In fact, you don’t have to go through much trouble to find a mercenary band. There is one…” Schroeder said with a smile, “Actually, two, Horn Bay mercenaries, currently in our Northwest Bay.” Ɽã𝐍Ȱ𝐛Ëȿ
Paul furrowed his brows and asked, “Were they hired by some lord, or are they up to no good? If it’s the latter, then I’ll have to send someone to eliminate them.”
“Not at all,” Schroeder shook his head. “They aren’t doing anything bad now. In fact, you have already ‘eliminated’ them, as they are all in the labor reformatories you established.”
“Ah?” Paul was perplexed.
Seeing Paul’s confusion, Schroeder explained, “Lord Grayman, do you remember the Usurper War?”
“Of course!” It had only ended a few years ago.
“In that war, we encountered two mercenary groups hired from the south by Marltz Kent to fight against us.”
Paul had an epiphany and slapped the table, “I remember now.”
Schroeder continued, “One of the mercenary bands was skilled in using longbows, while the other had a more balanced composition.”
“Yes, exactly,” Paul recalled. “They all became our prisoners, now scattered and undergoing labor reform in various places.”
Schroeder suggested, “According to our interrogations, most of them are from Horn Bay. Perhaps, you could consider using this group of people, reassemble them, and arm them with our equipment – I mean cold weapons like swords and shields. Then send them to Horn Bay to fight for our interests, as a redemption for their crimes committed during the Usurper War.”
Paul inwardly nodded, finding Schroeder’s suggestion striking a chord.
These captured mercenaries, with their rich combat experience and local knowledge, were an ideal resource.
However, a concern quickly arose in his mind.
“Schroeder, what if they become uncontrollable once they reach Horn Bay? Do we have to send an army to recapture them?”
The Chief of Staff leisurely blew a smoke ring, squinting his eyes, “You needn’t worry about their loyalty. There’s a very effective way to ensure it.”
Paul asked, “What way?”
Schroeder replied, “Turn them into your slaves.”
Paul was a bit puzzled, “But aren’t they effectively my slaves already?”
Schroeder chuckled, “Lord Grayman, I mean in the Horn Bay way – branding them with your unique mark on their bodies.”
Ladi, who had been silent, joined the discussion, “Lord Grayman, in Horn Bay, a slave bearing a brand who dares to betray their master will be captured by anyone who sees them. Then they are returned to their master, who has the right to punish them as they see fit.”
Hearing this, Schroeder nodded to Paul, “Exactly, as Counselor Sertia said. These people were captured by you during the war. According to the customs of Horn Bay, they are rightfully your slaves. As long as others in Horn Bay know about their relationship with you, these mercenaries won’t be able to turn the tables.” ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel[f]ire.net