Chapter 229: Splitting and Weakening

The sudden turn of events froze everyone in place.

The newly arrived settlers had once hoped that Cudore would be appointed as the Guardian Officer of Ubei, granting them a sense of security for the future.

Yet none could have imagined that one moment, their lord stood calm and composed—and the next, he erupted in fury, killing without warning.

There, on the ground, lay Cudore—decapitated, his body severed from his head. He was nearly a high-ranking knight. How could he die so swiftly, without even a flicker of resistance?

Thinking of their own plot with Cudore, they felt ice flood their veins.

Some fainted outright, their trousers soaked with urine and excrement.

Others stood frozen, minds blank, utterly paralyzed.

A few dropped to their knees, trembling, begging for the lord’s mercy.

In contrast, Wilson and his group, after their initial shock, were filled with quiet triumph.

Of course—the lord would never entrust the position of Guardian Officer to some outsider, a mid-rank knight!

Cudore wasn’t even fit to be Macken’s deputy.

“Challenging the lord’s authority? He deserved to die.”

Wilson seethed inwardly, the fury stirred by Cudore’s earlier slander finally dissolving.

To Ronin, had Cudore merely clashed with Wilson and others, injured a few, he might have lived—punished as an example, perhaps even useful afterward.

But Cudore’s schemes ran too deep.

He formed factions. He deceived Ronin, the lord, before the eyes of so many. He conspired to pressure the lord for personal gain.

If Ronin had yielded today, spared him—what would stop this group from repeating the same act tomorrow?

Anthony was right: Ubei lacked people. More critically, it lacked usable knights.

Ronin welcomed newcomers—but he had his limits. Cudore was not among those welcomed.

“What I grant is yours. What I withhold—do not even dream of seizing.”

Ronin’s voice, laced with knightly aura, rang out—loud, commanding—silencing the chaotic crowd. One by one, they clamped their mouths shut, trembling like leaves in a storm.

“I know your thoughts,” he sneered. “You hoped to band together, to force a larger share of farmland. If you didn’t get it, you thought it wouldn’t matter—surely I wouldn’t kill you all?”

He laughed coldly. “I won’t kill you. But I can expel you.”

Good deeds travel slowly. Evil spreads like wildfire.

If he slaughtered them all, the outside world would brand him a butcher—a tyrant slaughtering free settlers who came to him.

That would deter all future arrivals. A fatal blow to the domain’s growth.

“I am merciful. You have two hours to decide. Those who obey my orders may stay. Those who refuse—leave Ubei now.”

Without another word, Ronin turned and walked away. “Rognar, remain and maintain order. Wilson, come with me.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Wilson trailed behind, heart pounding. Why had the lord summoned him alone? Was this punishment for his incompetence?

The more he thought it, the more his fear grew.

Though Cudore’s death thrilled him, the thought of the lord slaying a mid-rank knight with a breath sent icy dread through his bones.

Even a merciful lord has a ruthless side.

“These people won’t leave in large numbers,” Ronin said as they walked away from the crowd. “For those who remain, separate them.”

“Shanlin Town, Sanfang Town, Marsh Town, Blacksoil Town—all are short on laborers. Scatter them among the towns.”

Wilson nodded slowly, understanding dawning.

Five hundred people—nearly a seventh of Shanlin’s population. If they stayed united, they’d be hard to manage—and likely spark conflict with the original residents.

No direct threat to Shanlin Castle, yes—but their unrest would cripple the lord’s plans and make Wilson’s governance far more difficult.

But if dispersed, one or two per town? Manageable.

“I understand, my lord.”

Wilson hesitated, then asked: “What of families? Should they be split apart?”

“Families—leave them together.”

Ronin had no intention of tearing households apart. Such a measure served no purpose.

“When Macken returns, coordinate with them. From now on, whenever large groups of outsiders arrive, assign cavalry, infantry, and professional knights to maintain order. Today’s spectacle? It was an insult to the lord’s house!”

“Yes!”

Wilson bowed his head, heart still racing. “I shall ensure it never happens again!”

“I trust your judgment,” Ronin’s tone softened. “But always prepare contingencies.”

“You oversee civil affairs. Macken handles defense. Though separate departments, you must cooperate—order maintenance is part of domain security.”

Wilson bowed deeply. “You are right, my lord. I understand.”

Ronin waved him off. “Return to your duties with the free settlers. I’m returning to Shanlin Castle.”

“The more people we draw, the more urgently we need basic laws.”

Before killing Cudore, Ronin had already considered: if he spared him, how should he punish him?

The kingdom had laws—but he knew none of their text.

Neither did anyone else in the domain.

“It seems I must recruit legal talent.”

He needed laws tailored to Ubei—written, clear, usable. When trouble arose, there would be something to reference. Punishment would then be grounded in justice.

When Wilson returned to the Western Square, not a single settler from Baron Cona’s lands had left.

Not even those who had openly supported Cudore.

First, if they left Shanlin, they had nowhere to go. Ronin offered land and light taxes. No other lord did.

Second, if they fled now, they’d never make it out of the woods before nightfall.

To spend the night in these forests, near the Wu Mountain Beast Range, with their strength and constitution? A death sentence. They dared not imagine it.

Third—and most crucially—they feared that leaving might mean instant death.

Cudore’s corpse still lay there.

To flee? Almost certain death.

To stay? Perhaps survival.

So they stayed.

Had they known this would be the outcome, they’d never have united under Cudore’s call.

Some, with clearer minds, now realized: a fallen wandering knight? How could he possibly challenge a viscount?

“The lord is merciful,” Wilson announced. “He will not punish your transgressions. You will be treated exactly as promised.”

Their hearts eased.

And some, quietly, began to curse Cudore—for stirring up trouble where none was needed.

Wilson sent the injured assistant back to rest and continued working with the others.

“Now resume registration—I’ll finalize your assignments within these two days, and someone will escort you to your respective towns.”

Rognar, standing guard nearby, heard this arrangement and, after careful thought, roughly understood the lord’s intent.

Divide and weaken—then these people would be far easier to manage.

Once again, Rognar witnessed the lord’s methods, and he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

He had naively viewed bringing these people to Ubei as nothing more than an escort mission, never suspecting they harbored such motives.

This upheaval, in truth, bore his own share of fault.

Now he recalled how, along the journey, they had all grown strangely dependent on Kudore, subtly centering themselves around him.

Had he been more vigilant, he would have informed Ronin.

“I thought too little. Next time, I must keep my eyes open.”

He glanced down at his sword, now sheathed once more, wondering why the lord had used his blade to kill Kudore—was there some hidden meaning?

“Probably because he’s dissatisfied with how I handled things.”

In truth, he had overthought it entirely.

Ronin had simply felt it was too much honor to kill Kudore with the Sword of Flowing Flame. (End of Chapter)