Chapter 246: Heavy Casualties

“My lord, what’s wrong?” Caroline asked with concern.

Vigins lifted his head toward the liaison from Wushan Castle; perhaps due to sheer fury, his eyes were bloodshot, and his grotesque expression startled her.

She knew—something terrible had happened in Chishan Town. Something dire.

Vigins gasped for breath, struggling to calm himself. “Caroline, please go ahead and notify Sir Toru, along with Roning, Kabir, and the others. Tell them I’m at Wushan Fortress…”

“No,” he added abruptly, “just push me there yourself.”

He had not intended to disturb the banquet, but the urgency left him no choice—he must inform the nobles and knights present without delay.

The grand ballroom still glowed with light, the music still played.

Yet everyone was weary from merriment; most had seated themselves, savoring desserts, laughing and exchanging pleasant stories.

In truth, the evening’s feast was nearly at its graceful close.

Diane, seated among them, exhaled softly in relief.

She had volunteered to oversee this banquet herself, at her own initiative to Rulans—and completing it smoothly meant she had fulfilled her duty.

A guttural rumble broke the quiet—it was Caroline, pushing Vigins back into the room.

“What is this?”

Diane noticed the scene at once—and the expression on Vigins’s face.

With years of intimate knowledge of her husband, she knew without doubt: something monumental had occurred.

She rose swiftly and approached, casting a glance at Caroline before asking, “Vigins, why do you look so pale?”

Since losing his leg, Vigins’s temper had softened.

In the past, he would have roared for outsiders to leave. Now, merely holding his breath was a sign of restraint.

“Toru, Kabir, Roning, Albert, Kuri—come with me.”

He turned to Caroline. “Push me to the side chamber.”

Those named exchanged glances, uncertain what had transpired.

But seeing Vigins’s grave expression, none dared ask questions—they followed at once.

The noble families and performers who remained behind, seeing the key figures depart, fell silent, their merriment halted.

Diane clapped her hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, the banquet is concluded. Holwart, you will handle the rest.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Diane beckoned to Breton. “Come, let us go as well.”

In the side chamber, once all had entered, Vigins delivered a bombshell that left everyone stunned.

“Chishan Town has been seized by the Polant Bandits!”

Roning’s heart lurched—how could this happen so fast?

The carrier pigeon from Chishan Town reached Wushan Castle in less than six hours. Only two days ago, Koren had sent word that forces were being reinforced at Kaxi Town.

That meant Chishan had fallen in under forty-eight hours?

“That’s impossible!”

Kabir could scarcely believe it. “There’s a full knightly order stationed there! Koren and Hahn are both capable warriors—how…?”

Vigins delivered the second blow.

“Deputy Commander Hahn is dead. Half of the Fifth Knightly Order has perished. Koren now leads the survivors in retreat to Stonekeep!”

“How can this be?”

A defeat, they might have endured.

But half the order slain? A deputy commander fallen? Such a catastrophe was unthinkable.

Sir Toru stepped forward, trembling, and took the letter from Vigins’s hands. As he read, his face darkened into something terrifying.

“This… how could the Polant Bandits grow so strong?”

The Polant Bandits held but one town and three villages. How had they become this formidable?

“I’ve been to Chishan Town. I’ve seen its fortifications. Unless utterly negligent, even a full-scale assault would cost them dearly.”

Kabir frowned, analyzing. “Could they have formed two new knightly orders during their lull? Or do they now have multiple Gold Knights leading the charge?”

Roning also took the letter, scanning it. It offered no details of the defeat—either omitted by oversight, or Koren deliberately avoiding blame for his own failure.

Regardless, another border town had been lost to Wushan Ridge. This could not be ignored.

“Talking now is useless,” Vigins cut in. “What matters is what we do next.”

He was desperate.

That very afternoon, he had just finalized a profitable deal with Roning—only to lose Chishan Town.

The loss of territory, the destruction of his knightly order—it pained him. The annual loss of nearly two thousand gold coins because of Chishan’s fall—this pained him more.

“Chishan Town cannot be lost like this!”

Vigins’s gaze hardened. “I declare war. All nobles of Wushan Ridge must send troops to reinforce Stonekeep—and retake Chishan!”

Kabir and Toru exchanged glances. They did not immediately agree—but such a call could not be refused.

Roning considered, then spoke. “Our priority must be to dispatch reinforcements to Stonekeep immediately. We cannot let the Polant Bandits advance further.”

Mobilization could take a month—or two or three. Stonekeep might not hold that long.

“Yes! You’re right!”

A spark lit in Vigins’s eyes—he wholeheartedly agreed.

“Roning, my son, I want you to represent me. Represent the House of Wushan on this campaign.”

Nobility and military command were inseparable. When great lords went to war, they either led themselves—or sent trusted proxies.

Rulans was wounded. Vigins had lost a leg. Breton was too young.

Only Roning and Breton remained.

Breton was fourteen. Roning was eighteen—of age—and the Viscount of Wubei. No one else was better suited.

Roning was stunned. He had not expected this.

He had agreed to escort supplies to the front because it meant no battlefield, no command, no burden of men or provisions.

This was different.

Answering the lord’s call meant either leading his own knightly cadre, supplying his own food and gear—or sending no soldiers but providing material or logistical support.

Neither option was within his reach.

To be honest—he did not wish to fight now. Even if victory brought him great renown.

“Father, Wubei lacks sufficient soldiers and grain. My contribution will be minimal.”

“Doesn’t matter!”

Vigins cared not how many knights Wubei could send, nor how much grain.

“The House of Wushan needs a representative. I cannot go. Your grandfather cannot go. Breton cannot go.”

Wiggins spoke those words well enough.

“So, I only need you to take command of the battle on my behalf; everything else will be handled by the other knightly orders and the nobles.”

Ronin was taken aback. Could it really be that simple?

He glanced at Toru and Kabir, but neither offered any opinion.

Ronin frowned.

If he truly followed Wiggins’ suggestion, could he even command others?

After all, he had no retinue, no authority;

he had no experience in command, had never even set foot on a battlefield—someone like him, in others’ eyes, would seem to treat human lives as worthless.

How could any noble willingly entrust their hard-won knightly squads to a man like him?

Ronin fell silent, deep in thought. “Such a momentous matter—I think we ought to first hear Grandfather’s opinion?”

Toru and Kabir nodded slightly in agreement.

Wiggins paused, considering, and seemed to find the suggestion reasonable.

“Very well. Let’s go to the rear courtyard now—let’s settle this tonight!” (End of chapter)