CHAPTER 52: LEFT HAND

"So you’re still playing the same game,"

Mike slammed his goblet down on the table. Some of the wine spilled over, soaking the edge of the map. His eyes narrowed as he sized me up.

"What game would that be, eh?" he asked. His voice carried both a challenge and a hint of impatience.

I placed my finger on one of the red marks on the map. "Caravan routes. One goes missing, another gets robbed, and one mysteriously vanishes from the records. You’re still choking trade to death, forcing merchants to depend on you for profit. An old habit from the early days, Mike. But it looks like child’s play now."

Suddenly, he grew serious, his eyes narrowing further and the scar on his face becoming more pronounced. "That game was my way of surviving, Leo. And you know that full well."

I raised my goblet, taking a sip without breaking eye contact. "The interesting part is that you’re still thinking small. What I’m offering you is an opportunity that eclipses those old days by leaps and bounds. Stop putting red marks on this map... let’s change the map itself together."

For a brief moment, I couldn’t tell if the glint in Mike’s eyes was greed or suspicion. But I knew both could coexist.

"Speak," he said in a low voice. "But know this: I’m full up on empty promises. If you don’t show me blood, gold, and victory, your words will scatter like ash."

I smiled. On my face was that confident curve Leonardo had left me something that wasn’t truly mine, yet somehow settled on my lips.

"I want to seize all the neighboring territories. I’m proposing we topple a total of three dynasties under my leadership: two baronies and one county."

Mike froze with his goblet in mid-air. The trembling light reflected on the wine’s surface merged with the spark in his eyes. His brows furrowed, but an ambiguous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Three dynasties, eh?" he grumbled. "Coming from you, it sounds like madness. But distinguishing between madness and genius is tricky."

He took a step closer. The dim light in the tent made the scar on his face look even more menacing. "Tell me, Leo, or should I say, Count Argenholt, as everyone calls you now... you’re offering me this plan. Fine. But why? What’s in it for me at the end of this? Am I to spill blood just to keep your nobility’s shadow intact?"

Maintaining my composure, I leaned over the map. I placed my finger on three different points: one in the northeast, another to the west, and the third right on the southern border.

"The baron in the south is a parasite who burdens his people with taxes. The one in the west fears even his own soldiers; his army is a paper fortress. And the count in the north..." I lifted my eyes to meet Mike’s gaze. "You know his sins better than I do. The screams of women must still echo in everyone mind."

Mike’s face tightened in the shadows. His jaw clenched, and he downed the wine in his goblet in one gulp.

"If we bring them down, the borders will unite. The trade routes will be ours, the military strength ours. Your mercenaries will no longer be raiders but the iron fist of my new order. You’ll be my left hand. Gold, women, power... all within your grasp."

Mike remained silent for a long time. Outside the tent, the night wind howled, and the distant whinnying of horses echoed. Finally, he drummed his thick fingers on the table. Tap, tap, tap. Each strike was like a war drum.

"Your mouth still weaves words like a spell, Leo," he said, his eyes filled with both hunger and doubt. "But playing this big... it’ll draw the Empire’s attention to us. You’re a count, but me? The noose around my neck would tighten on the first night."

An involuntary smile crept onto my cheek. "That’s exactly why you need me. The Empire’s eyes are on me, not you. You’ll stay in the shadows while I walk through the fire. As they watch me, you’ll grow."

Mike threw his head back and burst into laughter. Then he leaned toward me, our faces almost touching. "You’re still the same bastard, Leo. But this time... maybe you’re the right kind of bastard."

He slammed his fist on the table like a hammer. "Alright, you’ve piqued my interest! Tell me how you plan to take down these three dynasties. What’s the plan? I’ve only got five thousand men under my command. And how many do those dynasties have in total? Thirty thousand? Forty thousand? Probably."

Mike’s fist had made the wine goblets on the table jump. As the canvas walls of the tent trembled, the only things inside were the steam from our breaths.

Without taking my eyes off the map, I began to speak. As I traced my finger across it, words flowed softly from my lips.

"Tens of thousands of men... Yes. You’re right. But don’t forget, Mike: only half of those thirty thousand know how to wield a sword maybe. The rest are conscripted rabble from cowardly peasants. They’ll scatter at the first sight of blood. Moreover, those thirty thousand are divided across three regions. We’ll erode the morale of all enemy lines by devouring small bites first."

I raised my head, my eyes locking onto Mike’s like a vice.

"Our five thousand, though... that’s your wolf pack. Hungry, feral, and thirsting for blood, but every one a professional. If I throw them into a single frontline, they’ll die one by one. That’s why we’ll play this battle on my terms, not theirs."

I touched the southern edge of the map.

"The nearest barony to us. He probably mustering his army right now. We’ll dismantle them with swift, organized strikes."

Mike’s eyes roamed over the map. The ambiguous curve at the corners of his mouth wavered between anger and pleasure.

"A quick assault... you know blood needs to stay hot," he said. "But quick victories come with quick losses. Your plan can’t be that simple, Leo. Come on, show me that fox mind of yours."

This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I leaned over the edge of the map, the flickering candlelight casting half-shadows across my face. I slid my finger to the mark indicating the castle on the southern border.

"The baron is busy gathering his army," I said. "But half of that army is still in their own villages. He’s summoning his men, and tax collectors are going from village to village. So, they’ll need at least two months to assemble."

Mike nodded, but the veil of doubt in his eyes hadn’t lifted.

"Two months... That’s an opportunity for you. But for us?" he growled. "For us, time is like a starving wolf pack running out of patience."

I smiled. This time, there was no warmth in my smile, only calculated coldness.

"That’s precisely why we won’t run out," I said. "We won’t let him gather his peasants. We’ll divide our men into three columns. Each column will raid different villages. The goal isn’t to take the castle... it’s terrorizing and scatter the peasants. Kidnap their children, burn their granaries, turn their seeds to ash before they can plant them. By the time they reach the baron, they’ll be scattered ghosts."

A brief spark appeared in Mike’s eyes. Hunger, yes, but also a kind of delight; the sort only butchers could understand.

"You’ll starve them out..." he murmured. "And a hungry soldier is nothing."

I nodded. "Their swords will fall from their hands before they even draw them. And then, their castles will stand empty. We’ll take them without even needing a siege. Your five thousand... they’ll grow not by drinking enemy blood, but by rotting the enemy’s heart."

Mike didn’t hold back his laughter this time. The tent filled with the rumble, and the goblets trembled.

"You’re a devil, Leo," he said at last. "But I like it. There’s nothing more enjoyable than fighting starved soldiers and villagers whose knees buckle from fear."

Then, suddenly, he fell silent, his gaze sharpening. He caught my eye again, this time with the weight of seriousness.

"And what about the others? The cowardly baron in the west and the demon count in the north... This game doesn’t end with burning one baron’s villages. How do you plan to topple all three dynasties without drawing the Empire’s scent to us?"

This was the moment the real curtain lifted for me. I raised my goblet, letting the wine flow into my mouth like a dark vow.

"Actually, it’s simple: we’ll do the same thing. As a wise man once said, the only way to defeat an army larger than your own is through tricks and deception."

Mike looked at me in silence. Then, slowly, he raised his goblet and clinked it against mine. The sound echoed like steel in the tent’s dimness.

"Very well, then, Count Argenholt. I’m in."

He extended his hand, and I shook it.

"It feels like I’ve just shaken hands with the devil, ha. Now I’m walking into the same fire as you."

Ironically, I was carrying a piece of a demon or, more precisely, a demon god within me.

"Finally, I want to clarify one thing. All authority must rest with me. Of course, I’ll respect your ideas and suggestions, but the final decisions must be mine, Ironheart Mike."

Mike’s massive hand still gripped mine as a shadow fell over his gaze. Even in the tent’s dim light, lightning flashed in the depths of those eyes. He slowly withdrew his fingers and leaned against the corner of the table.

"So, all authority will be yours, is that it?" he asked. His voice was hoarse, carrying a hidden rumble. "Every order from your mouth will be law for my men too?"

A smile unmoving on my face. "Not law... fate," I said. "My decisions will be not just the product of reason, but inevitability itself. If we don’t speak with one voice, this fire will consume us both."

Mike’s lips tightened, his teeth bared. Was it anger or a grin? It was hard to tell. He remained silent for a while, with only the howl of the wind outside and the distant hoot of an owl echoing.

Finally, he drew his dagger and plunged it into the center of the map. The sound reverberated through the tent floor.

"Very well, Leo. You’ll light the fire, but remember..." he said, leaning toward me. His breath smelled of wine and iron. "If you stoke it too hard, you’ll be the first to burn."

He gripped the dagger’s hilt and twisted it. The red lines on the map cracked and tore. In that moment, I realized this partnership was more than an alliance. It was two wolves chained together. If one fell, the other would be buried with it.

I merely smiled. Because I’d already made my decision. Mike would be my left hand. But if necessary... I wouldn’t hesitate to sever that arm with my own hands.