Tristan heard multiple responses erupt at once, yet all of them converged into a single conclusion.
"The Young Duke!"
"Sir Arthur?"
"The one from Frost Hill!"
Rick clicked his tongue dramatically.
"Wow, overwhelming. So, slaying a single monster isn’t even enough to be in the running."
"Of course not. The Young Duke might share so of the credit out of courtesy to His Highness, but in the end, the real achievent will be his."
"It’s amusing that you all think the sa way. I agree. After all, land should—if not returned to its original owner—go to the one who proves their strength."
"The owner? Oh, you an the current lord. Wonder how he ended up without an heir."
For a brief mont, Rick couldn’t continue speaking. A surge of emotion—sothing other than sadness—rose within him unexpectedly.
The conversation soon drifted elsewhere, mostly toward more primal topics. Complaints about work, envy of nobles, longing for good food...
Rick slipped back into his earlier smile and rejoined the conversation, though in reality, he was subtly fueling the soldiers' grievances.
"Indeed, His Highness works you all too hard. While we barely catch any sleep here at camp, he’s probably enjoying the fine banquet the lord has prepared for him right now..."
Tristan. It’s not like you’ll achieve a feat that surpasses Arthur’s, but I want to eliminate even the slightest one percent chance that you might claim this land.
It wasn’t as if one could precisely asure both n’s contributions. Unlike the hunting tournant, no one would be counting their kills one by one.
"The lord's evaluation and the testimonies of the soldiers nearby will surely be taken into account."
And naturally, that noble bastard would never favor Tristan—
Nor would the soldiers gathered here.
***
Tristan had expected Count Braum to see him as a thorn in his side.
What he hadn’t expected was how petty and passive-aggressive the treatnt would be.
Every ti the count addressed both of them, he would always call Arthur first, then follow up with Tristan as if it were an afterthought.
He would lavish praise on the Young Duke, then suddenly exclaim, "Oh, right!" as if he had forgotten Tristan existed, only to give him the most insincere and generic complints imaginable.
It was so childish that it wasn’t even aggravating. If anything, Tristan felt bad for Arthur, who had to endure the awkward atmosphere.
Tristan clicked his tongue internally at the man who was at least forty years his senior.
Even if he were just a common family man, one should at least know how to separate personal grudges from professional duty.
The extent of Count Braum’s "cooperation" was begrudgingly arranging supplies after grumbling about it, and his contributions to the mission didn’t even amount to half the work of a single scout.
When Tristan asked about specific damages incurred by the farrs, the count didn’t even answer. He simply turned his gaze to his adjutant.
Is that how a leader behaves?
The adjutant responded:
"We compile reports on a quarterly basis!"
"...I am not asking for a quarterly report. I am asking for the currently recorded data—such as the general pattern of damages to farmland, an estimated range of losses, and the extent of the affected areas."
"Well... We haven’t gathered all the docunts yet."
"If you don't organize the records imdiately, you'll just end up filling in the gaps with guesswork when the deadline arrives. I know exactly how that turns out."
Tristan didn’t bother asking further. He simply turned on his heel.
Behind him, the count didn’t even dare to speak, though his irritated breathing was loud enough to be heard.
The next day, inside the carriage heading back to the encampnt, Arthur turned to Tristan.
"Why did you ask about farmland damages last night?"
"You ntioned that the surviving monsters might burrow through the mountains and flee to the plains. If that’s the case, the farmland could be damaged in the process of the subjugation."
"That’s right."
"By estimating the expected compensation range in advance, it would make it easier to secure the farrs’ cooperation before the operation."
"You’re thinking far ahead."
Arthur sounded genuinely impressed.
Tristan answered curtly.
"I just prefer to avoid unnecessary trouble."
In truth, he wasn’t good at handling people.
More accurately—he had no interest in trying.
He wanted to live on his terms.
The only "social skill" he had ever bothered to absorb from his tutors was one:
Anticipate potential complaints before they arise and shut them down in advance.
If soone is jealous of my talent, then there’s nothing I can do about it. But anything else—I can prevent.
The mont they arrived at the encampnt, the soldiers greeted them with exactly the expressions Tristan had expected.
"Oh, look. The commanders who ate and slept in comfort have returned. Are they going to make our lives miserable now?"
Of course, it wasn’t possible to completely erase that resentnt—
"Quartermasters. There’s food in the carriage’s cargo. Distribute it among everyone."
"Ah, yes!"
The quartermasters hesitated for a mont before unloading large crates from the carriage.
Inside were pastrami sandwiches and chocolate biscuits.
The glossy chocolate, the thick buttery biscuits—the re sight of them made one of the quartermasters gulp.
"Your Highness, this is...?"
"I commandeered them from the count’s estate. The crate next to it contains whiskey. Distribute it to the soldiers after the mission is completed."
"Understood!"
At first, the soldiers were simply happy to receive the biscuits.
Then, realization dawned on them—
They stared at Tristan in disbelief, their eyes darting back and forth between him and the biscuits.
But in the end, after taking a bite of the soft, buttery treat, their faces transford into pure happiness.
"Well, at least today's work will be a little easier."
Arthur, watching from the side, remarked,
"I was wondering why you went out of your way to take the biscuits... I didn’t expect such a strong reaction."
"...I happen to know soone who loves desserts. Seeing how happy they were over the smallest treat, I figured this would be an efficient morale booster."
Unconsciously, a specific face ca to mind.
Doris Redfield.
Was she doing well?
She loved desserts so much that she would literally pick up fallen crumbs—but was there anyone giving her proper sweets while she was on vacation?
She could only truly speak her mind to him.
What if she wanted desserts but couldn’t even bring herself to ask?
What if she was just sitting sowhere, dipping plain sugar into her tea out of sheer desperation?
His worries piled up.
Tristan suppressed the sudden urge to ride straight to the Redfield estate.
"As much as I’m spoiling these brutes here, I just hope soone is looking after her happiness... But of course, not better than !"
Seeking so form of satisfaction, he glanced at the soldiers.
The sight that greeted him was grown n with chocolate sared on their mouths, their eyes gleaming in joy.
Damn it. Now he wanted to see Doris even more.
And as if that weren’t enough—the way the soldiers were suddenly looking at him with warmth was unsettling.
"It’s a good outco, but still... Damn it."
Since he couldn’t exactly glare at them while they were smiling, Tristan settled for observing them with an uncharacteristically benevolent expression.
That’s when he noticed a rather peculiar gaze among the crowd.
Rick Ray.
"What’s with that complicated look on his face?"
He was clearly enjoying the biscuit, but at the sa ti, not pleased with the situation.
Overall, he looked... unhappy.
"Does he have a stomachache or sothing?"
Too bad. That wasn’t Tristan’s problem.
A few hours later, the monster subjugation began.
Tristan and Arthur entered the mountainous terrain, each gripping a sword.
Only a handful of soldiers accompanied them—
And even they had a single role:
If one of the two commanders fell, they would use arrows to draw the monsters’ attention away.
"Your Highness, Young Duke. We’ve entered the reported monster territory."
"Understood."
As they moved forward, Tristan turned to the soldiers.
"If both of us fall, then fine. But if only one of us goes down—do not enter to rescue us. If you do, you’ll ruin both the rescue and the subjugation."
"Sir? But if Your Highness—"
"…Are you eager for a dishonorable discharge?"
"N-no, sir! We will obey!"
Tristan sighed.
He needed to make one thing clear.
Raising his voice, he issued a command loud enough for all the soldiers to hear:
"If anything happens, Young Duke Arthur's orders take priority! This command will not be rescinded until today's mission is complete!"
The soldiers’ eyes widened. Even Arthur looked startled.
Arthur spoke up.
"What are you saying?"
"There’s no need for two commanders. And it’s obvious to everyone that you are the real expert in monster slaying."
"…"
"If I act recklessly, feel free to correct ."
With that, he had essentially announced to everyone that Arthur was leading the hunt.
That Arthur would be the one to claim Blue Atrium.
That was not what Tristan wanted.
He hated the idea of seeing his parents' 'Of course that happened' expressions.
He despised the thought that Doris Redfield might be disappointed in him.
…But more than anything—
The idea of never even getting the chance to see her disappointed face—
That terrified him the most.
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