Inside a tent where the three remaining lords had gathered, an oppressive silence filled the air. Of those who had claid to be the rightful heirs to Drakenfels, only these three now remained.
Under normal circumstances, they might have toasted to their survival, but this ti, there was no cause for celebration.
"What do we do now?"
Gerdt, the host of the eting, finally broke the silence, his expression grim. The other two lords avoided his gaze, refusing to answer.
Closing his eyes tightly, Gerdt forced himself to say what none of them wanted to admit.
"We no longer have any advantage over the Dragon Slayer. The quality of our soldiers may be superior, but it's aningless at this point."
"…"
"Those rcenaries are no longer just guarding their strongholds. If they march on us with their full force—"
He stopped short, unable to finish the thought. But there was no one in the room who couldn't guess the rest.
Amid the despair, one of the lords finally spoke, his voice trembling.
"If we surrender, wouldn't the count spare us?"
"…!"
The other two lords glared at him, their eyes wide with shock. It was Zeldir, the lord governing the territory closest to Sylas's domain, who had spoken.
"We're still nobles. If we surrender unconditionally, at the very least, our lives and so of our estates might be spared—"
"Stop this nonsense," Gerdt interrupted, cutting Zeldir off before he could finish. His eyes were filled with contempt as he stared at the man.
"Do you really think the Dragon Slayer would let you live? You've been branded a traitor. Maybe under different circumstances, but not for treason."
"But I'm a noble! He's a noble! The weight of blue blood—"
"ans nothing in the face of treason. This is the perfect chance for him to execute us legally and seize all our wealth. Why would he leave any loose ends?"
Faced with Gerdt's harsh words, Zeldir stamred for a mont before bowing his head in sha. The tent fell silent once more.
After a long pause with no solution in sight, Gerdt closed his eyes and sighed in resignation.
"So, there's no way out. It seems our fate ends here."
"There is one way."
A middle-aged man who had remained silent until now finally spoke. It was Zad, whom Gerdt had always considered a rival. Gerdt's eyes widened at the man's words.
"You have a plan?"
"Yes, but it will require us to abandon all honor."
"Speak, man! What does honor matter now?"
In the north or east, they might have hesitated at the thought of abandoning honor. In the west, they might have deliberated before asking for details. But for these southern lords, the decision was imdiate. In the face of death, honor was a aningless concept.
"If we can survive, we'll sacrifice it without hesitation," Gerdt urged.
Zad reached into his cloak and produced a small glass vial.
"What is that?" Gerdt asked.
"Poison. Have you heard of Dragon Fear?"
"That deadly poison said to be made from dragon bile?"
"Exactly."
Dragon Fear, also known as the Terror of Dragons, was a lethal poison made from dragon bile mixed with certain toxic herbs. Its toxicity was so potent that there was no antidote. Once consud, it seeped into the bones, rendering even elixirs useless.
"How did you acquire this? I thought the formula had been lost long ago."
"Does it matter now?"
"No, I suppose it doesn't. So, your plan is to poison him?"
"Yes, but the count will be wary of being poisoned. A straightforward approach won't work."
Indeed, rumors said he had been employing food tasters since arriving in the south. Any attempt to poison his food would almost certainly be discovered.
"Then how do you propose we administer it?"
"There is a way. We'll go to him personally and offer our surrender."
"What? After all I've said about surrender—"
"Just hear out."
Zad held up a hand to calm the outraged Gerdt before continuing.
"We'll kneel before him and beg for nothing but our lives. The count, wanting to take our wealth intact, will likely accept."
"And then?"
"Do you rember the southern tradition? It's rare now, but in the past, major agreents were sealed by mixing each party's blood into wine and drinking it together."
"To carve the oath into their very bloodline, as proof it wouldn't be broken. You don't an—"
"Exactly. During that ritual, we'll secretly add the poison to the wine."
Gerdt's face hardened. It was a plan that would require them to discard all pretense of honor. To surrender and then stab the count in the back was one of the most forbidden acts imaginable. Even the south, accustod to dirty tactics, might find such a betrayal unforgivable.
"Is there really no other way?" Gerdt asked, hesitating.
"There isn't," Zad replied firmly. Even he wouldn't normally resort to such asures, but the situation was dire. In the south, contracts often held greater weight than honor. While so knights might turn their backs, many vassals would likely remain loyal.
"This is both the only way and the best way," Zad continued. "Currently, the Imperial Court only recognizes the Dragon Slayer's claim to Drakenfels. If he is eliminated, no one will be able to assert a legitimate claim."
"That's true. He's young and has no other heirs."
Without a legitimate claim, the only way to seize power would be through sheer force. And when it ca to strength, the three lords present were among the most powerful in the south. The mont the Dragon Slayer was gone, a new era would dawn in the south, one dominated by them.
The two other lords swallowed hard and nodded in agreent.
"Very well! Let's do it!"
"We're dood anyway, so we might as well gamble everything."
"Glad to see you're both on board," Zad said with satisfaction.
As the three united in their resolve, Gerdt suddenly voiced a concern that crossed his mind.
"But are you absolutely sure there's no antidote for this poison? If he drinks it and survives, everything will be over."
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