Chapter 1262 - 1185: Rules of the Roaring Corridor
What?
The young knight’s eyes went dull; he didn’t grasp what Alexei meant.
Skirting around the knight before him, Alexei walked forward at a measured pace, heading down the long corridor.
His gaze swept back and forth to either side, meeting the eyes of the knights one by one.
They were either core members and loyal vassals of the Alexei family, or the native powers of Salted Meat Castle.
They were Alexei’s base, and even more, his voice to all the local lords of Bear Castle.
Their attitude could, to a certain extent, stand for the attitude of the other Bear Castle lords.
Alexei had once believed that the Bear Castle lords, like the Thousand River Valley People, needed allies, needed co‑religionists, needed family.
But in truth, what they needed was a father—and a strict father at that.
As if finally reacting, the young knight completely let himself go: "You say you were wrong, then give me a solution!"
Alexei ignored him, still meeting the knights’ eyes one by one, until each of them lowered his head.
When Alexei reached the end of the corridor and turned back, his voice suddenly turned icy: "Is your sword meant to point at me? Who are you questioning?
My apology is to those loyal subjects of mine who may die. You really think it’s to you?
The vampires who are going to kill you are too strong. Everything I do is only for the sake of restoring the kingdom."
"But what about Salted Meat Castle?" the young knight asked hoarsely.
"Then what about Bacon Castle? What about the entire Bear Castle?" Alexei’s voice rose, loud enough for those in the room, even those outside the door, to hear.
"Are we supposed to keep these three thousand elite Shooting Army here for the sake of your ten thousand, and let Bear Castle lose all hope?"
"Do you think I took Salted Meat Castle on purpose just so I could withdraw, leaving it for the vampires to massacre?"
"Instead of asking me why we have to retreat, you’d do better to ask the vampires why they have to slaughter you!"
"If you take us for enemies, then you’ve chosen the wrong opponent. You can’t love your country only when it’s winning!"
In the greasy wooden room, the oil lamp was dim; every face was sunk in shadow, but their eyes all caught the lamplight.
Yet under that dim light, Alexei’s face was eerily clear.
His fair skin wrinkled, his fine soft hair seemed to bristle; the face that had been gentle and quiet twisted into something savage.
Like a male lion suddenly leaping out of the night, glaring at all the timid travelers.
"We’re running not to save our skins, but so that one day we can come back!"
"If we stay here and let the vampires butcher us, then what? Who will come back? Who will take revenge? We’d just die for nothing!"
"When vampires slaughter my people, it tears at me too. I’d like nothing better than to eat that Serafe’s flesh and blood alive!"
"But the precondition for everything is that we’re still alive, still strong enough to hold the spring‑gun and pull the trigger!"
"I’ve only this to say: you can choose to stay and die with them, or follow me and avenge them in the future!"
With a bang, he slammed the sword at his waist down onto the table, then turned his back: "Those who’ll come with me, stand on the hilt side. Those who’ll stay, stand on the tip side. I’ll give you five minutes."
Five minutes later, Alexei walked out of the room, trailed by a long line of Norn Knights following half a step behind.
Some had chosen to stay and fight to the death; some had chosen to leave.
But without exception, they slit their palms and shared a jug of blood‑wine.
Though nothing about it differed from past occasions, the prodigy Angerok immediately sensed something was off.
"They’ve finally started treating Cousin as their liege lord?"
"Not yet." Gloev shook his head. "They’ve merely reached a unanimous agreement with Alexei’s stance. Let this scene repeat three or four more times, and it’ll be about there."
Watching the scene, Teomir also stepped out of the house, unable to keep from sighing: "He’s so much like Duke Petrov."
"Is he?" Gloev pulled a wine bottle from his coat and took a swig. "Compared to Duke Petrov, I think he’s more like someone else."
"Who?"
"Duke Alexei."
"Huh? What?" Teomir plainly didn’t grasp what Gloev meant.
Pointing toward Alexei in the distance, Gloev shrugged: "At the very least, Duke Petrov would never have given such an order."
Standing in the midst of the ring of knights, Alexei issued his first command: "Gather the children. At least we can take them with us."
Though he was a bit late to it, Alexei had finally adapted to the rules of the Roaring Corridor.
The chill wind of an evening in spring swept across the rooftops, rattling the wind chimes, and so the Roaring Corridor began to roar.
Drinking his wine, the smile of satisfaction faded bit by bit from Gloev’s face, and time slowly traced worry at the corners of his mouth.
What Alexei had just done was unify their thinking on the inside and take upon himself the infamy of abandoning the city and fleeing.
But binding them together didn’t necessarily mean they would manage to escape.
Lakunio was no easy opponent.
...
"Are all of you pig‑brained?"
"Such words offend noble etiquette, Lord Lakunio."
Lakunio jabbed a finger at Jishi the Great Monarch, who still stubbornly had his neck stiff: "If your knights hadn’t been drunk, how would Count Mizhiha have been taken by the cuirassiers?
Do you have any idea that because of this, the Shooting Army of Salted Meat Castle moved ahead of schedule, and a perfect plan was ruined by you just like that!"
"I know those knights; they’re all loyal, dutiful gentlemen who keep to their place. They could not possibly make such mistakes." Jishi the Great Monarch still argued with righteous conviction. "Even if they did err, given their status they shouldn’t be subjected to suspension and expulsion. Dock some pay and that should suffice."
Drawing a long breath, Lakunio opened his eyes again: "Lord Pokkins, what’s your view?"
Lakunio looked toward the vampire Count seated on the other high‑backed chair. His name was Pokkins Lolita.
Just hearing that name, you knew he didn’t belong to any of the Thirteen Clans; clearly he came from some minor lineage.
Pokkins cradled a goblet of purple blood‑wine mixed with human blood wine—brewed from a village newly slaughtered, by grinding living victims on a millstone and fermenting the mash.
This way of drinking, to the three upper clans of old No Light City, was the quintessential "stinking provincial style."
Putting things in your wine—what are you doing, eating fruit salad?
But now that the three upper clans had been culled by Serafe down to only one, and these nouveaux nobles promoted, no one was left to sneer at stinking provincial drinking styles.
As for why Lakunio had to look to Pokkins, it was because the Servant Army was not under his command.
The Royal Court’s Servant Army was a servant army in name and in fact.
Because without exception, all its top commanders were Blood Servants of vampires.
In reality, though Lakunio was nominally commander‑in‑chief, he essentially needed the war‑supervisor’s backing.
That backing could be withdrawn at any time, so long as the supervisor believed he might be colluding with humans.
He was a human. The vampires acknowledged his talent, but not his race and status.
Still, the war‑supervisor had said that once Lakunio transformed into a vampire, he would legitimately obtain full command authority.
Yet Lakunio had never brought himself to drink that jug of source‑blood.
At the very least, after he died he still wanted to face the ancestors of the Plantagenet dynasty as a human.
The slightly tipsy Pokkins caught Lakunio’s look, set down his cup, looked at Jishi the Great Monarch, and elegantly snapped his fingers: "It was your men who blundered, wasn’t it?"
"My lord, I..."
"Hush." Pokkins lifted one finger. "To set an example, those drunken knights are all to be thrown into wine barrels and drowned. Their superior officers will pay fines and be flogged in public—including you."
"...Yes." Before lowering his head, Jishi the Great Monarch shot Lakunio a resentful, furious glare, then left the tent.
This left Lakunio both gratified and heartsick.
If back then Prince Kongdai had wielded such control and efficiency over his nobles—able to kill and punish at will without worrying so much—why would he have died at Cheese Bay?
But the thought that now he had to rely on an alien race slaughtering his own just to achieve this effect wiped away his brief sense of satisfaction.
"Lord Lakunio, things being as they are, what do you plan as the next step?" Pokkins once more swirled his purple goblet.
"We have fifteen thousand troops arrived ahead; for now we can only try to surround them."
"Very well." Pokkins didn’t sound like he was issuing orders; he sounded like he was receiving a subordinate’s report. "Then do that. Cheers."
Raising his cup to Lakunio, Pokkins downed the purple blood‑wine in one gulp.
Through the semi‑transparent liquid of the purple blood‑wine, he could see Lakunio’s face, knotted with conflict and gloom.