Chapter 1259 - 1183_2
There was almost no fat on his body; the hard muscles under his skin were tightly bound to his bones.
But most striking of all were those scars all over him, from his cheeks to his belly, from his neck to his back, dense knife marks woven like a spider’s web.
He was like an old bear waking from hibernation, gaunt to the bone, furious and ferocious.
"This..." Aleksey was momentarily at a loss.
The few Cuirassiers beside him, including Bagri himself, clumsily stood up: "Teacher Kutuyov..."
"Out of my way!"
Seeing the old man approach, Aleksey’s expression grew solemn. He stood up and wiped the sweat from his palms with the corner of his clothes.
Dressed in nothing but a single pair of trousers, Kutuyov trembled with every step, as if any random gust of wind could blow him over.
Yet he still forced himself to stand straight, forced himself to walk on, without a cane, pacing step by step to stand before Aleksey.
"Lord Kutuyov..."
Aleksey hadn’t even finished speaking when the old man’s furious roar cut him off: "Do you know where these scars came from? From plundering caravans? From chasing after women and fine food?"
"Lord Kutuyov, that’s not what I meant..." His hurried explanation wasn’t finished before Aleksey was interrupted again.
"Who do you think you are? You accuse us of plundering caravans and think that makes you morally superior, above everyone else? Who gave you that lofty right?"
"The Death Cuirassiers were formed by your father. He brought us countless victories. He is a true king! He has the right to say those words!"
"And you? All alone, you charge into a bandit camp—how heroic that looks, doesn’t it? You think that makes you a king, that we’ll immediately kneel and bow to you?"
"A few bits of wealth, some wine and meat, a few gentle words and pretended camaraderie, and you think you can buy loyalty with that? If we wanted these things, why wouldn’t we take them from the vampires, instead of from you?"
"High pay? Food? Beautiful women? What Lakunio offers is ten times what you do!"
"No one is a fool! You think with just a few bold-sounding remarks and a bit of play-acting to blend in with us, you can win us over? Hahahahaha..."
Kutuyov cackled like a crow, his laughter harsh, and not a soul in the camp dared open their mouth.
"Don’t even think about it!"
He slapped his palm down on the tabletop, making the plates and cutlery rattle and topple.
"Do you think this is some chivalric romance you’re writing? That you’re the returning king?"
"Do you think the Cuirassiers were singing and dancing with you just for fun? That everyone came for a bite of bear paw because we were greedy? We’d rather starve to death than surrender to the vampires, and we’d be craving your bear paw?"
"We’re horse bandits, we’ve killed more people than we can count, but you’re the one person we’re unwilling to hurt, the one we insist on treating with our best!"
"There is only one reason: because you are the son of His Highness Petrov."
By the end, Kutuyov was practically grinding his teeth, his skin-and-bone face with eyes held wide open.
"Do you know what I despise most? What I despise most is that you are the son of a true king, yet you haven’t inherited a shred of kingly bearing!"
As if to confirm Kutuyov’s words, Aleksey subconsciously looked at those Cuirassiers who had just been treating him like an elder brother or younger brother.
Meeting Aleksey’s gaze, they all lowered their heads.
Realizing something, the flush that had begun at Aleksey’s ears burned all the way down to his cheeks.
Kutuyov could barely stand by now, and the Cuirassiers beside him, afraid he would fall, quickly handed him a cane.
But the old man took the cane only to level it at Aleksey, as if it were a sharp sword:
"If this were your father, he wouldn’t even bother listening to such a request to come alone.
He would just find out where we were, then bring his entire army here.
He would throw a sabre at my feet and say: pick it up. I’ll lead you to victory—or you die!
That is what a king is. He makes us believe in victory. He makes us no longer despair, no longer fear!
I may be old, but I can still swing a sabre. With the Bear standard before us, what’s a few more scars on my body?
How many times have the Bear Castle People lost their country and their very bloodline, and how many times have they risen again?
If a sovereign relies on gold, silver, women, and fine food to tempt people, to buy loyalty, whatever you can afford to give, the enemy can always give more!
What you must give is something the enemy can never give—hope!"
The old man’s roaring voice still echoed around the bonfire, as sparks drifted up from the tongues of flame.
Not knowing what to say, Aleksey lowered his head, his face burning red.
The old man looked at him, his lips moved as if to speak, but in the end he drove the cane into the ground instead of pointing it at him.
Taking the cloak from a nearby Cuirassier and putting it on, he turned and walked toward the tent at the other end of the grass shelter.
Halfway there, he suddenly looked back: "You think you can win us over with just this?"
"You are not worthy!"
......
Aleksey didn’t know how he managed to walk out of the Death Cuirassiers’ camp; when he finally looked up, the open plain under the setting sun was already before his eyes.
The red light dyed the grasslands crimson, cattle and sheep ambling slowly along.
"Your Highness, these Death Cuirassiers are wild and impossible to tame..."
"No, it’s me who was wrong." Aleksey let out a sigh.
He was still too naïve. Just as the old man had said, he had merely been imitating what he imagined a "king" would do, putting on the pose of a lone hero.
But in the old man’s eyes, how childish that was!
The commander of an army running off to a bandit camp where friend and foe are indistinguishable, to negotiate and recruit them.
If these bandits really were just wild horse bandits, what if they cut off your head and took it for a reward? What would happen to the men under your command?
Where is your sense of responsibility?
And since he’d come, he’d still chosen to use gold, silver, titles, and rich rewards to buy people’s hearts—that was even more the behavior of a lesser man.