Under the Oak Tree - Chapter 222 - Side Story Chapter 28
After calling on the king at Drachium Castle, Riftan made his way to Anatol. The uncomfortable prickling persisted even as he arrived home.
He looked out the council room window over the bleak garden, his expression grave. Ruth was in the middle of reporting on the progress of the wall construction.
The mage flicked him a cautious glance and asked, “Was there some unfortunate news at Drachium?”
The question lurched Riftan out of his thoughts, and he jerked up his head.
Sighing, Ruth lowered a mountain of parchment onto the table. “I suppose those noblemen tried to provoke you again.”
Riftan did not confirm nor deny the mage’s assumption. He plucked up a sheet of parchment from the pile, but he could not seem to register any of the words. After rubbing his throbbing temples, he shot to his feet and walked out of the room.
His hazy thoughts began to clear as he walked down the drafty corridor, surveying the old castle. It had been granted to him the same year he had become a knight. After almost a century of neglect, the place still looked dilapidated despite all the money he had poured into it over the last few years. His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he unconsciously began comparing it to the Croyso residence. Finally, he had awoken from his idiotic fantasy.
He left the castle on horseback to inspect the land. It soon became clear that Anatol was in a lamentable state. Frequent goblin raids on the farmlands kept the peasants in poverty, and despite Riftan paying good money to have a large number of laborers construct the wall, the harvest was declining every year. Overall, living conditions were not improving.
How much blood and sweat would it take to make this bleak land inhabitable? The rational part of his mind screamed that Anatol was no different from a money-sucking monster. After all, this place had only been granted to him as a formality to make him a vassal knight. There was no reason whatsoever to drain his fortune on its behalf. Despite acknowledging this reality, he felt the burden of responsibility on his shoulders.
The villagers here revered him. Whenever he talked to them, he felt something prick at a conscience he did not even know he had. The fact that he held these people’s lives in his hands weighed on his heart, and he found himself unable to turn away. Thus, he had been exhausting his amassed fortune to fund the massive endeavor that was the wall construction ever since.
Judging by the ramshackle cottages, rickety carts slugging through muddy roads, and shabbily clothed residents, a wall alone seemed insufficient. A troubled expression settled on Riftan’s face as he started back to the castle. As soon as he spotted the run-down structure, his mood plummeted further. Abruptly, he wondered what kind of face Maximilian Croyso would pull if she ever saw Calypse Castle. As the exalted daughter of a duke, she would no doubt be astonished at the existence of such a wretched abode.
A laugh wheezed out of him. As if she would ever come here. The best course of action would be to banish her from his thoughts as soon as possible. Yet, how could he fend off the fantasies that came to him every night? It seemed impossible to stop acting like a pubescent youth absorbed in daydreams.
Back in the council room, Ruth was scribbling on parchment.
“Were you inspecting the construction site?” the mage said without looking up.
It appeared he had been waiting for Riftan. His face drawn, Ruth rubbed his forehead at Riftan’s silence and heaved a sigh.
“I’m sure you must have noticed the minimal progress we’ve made. While you were fighting in the campaign, we were beleaguered by monsters of the Ayin race. We lost many laborers, not to mention the fires took much of the timber. It’ll take a decade to finish at this rate.”
Riftan removed his cloak and said coldly, “So… we don’t have enough manpower or resources, is that it?”
“We are running low on both,” Ruth replied with a weary shake of his head. “Sir Riftan, what you are trying to accomplish is no different from pouring water into a bottomless pit. I doubt even King Reuben expected you to look after this place! I would advise you to stop squandering your fortune on such futile endeavors and let Anatol go.”
Without a word, Riftan walked over to the desk and began skimming the ledger. It was obvious the measly tax revenue from the estate would barely cover construction costs. He stroked his chin with a calloused hand before turning around.
“I’ll get us the funds. Continue overseeing the construction.”
“I am telling you, it’s pointless. You will only be wasting money!”
Riftan gave the mage an icy glare. “You overstep your position. I will decide how I spend my money, so quit your meddling!”
“How can I?” the mage cried, flinging both arms in the air. “You’re my golden goose. But keep this up, and you will run us to ruin!”
An urge to hit the mage almost overtook Riftan. He understood why Ruth was making such a fuss. They would likely have to scrape together all the gold in Wedon to be able to rebuild this land.
And who says I can’t do that, damn it?
Riftan spent a while studying the map spread out on the other side of the room.
“I’ll get you the money,” he said abruptly. “Carry on with the construction.”
“But—”
“This is my land, my castle. I will not forsake them.” Brusquely cutting Ruth off, Riftan picked up his cloak. “Just wait and see. I’ll turn this place into an estate worth dozens more than what I’ve spent.”
“That will take a century,” Ruth said with a snort.
Riftan shot him a glare before stepping out of the room. He did not know when he would be called to service again, so he would have to acquire the funds before then.
At dawn the next day, Riftan set out from Anatol with twelve of his most loyal men. A warrior had limited options for accumulating wealth. One could either plunder villages or wage war against another liege and seize their property. However, the Armistice of the Seven Kingdoms ensured that pursuing either atrocity would immediately brand one an enemy of the kingdom.
That left only one other option — hunting monsters of the dragon subspecies. Harvesting the various profitable parts from high-grade monsters such as drakes, wyverns, and basilisks would be enough to keep Anatol going for a year. The decision was an easy one. It would also offer a good opportunity for his men to acquire field experience.
For the next several months, Riftan and his men roamed the western regions of Wedon exterminating drakes. They also accepted commissions from nobles to deal with other dragon subspecies. Once, Riftan even participated in a sword tournament held at the border simply for the prize money.
Though many criticized him for undermining his knightly honor, he paid them no mind. The nobles already regarded him as an imposter overreaching his station. He saw no need to hold back for their approval.
Through these unholy deeds that most nobility dared not touch for fear of losing face, Riftan was able to amass all the gold in Wedon’s southwestern parts. This, of course, made Ruth extremely happy.
“Soon, we’ll be the wealthiest in all of the southern region!”
Riftan stared down at the mage incredulously. Sitting behind the desk, Ruth practically bounced with excitement as he opened a chest of gold coins.
“By God, did you stumble across a grave of a hundred basilisks?” said the mage, his eyes sparkling. “How on earth did you manage to obtain so much treasure?”
Riftan shrugged. “A historical site. Just luck, I suppose.”
“You’re like a bloodhound with gold, I tell you!”
The mage chuckled as he weighed the coins one at a time, after which the servants placed them back inside the chest before taking them to the vault. Riftan watched the process with keen attention until Ruth spoke.
“Do you think that site was the tomb of an ancient queen? Every other treasure beside the coins are all female adornments.”
Riftan flinched ever so slightly. Ruth leaned forward to inspect an elaborate crown studded with emeralds, rubies, diamonds, and topaz. Next to it was a pile of bracelets, diamond necklaces, rings, silver hair ornaments, and a gilded jewelry chest. As the mage said, they were all items meant for a woman.
After thoroughly appraising the haul, Ruth grumbled, “You should have just sold them and returned with more gold. These would be a tough sell to anyone but the big merchant guilds, and they never come to Anatol.”
Riftan did his best to appear nonchalant as he picked a plum from a tray. “I don’t plan on selling them. I will keep them in the vault.”
“It would be more useful exchanging them for gold,” Ruth said, frowning. “Never mind the exorbitant cost of the wall — do you know how much it costs to employ all the sentries and servants at the castle? The wisest thing to do would be to keep this value in currency in the event of an emergency.”
“We should have enough to run the estate for now. They say precious metals only increase in value over time. We can sell them when the need arises.”
Though the mage appeared unconvinced, he redirected his attention to counting the gold coins as though he could not be bothered pursuing the argument.
Riftan let out a small sigh of relief and picked up the crown. It was true that at least some of these ornaments had been discovered at the site. Most, however, had been purchased. He knew he would never hear the end of it if the mage were to find out.
How I spend my money is none of his concern, he thought in silent rebuttal to an imagined reprimand.
He did not know what had possessed him to purchase such useless items. After staring at the crown for a moment, Riftan placed it back inside its box.
Only a few weeks later, he received a message from Drachium. The worsening drought in Dristan had driven bandits to pillage the eastern border. Less than six months since his departure from the Duchy of Croyso, Riftan was once again called to service.
